The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  Ranji was pleased. The Joultasik would provide variations in terrain, and he usually performed best in multiple environments.

  “What do you think our chances are?” he asked his father that night. They sat at the dining table; mother and father at opposite angles, Ranji, his brother, and his baby sister at the foot of the triangle.

  “You’re gonna kill ’em, wipe ’em out, massacre ’em! Just like you have all the others!” Bereft of weaponry, Saguio waved an eating utensil instead. Ranji gave his younger sibling a tolerant look.

  “I want you to fight hard, but also to be careful, dear. I don’t want you or any of your friends to get hurt.” His mother was refilling their glasses with cold fruit juice. “The Kizzmatis’ reputation rivals your own. They’re going to be hard to beat.”

  “I know, Mother.”

  “You’ll kick the crap out of ’em.” Saguio tried to speak and shovel food in at the same time.

  Ranji regarded his sibling fondly. If anything, Saguio was going to be a little taller, a little stronger than his older brother. But not smarter. Testing had already been extensive enough to show that. Still, he was going to be a credit to his family line.

  Not his present family, Ranji reminded himself darkly. The one that had been brutally extinguished by the monsters. They would win tomorrow. All he had to do was picture the Kizzmatis as monsters.

  “We will, Saguio.”

  His father gestured with his glass. “Beware overconfidence, Ranji Never chance overconfidence. Not because it might cost you tomorrow, but because it will certainly cost you in combat. I don’t care if you win tomorrow or not. Just reaching the finals is a supreme achievement. Where I don’t want you to lose is on the real battlefield.”

  “Don’t worry, Father. I would never go into battle overconfident against the monsters.” He picked at his food. “It’s striking how close in appearance they are to us. Many times I’ve sat studying the files and wondered if I was looking at my own kind, until the differences became apparent.”

  “Physical similarities mean nothing,” his mother said softly. She touched her forehead, then her chest. “Here and here they are radically different from us, programmed to kill, to have no mercy, to destroy civilization wherever they find it. They cannot build; they can only destroy.”

  “That is why they must be stopped.” His father grunted. “If you and your friends can contribute to that, you will gain the gratitude not only of your own kind but of all civilized beings everywhere.”

  “Tear ’em up tomorrow, Ranj,” his brother growled.

  “I’ll do my best, Sagui.”

  “You always have.” His mother turned to Cynsa, who had begun squealing and pounding on the table. Ranji’s baby sister was a terror. He smiled to himself. When she matured she’d probably be a tougher fighter than either him or his brother. All three of them would do their adoptive parents as well as their original lineage proud.

  Trial finals first, he reminded himself. Graduation before combat. He’d been pointing toward tomorrow ever since awareness had claimed him. He and Birachii and Cossinza and all the rest. Now the ultimate goal lay within their grasp. Only one more challenge to turn back, one more group to demoralize and defeat. One more height to scale.

  He dug into the remnants of his meal. He wasn’t hungry, but he knew he was going to need the fuel.

  Everyone knew about the Finals Maze. If you were training to be a soldier, you heard about it at least once a month all your life. Externally its appearance differed little from similar competition mazes. What might be found inside was a different matter entirely.

  There would be partitions, of course. Sheer, nonreflective, smooth-sided walls of impenetrable ceramic that would tower over the tallest team member. These divided the Maze into corridors and arenas, passageways and pits. Each partitioned region differed in size and shape from those immediately tangent to it.

  The Maze contained differing habitats, each of a type undeclared in advance. Those attempting to pass through might encounter burning desert, frozen tundra, steaming jungle, or temperate forest. The Maze might be filled with water, fresh or salt. In addition to doing battle with their competition, they would have to adapt instantly and successfully to whatever local or alien biota had been programmed into the test field. A squad could defeat its armed opponents only to be wiped out by a mock avalanche or flood.

  You took your people and advanced through the Maze with the aim of wiping out your opponents or capturing their headquarters position before they could reach yours. Goals were easy to envision but difficult to achieve.

  The sun was out and a few clouds marred the pale blue sky. Not that it made any difference. Local conditions were meaningless inside the Maze, which could generate its own internal weather. Ranji ignored the bustle around him as he ran through a detailed final check of his own equipment. The special competition pistol he carried would register mock injury or death if its beam struck an opponent. In all respects except its nonlethality it was identical to real military hardware.

  Though access to the test area was limited, a fair crowd was present. The Finals attracted interested observers and media recorders from all over Cossuut. No family members were allowed to attend. They would have to content themselves with watching the action at home, on visual.

  It was much remarked upon that the two final teams lived so close to one another yet had never before met in competition. A quirk of scheduling had started them competing in opposite directions, in effect forcing them to battle through a world’s worth of opponents before the time came when they would be allowed to test one another.

  As he continued with the necessary preparations Ranji regulated his breathing, trying to keep it slow and steady, using the biocontrol techniques he had learned to moderate his adrenaline level. He could see his companions doing likewise. No one said much. This was the last opportunity any of them would have until the end of the competition to indulge in private thoughts. Once in the Maze, their attention would become focused and they would have to act and think in unison.

  They were twenty-five to a team. Fourteen boys, eleven girls. On the far side of the Maze twenty-five young men and women from Kizzmat Township were at this very moment going through the same motions and thinking many of the same thoughts as Ranji and his friends. Afterward there would be a celebration, a party, where victor and loser could meet in an atmosphere of genuine conviviality and friendship. But before that happened they would do their very best to mock-murder each other.

  Ecozones occupied Ranji’s thoughts. He hoped the Maze wouldn’t be full of, say, arctic tundra. Tundra simplified things too much. There was nowhere to hide, not enough variables. Dense jungle would suit him better. Or maybe desiccated granite. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a lot of water. He didn’t like fighting wet.

  Whatever they encountered, he and his friends were prepared. They had trained in all conditions.

  He was one of five squad leaders. Birachii was another, Cossinza a third. Pretty blond Gjiann from the outskirts of the township was a fourth, and Kohmaddu the fifth. Heavyset and slow, she compensated for physical deficiencies with a brilliant mind and undisputed courage and daring. No matter how tough the competition, her squad rarely suffered a loss.

  They were ready for the Kizzmatis, all right. Victory lay on the far side of the Maze. All they had to do was enter and take it.

  II

  The pale glow of predawn heralded the incipient appearance of Cossuut’s sun as the five squads which comprised the Trials group assembled for Kouuad’s final briefing.

  “I don’t have to tell you how proud I am of what you have already accomplished.” Their squat instructor surveyed them in fatherly fashion. “You have surpassed not only my expectations but also those of your parents and learning mates.

  “I am especially gratified by the performance of those of you whose origins lie with devastated Houcilat. Your achievements stand out all the more because of the additional burdens that were placed on
your maturation. Soon you will be given the opportunity to seek compensation. Keep that in mind as you enter these Trials.” He strove to make eye contact with each of them in turn.

  “May it go well for you,” he said finally. “Let each do their best. Whatever results, I will be there for you when all is over.”

  They waited in respectful silence until their instructor was out of earshot. It had been a typical Kouuad speech: terse, to the point, and devoid of the flowery exhortations sometimes favored by other instructors. No matter. They did not need fancy words. They had training. Ranji knew they would not let the old warrior down.

  A certain amount of pomp and ceremony was unavoidable as they were marched to the south entrance of the Maze and subjected to final Trial instructions. Somewhere to the north of their starting position lay the Kizzmati headquarters and twenty-five highly trained opponents as dedicated to winning as themselves. In between were the unscalable ceramic walls that cut the Maze up into multiple twists and terrains.

  Ranji paid little attention to the declamatory Trials official. He and his companions knew the rules by heart. They were assembled across from the Maze entrance, already planning and plotting, their eyes alert for potential antagonists even though they knew that the Trials had yet to begin.

  Tense and expectant as he was, he knew this was no more than a student exercise, a prelude to the real thing, to actual combat. That would come soon enough. First there was this one final test to get past. A last chance to accrue artificial glory.

  As the official droned on, some of Ranji’s friends began running in place or performing restricted range-of-motion calisthenics to stay loose. Cossinza’s quintet was particularly agitated. As the fastest of the five squads, they had been given the task of moving out first, striking quickly for the enemy’s headquarters in hopes of bypassing or catching any defenders off guard. It was a risky strategy but one they had brought off before. For it to work, Cossinza had to find the shortest path through the Maze on the initial try.

  The rest of the group would advance more deliberately, cautious but still pressing the attack. Relentlessness was their hallmark, a natural tendency which Kouuad had wisely encouraged. As far as Ranji was concerned, emphasis on a strong defense was the sign of a battle already half-lost.

  No martial music, no blaring sirens announced the start of the Trial Finals. An official simply gestured in their direction, and a couple of squad leaders responded in kind. Led by Cossinza’s people, the young representatives of Ciilpaan entered the Maze.

  Immediately they separated into their respective squads. Moving forward at the run, Ranji’s quintet passed through a ceramic portal that opened onto gently rolling desert terrain. His heart sank even as the temperature rose alarmingly. He didn’t favor desert fighting. Automatically he and his colleagues made appropriate adjustments to their equipment and camouflage.

  Small sandstone buttes glazed with the hue of forgotten rust protruded from shifting dunes. To their right a small pool of water collected at the end of a dry gully. Alien-looking, spiny plants were the only visible life in the artificial landscape. Ranji reminded his friends to avoid them. The Maze was as much their opponent as the Kizzmatis.

  Squads Four and Two hugged opposite walls as all three moved forward, Four taking up positions on slightly higher ground to cover Two’s advance while Ranji’s people worked their way up the middle. While it was unlikely that their opponents had come this far already, no one from Ciilpaan was taking any chances. The Kizzmatis did not have a reputation as sluggards.

  Ranji’s squad entered the gully. As they used its cover and then that of a smaller tributary to work their way northward, he wondered how Cossinza’s people were faring. They had disappeared into a different branch of the Maze. He glanced at his wrist communicator but did not adjust it. Communication was allowed and possible only within individual Maze partitions. Splitting up offered a testing group more attack options but reduced their ability to coordinate strategy and defend their own headquarters. Radical groups that divided into the maximum five squads were usually overwhelmed, while those in which all twenty-five participants stayed together were almost always outflanked.

  It didn’t matter to the Ciilpaans. They were prepared for anything. Such tactical flexibility had been a major contributor to their string of successes.

  It took them most of the day to cross the desert partition, advancing with a proven mix of care and speed. Evening produced the first of several surprises.

  Gleaming walls narrowed to form an intersection. Whiteness glimmered beyond. Not the white of gypsum sand but of ice and snow. Bitter cold leaked through the portal. Ranji’s people were forced to make hasty readjustments to their equipment.

  The instant they darted through the opening temperature and visibility fell sharply. Snow swirled around them, and the clear desert sky of the partition just traversed was replaced by wind and scudding dark clouds.

  Ranji smiled to himself. There had been rumors. Not only would they have to make their way through an infernally uncooperative Maze, avoiding natural difficulties and traps along with their opponents, they would also have to cope with environments that changed with each new partition. That meant altering tactics accordingly. It was challenge enough to tax the most resourceful.

  Among other things, it meant they could not predetermine how to allocate their supplies of food and water. Not when they might have to go from spending days in a comparatively benign temperate forest to a week on a barren tundra. It complicated everything. Which was, of course, the intention of the Maze’s designers.

  The next partition was dominated by higher, damper desert. Dense succulent vegetation mimicked lusher climes while small creatures scurried through the undergrowth. A sudden downpour caught them unaware, leaving everyone drenched and considerably less buoyant than they had been the previous morning.

  And still no sign of the Kizzmatis.

  Squad Four was out of range, having decided to explore a different partition, but he was still in communication with Two. Again he found himself wondering at Cossinza’s progress, decrying the inability of the communicators to penetrate the ceramic walls of the Maze.

  Then the dry air was full of questing beams of colored light and he was too busy shouting orders to worry about the circumstances of distant colleagues.

  As he scrambled frantically for the cover of a cluster of thick-leaved bushes, he found himself marveling at the Kizzmatis’ speed. He’d repeatedly been told how fast they were, but it was still a shock to encounter them this early in the game. From the volume of fire it was impossible to tell how many of them there were. He guessed more than one full squad but less than three. Lights flickered overhead, hunting responsive targets.

  A quick check revealed that his squad had suffered two minor “injuries” and no “deaths.” They were still at full strength, which suggested either that the Kizzmatis were very bad shots or else that they had also not expected to run into their opponents quite so soon. A hasty call indicated that Birachii’s Squad Two was in equally good shape. He felt better.

  “I think we’ve surprised them.” Birachii sounded confident over the communicator.

  Ranji kept his lips close to the pickup. “It’s mutual. Don’t try to move on ’em too fast. We want to be in position to support each other.”

  “Check. How many you estimate?”

  “One to three squads.”

  “Affirmative. We’re behind a little hill. I’ll try to work our way around to the west. They’ll expect us to come over the top.”

  “Don’t count on it. Don’t count on anything with this lot. Watch yourselves.”

  Birachii responded with a rude noise, which left Ranji and his companions grinning.

  “They didn’t waste any time.” Tourmast-eir used his perception lens to try and peer through the thick brush. “By my ancestors, they’re quick.”

  “Hopefully they’re thinking the same of us,” said someone else. He held his pistol with both hands. �
��Maybe they’ll run right into our line of fire.”

  “Wonder if they’ve crossed more of the Maze than we have?” mused a fourth member of the squad.

  This was not how his people should be thinking. “Nobody covers ground faster than the Ciilpaan,” Ranji snapped. It didn’t matter that he did not believe it, only that his squad believed him.

  “Check,” murmured Tourmast-eir. Crawling on his belly, he began edging to his right. “Let’s try and get behind them.”

  “No.” Ranji put a restraining hand on his friend’s leg. “The first thing they’d expect in a situation like this is a flanking move. They’ll be setting up for it.”

  “Won’t matter if we move faster than them,” observed Weennoon.

  “If we don’t and I’m right, then it’s Trial end for this squad. You ready to chance that, Weenn?” The older boy subsided, thoughtful.

  “What do you have in mind, Ranji?”

  “Their reputation’s as exalted as ours. I’ve been thinking ever since we were told that they’d be our final opponents that the same old strategies won’t work. This isn’t slow-stupid Goriiava from down south. I’ve believed all along that we’d have to try something new to prevail.”

  “Maybe so,” Weenn agreed, “but we can’t sit here waiting for them to flank us, either.”

  “How about setting up and waiting for them back at the last partition?” Tourmast looked hopeful. “The snow on the other side might blind them temporarily.”

  “Good idea, except that we don’t progress by going backward. I don’t want us to get into a protracted firefight. If that’s what they want then let them initiate it by retreating to a defensive position. If they do that then we’ll respond with countering strategies, but only then.”

  Off to their left, Birachii’s group continued to exchange heavy fire with the enemy. That presented possibilities as well as dangers. He relented enough to allow Tourmast to reconnoiter. His friend returned moments later.