The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  Finally she sat up, rubbing her neck and staring at him. “You’re very good.” The admission came grudgingly. “More than just quick. A lot more. Better than any Ashregan I ever heard about.”

  “Thank you.” He straightened his translator, which had been knocked askew but not broken during the fight.

  “Not only don’t you fight like any Ashregan, you don’t even feel like an Ashregan.”

  “And how many Ashregan have you felt? Not that I understand what you’re saying.”

  “Your bones, your muscles. They’re too dense. It’s one of the traits that makes Humans so tough. Our bones aren’t hollow like those of most other intelligent species and we have more muscle fibers, so we’re stronger and heavier. Strength and mass aren’t Ashregan characteristics. You felt like a Human, not an Ashregan.”

  “I reiterate: How many Ashregan have you felt?”

  She didn’t look away. “I’m only repeating what I learned in training.”

  “Weave intelligence is far from perfect.” Try as he might he couldn’t just brush her observations aside, not least because the Hivistahm and Lepar who had captured him on Eirrosad had made much of similar observations.

  “So you’re what the Amplitur have been up to. It makes sense. Genetically you’re their nearest allies to us, so you’d be the easiest to imbue with Human characteristics. Be a helluva lot harder with an Acaria or Korath. Doesn’t it make you think?”

  “About what? I think only of the Purpose.”

  “Well, think about this for a change. If the squids keep screwing with your racial DNA, how long before you become more bastardized Human than honest Ashregan?”

  “That is not possible,” he insisted. But the notion upset him.

  “Isn’t it? The squids play with DNA the way a kid does with building blocks. How do you know what they are and aren’t capable of? We’ve never underestimated them. Why should you? Look at yourself: Human size, muscles, bone density, reflexes. How do you know what the hell you are? How much of you is still Ashregan?”

  Ranji was silent for a long moment. “My mind is all Ashregan,” he said finally. “So are my intentions. I have been privileged to experience mind-to-mind contact with the Teachers themselves, to receive accolades and advice from them directly. No Human could do that. Your nervous system would react violently and defensively.”

  Trondheim considered. “All that proves is that your nervous system is still Ashregan. Externally, except for your skull and hands, the rest of you is as Human as me or any of my cohorts.”

  “Appearances mean nothing.” The assurance Ranji voiced so readily did not extend to his thoughts. What was he, really?

  A servant of the Purpose, he reminded himself firmly. Biological coincidences notwithstanding. He indicated the badly injured Yula and Hivistahm.

  “The more contact I have with representatives of the Weave, the more convinced I am of the righteousness of the cause. Your governments fight, your organizations argue, and as individuals you spend much of your time engaged in petty internecine squabbling. I want no part of that.”

  “You haven’t been given a choice.”

  He eyed her derisively. “Did you notice that your so-called friends and allies feared the threat of attack from you more than from me? What kind of higher civilization is that?”

  She glanced down at the unconscious Yula. “These two were extremists. Probably mentally unbalanced as well.”

  “But what if they were not? What if their greater fear of you was the sensible, intelligent attitude to take?”

  “We’re not exactly universally popular throughout the Weave. But we’re respected. I have a number of non-Human friends.”

  “Are you so certain? Or do they just force themselves to be pleasant when in your company so as not to offend you?”

  “Hey, you’re the one we’re discussing here. For better or worse, I know what I am.” She sounded sad. “The Amplitur and their damn ‘Purpose.’ Look what they’ve done to your people. Not to mention the Molitar, and the Segunians, and the poor VVadir. Turned them into soldiers, fighters for the Amplitur cause, when all they want is to be left alone.”

  “No race wants to be ‘left alone,’” Ranji told her.

  “My kind does.”

  He hoped his response would translate. “I rest my case.”

  She sighed and sat down on a nearby log, careful to keep both hands where he could see them. “Doesn’t it bother you that your supposed ‘Teachers’ might have messed with your genetic makeup without your knowledge or consent, might’ve been busily splicing your genes like toy cutouts while you were still in the womb?”

  “Nothing like that took place. Nothing like that would be allowed to take place.”

  “How do you know? Because they told you so? You must know how forceful their ‘suggestions’ can be.”

  “I am Ashregan,” he all but shouted. “Not the product of genetic engineering!”

  “No,” she murmured almost pityingly. “Just the byproduct.”

  “I don’t need to think about it. I know.”

  She eyed him intently. “Maybe you do. Maybe you do. But I think you’re either a greatly gifted liar or else you’ve been completely mindwashed by the squids.” She rose and he tensed slightly, but she made no move toward him.

  “Well, it’s obvious I’m not going to convince you otherwise. Maybe this one was right.” She prodded the prone Yula with a foot. “Maybe it’d be better if he had shot you.” She looked back at him. “If you’re going to knock me out, get on with it. I’m fed up with trying to talk to someone who’s unable to speak for himself. I don’t blame you; it’s not your fault. But it’s boring, and I’m tired.”

  Ranji rose and drew the little cylinder full of sleep gas from the service belt. Despite her outward show of bravado he saw her flinch expectantly. He hesitated.

  “Perhaps I will allow you to remain conscious for a while yet. Every time you open your mouth you tell me something useful.”

  “Then you’re easily sated.”

  “Yes,” he told her, pleased with his decision, “I think that for now I’ll have you accompany me. If you become too much of a burden there are always the alternatives.” He looked back the way he’d come. “And if your peers are closing in on us, it would be useful to have a hostage.”

  “So now I’m a hostage?” Her eyebrows arched. “What makes you think I won’t break your neck the first time you doze off, or shove you over the nearest cliff the next time you relax?”

  “Nothing,” he told her blandly. “The implied threat of your company will help to keep me alert.” He smiled thinly. “Keep in mind that if you do try something like that I may not have time to gauge my response. Keep in mind also that if your theory is correct and certain of my abilities and characteristics have been bioengineered into me by the Amplitur, I may also possess abilities you know nothing about and cannot imagine.”

  There! he thought with satisfaction: That’s got her thinking. “Did I not just defeat you?”

  “Yeah, you did,” she admitted, downcast. “But you surprised me in my sleep. I wasn’t ready for you. And I was expecting to have to fight an Ashregan. A bigger, tougher version of an Ashregan, but an Ashregan nonetheless. You,” and she gave him another of her uninterpretable looks, “you’re something different.”

  “Remember that as we walk.” He put the sleep canister back on the belt, hefted the backpack, and slid the seeker visor down over his eyes. Then he gestured with the Yula’s stinger. “I think it’s time we moved away from here.”

  She started off in the indicated direction, glancing back over a shoulder as she spoke. “You won’t find anything up there. I’ve seen the topos. It gets rugged and steep and there’s no serious climbing equipment in that pack.”

  “I’m not concerned. I have you to test any dangerous places for me. Since you’ll be walking in front, I think I can rely on you to choose the safest path.”

  She stared back at him as if trying to see pas
t 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.

  IX

  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 run 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 came 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 ha
d 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.