The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  “You can’t keep it hidden forever,” he told her. “If you don’t put it forward someone else eventually will. Better to disprove it now. As for telling me, I’m amazed that you haven’t shared your thoughts before this. Maybe it’s easier to tell a member of another species.” It wasn’t an elegant rationalization, he mused, but it would have to do for the moment.

  “I do not mean to offend, Nevan, but I’d think to trust my colleagues before I would an alien.”

  “I’m not offended. I guess something within you decided now was the time to get it out and that I was a reasonably safe receptacle. Maybe the isolation had something to do with it.” He indicated the sweeping panorama of sea and stone. “In any event you don’t have to worry about me running off to the nearest media rep. I can see the potential for disruption and I’ll keep your secret.”

  “How can I be certain of that?”

  “You have my word as an officer and a Human. You argue that your data corroborates the inevitability of Human-Weave conflict. I claim otherwise and I’ll do anything I can to prove you wrong.”

  She made a gesture he was unfamiliar with. “I accept your offer. Perhaps the interposition of a Human viewpoint will expose flaws in my work that I would otherwise not be able to see.” She turned and started back toward the waiting slider. He paced alongside, his long stride slowing to match her much shorter one.

  “How can you assist me?” She let the slider seat adjust itself to her body type. “You’re a field soldier assigned to an active theater of combat.”

  “I have some leave time accumulated that I never got around to applying for. With the delta and the upriver region now under our control Command should be able to do without me for a while.”

  “Won’t you miss the butchery? It has been my experience that if Humans are deprived of participation in conflict for too long they begin to suffer from disorienting psychological phenomena.”

  “Naturally I disagree with that observation also. Fighting is just what we’re trained for.” He switched on the slider’s engine. A low whine rose beneath their feet.

  “It is what you are genetically disposed toward. There was a Human, an individual who from my studies of your history I gather did not want to be as famous as he became, who was an intimate part of the first meetings between the Weave and your species.”

  “Sure.” Straat-ien had to talk through a pickup as the slider rose from the ground, kicking up dust and noise. “The musician-contact William Dulac. Learning about him is part of normal adolescent matriculation, along with Caldaq and Jaruselka and all the rest. Those are names you can never forget.”

  “Did you know that for many years after contact Will Dulac attempted to prove that Humans were not naturally inclined to combat?”

  “Seems to me I read something along those lines a long time ago. Dulac was brilliant in many ways but he was way off on that one. We know better now.” He chuckled. “It’s the sort of thing you might expect from a musician. But just because we like to fight and are good at it doesn’t mean we have to fight all the time. When the war’s over it’ll be over for good.” He increased speed as he headed downslope toward the base. “We’re intelligent, rational beings, Lalelelang, even if by Wais standards we’re not entirely civilized. We’re not some runaway machine everyone else has to fear.”

  “Your intelligence is what makes you so dangerous.”

  “Well, right now it’s going to make me helpful. I have access to military files and facilities that are denied to you, and we can use the Underspace links to libraries elsewhere. You have access to Wais and maybe other sources. Let’s try cross-correlating some information and feeding it to your analytical programs and see what we come up with.”

  “That is something I have long wanted to do but could not acquire the appropriate authorization for.” She was nodding, the Human gesture perfectly executed.

  He was feeling upbeat about the future. First he’d discovered that she had no inkling whatsoever of the Core’s existence, and now by bringing to bear information she’d heretofore been denied they were going to disprove this preposterous subversive theory of hers. Nor had he been forced to commit murder there out on the point.

  “You have entry to everything?” she inquired.

  “Not all of it. I don’t rate a universal clearance. But I can certainly access material you’d never be allowed to see. That’s where your studies have been lacking: no Human input. You’ve been forced to base all your work only on personal observations and those reported by other aliens. We can change that.” He nudged the steering bar and the compact, superbly engineered air-repulsion vehicle plunged down an otherwise impassable slope.

  “If you think you can work with me, that is.”

  “On Tiofa I worked closely with a Human female. I have devoted my life to the study of your kind. Why would I find your presence inhibiting?”

  “No deprecation intended. It’s just that it’s hard to get used to the idea of a Wais who isn’t afraid of Humans. Your kind usually run when they see one of us coming. Or at least move to the far side of the walkway. But then you’re not your average Wais.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  Straat-ien was warming to the prospect before them, planning his assault on the various libraries. “We’re going to choke that analytical program of yours on facts and make it change its tune. We’ll ram some Human realities right down its processor.”

  “Listen to yourself. You approach research exactly as you would a raid on a Crigolit position. It is the Human approach. Even your most casual analogies are conflict-based.”

  “It’s only a manner of speaking,” he replied defensively. “You can’t read overarching social evaluations into that.”

  They slid off the mountainside and skimmed toward the base, racing along several meters above the waves that marched shoreward into the narrow cove. A large piscine predator snapped at the slider, missing badly.

  “What if we do all this and the new information you obtain confirms instead of contravenes my work?”

  “I don’t think it will.” He tried to sound confident. “Your work has been preprejudiced by your source materials. It needs balance, and I’m going to provide it.”

  And if not, he thought, I can always make you forget it.

  His superiors were not especially surprised by his request for leave. The loss of the delta command module and the subsequent heavy action involved in retaking the delta was enough to tire any soldier, particularly one saddled with the responsibilities of a field command. His request was granted without comment.

  Only Conner wondered, but there was nothing the sergeant could say. Despite their distant family relationship Straat-ien was still a colonel and Conner only a noncom. He accepted Straat-ien’s explanation that the Wais was ignorant of the Core’s existence because there was no reason to doubt him, and for a time they went their separate ways.

  Straat-ien asked for and received permission to spend his leave at Base Tamerlane. The original Weave installation on Chemadii, it was now far from any areas of actual combat and comparatively isolated from danger. He and Lalelelang could pursue their intentions there in comparative comfort. Base Tamerlane was also home to more support personnel than Attila. The Wais historian found comfort in the occasional company of Hivistahm, O’o’yan, and S’van.

  Responding to her requests and under her direction he initiated inquiries via various entry links as well as putting through a number of Underspace connections to research resources on other worlds. His high clearance allowed him access to facilities that would have been denied someone farther down the chain of command. Conner, for example, would have gotten nowhere with many of the queries.

  Their activities centered around the base library: a modest and underpopulated annex to the central command structure. As sensitive material she would never otherwise have been able to examine came pouring into the files she and Straat-ien jointly established, Lalelelang forgot her initial hesitation in the
joy of dissecting a remarkable succession of documentation. So involved in their research were she and her Human associate that they had long since come to ignore the stares and comments of those who couldn’t help but remark, often in their very presence, on the highly unusual working relationship.

  Nothing in the flood of new material that Straat-ien was able to obtain weakened Lalelelang’s hypothesis. Every fact and report they fed into her analytical program only seemed to confirm what she had initially propounded. Nevan began to worry … and to contemplate alternative resolutions.

  It was in the middle of the second week after the information had begun pouring in that Straat-ien found something that intrigued him. If nothing else, it was a diversion. Sensitive to Human emotions and reactions, Lalelelang quickly sensed his preoccupation. She didn’t probe. That would have been unforgivably impolite, if not downright Human. If it was something he intended to share with her, she knew he would mention it eventually. Meanwhile she attended to her own business, of which there was presently a delicious surfeit.

  Another week passed before he chose to confide in her. Since her Huma was a match for his own and better than that of many Humans, he let her take control of the voice-activated annex unit he’d been working with.

  “See this here?” He directed her attention to a portion of the material currently visible on screen.

  Her neck bent forward; a supple muscular curve. “It is a spin-off of one of my programs, but I do not recognize the correlations.”

  “Keep looking. I didn’t fabricate it to confuse you. Crosscheck if you want. It’s for real.”

  She guided the unit efficiently, superimposing a central processor of her own over his program. She was much better at it than he was, but that was to be expected.

  When she was finished, everything lined up as before. Her finely boned skull turned to face him. “It is certainly interesting. Perhaps even revolutionary. But I fail to see how it bears on our current work.”

  “Try again. Don’t you find it sufficiently provocative to pursue?”

  “I just said as much, but it’s a dead end. There is no way to track it further. At least, no way for us.”

  He was grimly pleased. “On the contrary. There is a representative of the projected distortion right here on Chemadii.”

  She stared at him. “I did not know.”

  “Why should you? For that matter why should I? I’m not privy to the inner workings of the central command team.”

  “I assume,” she said quietly, “that its presence here is intended as a check and supplement to Human-Massood strategy.”

  “Yes. At least, that’s what they’re expected to do. That’s what they’ve supposed to have been doing all along.” He indicated the screen. “It’s just that until now no one suspected they might also be up to something else. No one would. There was no way to guess at it or even imagine it—except that if you ask the right questions it shows up as a blip on your program, a nugget buried in your research. In searching for a resolution to one anomaly it seems we’ve stumbled onto another. Maybe one nearly as important.”

  “You are quite serious about this, aren’t you?”

  He gestured violently at the screen. “Look at the data. You’re the one who’s been insisting ever since we started in on this that so long as the material being fed to it is accurate your program can’t lie.”

  “That is so. But the results can always be misinterpreted.”

  “Granted. So how do you interpret this?”

  She eyed the readout uncomfortably. “I told you: I cannot. It does not make any sense.”

  “That’s because you’re thinking like a representative of the civilization of the Weave. If you look at it from a Human point of view the discrepancies and inconsistencies jump right out.” He told the unit to flick off and it dutifully complied.

  “I’m going to set up an appointment with the individual in question. Not necessarily a confrontation, because at this point all we have is abstract data. But this is too important to ignore, even if it means neglecting our other work. There’s no need or reason for you to come along.”

  “Nonsense.” She fluffed her feathers. “Of course I must come, however exomorphically this bears on my research.”

  “If I’m right, if my interpretation of the results is correct, there could be some risk involved.”

  She emitted the trilling chirp that constituted a Wais laugh. “That is absurd.”

  “Sure it is. As absurd as your own program’s conclusions.”

  “Your interpretation of those conclusions,” she shot back.

  “My,” he commented amusedly, “that tone was nearly hostile. Almost Human.”

  “Entreat but do not insult me.”

  “S’van humor, too. Maybe the Weave is more integrated than its own participants think.”

  “I will go with you,” she said, aware that she had demonstrated a momentary but nonetheless inexcusable lack of manners, “provided that you promise not to venture any unfounded accusations. What we are seeing here is no more than your personal interpretation of some highly contestable conclusions.”

  “I know, and I’m probably wrong. It’s too extraordinary. But it has to be followed up, so that we’ll know for certain. The implications are profound.” Seeing that any further attempts to dissuade her would only intrigue her further and even make her suspicious, he reluctantly acquiesced to her request.

  “We’ve spent a lot of time trying to disprove one theory,” he concluded. “Hopefully it’ll only take a few minutes to disprove this new one.”

  XI

  Lalelelang was far more uncomfortable than Straat-ien as the lift descended to the lowest inhabited level of Base Tamerlane. Perhaps because of their avian ancestry they were comfortable in high places whereas subterranean venues made them distinctly uneasy. Nevertheless, she said nothing as the lift finally slowed and the single door slid upward to allow egress.

  She stayed close to him, however, marveling at his indifference to their claustrophobic, dimly lit surroundings.

  “You Humans,” she murmured. “You can run and jump, travel temporarily beneath water, crawl through caverns, do everything but fly. You’re so ridiculously adaptable.”

  “We had to be.” Straat-ien spoke while consulting the schematic he held. “As a specialist in Human affairs you must be familiar with the geologic and meteorologic caprices of our eccentric planet. It’s not exactly benign, like the others which gave rise to independent intelligences. Your own homeworld, for example, is a temperate garden compared to most of Earth.”

  “I know. Multiple continents, multiple seas. Tectonically active. An absurd state of affairs. It explains much about your particular evolution.”

  “Our ancestors had to learn how to fill diverse ecological niches.” He paused to briefly scan the schematic before heading down a right-hand branch. “According to this, most of the space down here is used for storage, especially sensitive or little-used items.”

  That anyone would prefer to be billeted in such a wan, dank place seemed implausible. It reminded Straat-ien of pictures he’d seen of ancient dungeons on Earth. Only one species, one resident race of the Weave, found such surroundings congenial.

  “Had a hell of a time setting up this appointment,” he grumbled. “Rank helped. We’re not supposed to stay very long. Either way this shouldn’t take much time to resolve.”

  She remembered his cautionary words to the effect that the encounter could prove dangerous and found herself shivering. Her companion took no notice of it. The delicate Wais shivered much of the time, for reasons others could not fathom. The short feathers that formed her neck crest flexed and relaxed.

  They halted before an unprepossessing door. Nevan announced himself to the small speaker set in the wall, knowing even as he did so that it was unnecessary. The visual pickup set just above the portal exposed him to the apartment’s interior. A moment passed before the doorframe was suffused by a pale violet light. Somewhere withi
n, a locktight clicked a soft electronic greeting. The barrier slid aside.

  “Let me do the talking,” he whispered to his companion.

  “Why would I want it otherwise?”

  They found themselves in a domed chamber. Walls and floor melted into each other. The total absence of straight angles and the patterned texture of the walls gave the room a soft, ductile feel, as though they were standing inside the organ of some vast dead animorph. Furniture—if such it was—was low and massive.

  The far side of the chamber was all window; not Bullerene—there was no need for armor down here—but some other transparent material sufficiently tough to resist the modest pressure of the seawater that ebbed and surged against it. They were below the surface of the Chemadiian sea and tangent to its euphotic wonders.

  Piscines with exuberantly attenuated fins migrated lazily back and forth in small schools while a pair of long eel-like creatures chased each other in and out of the muddy bottom. Small soft-bodied things made tracks in the ooze, wending their way around spiky growths of pale green and yellow.

  It was an expensive habitat, but the single occupant of the chamber had specific requirements. Its presence was considered important enough for personal whims to be indulged.

  Nor were concessions made for visitors. Both Human and Wais were forced to squint to make out shapes in the gloom. Compared to the temperate climate above, these reapportioned depths were cold and clammy.

  Nevan checked his translator prior to addressing the shadows. “Colonel Nevan Straat-ien and Honored Scholar Historian Lalelelang present themselves as scheduled.”

  “I know who you are or I would not have let you in.” Despite the heroic efforts of another, unseen translator, the words emerged garbled and vague, difficult to understand.

  A large shape that Nevan had initially taken to be part of the furniture detached itself from the floor and edged closer to the window, where it pivoted with patient awkwardness to confront them. Air whistled from Lalelelang.