The Damned Trilogy

by Alan Dean Foster

  A painful end to a nurturing relationship, as ludicrous as it was unnecessary. He sighed wearily. With Chemadii secured, Naomi would be receiving her own transfer orders soon enough. If the general was right, and there was no reason to doubt his information, the entire armed forces of the Weave were soon going to be so busy that there would be little time to explore personal relationships of any kind. He couldn’t very well have told Naomi that, of course. Somehow he suspected it wouldn’t have made any difference.

  He knew they’d grown close. Combat assignations were frequent, even necessary for the psychological health of those involved. Evidently Naomi had been seeking something more. As busy and self-absorbed as he’d been it wasn’t surprising that he’d missed the signs.

  Naturally he and Lal had become good friends; confidants, even. That was for reasons he couldn’t enumerate to anyone else, much less the talkative Naomi. He and the Wais respected each other’s knowledge and expertise. If that constituted a “relationship,” then so be it. To reach beyond that far enough to suspect improprieties of a type reserved for the more outrageous forms of fiction was the consequence of an unhealthy mind.

  As he prioritized his personal effects for pickup he tried to be charitable. Naomi was obviously disappointed, maybe even devastated. That was unfortunate. He was convinced he’d done nothing to encourage her to expect anything beyond mutual comfort and succor. She would get over it, just as he would. Did she think he felt no sense of loss himself?

  He forced himself to shunt personal concerns aside. They’d located the Amplitur homeworlds. What must it be like for members of the Weave, to have lived with the burden of a thousand years of war, to suddenly see a possible end in sight? It was an achievement Humankind would be able to share only in comparative moderation. To those Massood and S’van who had been informed, whose people had been among the first to resist the Amplitur, it must seem as if the universe had turned inside out.

  He took a last look around the compact, comfortable room that had been his home on Chemadii. That wasn’t quite accurate, he reminded himself. A soldier had no home: only duty postings. Another planet recovered for the Weave, another world liberated from the suffocating grip of the Purpose. Years of effort and sacrifice validated. Now as before, it was on to the next.

  Only this time, for the first time, it was not inconceivable that the next could also be the last.

  XIII

  Discouragement and despair hung over the Council like a toxic fog, poisoning thoughts and polluting the atmosphere. This was not entirely metaphor, as the members could not help but project what they were feeling.

  The Council was not a permanently constituted organizational body. Individuals came and went according to appointment and caprice, out of a desire to contribute or a need to depart. Whether long in tenure or brief in participation, all were renowned for their skill, their learning, their experience.

  All that and more would now be required of them if the apocalypse was to be avoided.

  They lounged in a shallow, steaming pool of sulfurous salt water, the informality of the surroundings belying the seriousness of the occasion. Painstakingly cultivated growths of dark green and rust red thrust through the murk, adding color to the amphitheater and perfume to the air.

  The water helped to support the soft-bodied masses of the participants. Tentacles shifted from bodies to controls as squarish mouths sipped at the water or sucked at the air. The information provided by the instrumentation was extensive without being reassuring. Yellow-green light emanated from the milky, translucent overhead dome, from which dangled additional devices, each ready to respond to a voiced command or specific physical gesture.

  The members of the Council did not face each other because they had no need to. They lay scattered randomly like a primordial herd, their turgid, sluglike bodies flashing silver-orange or orange-gold in the hazy, subdued light, their four stumpy legs gathered beneath them. Plate-sized eyes of slitted gold and black regarded respectively the landscaped flora, the pungent water, or a lolling neighbor. Each occupied whatever position happened to most suit it at the moment.

  The extensive instrumentation was needed for education and external communication only, since all present were far more intimately linked by their remarkable projective minds. As a result, the atmosphere in the Council chamber was as thick with disillusionment as it was with solemn, cloying moisture.

  In keeping with the ancient and redoubtable tenets of the Purpose there was no Supreme Leader, no Grand Potentate. All present were more or less equal, though individual accomplishments and abilities were recognized and respected. Whoever happened to be discoursing was at that moment the one in charge. When it concluded, control would be passed to another of its lugubrious brethren. It was a system to which lesser races, only dimly versed in the depths of the Purpose, could but dimly aspire to.

  There were no representatives of those eager species in attendance; no Mazvec, no Ashregan, no Crigolit or Acaria or Korath. This was the Grand Council of the Amplitur. From it suggestions, and suggestions only, would be issued to those most worthy allied life-forms. Suggestions which were invariably acted upon.

  In spite of strenuous efforts on the part of those present as well as their advisors, there existed a serious dearth of suggestions, a lack of laudable ideas on how to proceed. Even the Purpose itself no longer gave the kind of inspiration which had buoyed the Amplitur in their great work down through the centuries. This plagued sorely the members of the Council, who knew it was incumbent upon them to decide when, how, and what to do next.

  “We must face reality.” It was Nigh-cold-Singing who formulated the thought. “We are losing.” That no protesting thoughts arose to contradict showed how somber was the mood within the chamber. “We have been losing ground for more than a hundred years.”

  “Ever since,” supplemented Bulk-holds-Tree, “the species Human allied itself with the Weave.”

  “What a pity,” noted Sand-sits-Green plangently, “that they could not first have been contacted by us and brought joyfully into the Purpose.”

  “I have long studied what we know of them and their evolution.” Takes-short-Thinking was among the most learned present. When it ventured a thought, all paid attention. “They believe among themselves that they could never have been convinced of and brought into the Purpose. Sadly we had not the opportunity to persuade them of the folly of their own self-deception.”

  Takes-short-Thinking was preparing to give birth. The tumescent bud on its back had matured into a miniature version of itself and was on the verge of separating from the parent body. Its presence in the Council chamber at such a delicate and sensitive moment was due only to the extreme nature of the current crisis.

  “We cannot change history.” Places-change-Distant was senior among the assemblage. Mottled orange skin had faded to a deep rust hue, and the penetrating eyes no longer gleamed as brightly. But within the puffy mass of rippling flesh floated a mind as keen as ever.

  “Those with us in the Purpose—the Mazvec and Crigolit, the Ashregan and Segunians and the others—are doing the best they can.” Tepid water sucked at High-run-Seeking’s lower body as it shifted its position. “But Human-Massood forces supported by Weave technology and supplies now defeat us at every turn. We have had some success at imitating enemy tactics, but an imitator can never ultimately defeat an originator. I fear we have reached the point of only postponing the inevitable.”

  “There must be something we can do.” Sand-sits-Green’s tentacles traced brooding patterns in the humid air.

  “Not as long as Humans continue to dominate in critical battles,” said Bulk-holds-Tree. “Since they joined with the Weave, our enemies have pushed us back, taking one world after another, sometimes with impunity. We hurt them, and sometimes we win back lost minds, but these creatures are dangerously prolific, moreso even than the Massood. Amazingly, the more losses they suffer, the harder they fight.”

  “They are unique and could not have b
een anticipated.” Nigh-cold-Singing stirred the air with both tentacles. “Defeat strengthens their resolve, loss intensifies their efforts. They are an infernal paradox. Naturally the Weave is careful to do nothing that might influence their behavior, such as trying to civilize them.”

  “They are no more than cognitive organics, like ourselves,” the somewhat reticent Red-sky-Thinking asserted. “There must be a way they can be overcome.”

  “We have tried one new strategy after another.” Bulk-holds-Tree slapped at the water. “None work for long. This species is too adaptive. And unlike us or any of our allies, they are naturally warlike.”

  “There must be a way,” Sand-sits-Green insisted. “New weapons are under development, additional ships under construction.” Damp eyes probed the others. “It has even been suggested that we employ orbital devices of mass destruction.” Shocked exclamations arose from every mind present, and Sand-sits-Green hastened to explain.

  “I said that this was suggested. It was naturally not countenanced.”

  Places-change-Distant stirred uncomfortably. “Millions slain are millions lost to the Purpose. Besides which the Weave, and certainly the Humans, would respond in kind. The result would be devastated worlds, obliterated populations: a vast gap in the onward march of the Purpose.”

  “And yet,” Sand-sits-Green continued, “if the Weave is ultimately triumphant, the Purpose goes out of the universe forever. Of what use then civilized behavior?”

  “Scaling up the level of annihilation might destroy but could never defeat them.” Takes-short-Thinking snapped out the thought, clean and crisp. “As Places-change-Distant points out, the Weave will match or surpass anything we instigate militarily. What is wanting is a new approach, perhaps even a new way of thinking. Age inevitably admits ossification. We need to reexamine ancient tenets and traditional approaches.” Specular eyes blinked at the ends of stubby eyestalks. “It is time to entertain antitheses.”

  Glean-blue-Saying was younger than many on the Council. It had participated previously, dropped out to pursue other tasks, and only recently been readmitted. It was noted for a certain skewed manner of thinking, and its contributions were highly regarded among those for whom eclecticism was considered an attribute. Though not famed for deep analysis, Glean-blue-Saying was frequently cited as an innovator whose ideas were sifted intently for kernels of usefulness by others with more experience. Among the dozens of often dubious proposals it proffered there came forth the occasional gem.

  So when that worthy finally sallied thoughts into the general pool of contemplation, all paid attention. Whatever Glean-blue-Saying had to contribute might not prove useful, but was certain to be entertaining.

  “I agree with Takes-short-Thinking. We must do something radical and unprecedented. I agree also with Nigh-cold-Singing: we are losing, and will continue to lose, because we cannot defeat the Humans. To triumph ultimately we must assay something else.” The rest of the Council listened patiently, if not hopefully.

  “Let us consider what we know. Humankind is the only semi-intelligent naturally warlike species ever discovered. They are defined by their aggressiveness, their combativeness and the adaptation of their bodies as well as their minds to warfare.” Glean-blue-Saying paused significantly.

  “In fact, it is not unreasonable to assume that the only beings who can ultimately defeat Humans are other Humans.”

  “All this is known,” said Places-change-Distant impatiently. “Our forbears attempted a practical adaptation of that hypothesis by modifying captured Humans to look and think like Ashregan.”

  “The Houcilat-Cossuut project.” Red-sky-Thinking’s remembrance was tinged with regret. “A concept turgid with promise but ultimately a costly failure.”

  “We have in the Molitar allies who are individually stronger than Humans but far less mobile, intelligent, or, one might say, predatory. Work continues on modifying them, but genetic structures are far less malleable than recalcitrant thoughts. Progress is slow.” Places-change-Distant saw the meeting going nowhere and was anxious to return to more useful work. A challenge was issued to Glean-blue-Saying. “What is your point?”

  The individual so addressed hung motionless in the pool. “All of us are aware of the rumor that the Weave has discovered the location of sacrosanct Ail and Eil and that they are preparing, despite elaborate efforts to deceive us as to their actual target, to attack massively. It would seem that even here, on the hallowed twin worlds that gave birth to the Purpose, we are no longer safe. If there is any truth to this intelligence it means that not only must we do something different and effective, we must do it quickly.”

  No one argued with this assessment. The stunning import of the recent intelligence reports had still not sunk in completely among all the members. That the homeworlds themselves should come under Weave attack was a concept scarce to be believed. So concerned had the Amplitur been with preserving the thrust of the Purpose that they had given little thought to protecting themselves.

  “If that information is confirmed,” said Sand-sits-Green, “then we must prepare to defend with everything at our command.”

  “If we bring in sufficient forces to do that,” Takes-short-Thinking countered, “we risk weakening the alliance to the point of collapse. One species after another will fell under Weave authority and be lost to us forever. Of what use to save ourselves and sacrifice the Purpose?”

  “Envision it.” Bulk-holds-Tree shifted uneasily. “Humans, here. Wading through the birthing waters of Eil.” It shuddered, and agitated endothelial chromophores sent waves of dull silver rippling down the length of the pliant mass.

  Places-change-Distant lurched in the direction of the exiting ramp even as its attention was directed at Glean-blue-Saying. “If no one has anything specific to add, I have heavy responsibilities that must be attended to.”

  Thus addressed, that individual continued. “As Sand-sits-Green says, we must prepare to protect the homeworlds. I agree that we should assemble a large defensive force, and fortify the twin worlds impressively. Yet it is generally conceded that we cannot forever resist Human-led attacks. What then should be done? Given that assumption, how can we most usefully proceed? I have a notion.

  “The Weave forces will transpose from Underspace and prepare for landings. When battle is about to be enjoined, when the first bloated transport shuttles with their loads of heavily armed Massood and Human fighters are about to descend to strike at us, when the entire enemy force is tuned to fever pitch, then and only then do we embark on what must be our final, our ultimate stratagem for defeating our enemies.”

  “What stratagem is this?” The skeptical Places-change-Distant was ambulating ponderously toward the egress. “There is no magic, mystical means for resolving the unpleasant reality. If we draw back sufficient forces to defend the homeworlds we sacrifice the alliance. If we do not, then we ourselves are lost.”

  “There is in your observation nothing I disagree with,” Glean-blue-Saying declared.

  “Your intentions are obscure.” Takes-short-Thinking allied itself mentally with Places-change-Distant.

  “I had not intended that it be so.” Green-blue-Saying’s eyestalks rose. “Somehow we must preserve the homeworlds and the font of the Purpose. Furthermore, we can only recover what we have lost to the Weave and ultimately defeat them by stopping the Humans. After devoting much thought and contemplation to this formidable situation I see but one way of accomplishing all this.

  “As soon as the enemy is about to attack, we announce our surrender.”

  Even Places-change-Distant stopped moving.

  The members of the Council stirred uncomfortably. As they were a species not much given to joking, it was assumed that Glean-blue-Saying was being straightforward. Truthfulness did not enter into the equation. The Amplitur did not lie.

  It was left to Takes-short-Thinking to seek clarification. “Even though it is not partial to our evolutionary makeup, we understand humor in the abstract. The mood
today has been grim. Are you attempting in making this suggestion to lighten our dispositions?”

  “Not in the sense you suggest. I am without qualification saying that we should surrender prior to the inevitable final attack. Give up, capitulate, acquiesce. Announce that we have abjured promulgating the Purpose, release those peoples who have allied themselves to our cause from their promises, submit the majority of our weapons systems and Underspace proficiency to Weave supervision, and return to an existence circumscribed by social development and solitary contemplation such as we pursued prior to that time when we were first infused with the light of the Purpose.”

  Places-change-Distant spoke for the others. “An interesting approach to victory. I, for one, fail to see how your proposal aids us in obtaining the objectives you so carefully enumerate. Personally I am not quite ready to put aside the Purpose, nor to turn over to the enemy without a fight control of the homeworlds.”

  “I said nothing about relinquishing the Purpose,” Glean-blue-Saying replied. “I spoke only of announcing that we were doing so as a consequence of surrender. As for turning over the homeworlds to the enemy, they will not wish to spend time and effort administering that which is no longer a threat to them. I am convinced that we will retain full local control, which would hardly be the case subsequent to a devastating military defeat.”

  “The Weave will spread false philosophies and propaganda among our allies. All who have been brought within the Purpose will be lost,” Sand-sits-Green opined.

  “Not all, I think.” Glean-blue-Saying regarded his colleagues. “Surely we have done our work better than that? Many will remain bound through free choice and preference. Others can always be reconvinced. Work neglected can another day be restored.

  “Meanwhile we will be left alone; to talk and to try and persuade, for all that the Weave will be watching, that we do not make too many suggestions to the easily susceptible. They will complain, and we will protest our innocence, and meanwhile we shall make progress where it is most critical. Without having to use that part of our minds which has aided us so heavily in our work in the past.