The False Mirror by Alan Dean Foster

Chapter One

By the time he was twelve years old, Ranji knew he liked to kill. His parents,

naturally, encouraged him.

By the tinge of the Trials he had added four years of experience, education, and

maturity to a great deal of additional height, weight, and strength. With these

came confidence in his abilities, a soft-spoken assurance much admired and

valued by the rest of the soldier-trainees in his age group.

There was no jealousy among them, that being an alien concept shared by the

multitude of monsters whose ultimate goal was the destruction of civilization.

Why would anyone be jealous of him? Were they not all striving for the sane end,

seeking enthusiastically the same results? Achievement among friends was to be

applauded, not en­vied. Who would not wish to have a soldier more skilled in the

arts of combat than oneself fighting on his flank?

So each trainee strove to outdo his or her competitors while simultaneously

urging them to greater achievement.

Until the monsters arrived on the scene, civilization had been advancing

steadily across the cosmos, spreading organization where hitherto had been only

chaos. The pace had been slow but gratifyingly inexorable. Occasional setbacks

were accepted and taken in stride until ground lost could, as it inevitably was,

be regained.

‘Then a thousand or so years ago the alliance of monsters had been encountered,

and everything had changed.

Many were unpleasant to contemplate physically as well as intellectually, while

others differed little in appearance from Ranji’s own kind. The worst were

utterly unpredictable, savage and cunning beyond belief, possessed of a feral

intelligence that made them awful to encounter on the battlefield.

With such as these in the vanguard, the alliance of mon­sters had wreaked

considerable havoc. But their recent advances had been halted, the situation

stabilized. Soon the civilized peoples would begin pushing them back, rescuing

as they advanced those poor, benighted populations who had suffered for

centuries under the monsters’ domin­ion.

Ranji and his friends knew this to be inevitable. Their own training both as

soldiers and civilized citizens proved it so. No matter how strong, the forces

of chaos could never overcome and defeat those of civilization. Not as long as

determined fighters like Ranji-aar and his compan­ions continued to rise through

the ranks to take their place at the forefront of civilization’s defense.

While there was no place in true society for jealousy, room was allowed for

pardonable pride. In the fifteen-to­seventeen-year-old cluster, he and his

trainee squad re­peatedly graded out at or near the top of their class. In fact,

on all of Cossuut only one other squad regularly posted scores matching those of

Ranji’s. That was a group from Kizzmat Township, which lay just on the other

side of the Massmari mountains, near the junction of the rivers Nerse and

Joutoula. Near enough for a friendly rivalry of reputations to have been

invented by the media. As grad­uation exercises progressed, both squads

qualified easily for the planetary finals in their age group.

His mother and father took quiet pride in the effortless qualification of their

son and his friends, as they had in all his achievements. Their delight was

perhaps magnified somewhat by the fact that neither of them had been a sol­dier.

Ranji’s father worked in a factory which produced nanotronic components, while

his mother was a teacher. Certainly her tutoring abilities contributed to

Ranji’s success. as well as to that of his younger brother, Saguio, and his baby

sister, Cynsa.

Though jealousy was unknown among the trainees, it was still a good thing that

Ranji was not the best at every thing. His friend Birachii-uun was stronger,

Cossinza-iiv much faster. But in Ranji was found the best combination of warrior

attributes, a fact which was reflected in his in­dividual scores. Certainly he

was the smartest of his com­panions.

Though only sixteen, he was often nominated to serve as leader during important

exercises. This was almost unheard of. Strategy leaders were inevitably chosen

from the ranks of seniors: seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. Fully conscious of

such honors, he carried them well. Coupled with exceptional organizational

skills, his drive and deter­mination rarely disappointed those who placed their

faith in him. His ability was a fact his peers recognized and applauded.

He took pleasure in his accomplishments because he saw how much they pleased his

parents. To him, appro­bation meant little. He was interested only in the job at

hand, and in doing it well. For that reason he looked for­ward eagerly to the

coming graduation finals.

Until those were passed there was always the chance of failing, of not being

awarded full soldier status. Even accomplished students like Ranji had been

known to crack under the pressure. No opprobrium attached to such individuals.

They simply served the war effort in some other fashion more suited to their

actual skills.

Ranji was calm and ready. He had no intention of fail­ing. He could not fail.

Not only did he want, like any healthy member of his species, to be a soldier:

he head to be. He knew, sensed, felt, that he’d been born to it. To kill and

chance being killed in the defense of civilization. To fight the enemy for real,

not merely in simulations.

He always tried to approach the schooling simulations in that state of mind,

striving to convince himself that he was not participating in simple tests but

was actually engaging in combat against the monsters; killing for real,

destroying them one after another to protect his civiliza­tion, his friends, his

world.

Not to mention revenging his real mother and father.

Along with the parents of most of his friends, they had perished when the

monsters had invaded and destroyed Houcilat. He, his brother, and his sister had

been adopted and raised on Cossuut.

He had studied the history of the incident from an early age, and the details

had long ago burned themselves into his memory. How the monsters had swept down

without warning to ravage and obliterate every structure, every vestige .of

civilization in their lust for destruction. How they had seared the planet’s

surface so badly that it could no longer support higher life. And most

meritoriously, how a few shuttles had darted gallantly through the withering

enemy fire to rescue what survivors they could, including himself and his

siblings, and carry them to the safety of waiting starships and an eventual life

of comparative peace on Cossuut.

His teachers had put off explaining his history to him until he was old enough

to comprehend, if not to under­stand. Only when he asked for the information was

it supplied. As he studied, and learned, he developed the determination which

had characterized him throughout his adolescence.

He carried the horrific images of vanished Houcilat with him into every test,

every trial. They added resolve to his efforts, enabling him to rise above even

those of his mates, whose histories were no less tragic than his own.

There were twenty-five of them, the same number as in an actual commissioned

attack squad. They had practiced together, trained together since childhood,

defeating one school team after another. Now the culmination of those untiring

efforts was at hand. Some of his friends were apprehensive, others uncertain. As

for Ranji, he burned with anticipation.

Suddenly there were no more teams to defeat, no more bedazzled opponents to

overwhelm and intimidate. Ranji and his friends had reached the summit of

achievement: the planetary finals for their age cluster. Of the hundreds of

squads that had entered in hopes of being declared un­disputed strategic

champions, only the team from Kizzmat Township stood in the way of Ranji and his

friends. Mys­terious, enigmatic Kizzmat, from over the Massmari mountains.

Kizzmat, who in defeating one competitor af­ter another had demonstrated skills

and swiftness equal to Ranji’s own.

He was not worried. No matter their opponents’ record, Ranji and his friends

never took them lightly. Such cau­tion, along with many other talents, was the

legacy of their class-level supervisor.

Instructor Kouuad was shorter than he seemed to be. Extensive combat experience

and many honors gave him stature. Indeed, it was unusual for so experienced a

soldier to be assigned to teach younger age levels. From the time they were old

enough to understand such things, Ranji and his companions were conscious of

their great luck in hav­ing Kouuad as their teacher.

Kouuad-iel-an’s field career had been brought to an early and untimely end by a

severe injury which not even the best physicians had been able to completely

repair. It was rumored that he had suffered the damage in hand-to-hand combat,

with one of the most vicious of the monsters them­selves. His fellow teachers

held him in some awe. The effect of his reputation on his pupils was profound.

It was mentioned that access to such an extraordinary instructor gave the

trainees of Ciilpaan an unfair advantage over the others in their age cluster.

All such protests were disallowed by the officials. It was the trainees who took

the tests, not their teacher. As for Ranji and his friends, they were more than

willing to credit Kouuad for much of their success.

“I warn you now,” the venerable soldier told them. one morning when they had

assembled for practice. “Hitherto you have run over, around, and through your

opposition.

But this is no mere township exercise approaching. These are your cluster’s

planetary finals. Career success can be guaranteed in a few days. The trainees

of Kizzmat know this. You need to ponder it as well.

“Remember that their record is as proud as yours. They will not go down easily.

I have seen recordings of them in action. They are tougher and more resourceful

than any group you have yet confronted.” Kouuad paced back and forth in front of

the large-screen simulator.

“Do not let your successes go to your heads. Everything you have achieved in

your lives to date is history. All your accomplishments lie in the past. Only

this forthcoming confrontation matters. Everything else is dust. That is as true

of real combat as of simulated.

`.Realize, too, that even as I speak thus to you, they are receiving similar

advice, they will be equally well pre­pared. ” He stopped and smiled proudly,

squinting through aged eyes that had seen too much death.

“You have met every challenge thrown at you. All that remains is your cluster

championship for all Cossuut. Bear in mind that beyond this lies actual combat

against the monsters. If you can advance that day in your minds and approach

this competition as if actual warfare were in­volved, I think you will do well.

Realize that you compete not for pride or prize, but to preserve civilization.”

Amusement suffused his expression.

“There is nothing wrong with winning a prize, though. The record of your

performance, both individually and as a group, will become a matter of

permanence. You want that record to be approving. –

“Don’t worry, honored teacher,” said an enthusiastic Bielon. “We intend to win.”

Murmurs of agreement rose from those around her.

“What about the Kizzmatis’ methods?” came a ques­tion from the back row.

” Yes,” said another. “How do they differ from what we have encountered so far?

“

“Strategically we do not know what to expect, ” Kouuad explained. “Their tactics

are unpredictable. That has been one of their greatest strengths, as it has been

one of yours. They are famous improvisers, swift and decisive. Those of you who

are squad leaders will therefore accrue addi­tional burdens in the field. The

rest of you must obey your leaders’ instructions implicitly. There will be no

time for animated, lengthy tactical debate in this competition. Things will

happen quickly. The Kizzmati are fast.” He stared hard at them. “I am counting

on you to be faster.”

He was silent for a long moment. “These are the plan­etary finals. There will be

no opprobrium attached to losing, no disgrace in defeat. To finish second among

thousands is the grandest of accomplishments.”

“We’re not coming in second!” someone shouted from the back. Kouuad tilted his

head slightly and smiled anew.

“You have already exceeded the achievements of the majority of your

contemporaries. Despite the knowledge that the greatest prize of all is within

your grasp, you should not forget that.” He checked his chronometer.

“I have nothing more to teach you. I suggest you all go home and try to get a

good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morn­ing we leave for the competition site in the

Joultasik foot­hills. “

A buzz of conversation rose from Ranji’s friends. Until then they had not been

told where the competition was to be held. Secrecy insured that neither side

would be able to spy in advance on the competition matrix and thus gain an

unfair advantage over the competition.

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 laze 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 laze 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. Ire 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

laze. All they had to do was enter and take it.

Chapter Two

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.” Tourrnast-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 Tourtnast-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?” Tounnast

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.

“I can see the fire off to the west. Still no sign of anyone in front of us.”

Ranji considered. “So all of them are engaging Squad Two … or else there’s

more of them ahead, waiting for us.” He eyed his companions. As usual, they were

waiting for him to make the decisions.

“We’re moving. Not flanking. Straight ahead and in close-order single file. If

they’re all on Squad Two, then we’ll be able to slip in behind. If not, we offer

as small a target as possible and try to sneak past to the next partition.

Kinjoww-uiv, you take tail position.” The girl nodded. She had wonderful

reflexes and would hopefully insure that as they advanced no enemy troops would

slip up on their rear.

“No shooting unless you’re positive you have a target.” Letting the

sharp-sighted Tourmast lead the way, he rolled onto his belly and followed his

colleague into the brash.

His hands were protected by field gloves, but loose gravel scraped his cheeks.

He found himself wishing for the soft sands of the desert environment they had

traversed two partitions back. Participants, naturally, had no control over the

Trial environments. He reminded himself that students who spent time complaining

about the harshness of their surroundings rarely did well in competition. It

was, of course, irrelevant to actual combat.

Boots paused ahead of him. “I see them,” Tourmast whispered back tersely. “Three

… no, four. They’re not looking this way. They’re all firing at Squad Two’s

position.”

“Got one, got one!” The soft yell of triumph whispered over the communicator. If

Birachii’s people were indeed occupying the full attention of the enemy and

doing well in the bargain, then it opened up all sorts of strategic

possibilities for Ranji’s squad. At the least, it meant they were already in

position to wipe out a good portion of Squad Two’s assailants, at little risk to

themselves. They had been presented with a wonderful opportunity.

Too wonderful.

If their reputation was legitimate, and there was no reason to assume it was

otherwise, it was hard to believe the Kizzmatis would leave themselves open in

such a fashion, much less throw all their resources into an all-out attack on

Birachii’s well-defended hill position. Ranji made up his mind quickly.

“Keep moving . . . and don’t slow down!”

“But . . .”

He hurried to stifle dissent. “I know what you’re all thinking. That we should

go to, Birachii’s aid. But if they are trying to flank him, he’s in good

position to hold them off; if they’re not, then this is our best chance to slip

past and make progress through the Maze. That’s our ultimate objective. So let’s

move.”

The battle of light pistols raged silently on their left as they hurried

forward, halting only when the next intersection became visible. Ahead Ranji

could make out vegetation denser than any they’d yet encountered. Specific

shapes were blurred by a dark curtain of rain. No moisture fell in the partition

they currently occupied. A light, cool breeze blew in their faces while a glance

behind showed only distant flashes of light.

“Up and left,” he ordered curtly. Rising in a body, they headed toward the

portal in a crouching run.

Which sent them stumbling into the squad of startled Kizzmatis who were busily

occupied in excavating a defensive position just inside the next intersection.

Clearly they expected that any advancing Ciilpaan would be tied down by the

firefight behind. So confident were they of having enough time to finish their

fortifications that they hadn’t even posted a guard. Tools fashioned from

locally obtained Maze materials were thrown aside as the Kizzmatis scrambled

wildly for their weapons.

In the ensuing close-quarter gunfight Ranji “lost” two of his own people before

all five of the enemy could be taken out. Now he found himself regarding the

sullen Kizzmati squad leader as he contemplated new options. The youth was even

taller and more muscular than Ranji himself.

“You’re good.” His opponent spoke reluctantly as he sat on the slab of rock

where he’d been ‘ ‘killed.” “Real good.” He grinned unpleasantly, displaying a

true warrior’s smile. “But it won’t matter. The outcome will be the same.”

As if on cue, Ranji’s communicator suddenly filled the air with shouts and

curses. “Birachii!” Ranji yelled into the pickup. “What’s happening? What’s

going on?”

His friend’s voice was panicky. “Behind us! They were behind us all the time.

They were behind us before the shooting started! They just wanted to find out

how many of us there were before they attacked. They . . . !”

Communications ceased. “Birachii!” Ranji said tightly. “Birachii, report. Anyone

from Squad Two, report.” Silence taunted him.

The enemy squad leader looked smug. “Taken out. All of ’em.”

Slowly Ranji let his wrist communicator drop, gazed narrowly at his defeated

opponent. “We’re even, then. Your people have taken Birachii’s squad; we’ve

taken yours.”

“At the cost of forty percent of your strength,” the squad leader reminded him,

alluding to the pair of Ranji’s companions who’d received fatal “hits” during

the unexpected confrontation.

“You don’t know how many of your own went down in the fight with Birachii’s

squad. Our strength in this part of the Maze could still be equal.”

“I doubt it.” The Kizzmati leader and his companions exchanged amused glances.

“You see, we’re all here.” He nodded toward the now distant end of the

partition.

“What are you talking about?” Tourmast looked uneasy.

“All twenty-five of us. All five squads. We just blasted through the main

entrance and kept moving as fast as we could, figuring you’d split up to try

different passages. That way we’d be in shape to overwhelm any opposition.”

Tourmast was shaking his head. “That’s old, outmoded strategy. Nobody fights

like that anymore. It’s too predictable, too easy to defend against.”

The squad leader’s grin widened. “Sure is. That’s why we figured it’d be the

last thing you’d be expecting.”

“A concerted defense could have pinned you down here long enough for one of our

squads to take your headquarters,” Ranji pointed out.

His opponent nodded. “Sure could. But it hasn’t, and now it won’t. Your squad

can’t do a damn thing now. All our remaining forces are between you and your

headquarters. You’re finished.”

“In real combat a single burst could have wiped out your entire group,”

Tourmast observed angrily.

“This isn’t real combat. Neither side has access to heavy weapons. All we’re

given are these.” He held up his light pistol, which had automatically

deactivated the instant its owner had suffered his fatal “injury.” “You modify

tactics to adapt to local conditions.” He turned his attention back to Ranji.

“I’m estimating from our speed of advance that the body of our group is more

than halfway to your headquarters, with nothing between them that is capable of

stopping them. You’re fast. . . faster than any group we’ve ever fought. But it

won’t do you any good. Because the rest of your people are advancing in

expectation of encountering resistance, and there isn’t any. We’re all here, in

one place.”

“That means your headquarters is completely undefended,” Ranji observed.

“Unless I’m lying to you.” His opponent was clearly enjoying himself. “Are you

going to base strategy on the words of a ‘dead’ opponent? Not that it matters. I

was watching your face when I made my guess. We are more than halfway to your

headquarters. Which means that you’re less than halfway to ours. There’s no way

you can get there first.

“If you’ve any sense at all you’ll have left one squad behind to defend.

There’ll be at least ten to fifteen of us attacking. The outcome’s inevitable.

Why not register your surrender now?” The Kizzmati stretched. “The sooner we

march out of here and off Trial rations, the more pleasant it’ll be for all of

us.”

“Not a chance,” Tourmast growled.

Their opponent looked disappointed. “Oh, well. Prolong it if you must.”

Ranji turned to leave, hesitated. “How can you be so sure your group will get to

our headquarters before any of our people can reach yours? Maybe this isn’t the

shortest route through the Maze. Maybe your other squads will wander around for

days in search of the right intersection.”

The squad leader put his hands behind his head, leaned back. “Oh, this is the

shortest route, all right. You see, six days ago we were finally able to bribe

the member of the Trials committee we’d been in contact with to provide us with

a map.” A stunned Ranji noted that this confession was uttered without a hint of

embarrassment or regret.

“You can’t do that. It will invalidate the results!”

“Think so? The Trials are supposed to simulate real combat conditions. That

means you win by any means possible short of inflicting actual physical injury

on your opponents. There’s nothing in the rules against bribery. At worst we’ll

have to repeat the Finals in a new Maze. Myself, I think we’ll gain merit for

innovation.

“The teachers aren’t interested in methodology. Their sole concern is turning

out winners, survivors. For all you and I know, this is the standard tactic

previous Finals winners have employed.”

Ranji walked off to confer with his two surviving companions.

“He can’t be right . . . can he?” Weenn looked dazed. “Knowing the route through

the Maze would give them an unbeatable advantage.”

“No wonder they felt safe in keeping their whole strength together,” Tourmast

muttered. “Surely the judges won’t uphold this.”

“Unless the Kizzmati is right and they’re only interested in who wins, and not

by what means.” Weenn looked less than confident.

“I don’t know.” Ranji was thinking furiously. “If we could get in touch with

Squads One and Five we could bring them into the fight, but it would mean

searching parallel partitions. We don’t have near enough time. With Birachii’s

people out of the way they’ll be on our headquarters before we could catch up

with them.” His gaze rose.

“If they can use unconventional tactics, so can we.”

“What do you mean?” Weenn asked.

“Everybody has their cutter?” His companions checked their service belts for the

tool, which was intended to help them in downing and shaping vegetation for

defensive fortifications and shelter.

“We’re going on, into the next partition. And watch yourselves. Like their squad

leader said, he might’ve been lying.”

They left their smug opponents behind. They would be restricted to the place

where they had been removed from the competition, their weapons and

instrumentation deactivated.

“If there are fifteen to twenty of them operating together and they know exactly

where they’re going, why are we wasting our time?” Tourmast struck angrily at a

protruding branch. “We’re going to have to rely on the determination of the

judges.”

“I’m not relying on anybody but myself,” Ranji shot back.

The next partition was filled with cool, dry deciduous forest. While his

companions kept puzzled watch, Ranji circled trees until he found what he

wanted.

“Get out your cutters,” he ordered, making three marks on the nearest trunk with

his own. “Cut here, and here. Everybody pick a side.”

“What’s the point of building a barrier?” Weenn demanded to know even as he set

to work.

“We’re not making a barrier.” Smoke rose from the trunk. ‘ ‘Just do as I say.”

Working in unison, they soon had the tree felled. Ranji pocketed his cutter and

started climbing. Tourmast gaped at him.

“You can’t do that, Ranj. This is cheating, too.”

His squad leader looked down at him. “If they’re going to invalidate this Trial,

it might as well be with equanimity. Are you coming or not?”

Tourmast and Weenn exchanged a glance. Then Weenn started up the slanting trunk.

His companion followed.

Strange to be standing atop a partition wall. It was barely as wide as his boot,

Ranji noted. Just wide enough to walk . . . provided you put one foot carefully

in front of the other, had no fear of heights and superb balance.

Below and to his right lay the partition of deciduous forest. Behind them haze

rose from the temperate desert until it was blocked by the artificial

atmospheric inversion layer of the Maze. His left hand hung over wave-tossed

water thick with the smell of salt: an oceanic environment. Lucky they hadn’t

chosen to enter that one. If he fell he wanted to make sure it was to his right.

Better bruises and broken bones than immersion.

Demonstrating their unsurpassed training to the full, the three Ciilpaanians

headed north, running along the crest of the narrow wall.

It all looked so easy, so simple from up here, Ranji reflected as he ran.

Habitats which on the ground would have blocked or hindered their progress

slipped rapidly past.

Once, they observed figures slogging through a low, boggy environment, advancing

in a familiar diamond pattern. He recognized Gjiann’s squad and wanted to call

out to her but did not, knowing she could not hear him. Each partition was

sealed for sound as well as ecology, to prevent groups in neighboring partitions

from communicating with one another by the simple means of shouting over the

barriers. He ran on.

The number of walls decreased as they progressed, until Ranji ordered a slowdown

above a partition filled from one side to the other with a field of tall golden

grain. A compact complex of monitoring instrumentation, the Kizzmati

headquarters lay at its far end. They had reached the last partition, the north

end of the Maze. The unit’s internal lights were on, indicating that the distant

Ciilpaan headquarters continued to function. A Kizzmati banner fluttered

overhead.

Beyond the headquarters Ranji thought he could make out a couple of senior

referees, standing in the shade and chatting idly. They did not see the three

Ciilpaanians who crouched atop the wall for the simple reason that there was no

reason for them to look up.

“The Kizzmati didn’t lie,” Tourmast murmured. “I don’t see any defenders.”

“That doesn’t mean they didn’t install some kind of defense.” Ranji pointed.

Stretching in a sweeping curve from one wall to the other immediately in front

of the headquarters instrumentation was an exquisitely camouflaged ditch. Ranji

admired the workmanship. At ground level it would be quite invisible. An

attacker getting this far and seeing no defenders in sight would likely rush

across the last open space to touch the switch on the beacon mast and proclaim

victory, only to stumble into the wonderfully well-concealed trap. The entire

Kizzmati team must have set to work in an orgy of excavation the instant the

Trial had begun, moving out only after it had been completed. They’d had the

time to install such a complex defense only because they’d known from the

beginning the shortest path through the Maze.

Though you couldn’t design something whose intent was to physically injure an

opponent, he suspected that anyone falling into the ditch would not find it a

simple matter to climb out.

“See,” Weenn was saying as he pointed. “It goes all the way from one wall to the

other, and it’s too wide to jump. Cozzinza’s squad could have made it all this

way only to be trapped or stopped at the last minute.”

Ranji was nodding to himself as he studied the layout. “No trees in this

partition; only grains. Nothing to build a bridge with. No wonder their squad

leader was so confident. They were sure they had an unstoppable offense and an

impregnable defense.”

Weenn shook his head slowly. “No way we could have won with normal tactics.”

“So we’ll use abnormal ones.”

Tourmast was frowning. “Not only is there nothing to build a bridge with here,

there’re no trees to climb, either. How do we get down?”

“Quickly.” Ranji squinted south through Maze haze. Having long since overwhelmed

Birachii’s squad, the Kizzmatis were doubtless moving fast toward the Ciilpaani

headquarters.

The internal walls of the Maze were perfectly smooth, perfectly vertical. An

insect could not find a purchase on that slick surface.

Ranji rose from his crouch to regard his companions. “Weenn, cross around. I’m

going to have the two of you drop me.”

“I dunno, Ranji.” Tourmast was estimating the height of the drop. “It won’t do

us any good if you break both legs.”

“It won’t do us any good to squat up here wondering, either.” Turning, he knelt

and gripped the edge of the wall as best he could with both hands, then lowered

himself over the edge.

His companions lay down on their stomachs and pressed their thighs and knees

against the opposite side of the wall. Each took one of Ranji’s wrists in their

hands and lowered him another half body length toward the waving, beckoning

grain below. It was at that moment that one of the referees spotted them. Ranji

decided that the look on his face was worth everything it had taken to get to

this point, even if he and his friends were eventually disqualified.

Shutting his eyes, he ran through a series of relaxation exercises. When he was

through there was nothing more to be done but to do it. ‘ ‘Okay,” he whispered

brusquely. The restraining pressure on his wrists vanished.

It seemed a million minutes to the ground. He flexed his knees as he struck, but

the impact was still considerable. The shock ran from his feet all the way up to

his neck and he crumpled onto his right side.

When he tried to stand, the shooting pain that blasted through his left leg

brought him back to the ground. Whether it was broken or simply badly twisted he

didn’t know. He crawled for a while, then managed to straighten by using the

unyielding wall as a brace against his back. Limping severely, pain dulling his

vision, he stumbled toward the Kizzmati headquarters beacon.

His friends had dropped him behind the defensive ditch, so the only thing that

was stopping him from flipping the switch on the beacon was the pain that

threatened to overwhelm his senses. He knew Tourmast and Weenn must be cheering

him on, though he couldn’t hear them. They were above the inversion layer.

Having stopped at the Maze entrance, the two senior referees stared openmouthed

at the advancing limping figure. Ranji could hear people running toward the

site, though the pain made it impossible for him to identify individual shapes.

There were a few cheers, but mostly the air was dense with stunned silence.

He felt himself weaving and swaying and fought to stay erect and keep moving

through the pain. It was entirely up to him, he knew. Neither Weenn nor Tourmast

could take such a fall.

He wondered how close the Kizzrnatis were to his own headquarters as he threw

himself forward to slam an open palm against the beacon switch. He was very

careful to hit it the first time because he sensed through fading thoughts that

he would not be able to muster enough strength or control for a second try.

As it turned out, they beat the Kizzmatis by less than four minutes.

Chapter Three

To say that the outcome of that particular Finals Trial was controversial was to

say that the monsters were somewhat incorrect in their opposition to the tenets

of civilized society. Debate roiled the general population as well as the Trials

committee for days thereafter.

In the end it was decided that since the rules barred only physical violence

from the competition, everything else must be allowed. And since the Kizzmatis

had been the first to utilize what the committee referred to euphemistically as

“unorthodox tactics,” they could hardly object to the Ciilpaanians responding in

similar fashion.

Ranji’s group was declared winner.

The decision produced no animosity among the losers. There was no shame in

finishing second in a worldwide contest, and after all, their ultimate aim, the

advance of civilization and the conversion or defeat of the monsters, remained

the same. The Kizzmati group leader went out of his way to congratulate Ranji on

his inspired leadership.

“We were lucky,” Ranji told him. “Extremely lucky. I could just as easily have

crippled myself.”

“In the end we underestimated you,” the Kizzmati replied. “We were convinced we

had devised a plan that could not fail. I now believe that plans of that nature

are inevitably doomed to failure.”

They sat together in a young persons’ eating establishment, sharing strategies

and stories as though both groups had won, which indeed they had.

“Wouldn’t you have been confident? We had overwhelming firepower, a map of the

Maxe, and a solid defensive scheme.”

“I sure would.” Ranji was gracious in victory.

The Kizzmati leader sipped from a cup. “The one thing we didn’t count on was an

opponent capable of thinking more perverted than ours.” He grinned and they all

laughed softly together.

Except for the ever somber Weenn. “I wonder what fighting the monsters will be

like?”

“It doesn’t matter.” The last Trial over, Ranji was brimming with confidence and

self-esteem. “We will defeat them no matter what stratagems they may choose to

employ.”

“They win a lot of battles.” The Kizzmati second-in-command gazed into his

drink. “It’s said that in one-on-one combat they can’t be beaten.”

“They’ve never met anything like us,” Tourmast shot back. “Our great Kouuad says

that we’re as good as them, maybe better, and he should know. He fought them for

years.”

“I’m sure we’ll get the chance to find out,” Ranji murmured.

“Myself, I can’t wait.” Tourmast made a melodramatic show of raising his cup.

Comrades together now, Kizzmati and Ciilpaani toasted their future.

The future arrived sooner than they expected, immediately following their

official graduation the following year to warrior rank, and in a manner that

surprised them all.

Those who had achieved high scores expected to be promoted to officer status and

given command of fighting units. Instead, the top hundred achievers were

combined into a unique fast-attack group, to be utilized in special situations.

Disappointment was minimal, as it meant that childhood friends would stay

together instead of being spread across the cosmos.

Despite all his training, despite years of anticipation, Ranji was surprised to

discover how upset he was at the prospect of leaving Cossuut.

They were a year older. Faster, stronger, smarter, he and his friends were

confident of their ability to handle anything the monsters could send against

them. They were all impatient to test their skills in real combat.

Their destination was a planet called Koba, a lightly populated world where

recently settled monsters had established a foothold against the forces of

civilization. In such conditions a small, irresistible force could hopefully

achieve results all out of proportion to its size.

They had real weapons now, explosive and energy both. No more training pistols.

No more simulations and partitions and mazes. No more toys. Ranji had been

appointed second-in-command after the Kizzmati veteran Soratii-eev, perhaps

because of the difference in their ages. Ranji did not feel in the least

slighted. Soratii was a clever and accomplished commander, and it would be an

honor to serve under him.

If the new soldiers were intimidated by anything, it was the confidence far more

senior soldiers placed in their prospects.

As they prepared for emergence from Underspace and the subsequent rapid drop to

Koba’s contested surface, Ranji found he was surprisingly calm. Regardless of

what they might face on the surface below he had unlimited confidence in his

colleagues, no matter whether they hailed from Ciilpaan, Kizzmat, or elsewhere

on Cossuut. Together they constituted a cohesive fighting unit the likes of

which civilization had never seen before.

Furthermore, they were motivated by something few others possessed: a desire, a

need, for revenge.

Ranji wasn’t thinking of that as the Underspace emergence warning sounded. He

was thinking of his parents; of his younger brother Saguio who was now

undergoing the same testing Ranji had passed in such accomplished fashion. Of

his little sister Cynsa, and of his birth parents. Others might fight to protect

their friends, to defend the cause of civilization, but he would fight so that

he could return to those he loved.

Koba was a blessedly cool world distinguished by rolling grassy plains and high,

heavily treed plateaus. Though diverse in content, the local ecosystem was

unspectacular, dominated by the dense evergreen forests of the plateaus. Animal

life tended to frequent the green canopy or burrow underground. Large predators

were unknown, possibly due to the absence of ground cover in the form of bushes

and high grasses in which prey animals could hide and thrive. There was no

native intelligent species.

A hundred years before, the enemy had placed a number of scientific

installations on Koba. They’d held it ever since. Large-scale colonization had

commenced only recently. It was the kind of expansion civilized beings had to

contest. The enemy had resisted, thus far successfully, expanding their local

production of domestic food animals and grains. They had also begun to exploit

Koba’s mineral deposits. The place was in danger of becoming a significant

contributor to the war effort. Not a particularly rich world, but one whose

resources were definitely worth denying to the spreading forces of evil.

Major forces could not be spared to attack Koba, but it was decided that one or

two quick surgical strikes might render the enemy’s position there less than

tenable. While substantial, planetary defenses were widely dispersed. It would

take time to bring them to bear on an assault.

This was confirmed by the fact that Ranji’s group was able to make the drop to

the surface without incident and with all their equipment intact. Nor were they

forced to deal with immediate opposition. Perhaps the locals were confused by

the size of the invasion, on the face of it far too small to present any real

threat. They would be even more unsettled by the movements of Ranji’s group,

which in a radical departure from traditional strategy had been empowered to

operate independent of the rest of the landing force.

The new, high-performance air-repulsion skids the attackers brought for surface

travel were virtually noiseless. Their minimal heat signature allowed the strike

force to advance rapidly under cover of night. While other groups engaged local

defenses, Ranji’s simply raced out over the flat plains, bypassing enemy

positions on several occasions.

They were heading for the high country, their target the communications and

information center for the most heavily populated portion of the planet. Despite

the speed of their advance there was some question as to whether they would even

get into position to attack. Within a day of their touchdown, enemy opposition

had stiffened to the point of wiping out several assault groups, and Command was

forced to consider calling a quick retreat off-world. Fortunately, enough senior

officers demurred. But if they expected to remain on Koba, they would have to

show some progress.

Ranji’s group continued to avoid detection by the enemy. In that respect they

had already proved their worth.

The communications complex was located on the outskirts of the major population

center, which itself was strung out along the edge of one of the numerous high

plateaus which dominated Koban topography. The plateau sloped down to the

plains. It was from there that Ranji’s group intended to make their final push.

Instead of landing and attacking atop the plateau as the enemy would expect,

Soratii and his advisors had decided to cross the plain below and work their way

up a shallow canyon, following a cascading river system. Only when they had

begun to ascend was their presence finally detected and the alarm passed to the

city’s defenders.

Ranji’s group threw back one counterattack after another as they continued to

move upslope, traveling in twos and threes to further confuse an already badly

rattled enemy. They advanced on both sides of the white-water cataract, whose

noise and constant motion further served to mask their approach. Light

camouflage armor blocked individual heat signatures, so that the defenders were

forced to try and pinpoint each oncoming soldier visually.

Fighting became fragmented as the terrain grew steeper and more difficult, with

squads unable to effectively support one another. As geology was neutral in any

conflict, the enemy was forced to deal with the same problem. This led to a

chaotic battlefield situation, especially at night. Ranji’s people throve in the

resulting confusion.

Flashes of light from energy weapons and continual explosions filled his senses

as he ascended. They soon found themselves in among the large trees and dense

tracts of forest which clung to the upper slopes, rendering fighting even more

difficult. Thanks to the presence of running water they were able to travel

lighter than usual. Even in an era of advanced instrumentation and sophisticated

weaponry, the absence of clean water could still be more debilitating to troops

on the move than heavy explosives.

Ranji was thankful for the presence of the dense vegetation, which screened them

from aerial surveillance. With luck and camouflage suits, they would be on top

of the communications complex before the enemy knew what hit them. If they could

destroy that it would not only panic the local population, it would put a

considerable crimp in the enemy’s efforts to coordinate a planetary defense. An

intense firefight broke out off to his immediate left, on the far side of the

river. They were close enough to the run of the plateau now to see the first of

many communications antennae protruding into the night sky, though the

structures from which they sprouted were still concealed by slope and trees.

Closed-beam communicators on both sides were frenetic with shouted orders and

reports.

Ignoring the difficulties of his compatriots on the other side of the cascade,

Ranji led his own group onward.

They had just crested the rim when they ran into the enemy squad, advancing

cautiously through deepening twilight. The defenders were in the process of

crossing the river, intent on joining what they perceived to be the major

engagement taking place just below.

Ranji waited until the enemy troops were halfway across before giving the order

for his people to open fire from the cover of rocks and trees. That their

presence was still unsuspected was confirmed by the surprise among the defenders

as they were attacked. Those caught out in midstream had nowhere to run, though

from Ranji’s standpoint too many escaped. Most went down, either on the rocks or

in the water itself. Limp and lifeless, one body after another was lifted by the

current and carried downstream. The survivors scattered back into the forest.

It offered Ranji his first opportunity to examine the monsters at close range.

Only a few of the corpses were wearing armor or camouflage, further proof that

the assault had caught the defenders of the communications complex unaware.

Given its strategic importance, Ranji was surprised. Overconfidence, or simply a

lack of adequate preparation? Clearly they hadn’t expected any of the invaders

to come this far this fast.

Tourmast knelt and rolled one of the bodies over. Only the upper half was

armored. A gaping hole showed darkly in the lower portion of the abdomen. Though

Ranji had studied innumerable images of the monsters, it was still something of

a shock to view one close up.

Just as in the tridimensional imagery he’d been exposed to as a student, the

similarities were impressive. There was little enough to differentiate him from

the body on the ground. Physically, that is, he reminded himself. Mentally and

morally the gulf between himself and the creature that lay dead in the dirt was

vast.

“We don’t want to linger here,” he muttered uncomfortably. “Let’s keep moving.”

Tourmast grunted and rose as Ranji checked in with the rest of his group via

communicator.

The squads on the other side of the river had been hurt, but had quickly beaten

back the counterattack and regrouped. They were moving upslope again and were

not far from Ranji’s present advanced position. The single enemy slider which

had come a-hunting with heavy weapons had been shot down. As they had hoped, the

majority of the enemy’s ordnance was occupied farther south, engaging larger

elements of the invasion. Their opposition was lightly armed.

They expected to encounter heavier resistance as they spread out and raced

toward the target, and were pleasantly surprised to find little in the way of

opposition. Brushing that aside, they entered the complex and methodically took

it apart. The communications personnel had fled just ahead of them. After every

piece of instrumentation had been melted or otherwise dismantled, the buildings

themselves were reduced to ashes. Ranji regarded his group’s handiwork proudly.

It would be a long, long time before anyone dispatched so much as a friendly

greeting from this location.

They departed just as enemy reinforcements began to arrive from the nearby city,

leaving them to contemplate the total destruction of the communications complex

as well as the absence of its perpetrators, who were already retreating rapidly

under cover of night.

Halfway down, the slope leveled off enough for them to use their skids. Now it

would be difficult if not impossible for the enemy to catch them, Ranji thought

with satisfaction. Rather than being tired, he found that he was eager to embark

on the next operation. His colleagues and friends shared his feelings.

The following morning the enemy did its best to cut them off. Maybe they

expected the ravagers of the communications complex to be exhausted from the

previous night’s activities. Ranji’s group smashed through them, not even

deigning to take up a defensive posture and wait for assistance.

An enemy female slung her slider alongside, firing as she did so. He evaded,

whirled, and came back atop her. As he shot her at close range it occurred to

him that she was rather pretty, for a monster. There was, however, nothing to

love in the brief glimpse he had of her distorted, unnaturally gaunt face.

Trailing smoke and flame, her craft slammed into the dry plain below.

A heavier attack came later that evening. This time large aircraft were

involved. We really upset them, Ranji mused as he glanced backward and smiled.

The enemy was furiously engaged in demolishing the decoy vehicles his group had

left behind for just such a purpose.

By the next morning the numerous skids and their triumphant operators were

streaking unopposed across rolling plains, well beyond range of attack.

Their initial mission had been a complete success. In addition, the group had

sustained minimal casualties, remarkable considering the riskiness of the

operation and the fact that monsters had been prominent in the defense of the

complex.

Ranji took time to visit the wounded. All were in good spirits, not in the least

depressed by their injuries. Among the special assault group’s personnel, only

two had been lost. All of the injured had been successfully evacuated and were

intact enough to be medically restored. It was an unprecedented accomplishment.

The destruction of the facility had seriously complicated the Kobans’ defense.

Non-Cossuutian Ashregan and Crigolit forces which had been pushed back used the

resultant confusion for a breathing spell, and in two instances were actually

able to resume their advance.

Though Ranji and his friends were anxious to return to combat, they were

informed by their superiors that they were too valuable to risk so soon in

another similar operation. Instead, to their considerable disappointment, they

were ordered off-world.

“You’ve earned your reward,” a senior officer informed him as they chatted on

board the transport ship. It hovered safely in Underspace, in orbit around

Koba’s single moon.

“But righting on Koba continues,” Ranji protested. “We can help. We can …”

“You did what you were brought here to do,” the officer informed him brusquely.

Then she added, more gently,

“I myself do not know why you were evacuated. I personally think your mere

presence below would be a considerable asset to our efforts. Everyone knows of

your group’s accomplishments. But it is not for me to question. My orders were

to see your people taken safely off-planet. Command is not always generous with

explanations.”

“What now?” Disappointed but resigned, Ranji leaned back in the lounge and

crossed his legs.

“I believe you are to be singularly honored,” the officer informed him.

“How can anyone be honored for one operation?” Tourmast fingered the skintight

attached to his forehead, where he’d been grazed by an enemy energy bolt. Skin

and bone were healing nicely, Ranji noticed. “Especially when the battle has yet

to be won.”

“It is not for me to say.” As the officer spoke she idly caressed the knuckles

of her left hand.

“And when is this ‘singular honor’ to be bestowed?” Tourmast muttered.

“Soon after your return home, I believe.” Noting their reaction, she added, “I

see that you have not yet been informed. Allow me the privilege. I am informed

that the Teachers intend to commend you personally.”

Weenn spoke up from nearby. “Ah. That will be real joy for Kouuad.”

“No.” The officer looked at him. “Not your teacher. The Teachers.”

Ranji tried to prepare himself mentally as the transport sped through Underspace

toward Cossuut. His emotions were mixed. While he was delighted at the prospect

of seeing his family again, as a soldier he regretted leaving Koba unsecured. He

had not expected his initial combat experience to be so … episodic. Perhaps

next time they would be allowed to stay and fight until the world being

contested had been won for civilization.

There were worse fates, though, than being plucked from the field of battle to

suffer exaltation and honor.

Not only was the Cossuutian media saturated with the news of their

accomplishments, their arrival was recorded for rebroadcast throughout the

civilized worlds. The military made a great show of it, presenting the heroes of

Koba to the public one by one in the capital city’s largest outdoor

amphitheater. The ceremony seemed to go on forever, and the heroic fighters soon

found themselves dreadfully bored.

Officialdom saved the leaders of the attack, the group officers, for last,

developing the presentation as efficiently as if they’d been orchestrating a

piece of music. Soratii, Ranji, Tourmast, and the others dutifully took their

respective turns at the podium.

What most impressed Ranji when his turn came was not the surging crowd, the

plethora of recording devices, or even the knowledge that his parents and

siblings were in the front row of the audience. It was his sudden proximity to

two of the Teachers.

Warmth and affection poured from them to envelop not only those on the brightly

decorated stage but all who were fortunate enough to be in their immediate

vicinity. As had those who’d preceded him, Ranji approached and extended a hand.

The four manipulative digits at the end of one tentacle opened like a flower,

then closed with the silky softness of shy petals around his closed fist. A warm

rush of admiration and thanks filled his mind.

How wonderful it was, he thought, to have achieved his life’s dream. To be

honored for doing what he would gladly have done in anonymity. To be alive, and

healthy, and assisting the advance of civilization. The Amplitur’s digits

withdrew. Mentally and emotionally elated, Ranji pivoted smartly and returned to

his place on the dais.

One-who-Surrounds was feeling much wellness. The local weather was amenable, and

the excitement and reverence their visit had generated among the Ashregan was

gratifying to behold. Though they did not know it, the proceedings honoring the

special fighters was another graduation ceremony of sorts. It signified the

official success of the Project, in which the Amplitur had invested a

substantial amount of time and effort. It was a great day for the Purpose.

Though the weather was pleasant, One-who-Surrounds was still less than optimally

comfortable. The Ashregan preferred drier worlds than the Amplitur, and it was

something of a sacrifice for One-who-Surrounds and its companion to remain

exposed to the desiccating air for such a long period. But could they have done

any less to honor the fruits of the Project?

It had been a long time aborning, and had involved the most intense efforts of

the Amplitur and their Ashregan allies. To see those hopes so powerfully

fulfilled, and ahead of schedule, was more than sufficient justification for the

somewhat uncomfortable visit. When one served the Purpose with one’s whole

being, one could not fuss at inconsequentials such as temperature and humidity.

It was touching to observe the pleasure their mere presence induced in their

allies. One-who-Surrounds was curious to see how the special fighters would

react, but it was no different for them. There was the same receptivity, the

same calm acceptance and mutual admiration one would find among any ordinary

Ashregan.

Except that this group was not ordinary. They had proven that already, on Koba,

succeeding beyond the wildest hopes of the Project’s supervisors. The fighting

abilities and unique characteristics which they had been bred for would be

passed on to succeeding generations, to the betterment of the Purpose. Another

carefully chosen field test or two and the survivors would be retired with

honors, encouraged to produce as many offspring as possible. They would want to

continue fighting, of course, since that was what they had been trained to do,

but in the end all would accept their retirement gracefully. The Amplitur would

suggest that they do so.

They did not mention any of this to the individuals they honored. It would be

impolitic to refer to members of an allied species as breeding stock, just as it

would have been counterproductive to inform them that certain of the specialized

characteristics they would pass on to their offspring were not natural in origin

but rather the results of unsurpassed Amplitur efforts at nanobioengineering.

Even as One-who-Surrounds congratulated the heroes of Koba, efforts continued to

refine and expand the scope of the work which had produced them. Success could

always be improved upon. The scientists of the obstructionist Weave did not rest

in their efforts to thwart the Purpose. Those who promulgated its tenets could

do no less.

One-who-Surrounds looked forward to the results of the next test, in which the

special fighters would be asked to confront fully operational Human forces. If

they could de.-feat not merely Massood or Chirinaldo but Human soldiers in

direct combat, then the triumph of the Project would be assured. The effect on

Weave morale would be devastating.

Turning to face the audience, One-who-Surrounds raised both tentacles, spreading

all eight manipulative digits wide in a gesture of greeting and unity. A wave of

genuine warmth and appreciation flowed out to wash over those in the front rows.

The bulbous eyes, each on the end of its short stalk, swiveled independently to

survey the native crowd as it cheered softly.

Following the ceremony’s conclusion, One-who-Surrounds was relieved to retire to

a room in which the humidity had been raised to meet Amplitur requirements. The

itching which had begun to torment its mottled orange skin began to fade. It was

no longer necessary to use drops to keep sensitive eyes moist.

Green-goes-Softly settled into a hammocklike lounge nearby. The large, dark

blotch on its dorsal side indicated that the other Amplitur had recently budded,

giving birth to a new individual.

“I thought it went well.”

“Wellness aplenty,” One-who-Surrounds concurred. “They honor their heroes.”

“As well they should after what they accomplished on Koba.” Green-goes-Softly

rolled slightly, into a more comfortable position, straddling the lounge for

maximum support. “I sensed in the favored ones no indication of deviation or

genetic degeneration.”

“Nor did I.” Disdaining the other empty lounge, One-who-Surrounds settled into a

shallow pool of warm, scented water. “All the reports have been accurate.”

“I wish we could have gone to Koba to monitor them in person.”

“You know why we did not. Personal danger aside, our presence would have been a

burden on the regular Ash-regan troops, much less the progeny of the Project. In

active combat against Human beings our presence is a hindrance.” Its skin

rippled, showing iridescent silver highlights.

“They defeated Humans on their own ground,” Green-goes-Softly murmured. “It is a

wonderful thing. According to the reports I have seen, the Humans were much

surprised.”

“As well they should have been.” One-who-Surrounds waxed philosophical. “In such

small ways does the mental disintegration of an enemy begin. Not only were the

fighters successful in their military objectives, they were happy in their work.

The Purpose could ask for nothing more.”

Green-goes-Softly gestured with a tentacle. “For all their Ashregan upbringing

they fight as well as any Humans. The nanobioengineers have done their work

exceedingly well. Their alterations have taken perfectly. The overriding desire

of the special fighters, like that of their less well-endowed fellow Ashregan,

is but to serve the Purpose.”

“Yes. It means that the end of the Weave can be envisioned.”

Green-goes-Softly knew that the end One-who-Surrounds spoke of might lie several

hundred years in the future, but the Amplitur took a longer view of things than

most species. Their patience extended well beyond individual lifetimes. It

allowed them to wait for new special fighters to enter the fray, and for the

genetic alterations which had been performed on those already serving the cause

to be passed on to other fighters as yet unconceived.

“It is still a risky business.” Scented water sloshed gently around the bulk of

One-who-Surrounds.

‘ ‘I know, but thus far there is only success to show for it. With luck and

skill, the Project will continue to prosper.”

“There are still those among the brethren who think it unwise, even dangerous.”

Green-goes-Softly mentally envisioned a shrug. “One must take risks in war. Our

ancestors took many as with far simpler resources they spread the Purpose across

the cosmos. We, too, must be bold. Our ancestors never had to confront a

sociobiological aberration as extreme as Humankind. New difficulties call for

new ways of thinking, new countermeasures. The continued success of the Project

will assuage the doubters.”

“I concur. I feel wellness about it.” One-who-Surrounds retracted its eyestalks,

luxuriating in the warm water, pleased to be again in dark, damp surroundings

instead of the dry bright light favored by so many of their allies.

Chapter Four

A morose and dejected Fifth-of-Medicine squatted beneath the towering tree. Warm

rain trickled down his dirty green scales to nurture the mud below as he sat

contemplating his unnatural fate.

Truly he should not have been there, was not supposed to be in a combat area.

The Hivistahm were not fighters. With proper training, some of them could be

counted on to serve as support personnel. That was more than could be said for

the too-civilized Wais or Motar.

Actual fighting, a barbarity most races had difficulty contemplating, was left

to those species in whom the requisite primitive genes had been retained:

Massood and, increasingly, Humans. The relentless, horrible, wonderful, utterly

unpredictable Humans.

But there were only so many Massood, so many Humans. Other races had to back

them up by providing necessary logistical support. That task fell to such as the

Bir’rimor, the Lepar, the O’o’yan . . . and the Hivistahm.

A fine medical technician skilled in multiple species repair, Fifth-of-Medicine

had been assigned to what for a Hivistahm constituted a forward battle position:

emergency physiotech on a rear battle-control sled. He did not expect to be

exposed to combat, much less to experience it. But that was precisely what had

happened when the combined Ashregan-Crigolit force had surprised the attack

group.

Like everyone else he had heard the rumors that the enemy had begun

experimenting with new and untraditional strategies, and like everyone else he

had dismissed them out of hand. The events of the morning had transformed him

instantly from skeptic to true believer. Perhaps if there had been more Humans

in the sector the attack might have been beaten off. But they were widely

scattered across the surface of contested Eirrosad, and there had been few on

his command vessel or its escorting sliders.

After taking several direct hits, the badly crippled transport sled had turned

to flee, scraping the jungle canopy as it did so. As it pivoted on its repulsion

axis an internal explosion had sent it slamming into a giant forest emergent. It

skewed wildly before finally recovering to shudder on its way, shimmying on its

stabilizers.

But not before the impact had pitched half a dozen crewmembers through a gaping

hole in its side and into the foliage below.

Only two of the six had survived the fall, the otherwise fatal plunge cushioned

for them by fortuitously placed branches and leaves. The others had not been so

lucky.

By some miracle he had landed in the top of a densely foliated tree, the

reedlike upper branches slowing his descent before bending to deposit him, one

level at a time, onto similar growths below, until he was finally dumped,

bruised but otherwise undamaged, into a puddle of soft mud.

The same mud which had saved his life made fighting on Eirrosad’s surface an

untenable proposition. Combat was largely restricted to encounters between Weave

sliders and enemy floaters, which could dart and hide among the trees and vines.

Only the foolish or suicidal would think of trying to conduct a battle on the

mushy, planetwide morass which passed for ground. So the surface was left to the

specialized native fauna best equipped to cope with it.

And to the unfortunate such as himself. Truly.

He was stuck in the middle of the hostile wilderness the ever irreverent Humans

had dubbed the Sludgel: part swamp, part jungle, mostly muck. Without

communicator, weapon, or armor. All he had to help him survive was his green

physiotech uniform with its attendant equipment, and his wits. He placed little

confidence in either. Even his footgear worked against him: high-laced sandals

instead of bog boots. He was grudgingly grateful for the overhead vegetation

which kept a little of the rain off his scaly scalp.

At least, he thought, the ambient temperature amenable is, and the natives not a

worry are. Poor and backward, they lived in transitory jungle villages raised

above the ooze on cleverly interwoven stilts, marveling at the incomprehensible

forces which contested for control of their world. The Eirrosadians were the

second truly tripedal intelligence ever discovered, which made them rather more

interesting from a scientific than strategic point of view. By the same token,

civilized morality demanded that despite their backwardness they should not be

abandoned to the manipulative mercies of the Amplitur and their allies. None

could say but that in a thousand years or so they might contribute significantly

to the war effort.

He adjusted his eyeshades, which had defied all the laws of physics by clinging

to his face despite his violent ejection from the sled and subsequent fall.

Their presence contributed significantly to what little comfort remained to him.

Reflecting his emotional state, his skin had lost its bright green shininess and

turned a dull olive hue. At least it would make him hard for the enemy to spot

if they decided to make a visual search of the canopy for survivors.

Beneath the shades, double eyelids blinked at his depressing surroundings. The

absence of the bright sunshine so favored by the Hivistahm contributed to his

emotional funk. Silently he damned the clouds which blocked out the sun, the

rain they gave birth to, and the circumstances which had deposited him in this

place.

He considered his situation, quite aware as he did so that it would not improve

upon reflection. They were an unknown but surely considerable distance from the

nearest forward Weave outpost, which as near as he could estimate lay to the

south of their present position. He hadn’t devoted much attention to such

matters on board the sled, since there was no need for him to be aware of them.

Now he was paying for his indifference.

It was going to be a long walk.

They would have to experiment with local foodstuffs, but water obviously

wouldn’t be a problem. Taste was something else again.

That would likely not be a problem for his fellow survivor, whom he regarded

distastefully. Not satisfied with placing him in this ridiculous position, the

fates had decided to heap irony atop discomfort by giving him for companionship

on the arduous trek to come not another of his own kind, not a Massood or Human

to protect him, not even an attentive O’o’yan or sardonic S’van.

No. He was going to have to travel with a Lepar. With a representative of the

Weave’s slowest-thinking, dullest species. It did not boost his spirits to know

that the amphibious Lepar was far better equipped than he to survive an extended

sojourn in the Eirrosadian ecozone.

His name was Itepu, and he seemed agreeable enough despite his innate handicaps.

He’d been a low-level maintenance assistant aboard the command sled. As was

characteristic of his kind, his work had been repetitious and often dirty.

Standing there in his simple uniform of shorts and vest, his slick tail

switching reflexively, webbed hind feet buried in mud, he did not look half as

uncomfortable as Fifth-of-Medicine felt. Though half his tools were missing, the

Lepar’s service belt still held equipment that might prove useful during the

long march ahead.

His left arm dangled by his side. Badly sprained in the fall, it was the first

thing Fifth-of-Medicine had tended to when they’d stumbled into each other while

searching for fellow unfortunates.

The medic regarded the Lepar’s coccygeal appendage. Imagine an intelligent race

that still retained a tail! Tiny black eyes and an enormously wide mouth

contributed to an overweening impression of bland stupidity. Yet the Lepar were

not stupid. Merely unclever. And as devoted to the defeat of the Purpose as far

more intelligent species, Fifth-of-Medicine reminded himself.

Itepu slogged over to the medic’s tree, ignoring the rain which ran in rivulets

down his green-brown, slightly slimy skin. “Where we go, and when, friend

Hivistahm?”

“How know should I?” A disconsolate Fifth-of-Medicine adjusted his translator as

he gestured in a vaguely southward direction with a long, delicate, claw-tipped

finger.

The Lepar stood silently for a while, listening to the rain and fiddling with

his own speaker and earplug while waiting for the higher-ranking Hivistahm to

move. “We should go soon,” he said finally. “Enemy in this area.”

“I do not think so.” Fifth-of-Medicine slid off the root on which he’d been

brooding, wincing as his legs sank ankle-deep into the fetid, clinging muck.

“The battle over is and we have not any shooting for some time heard.”

“Rain makes hearing hard.”

The physiotech restrained himself. Simply because the Lepar were slow did not

mean they were always wrong.

“You are probably correct. We should this area leave.”

Better to die out here, he thought, than to be taken alive. Captives were

sometimes turned over to the Amplitur for mental “adjustment.” A portion of the

mind wiped out here, another small section replaced there, and a prisoner was

transformed without its consent into a useful agent for the Purpose. He

shuddered as he slogged off southward.

A thin film of water covered the boggy surface, magnifying the deceptively solid

appearance of the soil beneath. The polite Itepu matched his pace to that of his

considerably slower companion.

By evening they had covered more ground than the medic dared hope. As they sat

beneath a sheltering leaf the size of a small vehicle eating a peculiar purplish

fruit the Lepar had picked, Fifth-of-Medicine felt a little better about their

situation. They were in good health and thus far untroubled by the local fauna.

He allowed himself to imagine that they might actually have a chance of reaching

the outpost.

As near as he could remember, that blessed destination lay on the western shore

of a wide, meandering river which ran roughly north-south. If they could make it

that far, they could build some kind of raft to carry them the rest of the way

downstream to safety. He swatted at something tiny, orange, and persistent. If

the local arthropodan life didn’t suck all the blood out of them first, he told

himself.

He could envision himself among family again, both close and extended. He even

managed to meditate for a while, the Lepar observing him silently as he sat

cross-legged in the mud, eyes tightly shut, his back to the imaginary

contemplation circle. Warm, bright sunshine and hot, dry sand filled his

stabilizing thoughts, relaxing him, restoring mental balance.

After a while Itepu turned away and began digging in the mud for things to eat.

By morning the rain had gentled to an occasional light drizzle, and

Fifth-of-Medicine’s scales began to dry out. His misery quotient fell

perceptibly. By midday he was feeling well enough to stride through the

undergrowth with some confidence.

They had survived, and would doubtless be feted as heroes upon their return.

Even Massood and Humans would have to acknowledge their achievement. Among such

hopeful musings Fifth-of-Medicine found time to admire the profusion of

chromatically hued jungle flowers.

“Do you like your work?”

“What?” The medic glanced sideways at his lugubrious companion. They were making

camp for the evening.

Shiny black eyes looked back at him. “Your work. Do you like doing it?”

As the Lepar were not famed for initiating conversation, Fifth-of-Medicine was

somewhat startled by the question. It took him a moment to formulate a reply.

“Truly. I am at what I do very good and hope someday to be a third- or even a

second-of-medicine called.” To his own surprise he found himself adding, “What

about you?”

“I don’t think about it much.” Itepu yawned, his wide mouth seeming to split his

face in half. The dark gullet gaped. “I just do what I was trained to do.”

Fifth-of-Medicine was building a bower of leaves and broken twigs. “Sometimes I

think it is better that way. Hard it is to see others suffering and not be

always able to help. Like the others who out of the sled were thrown but did not

survive the explosion or fall. Nothing for them could I do. Truly.”

“You did what you could. Tell me: If any enemy was hurt here, would you try to

help it?”

It was surprising enough for a Lepar to initiate a conversation. For one to

venture a philosophical query bordered on the shocking.

“Truly I do not know. That is something / have not thought about. It would on

the specific circumstances depend.”

When Itepu digested this without replying, Fifth-of-Medicine felt oddly cheated.

It was still on his mind when he rose to wash his eyes the next morning.

By then he was more than merely confident. He was convinced they were going to

make it back. Even the weather cooperated, as the rains remained light. So

relaxed had he become that he did not jump up from his resting place in panic

when a clammy hand unexpectedly clutched at his shoulder.

Itepu was bending over him, making small circular motions with his other hand.

It took Fifth-of-Medicine a moment to recognize the movement as the Lepar

gesture for silence. Puzzled but for the moment compliant, the phys-iotech rose

and followed his crouching companion into the trees.

The amphibian halted behind a wall-like buttressing root and gestured. Following

the pointing finger, the medic nearly let out an involuntary hiss.

Not far enough away sat a single Human, perhaps one of those who’d manned an

escort slider. No doubt he’d been shot down by the Crigolit and now found

himself in straits similar to their own. Fifth-of-Medicine’s spirits rose. If

the creature was armed, he and Itepu would be able to travel the rest of the way

back to the base in the company of serious protection. In circumstances such as

theirs it was better to have the companionship of one Human than three or four

Massood. Humans adapted much better to the heat and humidity of Eirrosad.

As he started to rise and wave, the Lepar grabbed him and dragged him down. “I

know what you are thinking.” Itepu’s face was uncomfortably close to his own.

“Not Human.”

All four of Fifth-of-Medicine’s eyelids blinked impatiently. “What are you

saying? Of course it Human is.”

“Not.”

“Look at it. At the lanky form, at the proportions. Human it perfectly is.”

Itepu rose slowly to peer over the crest of the root. “Wait and watch.”

Confused and resentful of being handed an order by a lowly Lepar,

Fifth-of-Medicine complied, but with considerable reluctance.

After a while the creature rose to methodically survey the surrounding jungle.

The medic’s eyes widened as he hastily ducked back down behind the root.

“Truly correct you were,” he whispered tautly. “Ash-regan it is! With Human

proportions, but Ashregan.” There was no mistaking, he thought uneasily, those

bony ridges over the ears or the wide eye sockets. It was surely Ashregan,

despite its height and build.

“A giant among Ashregan,” Itepu agreed.

The medic’s long tongue commenced to vibrate nervously inside his mouth. “By the

Circle! It one of the mutant Ashregan fighters may be that so much havoc on Koba

wrought. They were spoken of as tall, fast-moving, and much stronger than is of

their kind typical. It is supposed they by the Amplitur from normal Ashregan

stock bioengineered have been.”

The longer they cautiously observed the creature, the more certain

Fifth-of-Medicine grew that this indeed was one of the half-mythical altered

Ashregan warriors. It was taller even than most Humans. In retrospect it was not

so surprising that he should have misidentified it. After all, the Ashregan bore

the same kind of superficial external resemblance to Humans as Hivistahm did to

the smaller but distinctly different O’o’yan.

He discussed his observations with Itepu, wishing as he did so that the Lepar

was one of his own kind or even a sardonic but brilliant S’van. He could do with

a little humor just now.

“How peculiar it is,” he found himself murmuring. “It looks Ashregan but moves

like a Human.”

“Amplitur bioengineering.” Itepu was absolutely convinced of the explanation.

“They seek to breed Ashregan who will be the equal of Human fighters, so they

graft Human characteristics onto them.”

Like the isolated incident it was, sudden realization burst in the Lepar’s slow

but persistent brain. A thick black tongue emerged to clean his left eye as he

spoke.

“Do you know what this means? Only two specimens of such as this one were found

on Koba, both severely damaged. Here is an example that is not only intact, but

alive. If we could capture it and take it back with us . . .”

Fifth-of-Medicine was sure his companion could see the bulging orbs behind the

Hivistahm eyeshades.

“Are you truly truly mad? Do you not realize what the creature could do? The

Ashregan fighters are. Hivistahm and Lepar are not.”

“But this is important.” The Lepar’s insistence was marked by childlike

directness and simplicity. “It would be useful to Weave specialists who are

trying to understand what happened on Koba.”

Fifth-of-Medicine clicked the claws on his right hand decisively together. “If

we near it go, it kill us will. Truly. I refuse absolutely to have anything to

do with such a crazy idea.”

Itepu stared back at him. Surely he will not try anything on his own, the medic

thought. Normally a Lepar would display about as much initiative as a vegetable

drying in the sun.

His companion took more time than usual to formulate a reply. “If the Amplitur

have been able to give the Ashregan Human fighting abilities in so short a time,

it is important that the military council know all about it. It is our

responsibility to . .

“Truly in this matter we no responsibility have.” Fifth-of-Medicine was

decisive. “I a fifth-level medical technician and physician am. You a

maintenance worker are. Let the Massood and Humans specimens capture. Our

responsibility is to our way to the river make, our return to the nearest

outpost effect, so that those tasks we may resume.”

Ignoring his companion’s protestations, Itepu continued to sneak glances over

the root. “I think it is wounded. The chance to find one alone and in such

circumstances may not happen again soon.”

While every instinct screamed at him to run, to get away from that place,

Fifth-of-Medicine was unable to completely submerge his curiosity.

“Are you sure it hurt is?”

“Come see how it limps,” Itepu whispered down at him.

The physio tech rose alongside his companion. “Even if the injury substantial

is, if the creature has been given Human combat abilities, it still more

dangerous is than the two of us combined. An ordinary Ashregan would be more

dangerous than the two of us combined.” Like any healthy, normal Hivistahm he

found himself quivering at the very idea of taking part in actual fighting.

“There are no Humans and no Massood here to help us,” Itepu pointed out. “We

must do this on our own or the opportunity will be lost.”

“Then let it be lost.”

“I will try to do something alone if I must.”

Better quickly to die, Fifth-of-Medicine thought, than to be trapped in this

place by himself.

“What do you suggest?” he heard a voice asking. Astonishingly, it was his own.

“Charging the creature? We have no weapons.”

“It does not seem to have any, either.”

“Here, let me again look.” Fifth-of-Medicine was not about to take the Lepars

word for it. Though they could see equally well below and above water, the Lepar

sometimes suffered from shortsightedness. He flipped his protective eyeshades up

onto his low forehead, where they automatically tightened in place.

The Ashregan had resumed its seat and was consuming some kind of local fruit.

Stare as he might, Fifth-of-Medicine could not see so much as a crude club. The

creature’s clothes were badly torn, revealing blackened splotches on the exposed

scaleless skin. So in addition to an injured leg, it was suffering from burns

and exhaustion. It wore no body armor at all. Perhaps it was not even a warrior

but some kind of frontline technician. Though all Ashregan were trained hi

fighting techniques, not all were soldiers.

It is not as if we contemplate capturing a Molitar, he told himself. Nor even,

he added wryly, a Human. He reconsidered his companion’s suggestion. If they

could do this thing, the merit they would acquire would be substantial. His

musings in the meditation circle would be honored.

The alternative was unpleasant. If they tried to capture it and failed, the

Ashregan might well kill them both. He fumbled at his medic’s belt and removed a

small plasticine cylinder.

Itepu watched quietly. “What are you doing?”

“Trying myself to prepare. Be quiet,” the Hivistahm hissed. Tilting back his

head, he put the cylinder to his mouth and swallowed two of the pills it

ejected. “Field tranquilizers. My reactions will not be affected.” He clicked

the claws of his left hand together. “But I will physical conflict be able to

contemplate with greater equanimity. I may even actual violent contact be able

to experience without vomiting.”

“The Lepar are no more warlike than the Hivistahm,” his companion reminded him.

“If that is meant to encourage me, a dismal failure it is. What do you want to

do? I know nothing about fighting.”

Itepu’s tiny black eyes half closed. “We could wait until it sleeps and then

sneak up and hit it in the head.”

“Brilliant. If we hit it too hard it dies, and if we do not hit it hard enough

it leaps up and dismembers us.”

The Lepar considered, straining. “There are two of us. If the first blow is not

enough, the second one could hit it again.”

Typically complex Lepar cogitation, Fifth-of-Medicine mused. He tried to force

himself to think like a warrior, ignoring the slight trembling in his limbs and

the rising queasiness in his gut. The tranquilizers were helping.

“There are several deep, water-cut holes.” He turned and pointed back toward the

tree among whose root structure they had spent the previous night. ‘ ‘If one of

us injured pretended to be, he could the creature intrigue and lure this way. We

could the hole camouflage: put branches and leaves over it. The one injured

pretending to be could carefully avoid the trap but the pursuing creature in

would fall.”

“That is a good idea.” There was admiration in the Lepar’s voice. “I would not

have thought of it.”

Of course you wouldn’t, Fifth-of-Medicine mused sympathetically, but that not

your fault is. “You will toward the trap the Ashregan lure. I will nearby wait .

. .” He started to say “with a club” but knew he could never wield a blunt

instrument with harmful intent and so finished, “. . .to make sure everything

properly goes.”

His companion regarded him solemnly. “We are not runners.” He displayed a webbed

hind foot. It was bare, the Lepar having discarded his extraneous sandals long

ago. “We are swift in the water, but not on land. The Hivistahm,” he added, with

sufficient emphasis to startle the medic, “are famed for their sprinting

abilities.”

How odd, Fifth-of-Medicine thought, that I had not that considered before my

mouth opening. Itepu was staring at him pointedly.

“I cannot that imagine doing. Truly. We will have to something else think of.”

His teeth gnashed lightly, indicative of his distress. “To deliberately induce

an Ashregan to chase me; no. I could not such a thing do.”

“It would be a brief chase,” Itepu argued ingenuously. “Over a modest distance a

healthy Hivistahm should be able to keep ahead of an injured Ashregan. They have

short legs.”

“Not this mutant,” the medic reminded him. “It legs like a Human has.”

“You only have to cover a little ground. I will … I will hide in the bushes

between here and the hole and if the creature is getting too close to you I will

hit it with a rock.” Itepu’s tumescent expression brightened at the unexpected

realization. “This is good! It combines my idea and yours.”

“Unless the creature catches me anyway and you miss with the rock.”

Fifth-of-Medicine was much subdued. On the whole, he would rather have been

meditating.

“I do not see how we can do this without taking some risk. Remember, the

creature has an injured leg. Surely it cannot run very fast.”

“Truly, that is so.” The medic felt a little more optimistic. “It might not even

try to chase me.”

“You should not be in much danger.” The Lepar was stolidly remorseless.

“How will I its attention attract?”

Itepu considered. “Throw something at it. With luck that will make it mad.”

“With luck?” The Hivistahm were not as skilled in the art as the S’van, but they

could still muster sarcasm when the occasion demanded it. “That an offensive

action would be.” His stomach roiled at the very thought. “I do not know if I

can …”

“Then throw nearby. If you are not actually trying to hit it, there is no

offense in the action.”

“Truly,” he had to admit. He flipped his eyeshades back into place. “First we

have a hole to choose and camouflage.”

The Lepar’s wide mouth clapped together twice. “I will take care of that. I am

good at manual labor.”

And I will watch, Fifth-of-Medicine thought. I am good at that.

By late that afternoon Itepu had demonstrated surprising skill in masking the

trap they’d chosen. It was steep-sided and deep enough to keep even a tall

Ashregan from climbing out.

That the easy part was, he reminded himself.

He’d had most of the day to ponder what they planned to try and had almost

convinced himself they could bring it off. After all, it wasn’t as if he was

going to have to fight. Just attract the creature’s attention, and run. Except

for Humans and Massood, the Hivistahm were about the best runners in the Weave,

especially over a short distance.

They approached the creature’s resting place quietly. Itepu murmured something

intended to be reassuring in his own language, then sank out of sight back into

the forest, leaving Fifth-of-Medicine on his own. He hoped the Lepar located a

particularly large rock.

Am I actually this doing? he asked himself silently as he advanced. I,

Fifth-of-Medicine, sophisticated technician and member of respected circles,

stalking a soldier of the Purpose? He was awash in fear and revulsion.

The Ashregan had an injured leg, he kept reminding himself.

He’d adjusted his translator to handle the creature’s own language, having

determined that throwing words could be as provocative as throwing stones. It

would not work perfectly, but it should function well enough for him to make

himself understood. Not that he intended to engage the enemy in an extended

conversation.

What he had not counted on was its imposing size as he drew close. It was the

biggest Ashregan he’d ever seen. Truly the Amplitur had bred notable Human

characteristics into it. His task suddenly seemed more daunting, his companion

Itepu much farther away.

They had invested too much effort and he had come too far for him to back away

now, he told himself nervously. Nor could he envision himself confessing his

inadequacies to a Lepar. Not that he feared being accused of cowardice.

Cowardice was a primitive concept invalid among civilized peoples. Fortunately

he found himself possessed by a kind of paralysis of determination.

The tranquilizers helped.

It was almost as if someone else were picking the small round stone out of the

muck, as though another being was straightening and throwing it in the

Ashregan’s direction, supporting its unimpressive trajectory with inane insults

in an alien tongue.

The creature reacted with shocking speed and unnaturally fast reflexes, rising

and whirling in one motion, Though its proportions were mutant, the face that

confronted Fifth-of-Medicine was wide-eyed and wholly Ashregan.

Feeling numbly foolish, he continued to stand where he’d risen, exposed and

vulnerable, staring back at the enemy. To break the paralysis he jumped up and

down several times and twitched obscenely, though it was unlikely the Ashregan

was knowledgeable enough to interpret the gestures.

The stone, the words, the gestures or a combination thereof had an effect,

however. Like some great primeval forest spirit, the mutant Ashregan crouched

momentarily.

When it rose anew a horrified Fifth-of-Medicine saw the long spear which the

creature had until now kept concealed in the underbrush.

The weapon was even taller than its maker, as thick around as the medic’s wrist,

straight and lethal-looking. Its tip of sharpened stone looked quite capable of

slicing through iridescent green scales, flesh, and organs.

With an inarticulate cry, Fifth-of-Medicine put all carefully considered plans

aside as he turned and ran.

Chapter Five

He could hear the Ashregan crashing through the brush behind him. It was making

less noise than he’d hoped, slipping through the brush and vines and across the

spongy surface with entirely too much ease for so large a creature. Nor were

they the sounds he imagined would be produced by something massive traveling on

a damaged leg.

Expecting to see nothing so soon, he glanced back over his shoulder and was

aghast to note that the Ashregan was not only in sight but already closing. It

was not limping.

What had happened to its injury, he wondered frantically?

It occurred to him suddenly that maybe there had never been any wound. Perhaps

it had been feigning injury all along, just in case it should encounter Weave

troops. So perfect had been its ruse that it”had deceived even those it had not

seen.

Long, powerful, heavy-boned legs carried it easily from log to log as it

methodically ate up the distance between them with strides the shorter Hivistahm

could not hope to match. The ominous spear hung from its fist, parallel to the

ground. Fifth-of-Medicine was sure it was already within throwing distance.

He could feel the stone-tipped, heavy piece of jungle timber slamming into his

back, piercing vital organs, emerging from his sternum with sufficient force

still unspent to pin him like a specimen bug against the nearest tree. He tried

to accelerate, his three-toed sandaled feet hardly touching the ground as he

flew through the woods.

No matter how fast he ran or how radically he swerved, the creature continued to

close the distance between them.

He knew then with absolute certainty that they were not going to trap the

Ashregan in their carefully concealed pit because it was going to overtake him

long before they reached the place. He imagined he could feel the creature’s

breath on the back of his neck. His eyes wildly scanned the vegetation he ripped

through. Where was Itepu with his poised rock? Still somewhere ahead, too far

ahead.

Another glance backward filled his eyes with that horrible flat face, the parted

mouth with its squarish cutting teeth, the projecting bony ridges over the ears,

the throw-back patch of fur atop the slightly flattened skull. And the eyes,

those round burning eyes, gazing unblinkingly back into his own.

It’s toying with me, he realized suddenly. It knows it can bring me down at any

time.

Emitting a hiss of absolute and complete hysteria, knowing that he would never

reach the pit in time, too terrified to lament the accomplishments and merit

that would never be his, he ran on.

There was a crash behind him. In focusing its attention on its prey had the

mutant slipped on the perpetually damp ground? Had it tripped over an especially

well-concealed liana? Fifth-of-Medicine didn’t turn to look, didn’t stop until

his heart threatened to bang its way out through his heaving chest.

He blinked. There was nothing behind him.

Was it still playing with its quarry, sneaking through the brush nearby,

silently amused at his inchoate terror? To the best of his knowledge that was

not a characteristic of the Ashregan. It had all but run him down. Why pause to

prolong the game? Humans were occasionally reputed to do such things, but not

Ashregan.

It was against his better judgment, but then he’d been acting against his better

judgment all day, he reminded himself. He started retracing his path, trying to

keep to the denser vegetation, working his way slowly and carefully back the way

he’d come.

Eventually he came to something which caused him to suck in his breath with a

soft but perceptible hiss.

The Ashregan stood close by the trap. A portion of the branch-and-leaf

camouflage had been contemptuously kicked aside to reveal the pit beneath. Blood

streamed from the side of the mutant’s skull.

Itepu lay on his back at the edge of the hole, the tip of the Ashregan’s spear

dimpling his belly. The medic recalled the crash he’d heard in the midst of his

panicky flight.

The Lepar. Itepu must have leaped from concealment to strike the pursuing

Ashregan. Only, the poor amphibian hadn’t struck hard enough. The mutant must

have been staggered, but instead of going down he’d chased the clumsy Lepar to

this point. Itepu had tried to lead the Ashregan into the pit, to succeed where

Fifth-of-Medicine had failed.

He ducked down as the enemy soldier suddenly looked around, scanning the

surrounding trees intently. Wondering what had happened to its original quarry,

no doubt. Trying to decide if any more Weave fools lurked in the tepid jungle.

It turned away and began querying Itepu via its own battered battlefield

translator. The sounds of the Lepar language filtered back to the cowering

physiotech. Fifth-of-Medicine winced as the Ashregan emphasized its inquiry by

prodding the prone Lepar with its spear. Each time the unfortunate maintenance

worker refused to reply, the spear point probed a little deeper.

Why doesn’t he answer? the medic wondered. The Lepar’s defiance would only get

him killed more slowly.

They’d tried, he told himself, and failed. It struck him that the Ashregan’s

preoccupation with Itepu offered him a chance to slip away quietly. Could he do

that? It was the eminently sensible thing to do, of course. Logical, if not

civilized. Given time, he was sure he could rationalize his actions.

He hesitated, hiding deep in the undergrowth, his in-sides churning. The

alternative to logic was a likely death. It was known that certain Hivistahm had

succeeded in executing offensive gestures under extreme circumstances. Was he

capable of such an action? Of overriding a lifetime’s conditioning? To, of all

things, help a Lepar?

The tranquilizers were still active in his system, helping to dampen dangerous

thoughts. This is the result of the Lepar’s misguided cogitation, he reminded

himself. He had wanted to do the sensible thing, to avoid the mutant and

continue on to the river and the nearest outpost. He was responsible only for

his own safety. And there were greater responsibilities. To his meditation

circle. To the war effort. A dead physiotech was of no use to the Weave.

It was the Lepar who had insisted on this ill-conceived effort. Therefore it was

only right that the Lepar should pay for its failure. He owed it nothing. A last

look, he decided, and then he would be gone.

Peering through the vegetation, he saw that the creature was now wholly occupied

with its interrogation of Itepu. It no longer showed interest in its

surroundings. That was good. He let the leaves he’d parted fall silently back

into place.

He didn’t recall when he began to move. Nor did he remember striking the

towering Ashregan behind its knees-most likely because both his eyelids were

tightly shut at the moment of impact. The Hivistahm were light of build, and his

greatest fear was that he wouldn’t have sufficient mass to carry out his intent.

His concern was not misplaced. Intent as it was On its questioning of Itepu, the

mutant did not start to react until Fifth-of-Medicine was upon him. As it began

to turn, the medic struck as hard as he could. The startled Ashregan dropped the

spear and flailed its arms in an attempt to maintain its balance. The startled

look on its face showed that it could not believe it had been surprised, much

less by an inoffensive Hivistahm.

The soil at the edge of the pit was no less slippery and unstable than the rest

of Eirrosad’s surface. For a horrible moment the creature appeared to regain its

equilibrium. Then it dropped out of sight in a great crash of crunching leaves

and twigs, emitting furious emanations as it fell. It struck bottom with a

spongy thud.

Fifih-of-Medicine slumped to his haunches, breathing hard, tongue dangling to

one side as he struggled to slow his heart rate. Angry noises continued to

bubble from the depths of the trap. When the trembling stopped he rose and moved

to help Itepu to his feet. Save for a minor cut where the spear had prodded, the

Lepar was unhurt.

“You saved my life.”

“Crazy it was. I am of commitment worthy. You must turn me in for observation

upon our return. I insist on it!”

Ignoring him, Itepu cautiously approached the lip of the pit and peered in.

The Ashregan was on its feet, uttering curses as it inspected its surroundings.

Fifth-of-Medicine did not approach the trap. He knew what the Ashregan looked

like.

Itepu backed away from the edge. “Well, we have done it.”

“Do not remind me. I prefer not to think on it.”

“Now that we have captured the creature, we must think of a way to take it with

us.”

“I a better idea have.” The medic was still breathing hard. “Let’s leave it

here. We can some food and water provide and mark the spot in our minds. Others

come and recover it can.”

“No, we can’t do that.” Itepu was inexorable. “Given time it may find a way to

escape. We must take it with us or everything we have done may go to waste.” It

glanced in the direction of the trap. “We know for certain now that it is

Ashregan. A Human would not have bothered to ask questions, but would have

killed an enemy instantly.”

Reluctantly Fifth-of-Medicine joined his companion at the edge of the pit as

they considered what to do with their prisoner.

Once, it backed into a far corner and unexpectedly took a running leap at them,

powerful hands reaching for the physiotech’s legs. Fifth-of-Medicine took a

startled hop backward. He needn’t have bothered. Though it could jump impossibly

high for so massive a creature, its fingers still fell far short of the trap’s

rim.

Next it tried to climb out, expending in its frantic efforts more sheer energy

than the medic believed a single being could muster. The damp, soft earth

crumbled under its fingers and beneath its feet. Several times it ascended

nearly a body length, only to tumble back to the bottom as the treacherous soil

gave way beneath scrabbling hands and feet.

Though astonishing in their scope, its physical resources were finite. It tried,

failed, and fell exhausted one last time into the shallow puddle of water which

had collected at the bottom of the pit. Quiescent at last it lay there,

breathing hard and glaring murderously up at them.

Fifth-of-Medicine’s teeth clicked softly. “We here have to leave it. How can we

such a killer restrain? If we bring it out it surely kill us will, and if we

down after go it will kill us there. We cannot incapacitate it without near it

going.”

“That may not be true,” Itepu replied slowly.

The Hivistahm’s eyelids closed halfway. “Explain yourself.”

Itepu gestured at the physiotech’s service belt. “You have medicines designed to

make the injured feel better. Do not some of them also put you to sleep?”

“Truly. But the emergency vials I at all times on my person carry are calibrated

for treating Massood and Human fighters, and to a lesser extent Hivistahm,

Lepar, and whatever other species I am at the time serving with. To an enemy

treat requires the resources of a field hospital.”

“‘I have heard that Human and Ashregan physiology are very similar.”

“Truly they are, but whether they identical enough are for

pharmaceuticals designed for one to affect another is a far more complex matter.

I am only a fifth-of-medicine, a field medic. I am not in such matters

competent.”

“This creature has been given Human physical and fighting characteristics,”

Itepu pointed out. “If anything, it should be more receptive than others of its

kind to serums designed for treating Humans. Would it not be worth trying?”

“Still remains the main problem,” Fifth-of-Medicine insisted. “How to get near

enough to an adequate dosage inject.”

“Must it be injected? The creature is tough, but it still needs to eat.”

Fifth-of-Medicine considered. “Would it not suspicious of food from us be?”

“Probably, but hunger should eventually overcome suspicion. It must realize that

if we wanted it dead we could throw rocks down on it, or leave it here. Nor does

it know that you are a medic with access to sedatives.”

He made the dose strong. Very strong. After all, the worst that could happen was

that it would kill the creature, thus sparing them the difficulty of somehow

hauling it back with them. He was able to concoct the dose without qualms

because it was not his intent to kill but to tranquilize. The possibility of a

fatal accident weighed only peripherally on his conscience.

As expected, the Ashregan at first refused all offers of fruit and meat. But two

days of clawing futilely at the walls of its prison left it ravenous, and it

finally devoured the proffered food, exhibiting an extraordinary appetite as

well as atrocious table manners. It not only finished what they had provided but

asked for more, after which it sat down in the slimy puddle and regarded them

with a baleful expression on its flat, ugly face.

An hour later its eyes closed as its head fell over on one shoulder.

“We can use vines braced around a tree to drag it out,” Itepu suggested, “and to

bind it. I think the two of us working together can manage the load.”

“One of us will have to go down to secure it.” The medic was studying the

motionless alien form. “What if it deceiving is?”

“I will find out.”

It took the Lepar a few moments to locate a rock of suitable size. As

Fifth-of-Medicine looked on, Itepu carefully positioned himself on the other

side of the pit and let it drop. It was large enough to start a trickle of blood

from the Ashregan’s scalp but not to crack bone. The mutant’s eyelids did not

even twitch.

“Truly unconscious it is.” Fifth-of-Medicine was satisfied. “Let us make sure we

bind it beyond possibility of escape.”

A variable-focus surgical cutter allowed them to sever and gather very thick

vines. After wrapping the heavy alien in a green cocoon, arms secured behind its

back, they strained to haul it out of the hole, working quickly lest it awaken

before they were finished. Since they did not have the inclination, much less

the strength, to carry their prisoner, they left its lower limbs relatively

free, binding each ankle to opposite ends of a short, stout tree limb which

severely restricted each leg’s range of motion while still allowing the creature

enough leeway so that it could stumble forward.

When it regained consciousness it was more than a little surprised at the

condition in which it found itself. After trying its bonds and finding them

unbreakable, it looked accusingly at Fifth-of-Medicine. Its translator was in

bad shape, but still functioning.

“You drugged me,” it said accusingly. “I didn’t suspect. What are a Hivistahm

and Lepar doing out in this jungle with drugs?”

“I a medical technician am,” Fifth-of-Medicine found himself replying. Even

bound and helpless, the Ashregan still cut an intimidating figure.

It emitted an untranslatable grunt. “That never occurred to me. I should have

noted your uniform type when I was chasing you. It serves me right. Well, now

that you have me, what do you intend to do with me?”

“Take you back with us.” The physiotech retreated several steps as the Ashregan

struggled to its feet. The limb secured to its ankles reduced its stride

considerably, its mobility completely. Enmeshed in its cocoon of vines, it

towered over its captors.

Itepu clutched the prisoner’s spear. The Ashregan grinned contemptuously. “You

don’t expect me to believe you’d use that.”

The Lepar’s reply was admirably firm. “I have hit you twice with rocks. I might

surprise you again.”

“You might at that. You Lepar are difficult to understand. Some day you’ll be

useful participants in the Purpose.”

“Not while any of us lives,” Itepu assured him.

“Nor any Hivistahm.” Fifth-of-Medicine was not about to be exceeded in defiance

by a Lepar. “You are back with us coming. You a physical anomaly are. Ashregan

you appear, yet with Human characteristics.”

“I am Ashregan,” the captive replied proudly. “You hold the Unifer Ranji-aar of

Purposeful Cossuut.” He strained at his bonds. “And if I can free myself I will

destroy you both, as I destroy all enemies of the Purpose.”

“Yes, we know.” Fifth-of-Medicine’s confidence increased in proportion to the

Ashregan’s inability to loosen its bindings. “It is clear that altered you have

been. Doubtless responsible the Amplitur are.”

The soldier glared narrowly at his captor. “The Amplitur do not do such things.

Such tales are only Weave propaganda. The Amplitur …”

“Spare us the lecture on the wonderfulness of the Amplitur. I have eyes, and I a

trained medical specialist am. You both Ashregan and Human traits possess. There

is here something very peculiar going on. We are taking you back so that better

minds than mine can what the truth is find out.”

“They’ll find no more than you.” The mutant expectorated. “You’ve taken a

captive; that’s all.” It turned sharply to Itepu, who flinched slightly, black

eyes blinking, but held his ground. “You I should’ve killed when I had the

chance.”

The Lepar’s expression did not change. “But you did not.”

“No. You were on the ground and helpless, and I had questions to ask. I should

have been faster, like a berserker Human.”

“I am glad you were not.” Itepu stepped boldly forward and poked the bound

Ashregan with the spear. “Now move. That way.”

The prisoner gazed a moment longer at the amphibian, then pivoted to start off

in the indicated direction. His captors followed. Amazement at their

accomplishments thus far caused them to walk proud.

Despite Fifth-of-Medicine’s fears, they were not attacked. Nothing leaped out at

them from the undergrowth, nothing materialized to impede their progress. Having

delivered himself of several proclamations, the Ashregan had turned surprisingly

docile. Fifth-of-Medicine and Itepu did not relax, staying as alert as when

they’d first trapped the soldier. For surely this creature’s companions would be

searching for him.

They reached the river without incident. The prisoner sat quietly while his

captors, making good use of Fifth-of-Medicine’s surgical instruments and Itepu’s

remaining tools, fashioned a crude raft. If they needed any further proof that

the creature was Ashregan, its continued docility as they worked with logs and

vines confirmed it. A Human would have jumped into the river despite the

likelihood of drowning, or struck out with its restrained legs, or at least

inflicted on them a constant stream of invective. That was the way of Humans. It

was not the manner of Ashregans.

Instead, he continued to lecture them endlessly on the true way of the Purpose,

until the medic was ready to put aside the value of their prisoner and strike

him dead with the spear.

“We have everything you could say already heard,” he finally informed the mutant

exasperatedly. “Despite what you believe, there is civilization outside the

Purpose. Truly.”

“Civilized peoples do not slaughter the helpless civilian populations of

undefended worlds,” the Ashregan shot back.

Fifth-of-Medicine glanced up curiously from where he was working on the raft.

“What are you talking about?”

“My parents. My entire family and all its friends and relations were wiped out

by Humans and Massood.”

“Truly now, I cannot imagine to what you refer.”

“The massacre of Houcilat, of course. I can’t believe you never heard of it, no

matter how thorough is Weave control of your information media. Houcilat was my

world of origin.”

Fifth-of-Medicine reflected as he worked. “Houcilat, Houcilat. Truly, yes. That

was a world colonized by both Ashregan and, I believe, Bir’rimor. It contested

was, and taken back by the Weave some time ago. I am at recent history fairly

competent. Do you anything of what he speaks recall, Itepu?”

The Lepar looked up from where it was working waist-deep in water. “We do not

have good memories. But the name strikes me.”

“The fighting was lengthy but modest in scope, and the world was back for the

Weave won. But there no massacre of inhabitants was. Truly.” Fifth-of-Medicine

fastened two logs together, eyeing his handiwork with satisfaction.

Misapplication of his extensive medical training such construction might be, but

there were none present to proffer objections.

“All inhabitants were allowed under Weave supervision to remain, or to other

Ashregan worlds repatriated were.”

Ranji’s brows drew together. “Weave propaganda. Everyone on Houcilat was

slaughtered. Including my natural parents.”

The medic drew a thick liana tight. “Killed they may have been. I am sure some

civilian casualties there were. But a massacre there was not.”

“All my parents’ friends, all my relatives and their relatives, were killed. Do

the Hivistahm describe such atrocities in languid phrases?”

Fifth-of-Medicine glanced behind him. “Even that may be truth, but I tell you

that there was no slaughter. That is not the way of the Weave. You have been

lied to.”

“The Amplitur …” Ranji started to remind his captors that the Amplitur never

lied. Even they would have to admit to that. But as he thought back it struck

him that no Amplitur, either in person or on recording, had ever spoken directly

about Houcilat. The story of the massacre of Houcilat had been told to him by

his parents and teachers, who were Ashregan. It might be interesting some day to

put the question to an Amplitur and observe the response.

No! Absurd, inconceivable, a thing he could not countenance. Why should he for

an instant question parents or instructors because of what a Purposeless, enemy

Hivistahm chose to say on the bank of an unnamed river on a primitive, contested

world?

“You’re the ones who’ve been lied to,” he responded confidently. “There was a

massacre.”

“That possible is,” admitted Fifth-of-Medicine readily. “Truly I was not there.

But tell me this, Ashregan Unifer: What would be the purpose of such slaughter?

What would it gain the Weave?”

“It need have no purpose if Humans were involved.”

“Even Humans more restrained are. There are of isolated barbaric incidents some

rumors, but nothing on the scale to which you refer. Nor are Humans alone to

fight allowed. Massood or others are always present, and would have such a

terrible thing confirmed.”

“Are you so sure? It would be to the Weave’s benefit to conceal such an

incident. Because you do not have the Purpose, you are always fighting and

arguing among yourselves. Knowledge of such an outrage could cause trouble among

you.”

“You very plausibly argue.” Fifth-of-Medicine secured a vine, snugging two

cross-limbs tightly together. “Though I do not believe you, I allow as how you

might be correct. Will you not grant me the same privilege? Anything is possible

which cannot disproved be.”

Ranji went silent as his captors worked. Silence offered time to think, which,

as his teachers had sometimes pointed out, could be dangerous. Why would they

lie to him, especially about something as important to him and his friends as

the destruction of Houcilat? The Hivistahm had seemed genuinely surprised by his

disclosure, and equally convinced no such massacre had occurred. Yes, the Weave

government could have covered it up, but was such a thing really possible in

this time of rapid interworld and interspecies communication?

“My friends will drive you off this world,” he declared for lack of anything

more convincing to say. “And massacre or not, the Weave remains responsible for

the death of my parents.”

“I am for that most sorry,” the physiotech told him. “Even when great and

exalted ideals at stake are, civilians sometimes perish in their cause. But I

and my companion nothing to do with that had. We were at the time of Houcilat

not adults.”

Ranji calmed himself. He should be looking for a chance to escape, not wasting

his energy arguing with the enemy. “I didn’t mean to imply that I blamed you

personally. Only the misguided and misled organization that organizes your war

effort. To do otherwise would not be in keeping with the higher tenets of the

Purpose.”

“Of course it wouldn’t.” Fifth-of-Medicine’s claws clicked together sideways, a

gesture his kind used to express sarcasm. “Your form puzzles me greatly.”

“I am wholly Ashregan. If you think otherwise then you’re wasting mind time.”

“Truly you must pictures of Humans have seen. I cannot believe you have never

upon the physical similarities remarked.”

“I’m aware of the superficial resemblance. Also the differences,” Ranji assured

him.

“It would not be beyond the Amplitur to with an allied species genetically

interfere if they believed their goals they could enhance.” If this was a

development the Weave was aware of but keeping secret from the general populace,

he thought, then a quick strike at the world where the Amplitur were carrying

out their activities might stop it cold.

It shocked him to realize that he had just promulgated a possible rationale for

precisely the kind of massacre their prisoner insisted had taken place at

Houcilat. But surely the S’van, the Hivistahm would not permit such a thing.

Surely.

“That’s nonsense.” The prisoner shifted against his bonds. “The Ashregan are a

physically diverse species. Just because some of us are taller and stronger than

the rest doesn’t mean we’re the products of some bizarre, not to mention

unethical, genetic manipulation.”

“It is not for me to determine. You will by better minds than mine be analyzed

and studied.” Seeing the look on the Ashregan’s face he added, “I doubt you will

to vivisection be subjected. Do you think truly that we are the barbarians the

Amplitur make us out to be?”

“They don’t call you barbarians,” Ranji told him.

Sharp teeth clicked in the medic’s narrow snout. “Not directly, no. But they

suggest it. Your Amplitur masters at suggestion very good are.”

“They’re not our ‘masters.’ Within the Purpose all species are equal.”

“Have you not Amplitur suggestions been subjected to?”

“I’ve had mind contact with a couple, yes.” He said it proudly. “I feel only

elevated and honored for the experience.”

“Of course. They would ‘suggest’ that you feel that way.”

“I did feel that way,” Ranji shot back, more loudly than he intended.

Fifth-of-Medicine was not in the mood to discuss the inefficacies of circular

logic. Together he and Itepu shoved the finished raft all the way into the

water. It drifted motionless next to the muddy shore, reassuringly stable.

“Let’s go,” he told the prisoner. “Do not anything foolish try. You could

perhaps into the river dump us, but my friend is as at home in the water as on

land and you can be sure he would expend his energies on rescuing me, not you.

You could not escape.”

Ranji shuffled forward, the restraining log heavy against his ankles. “Just

because I’m a warrior doesn’t mean you have to belabor the obvious.”

Chapter Six

As Fifth-of-Medicine had anticipated, their unexpected appearance at the

outermost defensive perimeter of the nearest Weave outpost touched off quite a

celebration among the station’s astonished personnel. Tired and dirty but

otherwise intact, they were escorted from the outpost to Weave military

headquarters. Not only had they survived the devastating attack on the Weave’s

northeastern front, they had made their way back on foot through hostile

terrain, without weapons. And they had brought a prisoner out with them.

It was the type of exploit expected of Humans or Massood, not Hivistahm and

Lepar.

Though concerned about his mental state, Fifth-of-Medicine ‘s colleagues

accorded him a place of honor the first time he joined a meditation circle, and

his accumulation of merit was duly and ceremoniously noted. As for Itepu, the

accolades he received were offered quietly: an occasional congratulatory word, a

casual admiring touch. He did not bathe in them: he was anxious to get back to

work.

The initial eagerness of the base’s medical staff to examine the prisoner soon

gave way to discouragement as they realized they were ill equipped to carry out

anything like a proper study of the creature. Still, their necessarily cursory

studies only confirmed what Fifth-of-Medicine had already noted, that being a

confusing melange of Human and Ashregan characteristics in the same body. It was

a biological puzzle the Hivistahm and O’o’yan technicians on Eirrosad

did not have a large enough key to unlock.

It was decided to send the captive out on the next supply shuttle. A Human would

have reacted violently to the news that he was to be shipped so far from his

friends, but their prisoner was not Human. As an Ashregan soldier trained in the

Purpose he acquiesced calmly to the decision, making only one small and rather

quaint request. Though Command thought it baffling, they graciously consented to

its fulfillment.

So while Ranji found himself speeding through Under-space toward an unknown

destination far from Eirrosad and even farther from his beloved Cossuut, he did

not travel alone. More than a few were bemused as to why the single demand he

made was for the company of a particular Lepar.

Headquarters psychologist Third-of-Mind thought he had an explanation. “Here is

an Ashregan prisoner, of mind probing probably afraid. He knows of the Lepar

reputation for simplicity, and knows personally this particular individual. He

will try the Lepar to employ to check the veracity of what is to him told by

others.”

The base commander was Massood. It was his task to try and win a world for the

Weave-a world of suffocating humidity and cloying rain, two meteorological

traits he was not particularly fond of. He was not much interested in the

physiological aberrations or mental workings of one Ashregan prisoner, now

blissfully removed from his jurisdiction.

He dismissed the psychologist without comment.

On the ship racing away from Eirrosad’s sun, however, there was more time for

curiosity. Everyone was conscious of the regard in which muttering specialists

held the unique passenger, who communicated his personal requests through the

eccentric medium of a Lepar maintenance worker. They marveled at its size during

its occasional escorted walks through unsensitive portions of the ship. It was

far and away the largest Ashregan any of them had ever seen.

The S Van captain was somewhat disappointed in their destination. True, there

were large and competent scientific facilities on Omaphil, but it was a Tula

world. He would much rather have taken their prisoner to one inhabited by his

own kind.

The option was not available to him. The military counselors had been quite

specific. The Yula settled planet of Omaphil was the nearest fully developed

Weave world to Eirrosad, and for reasons unknowable it might at some time in the

near future be desirable to return the captive to that contested globe. He

stroked his beard reflexively. It might be all right. Yula was a cosmopolitan

place. There would be S’van present to keep an eye on developments, even if they

were not directly involved in the examination process itself.

There was no reason for him to concern himself with the prisoner specifically

except that the S’van made it a point to concern themselves with everything. Not

that they were overly curious. Merely paranoid.

Yulans in fact comprised a substantial part of the crew, together with the usual

complement of Hivistahm, O’o’yan, Lepar, and S’van officers. There was also a

squad of Massood, who had been suborned from Eirrosad specifically to keep watch

on the captive. As the Ashregan proved to be a model prisoner, they were able to

pass their duty time in comfort.

They were accompanied by a trio of Human soldiers whose resemblance to the

captive provoked a good deal of whispered comment among the crew. The Ashregan

displayed no inclination to seek their company, however, instead preferring the

companionship of the Lepar who had accompanied him on board. That pleased the

more imaginative among the crew, who found the Ashregan’s proximity to

look-alike Human soldiers inexplicably unnerving.

Not that the prisoner’s preference for the Lepar’s company was any less

puzzling. To the average Lepar, a couple of sentences constituted an extended

conversation. What did the Ashregan find to talk about with his amphibious

attendant? The crew amused themselves inventing outrageous explanations.

With his three legs and three arms, his unusual tripodal posture, three yellow

eyes centered on the flat front end of the triangular skull, mottled

yellow-and-brown fur which bulged from beneath the skirt of his light-duty

uniform, Teoth looked a lot like an overstaffed child’s doll. Though he was no

taller than the average Hivistahm, all that fur made him appear far more

massive.

It was real fur, thick a dense as a S Van’s beard though far softer and

infinitely better groomed. It covered Teoth’s entire body, including the head

and limbs, and its complex pattern of spots defined his identity.

While not one of the more populous or important races, the Yula had been part of

the Weave for hundreds of years, believed fully in the cause, and contributed

what they could to the resistance against the Amplitur. They were fully

civilized, which meant that they did not participate in any actual fighting but

instead gave aid and support to those who did, like the Humans and Massood.

Which explained their presence aboard the transport vessel.

The Yula inhabited, not surprisingly, three worlds, of which Omaphil was the

most prominent. Its economy was dominated by agriculture and light industry, of

which only a portion was dedicated to the war effort. Despite their sensitive

galactic location, the Yula enjoyed the deceptively peaceful existence common to

most worlds of both the Weave and the Purpose. Actual fighting was something

that took place elsewhere, on lightly populated planets, between the primitive

species of the Weave and those unfortunates who had been adjusted for the

purpose by the Amplitur.

It was for this reason that Teoth was concerned that conveyance of this special

captive warrior to peaceful Omaphil did not seem to greatly trouble his fellows.

Despite repeated and earnest attempts to discuss the matter with them, they

chose to go about their tasks unconcerned.

He found more sympathy among the perpetually brooding, always somber Hivistahm.

Two in particular, Eighth-of-Records and Sixth-of-Technics, provided a willing

audience for his polemics. They shared his fear of the prisoner and what it

represented.

They usually met in the zero-g bubble, trying to choose times when it was not

too crowded. While others bounced off the soft, padded walls or drifted through

the ever-changing central maze or engaged in various null-g games, the three

conspirators kept out of the way and to themselves.

Teoth’s motives were simple: he did not want to see some crazed Ashregan

fighting machine imported into his world. While most would insist that a single

hostile alien could not pose much of a threat, Teoth would have violently

disagreed. In that respect his attitude was more Hivistahm than Yula. Certainly

that contributed to a unanimity of opinion among the three.

Because of his position, Eighth-of-Records knew as much about their passenger as

anyone aboard. Sixth-of-Technics and Teoth had caught glimpses of it during its

occasional escorted walks through the ship. Those brief encounters were

terrifying enough.

Eighth-of-Records was declaiming softly. “They say that a new kind of mutant

Ashregan fighter it is an example of, bioengineered by the Amplitur the Humans

to counteract. ”

“I wonder how successful it has been,” murmured Sixth-of-Technics.

“Truly I do not know.” His companion’s teeth clicked. “It a secret is. There are

rumors, though. As tough as Humans it is said they are.”

‘ ‘Why my world? That is what I want to know.” Teoth fiddled with his

translator, wanting to make certain everything he said was clearly

comprehensible to his Hivistahm companions. “Why not one of the Massood planets?

Or better yet, the Human world, where it could be well and truly isolated. Were

it to get loose there it could not wreak havoc on a civilized society.”

“You know why,” said Sixth-of-Technics. “Because Omaphil the nearest fully

developed Weave world to Eir-rosad is.”

“Council is anxious.” The other Hivistahm’s inner, transparent set of eyelids

were shut against the bubble’s glare. “They do not what to make of it know.”

“Well I know what to make of it.” Teoth was emphatic. “I believe that all the

worst rumors are accurate, that this creature is the latest example of the

Amplitur’s immoral experiments in bioengineering.”

“There must be more,” insisted Sixth-of-Technics. “The Amplitur would not just a

single such creature release.”

Teoth gestured significantly. “Surely you have heard about what happened on

Koba.”

“Truly.” Eighth-of-Records shuddered. “Can you imagine what might happen if it

were to aboard this ship get loose?”

“I am less concerned with what happens aboard this ship than I am about my

cherished homeworld.” Seeing that he was starting to rotate, Teoth reached out

with two of his three hands to steady himself against the padded wall.

“If that were to happen, how many cubs would it kill before it could finally be

destroyed? How many homes would it ravage? The ‘specialists’ admit they know

little about it, about its ultimate abilities or potential. Why subject a

peaceful place like Omaphil to their dangerous experiments?” He focused all

three eyes on his companions.

“The Yula have always been willing participants in the workings of the Weave. So

why should they be singled out for additional risk?”

“They are not singled out being.” Sixth-of-Technics felt compelled to restate

the obvious. “The Ashregan is being there taken for reasons of time and urgency,

and proximity to Eirrosad.”

“I am not mollified by the explanations.” Teoth’s tone grew less peremptory. “My

people are not as mature as yours, or certain others. They would not deal as

well with the knowledge that this creature had been brought into their midst.”

“Sure I am that the intention is to keep its presence on Omaphil a secret.”

Sixth-of-Technics hissed softly.

“The Yula believe in openness.” Teoth’s fur bristled. “I simply do not agree

with any of this, any of it at all. Is this but the first of many such

impositions to be made upon my world? Does the Weave military council intend to

bring all such mutants to Omaphil for study? What if they should begin to breed

in captivity? If one is as rumored capable of great horrors, what might many do?

“We are not fighters. The Yula are civilized. We would be helpless in the face

of such an onslaught. Massood would have to be brought in to control the

problem, or even worse”-and his distress was palpable even to the Hivistahm-”

Humans.”

“Truly I would not on my homeworld wish this being loose,” agreed

Eighth-of-Records.

‘ ‘Let them take the scientists to Eirrosad if they wish to study it.” Teoth’s

legs drifted lazily.

Sixth-of-Technics clicked claws together. “What do you think should be done?”

“I am not sure.” Three eyes blinked. “I am only a simple technician like

yourself. But I do know that this matter is too important to be left to the

likes of self-serving scientists.”

A group of gamboling S’van came near, and the trio went silent until they had

passed. “Are you something uncivilized preparing to propose?”

“I would not think of it that way,” Teoth argued. “I am only saying that those

who are closer to the people should take it upon themselves to carefully monitor

the situation.”

The two xenologists regarded the prisoner thoughtfully. Its occasional

volubility notwithstanding, it remained as much of an enigma as when they had

first encountered it.

Half the pair was S’van. He was typically short and squat. A dense black beard

practically obscured his face. More thick, wiry hair was visible where his

wrists and ankles emerged from his clothing. His eyebrows threatened to obscure

his vision.

His Massood associate towered over him, her uniform of ship-duty vest and shorts

snug against close-cropped silvery fur, gray cat eyes alert to the captive’s

every move, black-tufted ears flicked alertly forward. Her muzzle and whiskers

were in constant motion. As she worked she picked at her short, sharp teeth, a

type of grooming as natural to the Massood as breathing.

“I don’t understand it.” The S’van spoke in a soft, reassuring tone much like

the recordings Ranji was familiar with. It was as tranquil a voice as a

Vandir’s. Certainly his interrogator was anything but physically intimidating.

Hardly a being to be afraid of, Ranji told himself. The S’van’s manner was at

all times cordial and civilized.

The Massood female was much more physically impressive. Taller man Ranji but not

as strong, her attention was concentrated on the compact device she carried.

Probably recording everything he did or said, he decided. Not that he minded. He

had nothing to hide and could do nothing to prevent it in any event.

He paid close attention as the finely tuned translator they had given him

interpreted their conversation.

“His responses are typically Ashregan,” the S’van was saying. “Even to the trick

questions I composed.”

“That is my opinion also.” The Massood gazed at the silent prisoner. “Mentally

and emotionally he is completely Ashregan. Physically he is unique. You have

seen the preliminary medical report?”

The S’van bobbed his head. “Internally he’s as Human as your average soldier

from Earth. The differences be tween Humans and Ashregan are modest,

but distinct. In this one they’re absent except for the notable exceptions of

the skull and fingers. He displays the familiar Ashregan bony ridges over

recessed ears, the same expanded eye sockets, flattened nose, and the longer

fingers with the extra knuckle on each.” He gazed at the pocket readout screen

that rested alight on his lap.

“Of course we’re not supposed to concern ourselves with physiology. That’s for

others to delve into. We’re supposed to be working on his mind, not his guts.”

“What do you intend to do with my mind?” Ranji inquired politely. “Do you think

this will do any good?”

“There!” The S’van xenologist was pleased. “That’s the most Humanlike response

he’s given yet. No Ashregan would volunteer such a sarcastic remark in the

course of an interrogation.”

“I was not being sarcastic.” Ranji leaned back in his chair. “You don’t

understand my people at all. We may look a lot like your Humans but our thought

processes are completely different . . . thank the Purpose! Your obtuse-ness on

this matter is wearying.”

The S’van was not easily baited. “Oh, I don’t know. I think the psychological

data base we’ve managed to construct from interviews conducted with thousands of

your kind down through the centuries has resulted in a pretty accurate profile

of Ashregan thought processes.” He chuckled and stroked his tangled steel-wool

beard. Among Weave races the S’van were reputed to have the most highly

developed sense of humor, together with, perversely, the otherwise utterly

barbaric Humans.

“There should be a Human xenologist present,” said the Massood, hastening to

add, “I intend no suggestion of incompetence, D’oud.”

“That’s all right, though I’m not sure I agree with you. I don’t know that a

Human xenologist would bring any more insight to this process.”

“What are you going to do with me?” Ranji asked them. “Different interrogators

give me different answers.”

D’oud belched. His Massood companion looked pained. “You are being taken to a

Weave world for study. You confuse us. We are convinced that you are some type

of mutant, though whether natural or induced it’s premature to guess. That will

be for the specialists to determine.

“We tend to think that many of your Humanlike physical characteristics are the

result of Amplitur interference, of an attempt on their part to develop more

effective warriors. Bioengineering on a large scale is standard Amplitur modus.

We know from Koba that you are not an isolated example and that there are others

of your physical type.”

“I don’t have any Human properties.” Ranji controlled his anger. “I’m entirely

Ashregan.”

“So you have repeatedly insisted.” The S’van’s eyes glittered. “I’m sure you’re

telling the truth as you believe it. The reality will eventually emerge only

from unprejudiced analysis.”

The Massood’s upper lip curled by way of emphasis. “Your type is taller,

stronger, faster, and according to the reports more aggressive than the average

Ashregan. In short, Humanlike. How the Amplitur have managed this we do not

know, but they can pick apart DNA as easily as I would dismember a small food

animal.”

“The Amplitur have done nothing to me. I am Ashregan and only Ashregan. Analyze

all you wish. You’ll find nothing to support your ridiculous suppositions.”

The S’van sighed as he flipped off his readout and rose. Clearly the interview

was at an end. It was Ranji’s turn to smile.

“I’ll be happy to talk with you whenever you like. There’s always the chance of

winning an enemy to the Purpose.”

The two xenologists departed. “We need much more in the way of in-depth study

facilities,” the S’van was saying as he exited Ranji’s cubicle. “These cursory

interviews do not-” the door slid silently shut behind them, cutting him off in

mid-declaration.

Shortly thereafter it reopened to admit a familiar bulbous, guileless face. A

student of alien expression would have noted immediately that the smile with

which Ranji greeted this new arrival was quite different from the one he had so

recently bestowed on his interrogators.

“Purposeful greetings to you, Itepu.”

“Warm water and light currents.” The Lepar had acquired the habit of bringing

Ranji’s meals to him personally. It gave them more time to talk. Itepu enjoyed

their conversations, so long as the Ashregan kept them simple. There was much to

learn from him, and Itepu liked to learn.

Ranji swung his legs off his bed and bent to inspect the meal. As usual, the

foodstuffs were unfamiliar but edible. The ship’s automatic providers knew what

to prepare. The Weave had been taking its share of prisoners for hundreds of

years. The workings of Ashregan physiology were neither mysterious nor

complicated. The meals might not delight him, but they would keep him alive.

His captors were treating him well, even to providing him with Ashregan eating

utensils. He made use of them as the ever inscrutable Itepu looked on silently.

Their deceptive friendliness did not fool him. Everything they did was for the

sole aim of securing the cooperation of a valuable specimen, nothing more. If

they harbored any illusions about turning him to their way of thinking they were

in for an extended period of disappointment. He dug into the meal

enthusiastically, knowing he would need his energy for the arguments to come. A

prisoner he might be, but that did not mean he could no longer serve the

Purpose.

“How did the session go?” Itepu leaned back slightly, using his strong tail to

balance himself.

Ranji poked something pink and fleshy into his mouth. Useless to wonder about

drugs. He had to eat and drink in order to survive, and if they wanted to

medicate him they could do so at any time without having to resort to

subterfuge.

“I think they went away frustrated.” He chewed as he spoke. “I also think

they’re a little afraid of me. That’s good. They should be afraid of me.” He

picked up a lump of baked grains and glanced across at the Lepar. “You’re afraid

of me, too, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am. Like any civilized race we find the very notion of combat

unsettling and those species who engage in it quite terrifying.”

Ranji tore a chunk off the brown loaf and waved it at his visitor. “But you’re

not as afraid of me as you would be of a Human.”

“The Humans are our allies. I am not afraid of Humans.”

Ranji swallowed. “In addition to fighting, I’m trained to observe. My

interrogators learn from me, I learn from them. I think you’re lying.” Itepu

said nothing.

“My visitors keep telling me how many Human characteristics I have, how they’ve

been ‘bioengineered’ into my friends and me by the Teachers to enable us to

fight more like Humans. I see how they react when they speak of such things, and

it doesn’t matter whether they’re S’van, Hivistahm, O’o’yan, or Massood. It’s

been very enlightening.

“I know from my training and studies that Ashregan and Humans look a lot alike.

It would be foolish of me to try and deny that I look more like Humans than most

of my kind. But that doesn’t make me Human, or mean that my genes have been

tampered with. It means only that I’m a taller, stronger, more dangerous than

usual Ashregan. I don’t understand why your scientists keep trying to make

something very simple into something much more complicated.”

“I would not know,” replied Itepu quietly. “Such matters are beyond my

comprehension.”

“Yes. The Lepar are a simple, straightforward people. That’s why we don’t

understand why you cannot see the benefits of joining with the Purpose. Despite

what is said for public consumption, you are looked down upon within the Weave.

That would not be the case within the Purpose, where all species are treated as

equals. You would be one with the Crigolit and the Ashregan and the Amplitur

Teachers.”

“It is true that we are simple.” Itepu spoke slowly and carefully. “But we are

intelligent enough to be realists. No matter what you say, all species are not

created equal. Since we realize and accept this, it does not trouble us. From

that realization stems our contented independence, which we will never trade for

some obscure alien ideal.”

Ranji sighed and pushed the remnants of his meal aside. “More skewed thinking.

If we are allowed more time together, I hope to reveal the truth to you.”

Itepu gestured with one thick-fingered hand. “I am touched by your concern for

my welfare.”

Stymied by his inability to convince, Ranji reached for the container of

fortified liquid. The contents were pleasantly tart.

“I like you, Itepu. I like you and your fellow Lepar a great deal. I think that

in some ways you represent the best of the Weave, though you remain as misguided

as any. There’s an innocence about you, an honesty, that’s absent from your

sophisticated allies.”

“I like you, too, Ranji-aar. I am glad that I was permitted to accompany you. It

must be a terrible thing to know that one is so far from one’s companions, alone

among aliens.” A slight quiver ran through the amphibian, culminating in a sharp

twitch of his tail. “I know that I could not long stand it.”

“That’s because you’re not a fighter. Don’t condemn yourself for lack of

abilities you were not born with. Each of us has a different role to play in

this temporary existence.”

“In the current that meets itself.” Tiny black eyes regarded him from the middle

of an unintentionally comical face. “Are you so sure you know what your role

is?”

“No question about it.” Ranji settled back on the bed. “To fight for the

Purpose. To make my family and friends proud of me.”

“As I am sure they are.” Itepu straightened, holding his tail off the floor. He

smelled of the scummy water in which he and his companions spent their off-duty

hours. “It must be a wonderful thing to be so certain of everything, to know

always what to do, what is right and what is wrong. Sadly, the Lepar are a

stupid folk. The universe confuses us. We have difficulty choosing from among

infinite possibilities. If only the cosmos were a simpler place. Then we could

be more confident, more like the S’van, or the Ashregan, or the Aniplitur.”

“The Teachers?” Ranji blinked, surprised.

“Yes. The Lepar think there is much to admire in the Amplitur. It is their

attitude that troubles us. Their attitude, and their intentions.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” said Ranji earnestly. “You could change.”

Itepu touched a wall plate and the door slid aside. “I think we would rather see

the Amplitur change.” He paused in the gap.

“I hope no harm will come to you, Ranji-aar of the Ashregan. I hope you will

live out a long and contented life among your own kind. There is much about you

that intrigues me. Much that I, simple representative of a simple people, can

never hope to understand.” The door closed behind him.

Chapter Seven

The authorities went to considerable trouble to keep his arrival a secret. He

was the only passenger on the shuttle which transferred him from the Underspace

transport to the surface of Yula. There he was promptly hustled into a small,

self-powered air-repulsion vehicle. It was a lot like an attack floater save for

civilian appointments such as darkened windows and comfortable seats.

He and his escort sped through a city of modest size and alien architecture.

Soon they were traveling through rolling green hills dotted with small

agricultural establishments. Fields were lush with crops: green, yellow, brown,

and purple. Clearly Yula was a comfortable, prosperous world. Civilized.

Peaceful. Its young people did not run mazes or simulate warfare.

Ranji felt sorry for them.

The fluffy, fast-moving clouds scudding past overhead were painful reminders of

home. A few raindrops hit the vehicle’s shieldfield and evaporated. He wondered

how his parents were doing, how long it would be before they learned of his

disappearance in battle. He tried not to think of what their reaction would be.

Saguio would handle it best of all, he thought. Cynsa was too young to

understand. All of them would take comfort in the knowledge that he had

sacrificed himself fully for the Purpose.

Except that he had not sacrificed himself fully. He was still alive. As long as

he could still think clearly he knew he would not willingly go on living just to

satisfy the misguided curiosity of Weave scientists. He would find a way to

resist, somehow. For the honor of his parents. For Kouuad, and for doomed

Houcilat he was fated never to see.

There might yet be opportunities to serve the Purpose.

His captors were taking no chances. They had honored him with an escort of not

one but two Humans-both males. A lone Wais driver sat in solitary splendor in

the forward compartment, separated from the prisoner by a transparent shield.

The two males flanked Ranji, their sullen, narrow faces focused straight ahead.

If anything, they looked bored. Ranji was impressed, but far from awed.

As evidence of the respect in which his captors held him, he was compelled to

travel with his wrists securely bound behind his back. It was uncomfortable and

he said so, but in this one regard, at least, his captors seemed prepared to act

in an uncivilized manner.

He used the travel time to study his escort. They were the first Humans he’d

seen in the flesh whom he was not engaged in trying to kill. One was quite

large, taller and more massive than himself. Its right ear was plugged with a

tiny metallic button from which very faint musical sounds emerged. Whether that

had anything to do with the way he moved in his seat, occasionally flicking his

fingers against each other in the manner of a nervous Hivistahm, Ranji could not

be sure. Certainly it was linked to the universal translator he also wore.

The Human on his right looked no less competent for being smaller and slimmer.

His skin was extremely dark, especially in contrast to that of his colleague.

Ranji knew that color variance among the species could be extreme, whereas the

Ashregan were all the same golden sepia hue. The man spent most of the time

staring out the window at the rapidly changing countryside.

They climbed into slightly more rugged terrain. Fields gave way to orchards and

groves of wild trees. A range of snow-capped mountains materialized in the

distance. So far he had seen more Yulans on the ship than on this world.

No vehicles overtook them, nor did they pass any. Only a few shot past,

traveling in the other direction. Perhaps they were traversing some kind of

restricted route, Ranji mused.

Since everyone had been equipped with translators, he found himself wondering at

the presence of the Wais. Not that their contribution to the Weave was

restricted to translating. They could do other things almost as well. But he

would have expected a Yula or O’o’yan driver. Possibly the ornate ornithorp was

also a scientist, assigned to observe the specimen as it was conveyed to its

eventual destination. He amused himself with the knowledge that the Wais

probably found traveling in the company of two armed Humans far more unsettling

than he did.

The very image of isolated elegance, it never once turned to look back at its

fellow passengers. Ranji considered lurching forward should it do so, bulging

his eyes and baring his teeth. Very likely it would keel over in a dead faint.

As for trying to imbue the Humans with knowledge of the Purpose, he knew

instinctively that would be a waste of time. Uncivilized and barbaric as they

were, it wouldn’t be surprising for them to react with violence to an attempt at

simple conversation. So he sat quietly, held his peace, and studied the world

outside.

They began to slow, and he leaned forward slightly for a better look. Some kind

of attenuated freight transport was traveling north-to-south perpendicular to

their path, forcing their pilot to come to a complete halt while they waited for

the longer, slower machine to pass. The dark-hued Human shifted irritably in his

seat, a disgusted expression on his face. His larger companion continued to

twitch to the strains of unheard music. Beneath them, the vehicle’s repulsion

unit idled softly.

Ranji erupted from his seat, spinning to his right, the fingers of his left hand

striking the door-release mechanism in the combination he’d memorized when he’d

first been shoved into the vehicle. As he landed hard on the darker Human’s lap

he brought both legs up and over to grip him tightly around the neck. Twisting,

he used powerful calf and thigh muscles to thrust his captor’s upper body

explosively forward. The man’s skull slammed into the transparent barrier that

separated the front and rear compartments. Blood splattered as Ranji released

the dazed guard and tumbled out backward through the open door.

‘ ‘Get him!” the injured man moaned as Ranji felt the bigger Human’s fingers

fumbling at his ankles.

Instead of dashing for the nearest trees, Ranji spun and kicked the startled

smaller man directly beneath his chin. Weapon half-drawn, he collapsed in the

doorway, effectively blocking his larger companion from pursuing. The big Human

blurted a stentorian oath and turned to the door on his side of the vehicle,

ripping the music device from his ear and fumbling for his gun. Clearly the

prisoner was either going to sprint into the nearby orchard or else stand and

try to fight with his feet as he’d just demonstrated he was quite capable of

doing.

Instead, as soon as the big man emerged and started to come around the rear of

the vehicle toward him, Ranji jumped back in. Kicking the dark Human out, Ranji

deftly manipulated the door controls with the toe of his boot, shutting and

locking first one door and then the other. He was now alone in the secured rear

compartment with the deceived guard gesticulating angrily through the window.

Furious, the Human rushed to the front of the vehicle and yelled at the Wais to

open one of the front doors. Unfortunately for him, the sudden outburst of raw

violence had shocked the omithorp into a quasicataleptic state. It sat staring

straight ahead, feathers quivering, utterly unresponsive. The more the Human

ranted and raved, the deeper its paralysis became. Just as Ranji had hoped.

He could not count on the condition persisting, however. Hands still bound

behind him, he began hunting for a way of accessing the driver’s compartment.

His obvious intent only added to the Wais’s terror.

His search revealed a small compartment built into the back of the front

section. It contained small, finely machined instruments of alien design and

unknown purpose. There were also a number of thin transparent cards on whose

surface fine etching was visible.

The excluded Human continued to pound on the window while bellowing

untranslatable imprecations.

Ranji turned and carefully removed the cards from the shallow compartment. His

back to the barrier, he tried one after another in the slot obviously designed

to receive them, hoping one would lower the transparency that separated him from

the driver’s section. A soft beep accompanied each insertion, but the barrier

did not fall.

The slick plastic band that tightly encircled his wrists, however, metamorphosed

into a handful of foam beads.

Relieved and surprised to have regained the use of his hands, he ignored the

rampaging Human as he tried the rest of the cards. The last in the pile turned

out to be the one he was searching for.

The barrier vanished into the floor. In no particular hurry, Ranji pocketed the

card as he climbed into the empty seat next to the Wais. It continued to stare

straight ahead, resolutely ignoring him. The big Human was now frantic.

From the moment he’d been placed inside, Ranji had taken careful note of how the

Wais operated the vehicle. After re-raising the barrier, he removed the control

disk from the ornithorp’s paralyzed fingers, pulling it across on its flexible

stalk until it was in front of his seat. The disk was cleverly designed to

accommodate a variety of manipulative digits.

The lengthy freight vehicle which had instigated their delay had long since

vanished southward. Experimentally resting his palm atop the unit, Ranji moved

one finger slightly, as he’d seen the Wais do. The floater drifted forward, the

agitated Human having to run to keep up as he pounded on the glass. Once he

aimed his weapon through the transparency, but Ranji didn’t flinch. He was

relying on his importance as a specimen to preserve him from hostile fire.

Sure enough, the Human backed off. But he didn’t give up. Instead he grabbed the

dangling rear door and pulled himself in. Once safely back inside the vehicle he

straightened on the seat and carefully aimed his weapon at the card slot Ranji

had utilized to gain entrance to the driver’s compartment.

Ranji’s fingers convulsed on the disk. As the rear door slammed shut, a front

one opened. After pounding the disk against the front part of the compartment

until several buttons and switches had been dislodged, he calmly jumped from the

rapidly accelerating vehicle, landing hard on the ground outside and rolling to

his feet.

The look on the Human’s face as the vehicle sped away with him locked securely

in the back was worth the pain in Ranji’s shoulder.

The man was going to have to shoot his way into the front seat (assuming his

attempt shorted out the barrier’s controls instead of freezing them) and try to

turn the vehicle around or, more likely, call for assistance on its

communications system. It was now traveling too fast for him to consider

duplicating Ranji’s leap. Hopefully the control disk had been damaged too badly

to function. In that event the vehicle would not slow down for quite a while. By

then Ranji planned to be deep in the nearby woods.

He trotted back to where the Human he’d kicked lay on his back, groaning softly.

Ranji bent and struck the man just hard enough on the side of his neck. The

moaning stopped, but not his breathing. Killing him would be against the tenets

of the Purpose and would in any event do him no good.

The man’s pockets were full of personal effects which Ranji ignored. There was a

military chronometer, which he took, along with another set of the ubiquitous

etched cards. A small sealed square contained solid pieces of dark, sweet food.

There was also an incongruously ordinary spool of fine plastic thread. Sadly,

when he’d been kicked the man had dropped his weapon on the floor of the

floater’s rear compartment.

Straightening, he surveyed his surroundings. He couldn’t count on pursuit

delaying too long, especially if the surviving guard managed to break into the

driver’s compartment and gain control without crashing the vehicle. Ranji headed

for the thick stand of trees off to his right, using long strides to try and

leave as little in the way of a track as possible.

The orchard quickly gave way to dense, uncultivated woods. The terrain grew

rougher as flat land was replaced by steep hills cut by gullies and rivulets.

Some were dry, others cuddled running streams which nourished thick entwined

vegetation. There was plenty of good cover. He smiled as he ran, pretending he

was back in the Maze.

Wild fruit was a natural food source which he planned to sample at the first

opportunity. Like the majority of intelligent species, the Yula were

warm-blooded. Hopefully he would be able to eat some of the same food which

nourished them.

His intentions went no further than the next morning. He could not flee this

planet, could not escape to Cossuut or any other friendly world. From now on his

contribution to the war effort would consist of denying himself to his captors.

Beyond that, given time and thought, he might also be able to do a little more,

if only by disrupting the local peace and tranquillity. He wondered how long the

secret of his escape could be kept from the local populace.

Teoth received the news from Eighth-of-Records, who because of his job had

access to information routinely denied the rest of the crew. Together with

Sixth-of-Technics they had a conference of their own, during which all of his

worst fears were confirmed.

“The creature escaped from the vehicle in which it was being transported to the

study site,” the Hivistahm was saying. “As of the latest information I was able

to acquire, despite mounting efforts to recapture it, it still running free was

in the countryside.”

“I am not surprised.” Teoth scuffed at the deck with his fore-center leg. “I

almost expected something like this to happen.”

Sixth-of-Technics blinked at his friend. “Truly you do not upset at the news

seem.”

Three eyes turned to the slightly smaller of the two Hivistahm. “Why should one

be disappointed when one’s hopes are about to be fulfilled?”

The nighttime temperature on this part of Omaphil was moderate. Despite nerves

and lack of facilities, Ranji was able to manage several hours’ sleep.

Upon awakening, he scoured the nearby trees for a selection of fruit.

Tentatively peeling and eating as efficiently as he could, he filled his belly

and then settled down to wait. The queasiness that resulted was due as much to

tension as to anything he’d eaten. Only when he was confident that the food he

had consumed was going to stay down did he allow himself to drink from the

nearby brook.

Morning had brought a number of animals to the water’s edge to quench their

thirst. Most were clad in green and blue fur that seemed too thick for so mild a

climate. They ignored him, accepting him as one of their own as he washed fruit

pulp and seeds from his face and hands. Thus refreshed, he took his bearings by

the sun and set off deeper into the forest, his eventual goal being the high

western mountains he’d seen from the vehicle.

They would be frantically searching the length of the road, he knew, but since

he’d waited until the floater was out of sight before starting off, they

wouldn’t know which way he’d gone. Nor were his captors likely to have ready

access to tracking specialists on a peaceful, civilized world like Omaphil. It

would take time to bring in trained individuals and specialized equipment to

hunt him down.

He couldn’t count on any of that, though. He had to assume they were already on

his trail. The thought did not discourage him. On the contrary, the more

resources they had to divert to tracking him down, the greater was his

contribution to the advance of civilization.

As the day wore on he found himself gaining in strength and determination as he

moved along, keeping to the trees that protected him from aerial discovery as

well as helping to mask his heat signature. The longer it took for them to

locate him, the deeper into the mountains he could go and the more difficult it

would be for them to eventually dig him out. If he could find a cave system, he

might be able to stay hidden for years.

By the third day he had begun to gain some real altitude. Continued progress now

involved climbing as well as simple hiking. Silently he thanked the Yula

settlers who had kept to population centers and left this portion of Omaphil, at

least, in its wild, undeveloped state.

Descending a steep but shallow gorge brought him to the base of a roaring

cataract. Where the foaming waters were sharply bent westward by an unyielding

wall of granite he found a mass of storm-tossed driftwood that provided him with

a fine-grained, water-polished club.

A subsequent search through a pile of splintered rock produced several sharp

triangular chips. His patient efforts to secure one to the end of the club with

fibers drawn from a local plant eventually resulted in a serviceable if

primitive weapon. He swung it in short, experimental arcs, exulting in the

swoosh it made as it swept air aside. Now the means for defending himself

extended beyond mere bare hands.

Hoping to find material from which to fashion a sling, he pocketed some of the

hard round pebbles from the bottom of the stream as he followed it for a while

before striking off again into the brush.

On the fifth day he killed a grazing herbivore. It was nearly his size, and

skinning it with the crude tools at hand was a messy and time-consuming process.

He persevered, however, and when he was through he had acquired an outer garment

which not only would shed rain but disguise his smell. If he dropped to all

fours and imitated the animal’s gait, it might be enough to fool a casual

observer into believing they were seeing anything but a renegade Ashregan.

He had now acquired weapons and camouflage that, although simple, were a great

advance over nothing at all. With luck, his pursuers would not imagine him

capable of such inventiveness.

He was beginning to think he could roam the wild, heavily vegetated mountains

forever when he was nearly surprised by the Tracker.

Though there had to be many of them on his trail, this one was alone. No doubt

they had spread out to cover as much of the countryside as possible. The

procedure struck him as eminently sensible. Anyone finding evidence of his

presence could immediately call for assistance.

Unless he spotted them first.

The bipedal figure was still some distance away, too far for him to make out the

species without a scope. Probably Massood, he thought. Their height, sharp

vision, and long stride made them notable Trackers.

Not that it mattered. From now on he would move at night, when his pursuers were

likely to be sleeping, and hide himself during the day. Either he would outpace

them or they would pass him by. He began searching for his first hiding place.

In this manner he successfully passed the first week, then a second. No doubt

those local authorities whom the Weave had seen fit to entrust with a minimum of

information about his escape were frantic by now, wondering where in their

civilized midst the dangerous escaped warrior might choose to materialize.

Better yet, they might think he’d fallen over a cliff or perished of hunger and

scale down the pursuit.

He was feeling very good about his situation as he worked his way through a

night-shrouded grove of tall, oddly bent trees and stumbled over the dozing form

of the Tracker.

Because of the camouflage blanket, the low mound had looked like any other clump

of earth. Only when he started across did it yield spongily beneath his feet and

emit a startled yelp. A blast of heat lit up the night and singed his ear as a

weapon went off wildly under him.

The blunt side of his club was less urbane, but more effective.

There were no more shots. The struggling figure beneath the blanket went limp.

Ranji staggered backward a couple of steps and sat down heavily, gulping air.

Everything had happened so fast that he was only now beginning to sequence the

events in retrospect. Gingerly he touched the left side of his head. He could

still feel the heat of the bolt’s passing. A finger length more to the right and

it would have gone through his eye. If not for his extensive training and superb

reflexes, he’d be sprawled out on the ground right now instead of sitting up

considering his assailant.

His instinct was to flee. Instead, he forced himself to approach the motionless

shape under the blanket. If it was dead, its companions would soon learn of its

fate by reason of its noncommunicativeness. Regardless, it might be carrying

much he could use.

After pocketing the surprisingly small gun, he dragged the blanket off the

unconscious form and began to fold it neatly. The Tracker’s pack lay near its

feet. It was encouragingly full and would ride easily on his back. That done, he

knelt and felt along the furless legs-clearly not Massood-until he came to the

service belt. Undoing the secure-tight he slipped it around his own waist and

was gratified to find that though he had to place it on the last possible

setting, it fit.

Continuing to probe the body in hope of finding something else useful, he was

mildly interested to discover that the Tracker was female and mammalian, very

much like an Ashregan in consistency and shape. His interest was wholly

dispassionate. The notion that anyone would find contact with a barbaric,

half-mad, crazed Human in any way stimulating made him shudder. Not to mention

the fact that the individual in question had just tried its best to melt his

skull.

It moaned softly then, proof that his reflexive blow with the club hadn’t been

fatal. When he reached the head his fingers encountered the thick wetness

flowing from the scalp. The figure moaned again, louder this time.

He considered how to proceed. The thought of killing another Human did not

bother him-he’d done plenty of that on Koba-but the less damage he inflicted

during his period of freedom, the easier it would go on him if he eventually was

recaptured. Neither side had much sympathy for prisoners who killed while

escaping.

A check of the service belt turned up the expected communications module. With

the aid of the translator that had remained in place in his ear and around his

neck during his flight, he might be able to monitor the other Trackers’

positions as they spoke to one another. That would be more than a little useful.

Ought to be on my way, he mused. Still, if he lingered until the Tracker

regained consciousness, he might be able to acquire valuable information about

the size, disposition, and strength of his pursuit as well as the countryside in

which he found himself. He was not Amplitur and could not mind-probe, but there

were other methods of interrogation-following which he could always render her

unconscious again.

Occupying himself with a cursory search of the pack’s contents in the feeble

light of the single small moon, he settled down to wait.

He dozed off more than once during the night, awakening each time with a start

at the cry or movement of some nocturnal creature. His concerns were unfounded.

The Tracker had not moved.

As soon as darkness began to give way to morning, he rose and walked to the

nearest stream. Using the Tracker’s collapsible purifying cup he scooped water

from the surface and returned, putting it to her lips until she began to cough.

Pouring the rest over her face, he settled back and watched, gun in hand.

She rolled over and blinked without straightening. When she saw him, she woke up

very quickly. Her gaze dropped to his waist, where her service belt rode snugly,

then to his feet, where he had placed her pack.

He must have made quite a picture, he mused, clad as he was in her equipment,

his Ashregan duty suit, and the rapidly ripening animal skin. Before speaking,

he double-checked his translator settings.

“Sorry I had to hit you so hard, but keep in mind that you were the one doing

the hunting. I stumbled over you in the dark and you shot at me, so I reacted as

necessary. You might’ve killed me.”

“Didn’t want to.” She had a pleasant voice, he thought, but then there was

little difference between the Human and Ashregan larynx. “Supposed to bring you

in intact. For study.” Now she sat up and felt gingerly of the lump on her head

where his club had connected. “You surprised me, too. Might’ve killed me.”

He made an Ashregan gesture of negativity. “Didn’t want to. Keep you alive. For

study.”

She looked at him sideways, then smiled hesitantly. As it wasn’t a maximum Human

smile, with the concomitant obscene baring of teeth, he was able to observe it

without flinching.

He saw the lean muscles start to tense beneath her clothing and leisurely raised

the muzzle of the little heat pistol. “Please don’t. Unnecessary killing

distresses those of us who believe in the Purpose.” She relaxed.

“Better. My name is Ranji-aar, though you probably know that already, along with

much else about me. As I find imbalance in the universe personally displeasing,

you will be good enough to supply me with your name.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. If he wanted to, she knew he could make life

uncomfortable for her.

“Trondheim. Heida Trondheim. You move fast. You’ve been giving us a hell of a

time.”

“Independence is a great motivator.”

She turned to face him, straightening her legs as she rose, leaning against a

tree for support. “Enjoy it while you can. We’re closing in on you. This country

is swarming with Trackers. Any time now they’re going to start missing me.” She

studied him with interest. “You must be pretty special. I’m told that when news

of your escape reached local Command, the authorities went a little nuts.”

“Delighted to hear it. As for your friends closing in on me, they’ve been

closing in on me for days. They just can’t seem to catch me.”

Her gaze narrowed. “You don’t talk or act like your average Ashregan. Don’t look

much like one, either.”

He bristled. There it was again, this elementary emphasis on his appearance.

“I’m not average,” he growled.

Again her fingers felt of her forehead. “You sure don’t hit average.” She tensed

again and for the first time he saw fear in her eyes. “Are you going to kill

me?”

“Not unless you make it necessary for me to do so. I would rather ask you some

questions.”

“Don’t expect me to answer freely.”

“You don’t have to answer freely.” He gestured with the gun. “Feel free to

answer under duress.” From her service belt he removed a small device the size

of his middle finger. It was fashioned of dull gray metal and sported a

miniature grid at one end, a single button at the other. “What does this do?”

Her lips drew into a tight line as she crossed her arms.

“Very well. I suppose the only way to find out is to try it.” Pointing the grid

end at her, he placed his thumb over the button.

Alarmed, she ducked and raised both hands defensively. Only after he’d

reattached the device to the belt did she resignedly explain.

“It contains a powerful binary narcoleptic gas that activates on contact.

Designed for close-quarter capture. It’s not harmful.”

“I can infer that from your reaction,” he replied dryly.

Again that hesitancy. “I swear you keep joking with me. The Ashregan don’t

joke.”

“Some of us do.”

She sat up again, dusting her shoulder off. “I studied the pictures they gave

us, but they don’t begin to suggest how close to Human your appearance is.”

“All Humans and Ashregan look alike,” he replied with the tired air of one who

was heartily sick of the subject.

She shook her head. “Not this much. For one thing you’re much too tall, taller

than most Human males.”

“I have many friends who are considerably shorter, and others who are taller

still. There is considerable physical variation in both our species.”

“It’s more than that.”

Her intense gaze was making him uncomfortable. If one disregarded the flattened

skull, protruding ears, and tiny eye sockets, she was almost attractive. Her

legs made those of the average Ashregan female look stunted, though her fingers

were far shorter. He was glad of the intensifying daylight, which tended to

emphasize the differences between them.

“We were told that you were one of a group of specialized Ashregan who’ve been

genetically altered by the Amplitur. Seeing you in the flesh, I can believe

it.”

“I am the Ashregan Unifer Ranji-aar,” he reminded her stiffly. “Your

philosophical and physical enemy. Nothing more than that. Do not think to

compose an appeal to any imaginary ‘Human’ characteristics you think I possess.

You will only be disappointed.”

“Well, you talk like an Ashregan, and you act like an Ashregan, but . . .” She

was still dubious. “No wonder Research and Development wants to look at you so

badly.”

“I am not flattered.”

“This is going to ruin me,” she muttered. “I’ll be laughed out of my unit.”

“Your personal social difficulties are of no concern to me.” He rose and she

shrank back against the tree. “I don’t think you can track me without this.” He

held up the seeker visor he’d found in her pack and slowly slipped it over his

face, the headband tightening automatically. Adjustment of its internal controls

would provide him with greatly enhanced vision and a plethora of information on

his surroundings.

“With this on, I think your colleagues will have a harder time ‘closing in’ on

me.” He turned away from her to pick up the backpack.

“Then you’re really not going to kill me.” She was still hesitant.

“I’ve already told you: those who believe in the Purpose-“

“Yeah, yeah. Some of your allies take a less exalted attitude on the

battlefield.”

He took a step toward her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to render you

unconscious again. Just to preserve my lead. Nothing personal.”

She sighed. “If you must. I hope you trip over a rock and break both legs.

Nothing personal.”

He smiled. “I must tell you that your appearance borders on the attractive.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Don’t go getting any funny ideas. We’re different species.”

“Ah,” he said, gratified. “Then you don’t think we’re that much alike after

all.” Holstering the heat gun, he hefted his club.

Chapter Eight

Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have been trapped so easily, but his

unnatural attraction to the Human female had made him careless. The result was

that he fell victim to a relatively clumsy ambush.

By the time he realized what was happening it was too late. Fur bristling,

triple eyes staring, the Yula stepped out from behind the boulder in front of

him while the Hivistahm-Hivistahm!-rose from behind the fallen log off to his

right. Each held a stinger focused on different parts of his body. He didn’t

recognize the weapons type . . . not that it mattered.

He was furious with himself. A moment ago he’d been preparing to set off into

the real mountains, better equipped to remain at large than he’d been since his

initial escape. Now all was lost. Not to Human or Massood Trackers, but because

of a native and a Hivistahm, noncombatants both.

The Hivistahm he thought he could outmaneuver, but he knew nothing of Yula

reaction time. The triped spoke through a translator.

“Put your right hand atop your head and drop the club you hold to the ground,

then put your left hand atop your right. Do it quickly, please!”

As soon as Ranji had complied the Hivistahm bounded forward and, trembling

slightly, removed the heat pistol from the service belt and retreated.

“Good.” The tiny black eyes never wavered. “Please keep your hands where they

are so that I may note the position of your manipulative digits at all times.”

Out of the corner of an eye Ranji saw that the Hivistahm was still trembling,

and he wondered how the highly civilized, inoffensive creature had been talked

into participating in the ambush.

The Human rose and brushed at the back of her suit. “It’s about time relief got

here, though I was expecting one of my own kind. Not that I’m complaining,

mind.” She started toward him.

“Stop there, please.”

Halting, she gaped at the Yula. It had remained motionless while confronting the

prisoner, but under that Human stare it quivered ever so slightly. Ranji noted

the reaction.

“What is this?” she murmured. “I’m one of the designated Trackers. You two have

done well and will be suitably commended. I’ll see to that myself. But you’re

not trained soldiers. I am. I’m not trying to steal your thunder. I’ll hold the

gun while you take my stuff off him. Then we’ll call for a sled to lift us all

out of here.” She took another step.

The Yula retreated an equal distance and flicked the muzzle of its weapon in her

direction. “Stay where you are, Human. Do not make me tell you again. Your

presence here complicates matters and I am trying to decide how to proceed.”

Hands atop his head, Ranji watched and waited silently for an opening.

“You want to take it back alive, to keep it here on Omaphil for observation and

study,” the Yula was saying.

“Of course.” The woman continued to stare at the triped.

“I cannot let you do that.” Its fluffed-up fur made the native look twice as big

as it actually was. “The thing has to die.”

“What are you talking about?” Trondheim’s gaze was focused on the stinger.

“Don’t you realize what an impressive accomplishment this is for one of your

species, how you’ll be feted when the word gets out that you and a Hivistahm

captured an escaped Ashregan warrior?”

“We do not want to do anything ‘impressive,’ ” the Yula told her.

“Truly feted we do not wish to be,” added the Hivistahm.

With the rocking, jerky motion of its kind, the Yula took a double step toward

Ranji. “The thing needs to die. It is a dangerous mutation, an aberration that

could wreak havoc on Omaphil were it to escape from captivity. As it already

has. So much for vaunted government safeguards.” He gestured with the pistol.

“Look at it! Twisted and distorted by the addition of Human fighting

characteristics. Can one imagine anything so grotesque? It will be better off

dead.”

“How did you know that I had escaped?” Ranji asked curiously.

The Yula did something with its tiny mouth which might have been the equivalent

of a smile. “I have well-informed friends.”

“Then your friends should’ve told you that its fate is not for you to decide.”

Trondheim glanced in Ranji’s direction. “There’s a sled on its way here now. How

are you going to explain their dead specimen to them when they arrive?”

“We did not think of that.” The Hivistahm scanned the sky uneasily. “Truly we

did not think of that.”

“Be quiet!” Teoth snapped. “The female attempts to preserve the monster’s life

with the aid of a fabrication.” He aimed the pistol. “This will only take an

instant and then we will be away from this place.”

“As a Human soldier of the Weave I am ordering you to turn your weapons and this

prisoner over to me!” Trondheim took a step toward the triped, eyes glittering.

“Or are you going to shoot me, too?”

“You may kill me after, but that does not matter.” Teoth was calm, anesthetized

by the prospect of incipient martyrdom. “My life is not important. I gladly die

to preserve my world from this creature. If word of its presence was made known

there would be panic. The Weave had no right to bring it here. Omaphil is

peaceful and civilized. I shall insure that it so remains.” It looked back at

Ranji.

“Do not attempt to convince me otherwise. I was on the ship with it. I watched,

and I know.”

“Word won’t get out,” Trondheim told him.

Teoth made a gargling sound deep in his throat. “It has already escaped custody

once.”

“It won’t happen again.” She spoke slowly and deliberately.

For the first time, the Yula seemed to hesitate. “Can you guarantee that? Can

you assure it beyond doubt? I think not. Its presence here says not. Better it

should die.”

Trondheim advanced another step and extended a hand. She was quite close to the

native now, Ranji noted. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that. If you’re going to

shoot it, then you’re going to have to kill me, too. Now give me that pistol.”

The use of the Human command tone shook Ranji slightly. Unsurprisingly, it

rattled the Yula even more. As soon as the weapon’s muzzle had drifted

sufficiently toward the woman, Ranji moved.

The sandy gravel he kicked up struck the Yula in the face. It uttered a

high-pitched squeak, dropped the gun, and clawed at its eyes with the

instinctive reaction of a nonfighter. Ranji pivoted and leaped to within arm’s

length of the Hivistahm. Bug-eyed, it fired wildly as Trondheim dove for cover.

Neatly severed by the stinger, a large branch tumbled from a nearby tree.

As he landed Ranji brought his closed fist around in a sweeping arc to strike

the Hivistahm in the left eye. Fragile occipital bones crunched and blood

squirted. The much smaller, reptilian creature gave a slight shudder and

collapsed onto its haunches, then onto its side.

Brushing grit from sensitive eyes, the Yula bent its fore-center leg and reached

to recover its weapon. As it did soRanji spied a fist-sized stone, snatched it

up, aimed and threw all in one motion. A Human or Massood might have been able

to dodge, but the Yula was not nearly so quick. The rock struck it above the

middle eye, denting fur and bone both. It exhaled reverberantly and fell

backward.

Panting hard, he stood wondering at the psychosis which would drive a Yula and

Hivistahm to such a confrontation. Before he could come up with any answers,

something heavy hit him in the ribs. Much more massive than a Yula or Hivistahm,

it sent him sprawling.

Trondheim rolled off him and scrambled for the pistol still clutched in the

motionless Hivistahm’s fingers. Ignoring the pain in his side, Ranji flung

himself in pursuit, landing on the back of her thighs. She twisted and pain shot

through his whole body as her elbow connected with his nose.

Wrenching the pistol from the unconscious alien, she whirled and fired, aiming

to wound, not kill. Ranji froze, waiting for the bolt from the stinger to take

effect. Nothing happened. Frowning, she sighted carefully along the barrel and

fired again.

An unsmiling Ranji climbed to his feet and charged.

It all made perfect sense. The Yula had been very much in command, just as it

had been quite mad. Not being possessed by a similarly extreme form of insanity,

the Hivistahm had agreed to provide backup . . . but could not bring itself to

handle a loaded weapon capable of killing another intelligent being. The stinger

it had carried was not charged. It didn’t really need to be, since their quarry

wouldn’t know otherwise.

He did now.

Trondheim threw the useless weapon at him and made a dive for the Yula’s gun.

She would have beaten a normal Ashregan to it, but not Ranji. It was his turn to

hit her hard in the ribs. She wheezed painfully and tried to use the elbow

again, but this time he was ready for it and the blow caught him harmlessly on

the shoulder. As it did so he brought the edge of his palm down against the side

of her neck and she went limp.

Panting hard, he rose slowly and picked up the Yula’s stinger, not taking his

eyes off her as he did so. Next he walked back to the Hivistahm and recovered

her heat pistol. Only then did he allow himself to relax a little. He took his

time rearranging the backpack and service belt, sorting through the pack’s

contents as he waited for her partial paralysis to wear off.

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

Wadir. 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 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.

Chapter Nine

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.

“This picture here, for example.” The Hivistahm removed a compact indicator from

a vest pocket and used it to highlight portions of the image. “Do you see these

points . . . here, here, and here?” The indicator shifted precisely as he spoke.

Ranji squinted, unimpressed. “What about them? Am I supposed to volunteer

identification? They could be bits of bone, or blood vessels. You’re the

surgeon, not I. If you’re offering me lessons on my own physiology, I don’t need

any.”

“Truly that to be seen remains.” The indicator moved anew. “These are grafting

points.” Wide slitted eyes gazed up at him, both eyelids drawn back. “You no

comment have?”

Ranji blinked at the image, trying to make sense of what the Hivistahm was

saying. What was the object of all this, anyway? Why were there so many of them

in the room, and why were they all watching him so closely? What did it matter

if such things were inside his head, or anywhere else in his body?

“No, I don’t have any comment.” He tapped the plastic. “This means nothing to

me. Should it?”

“It should indeed.” The surgeon removed another of the sheets. “That the right

side of your skull was. This the left is. On this one you will see three

additional points. Note that as to location they are to the previous three

identical. It is thought that this work very early was carried out.”

“Still means nothing to me.” Ranji was cautiously indifferent. “Does it mean

something to you?”

“Truly. It tells me that the prominent bony ridges which just beneath each of

your eyes begin and over your ears and into the back of your skull run are not

natural, but rather the result of prenatal osteoplasty.”

Ranji started to reply, hesitated, instead said slowly, “I don’t know what

you’re talking about.”

“Permit me.” First-of-Surgery strained on the toes of his sandals to reach the

right side of Ranji’s face. With a clawed finger he delicately traced the

prominent bony line which dominated each side of the prisoner’s skull.

“These are to you not natural. They are of surgery and implants the result. Your

skin was similarly modified to allow for the additional unnatural projections.

The same sort of modification has to your occipital orbits, ears, and fingers

been done. Everything carried out was before you were born, before your bones

time to set had.

“To insure that such work ‘takes’ without interfering with the natural process

of bone maturation and fusion requires skills we do not possess. Only one

species at bioengineering so clever is.” He replaced the current sheet with a

new one.

“See here, your hands. Again the grafting points.” Ranji stared without

comprehending.

“But … if any of what you say is true, why?”

The Hivistahm’s teeth clicked softly. “To give you the appearance of an

Ashregan. If one backward works to delete these points and their projected

effects, the result is a quite different skeleton.” He hesitated and took a step

away from the prisoner. “Truly truly what one has is not a mutant Ashregan, but

a normal Human.”

Ranji snorted derisively. “That’s crazy.”

First-of-Surgery slipped the pictures back into their protective envelope. “The

rest of your body-your muscular structure, density, organ placement and

function, sensitivity of sense, everything-comfortably within Human-normal

parameters sits. You grade out high-end Homo sapiens, not off-the-scale

Ashregan. You are as Human as the three others in this room.”

The prisoner’s gaze darted reflexively to the Ashregan-fluent woman and her

squat male associate. They stared evenly back at him.

“This is more than aberrant; it’s insane. No, it’s more subtle than that. You’re

all trying to trick me. You’ve got some ulterior purpose in mind and in order to

carry it through you need to confuse and trick me. You might as well forget it.

I’m not so easily fooled.”

“Perhaps not,” said the short Human, “but you’re not stupid, either. You scored

as high in intelligence as you did in everything else. Environmental factors

aside, scanner tridis aside, can’t you tell just by looking at yourself that

you’re more Human than Ashregan?” His companion took up the refrain.

“No Ashregan ever grew bones as dense as yours, or had such median muscular

strength. No Ashregan ever had your reflexes or striking ability.” The emphasis

on the elements of the ruse he expected and was prepared for, but not the

imploring tone in her voice.

Still he remained perfectly composed. “I concede that I may have been slightly

altered to give me certain specific Human fighting characteristics and

abilities. That conclusion’s inevitable and I no longer try to deny it.”

Comments in different tongues filled the room. “Nor does it trouble me.

Obviously such information needs to be withheld from children and young adults

since they are not sufficiently mature to cope with it. Whereas as an adult I

can understand what was done and why. So what if maybe I’ve been physically

enhanced in order to better serve the Purpose? I see nothing sinister in that.”

“Truly it no wonder is how confused you are,” First-of-Surgery said. “You still

do not see.”

“See what?” Ranji snapped impatiently. He’d had about enough of this nonsense.

“That you are not an Ashregan to whom Human characteristics given have been, but

a Human into whom Ashregan features have been engineered. We have your genome

pattern scanned and found the alterations which will enable you to pass on these

features to your offspring. They into your genes have been induced. The Amplitur

the long view take.

“To the Amplitur you are a warrior only second, Ranji-aar, and breeding material

first.”

Chapter Ten

He waited until he was sure he was still in complete control of himself before

responding. “If everything you claim is true, then how do you explain my

parents? My memories, my homeworld? The Houcilat outrage?”

“We’ve been doing some research, using as a starting point some of the things

you’ve told us.” The woman’s manner was far more soothing than anything Ranji

would ever have associated with a Human. “You and the friends you have spoken of

are indeed the survivors of a massacre of civilians.”

“Ah,” Ranji said.

The woman continued. “There was a colony. Not Houcilat. A world whose name is

now synonymous with mindless destruction. It was utterly obliterated a number of

years ago by an unsupervised, unanticipated Crigolit attack. Just the right

number of years ago, in fact, to place you and your age-group companions there

as fetuses,

“Whole regions were incinerated. It was the only time within modern memory that

weapons of mass destruction have been utilized on a planetary surface. The

Crigolit commanders who directed the attack were severely disciplined by their

own superiors and by the Arnplitur. Based on what we have learned from you we

have come to believe that this did not prevent the Amplitur, ever pragmatic,

from seeing the possibilities inherent in the situation.

“At the time it was thought that no one could have survived. The majority of

bodies were incinerated, carbonized. An accurate count of the dead could not be

made. Therefore it was not possible for those who came after to say whether or

not any children, men, women, or-” Her voice broke for the barest instant.

“-pregnant women had been taken prisoner. Considering the unprecedented scope of

destruction it was presumed not. Your presence vitiates a reappraisal.” She

tried to go on, couldn’t, and left it to her colleague to continue.

“You were taken by the Amplitur, not rescued,” the man said curtly. “Of course

you have no memory of it. The abductions were carried out prior to your birth.”

“Many images of the devastation are available for scholarly study.” The elderly

Massood spoke for the first time. “The world in question is there for all to

see, a barren testimonial to war without rules.”

“My parents.” Ranji was mumbling. More than his self-assurance was under assault

now. The walls of himself were under attack, and he was frightened, terrified

because he could feel them crumbling.

Too much. Too much to listen to at once, to try and absorb and dissect and

analyze. Too much to think about. Pictures and words, stories and facts.

Invention, invention! They were trying to drive him mad.

The woman was remorselessly gentle. “As soon as you were born you must have been

taken from your natural mother and placed with foster Ashregan parents. The same

would be true for your brother.” She paused. ‘ ‘We suspect that the much

younger sister of whom you have spoken is the result of in vitro fertilization

and subsequent implantation. With sufficient medical support an Ashregan womb

will support a Human fetus. Such action would contribute to familial

verisimilitude. The Amplitur are careful about details.”

None of it could be true, he told himself numbly. Not a word of it. Because if

it were so then it meant that his real parents were dead, extinguished by the

Amplitur as soon as their usefulness had come to an end. It meant that the two

individuals on Cossuut he had all his life called mother and father were ao more

than Amplitur agents who had dedicated their lives to perpetuating a monstrous

fraud on innocent children. It meant that all his hard work, everything he had

devoted his life to preserving and fighting for, was no more than sham and

shadow in the service of monstrous eugenics.

“Deception.” He was muttering under his breath now. “Tricks and lies. You’re

trying to convince me I’m something I’m not.”

Abruptly the eviscerating uncertainty vanished. Once again he was composed and

relaxed. The fear that possibly they were right, that everything he was and had

stood for all his life was a lie, simply evaporated under the cool glare of

knowledge.

“If I am not Ashregan but Human,” he inquired triumphantly of them all but the

two Humans in particular, ‘ ‘how is it that I can have mind contact with the

Amplitur without the Human neurocerebral defensive mechanism engaging? I’ve

experienced this without any harm coining to either myself or the Teachers

involved. No Human could do the same, even if they so desired.”

First-of-Surgery consulted with a cluster of O’o’yan and other Hivistahm.

Removing a sheet from the envelope of lies, the elderly surgeon approached the

prisoner for the second time.

“Remember this picture?”

Ranji glanced haughtily at the plastic. “Maybe.”

“I again call your attention to the small area in red highlighted. This a much

deeper scan is than any of the others. It shows a tiny portion of the interior

of the right side of your cerebral cortex.”

“If you say so,” he replied indifferently. “What’s this one supposed to be?

Another graft? Another trick?”

The Hivistahm’s teeth ground against one another as he slowly explained. “The

red-enhanced portion the location signifies of a minute ganglionic complex. A

nodule, a collection of nerve endings and connections. It took quite a while to

find and was not at first noticed. Once it was identified a great deal of our

time it occupied.” The sheet rustled slightly in his fingers.

“The Human brain no such formation contains.”

Ranji smiled. “You see? That only proves what I’ve been saying all along.”

The short Human scratched at an ear. “There is also no such nodule present in

the Ashregan brain.”

Ranji involuntarily found himself eyeing the picture again. There it was: a

fuzzy blot of indeterminate size and indistinct outline. Reason enough to

concede one’s sanity?

First-of-Surgery handed him another picture. “Here still another view is. The

magnification is greater.”

The blot resolved itself into a tight cluster of cells from which tiny filaments

extended in many directions. It looked like any creature one might observe

through a microscope.

“And still greater magnification.”

The third picture revealed the filaments and cells in detail. No biologist, he

was incapable of identifying any of it. Except . . .

He pointed. “What’s that?”

First-of-Surgery forced himself to lean close. “A nanoneural weld. A place where

nerve endings artificially joined have been.” The slit-eyed, scaly reptilian

face stared up at him.

“Your body no code contains for such a complex. It was built and then in your

mind installed. As one would accessorize any rare precision instrument. It in a

portion of your brain reposes which Human scientists have designated as unused.

I should prefer to say hitherto dormant.

“Research leads us to believe that this is the region of the Human mind which

holds the key to Homo sapiens’s ability to resist Amplitur mind-probes and

suggestions. It therefore follows logically that this unique addition to your

cerebral structure was by Amplitur nanobioengineers there ernplaced in order

susceptible to their mental manipulation to render you. It a bridge appears to

be. A neural bypass, if you will. As artificial and unnatural as the bony ridges

above your ears.”

“Not only are they breeding Ashregan-looking Humans to fight for them,” said the

woman softly, “if they can get you and your friends to mate with Human captives

or others, they can breed out of the species the neurocerebral mechanism that

enables humankind to resist their mind-probes. That has to be their eventual

aim.”

“First-of-Surgery told you they take the long view,” her companion huffed.

Ranji stared blankly at them. A psychosomatic throbbing started near the back of

his skull, where the minuscule nodule supposedly reposed.

“I don’t believe you,” he finally managed to mutter hoarsely. “If this thing is

for real, then it’s something all my people possess. All Ashregan people. You’re

trying to make me paranoid by showing me some obscure, harmless growth or faked

imagery. Well, it won’t work. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to be taken in

by something so obvious.”

“The nodule is to you unique.” First-of-Surgery was quietly insistent. “It is

real, it is not found in Humans, it is not found in Ashregan. Only you.”

“This is a wicked thing,” the elderly Massood whispered. “Barbarous.

Uncivilized.”

“Like war itself.” The short Human scanned the roomful of allies. “Mankind is

just the only species that readily accepts the fact, is all. That’s why this

discovery only surprises but does not shock us.”

“Indubitably.” The Massood’s comment was a peculiar melange of distaste and

admiration.

“Lies, clever lies.” Ranji glared defiantly at the two Humans. “They won’t help

you. Did you really think you’d be able to convince me of such a sweeping

hypothesis on the basis of such paltry evidence? This,” and he shook the plastic

sheet violently, “is nothing!” He whirled and flung it as far as he could. It

sailed through the air.

In the split second that every eye in the room turned to follow the picture’s

progress Ranji was out of his seat and moving. First-of-Surgery went flying as a

powerful forearm brushed him aside.

With no one else standing in his way Ranji was at the door before the two guards

could react. The larger of the two caught a brace of stiffened fingers square in

his throat. He gagged and went down as heavily as if he’d taken a slug to the

chest. His companion was trying to backpedal and aim his gun when the prisoner’s

spinning heel caught him across the side of the face, sending blood and teeth

flying.

Ranji roared up the corridor, legs and lungs functioning smoothly in tandem. If

he could just reach the surface . . . He was counting on his specimen value to

preserve him from destruction, betting that the order was out to shoot only to

stun.

Turning a comer brought him face-to-face with a single Wais. The ornithorp was

seated behind a high metal desk in the center of a floor inlaid with speckled

stone. Walls of glass revealed the underground parking area he remembered from

his arrival many months earlier. Few vehicles were in evidence. More

importantly, the external door was open. Beyond lay blue sky, clouds, and

fringing vegetation.

Turning, the Wais started to speak, recognized him for who he was, and froze.

Ranji was racing past the desk and halfway to the exit when his right leg went

numb from the knee down.

He kept moving, dragging the paralyzed limb, lurching desperately forward. A

glance over his shoulder showed a pair of Humans firing as they came up the

corridor. He ignored them and concentrated on the egress. If he could just make

it outside he might be able to appropriate a vehicle and get clear before they

shut the tunnel on him. The paralysis would wear off soon enough. He tried to

will himself to limp faster, to run on one good leg; to levitate.

Something shocked his left thigh and he fell forward onto the smooth stone

floor. The Wais at the desk had yet to move. A pair of Hivistahm technicians

hesitated in the doorway, staring blankly at his prone form, clicking their

teeth at one another with soft reptilian eloquence.

Ranji began pulling himself hand over hand, struggling to get a purchase with

his fingers on the slick tiles. Out of the corner of an eye a pair of legs

appeared, effortlessly paralleling him. Turning to look up, he recognized the

guard he’d jabbed in the throat. The man’s expression as he drew back his leg

was more than simply hostile.

Despite the throbbing in his legs Ranji smiled up at him. “You see, I would

never contemplate doing what you’re about to do, but that’s because I’m not

anything like you. I may be a soldier, but I’m also civilized Ashregan. Whereas

you are only Human.”

The guard hesitated, then slowly let his foot drop to the floor. He stood close,

keeping the rifle he carried pointed at the back of the prisoner’s skull.

Muttering nervously to themselves, the pair of confronted Hivistahm entered in

haste, scurrying across the floor to disappear down another corridor.

A resigned sigh escaped Ranji as he gazed longingly at the vacant portal.

“Almost made it. I should have hit you harder.”

The guard rubbed his neck. “Wouldn’t have mattered. They would’ve caught you

before you’d gone far.” He glanced back the way he’d come. Other guards were

moving to seal the exit and block off the far corridor. Shaky but now mobile,

the Wais was frantically filling her headset unit with declamations in several

languages.

Some of the scientists and research specialists from the conference room had

arrived. Bunched up behind the guards, they were murmuring and pointing in

Ranji’s direction, worried lest their precious specimen suffer further damage.

“You know,” the burly Human standing over Ranji informed him conversationally,

“I want to kick you really bad. A good, hard, uncivilized shot right to the

kidneys. Assuming you’ve got kidneys. If the brainoids are right, yours are just

like mine. Waited too long, though. Too many witnesses now.”

Ranji pushed himself into a seated position, leaning back on his palms. He

regarded the Human as one would a particularly nasty carnivore recently

collected from a hostile, uninhabited world.

“Nothing about me is anything like you.”

The man looked indifferent. “Doesn’t matter. If a Human had hit me like that I’d

want to smack him just as badly.”

“Contemplation of violence against your own kind. What an astonishing racial

conceit.”

“Yeah, ain’t it? That’s why our Weave brothers love us so much.” As one of the

other guards approached, the man passed him his rifle and stepped behind Ranji.

Slipping both arms underneath the prisoner’s, the guard heaved him to his feet.

A sensation as of stabbing needles tormented outraged muscles as the Human

forcibly walked Ranji in circles to rush feeling back into his legs.

“I hope they decide you are Human.”

“Why?” Ranji’s grunts of discomfort elicited no sympathy from the man.

“Because then maybe we’ll have the chance to meet up with each other another

day, when you won’t have whining rats and lizards to protect you.”

Able to stand on his own now, Ranji shook himself free of the other’s grasp. “I

look forward to it,” he replied placidly.

As the guard recovered his weapon he responded to the challenge with an utterly

heinous, completely lurid Human response: he grinned.

Heida Trondheim was among those who now crowded the hallway. Ranji gazed

thoughtfully in her direction as the guard nudged his spine with a rifle butt.

“I’d love to spend some time alone with you, friend, but your keepers are

getting anxious. Let’s move it. And if you try anything again, if you so much as

look funny in rny direction, I’ll stun you right where it hurts. Assuming our

equipment is similar in that respect as well.”

Surrounded by wary, armed Humans and Massood, Ranji was marched back to the room

from which he’d taken brief but exhilarating flight. This time they were careful

to shut the door behind him.

Once back inside Trondheim came close. “It’s all right. I don’t blame you.

You’ve been severely traumatized.” She tried to put her hand on his shoulder but

he shook her off. Hurt, she resumed her seat.

Once again he found himself surrounded by a roomful of curious gazes. “Go ahead.

Show me all the pictures you want. Though if your intent is to amuse me there

are simpler ways. But don’t think you can ever convince me that I’m something

I’m not.”

The tall woman was shaking her head slowly. “You’re Human. Like it or not, the

evidence is overwhelming. If anything, that little outburst of yours just now

confirms it. No Ashregan, no matter how altered or enhanced, could’ve gotten

that far.”

“Truly he is right.” Attention shifted to First-of-Surgery. The elderly

Hivistahm appeared to have handled the unpleasant episode well. “I do not think

we will with words and pictures convince you,” he told Ranji. “Your conditioning

too ingrained is, too much a part of you. We will have to something more do.”

“Go ahead,” Ranji taunted him. “It won’t make any difference.”

Double eyelids blinked over snakelike pupils. “Truly I beg to differ.”

Chapter Eleven

He never knew how or when they slipped him the anesthetic. It might have arrived

in his drink, or his food, or the air of his apartment. When he sensed the

impending clutch of lugubrious drowsiness he tried to fight back, screaming

imprecations and pounding the walls in a futile attempt to stay awake.

As awareness faded he found himself wondering why they suddenly felt the need to

render him unconscious. Perhaps they planned to move him to another installation

and, mindful of his recent outburst, were taking no chances. Considering his

state of mind and demonstrated capabilities, he wouldn’t have taken any chances

when moving him either.

He appreciated the fact that oblivion came painlessly, but then Omaphil was a

civilized place. He wondered how he would’ve been treated on the Human homework!

That disagreeable thought was the last he recalled before sliding into a sleep

of abyssal dimensions.

A great many individuals were gathered around view-screens scattered throughout

the installation and elsewhere on Omaphil. The Surgery itself was uncrowded.

First-of-Surgery was among those present, not to perform but to advise and

observe. He had been teaching for so long that he no longer felt in possession

of the necessary skills required to supervise the delicate operation. But he had

been associated with the study from the beginning and realized that his presence

would be a comfort to the others.

Another First-of-Surgery would handle the actual mechanics in conjunction with a

highly experienced O’o’yan. Together they represented the zenith of Weave

medical accomplishment.

Save for a single exception, interested Humans were excluded from the Surgery

itself. While it was to be performed on a Human brain, no Human physician could

have hoped to duplicate the sureness of movement and delicacy of touch possessed

by Hivistahm or O’o’yan. They could only watch and envy.

Though everyone involved exuded confidence and expectation, an undercurrent of

unease still permeated the proceedings. While the procedure had been thoroughly

discussed and mapped out in advance, everyone realized they were entering

unknown territory. Weave study of Homo sapiens had resulted in more than one

surprise, not least to its own kind, and while expectations could be formulated,

where the Human nervous system was involved nothing was absolute, nothing was

certain.

In addition to the Hivistahm-O’o’yan staff there were two Humans in the Surgery:

the man on the operating pallet, and a huge coppery-skinned male whose fine

long-fingered hands seemed to have been lifted from a different body. Despite

possessing skills which rendered him supreme among his people, he was present

only to observe and advise. Hands which had worked on hundreds of his own kind

would not go near this particular patient, would not in the event of emergency

manipulate the microsur-gical instrumentation. That would be left to aliens

possessed of a touch finer than that of the greatest Human surgeons who had ever

lived.

A thin sheet of softly opaque, nonreflective material covered Ranji-arr from the

neck down. His forehead gleamed beneath the superb overhead lighting. Due to the

nature of the tools which were to be used it had not been necessary to shave his

skull. Invisible air clamps locked his head in place, allowing access by hands

and equipment but no involuntary movement.

The attending physicians had already performed the operation many times on a

virtual-reality simulator. Still, actual reality was different. If you made a

mistake, there was no Reset button to push. In actual reality, patients died. So

the surgical team was confident, but not certain.

The single Human towered over the roomful of Hivistahm and O’o’yan technicians,

looking clumsy and out of place. His presence was something of a concession, and

he knew it. Privately he had assured the two surgeons in charge that he would do

his best to stay out of their way.

“As we begin,” the Human said through his translator, “I have to remind everyone

both present and looking on that we don’t know what the result of our efforts

will be. We may as readily kill as cure the subject. As those of you who have

been following developments already know, scanning has detected at least one

cluster of contained explosively carcinogenic cells implanted within the nodule.

Any attempt to remove it would likely release these cells within the brain in a

region where any hasty attempt at counteraction or emergency prophylaxis would

be at least as damaging to the patient as the cells themselves. A carcinogenic

time bomb, if you will.

“If this mechanism were located elsewhere in the body, we might be able to deal

with it, but because it is buried deep within the cerebral cortex we cannot take

the chance. Therefore it has been decided to leave the nodule in place and

untouched while severing the neural connections between it and the rest of the

patient’s nervous system with nonintrusive instrumentation. The aim is to render

the growth harmless without removing or traumatizing it.”

“Truly this a delicate procedure is,” said First-of-Surgery senior, continuing

the explanation for the benefit of onlookers. “As is any manipulation of the

interior of the brain.” He turned to the table. “My colleague will now begin.”

The other First-of-Surgery fingered sensitive controls. The operational details

had been programmed into the relevant instrumentation earlier, movements and

reactions having been gathered from numerous operations carried out in virtual

reality. The surgical computer would automatically compensate for any minute

differences it detected between its programming and actual reality. Having

installed the requisite programming and instructions, the surgeons’ presence was

required only in case something went wrong. Should it encounter anything

unexpected in the course of the surgery, the master computer would pause the

operation and ask for new instructions.

A small metal dish lowered on a gleaming automatic arm until it stopped a few

centimeters above Ranji’s skull. Medical scanners were active on both sides.

Several small needlelike instruments projected downward from the dish.

“If we missed any neurological booby traps similar to the one we found earlier,

we’re likely to lose him,” the tall Human muttered to no one in particular.

First-of-Surgery senior looked on intently as the sonic scalpel hummed softly

for a split second. One needle shifted its position infinitesimally on the

surface of the dish. Each time the needle moved and hummed a single neuron

within Ranji’s brain was severed.

“All that can be done has been done. Scanning was rescanned, computer-enhanced,

and scanned afresh. No other ‘traps’ were found.”

“Amplitur nanobioengineering is infernally subtle.”

“Truly. But science it only is, not magic.” A click of sharp teeth emphasized

the point.

Monitors scattered throughout the Surgery displayed rock-steady images of the

operation as it progressed. They could clearly see the ganglionic complex, the

flow of blood through a nearby cerebral capillary, the neurons which connected

the nodule to the rest of the patient’s brain. One by one they were neatly

severed with impossibly brief, precisely applied bursts of high-frequency sound,

progressively isolating the nodule with the intent of rendering it as harmless

as a benign tumor.

“I’ve heard,” the tall Human murmured as his attention shifted from monitor to

subject and back again, “that there are some on the staff who wouldn’t be

particularly distressed if during the course of the operation this patient

happened to die. This Ranji-aars no monster. He’s a normal Human who had his

birthright stolen from him before he was born.”

“I have his genome map seen. You do not me need to convince,” replied

First-of-Surgery.

“Sorry.” To his surprise the man found he had bitten his lower lip. He’d never

done that before, but then this was no ordinary surgery. There was more than one

life at stake here. All of the subject’s friends were also potential candidates

for cutting. Though if they failed to restore this first one . . .

He knew that if he lived to be two hundred he could never hope to match the

supernal precision of the medical computer or the programming skill of the

Hivistahm, but something within him still made his fingers twitch slightly, as

if he and not binary impulses were manipulating the instruments.

First-of-Surgery interrupted his thoughts. “I know of those of whom you speak.

They believe that this individual and all like it should on sight be killed.

They the interbreeding and contamination fear which could to Amplitur

subjugation of the Human species lead.

“They do not individual salvations consider. As physicians we differently

think.”

Not to mention how much you can learn from him so long as he lives, the Human

surgeon mused. Though he could not condemn the Hivistahm. Not when he felt the

same way.

Except for the barely audible, methodical sparking of the scalpel and the click

of other instruments the Surgery was as quiet as a tomb. Above the patient

nothing moved save the scalpel’s angustipunctal needle.

Only when the gleaming dish rose and withdrew, its programming completed, was

the air filled with general conversation in several tongues and the febrile hum

of busy translators. The scanners showed the nodule clearly, isolated and no

longer connected to the rest of the patient’s brain. Even so, it was far too

soon for shouts and hisses of triumph. Apparent success required medical

confirmation.

The attending physicians crowded around the various technical stations,

anxiously scanning readouts and eyeing monitors. The patient’s cerebrum did not

explode. No armies of ravening cells were released from the nodule to destroy

his brain. Circulation, respiration, wave functions, and all relevant vital

signs read normal. There was no internal bleeding. First-of-Surgery allowed

himself to gnash his teeth hopefully.

To the Human physician hardly any time seemed to have elapsed since actual

surgery had commenced. He left the monitor he’d been studying to rejoin

First-of-Surgery.

“That should do it. When he wakes up he won’t be any different from before,

except that for the rest of his life he’ll carry a minuscule knot of useless

cells around in his brain, and any Amplitur that tries to give him ‘suggestions’

will be in for a big surprise. Assuming that the operation has restored his

nervous system’s natural defensive mechanism, of course.”

“It enough is that he can no longer be subject to their mental whims,” said

First-of-Surgery decisively. “That the principal intent of the operation was. If

the Human defense also restored is, that is a bonus to him.” First-of-Surgery

looked thoughtful. “I also believe the knowledge can and should from the general

Weave population be withheld.”

Conversing in low tones, the two physicians left the Surgery, together with the

rest of the staff which had supervised the sensitive operation. Their patient

remained behind. A second surgical team had entered and was busying itself with

checkouts of fresh programming and different instrumentation.

The sonic scalpel had withdrawn into the ceiling. Its position above the

recumbent form was now taken by different instruments riding on slightly larger

supportive arms. While the nature of the initial procedure had been far more

sensitive, the second was to prove messier, for the newly arrived team planned

to remove the excess bone from the patient’s cheeks, rebuild his ears, shorten

his fingers, and restore additional bone around his unnaturally wide occipital

orbits.

It was their intention to render the patient as Human externally as the first

team had made him within.

It did not matter that there were no Humans among them. Hivistahm and O’o’yan

physicians knew the physiology of Homo sapiens inside and out, having spent much

of their careers repairing injured Human soldiers. Artists as much as surgeons,

they were completely confident that when the protective wraps were finally

removed the patient would resemble anything but a member of a hostile species.

The Human surgeon who’d been present would have preferred to have remained to

see that day, but knew how unlikely it was. His presence was required in combat.

Few Humans chose anymore to enter professions at which other species excelled.

This made the value of those who did so that much greater. The surgeon

understood the situation completely. It was both simpler and more gratifying to

specialize in what a Human did best.

Killing.

Chapter Twelve

Funny thing about mirrors. Like individual thoughts, they can’t be avoided

forever. After some time had passed, Heida Trondheim came to see him. She

talked, and he listened. There was an exchange of inconsequentialities

punctuated by long silences. Then she left.

Ranji’s next visitor was a lanky Human male, slightly shorter, slightly older

than himself, a little lighter in color. Not a mirror image, but close.

That’s when Ranji allowed himself to cry, not much caring whether they happened

to be Human or Ashregan tears. It was a strain on his surgically altered eyes,

but he ignored the discomfort. The young man, puzzled, returned the room to

Trondheim.

Ranji still had to use a translator to talk to her. He might look Human, might

be Human, but his speech remained that of another species. She was very patient

with him.

“Appearances,” he mumbled. “Just appearances. Why?”

“Because you should look like what you are,” she replied straightforwardly.

He tilted his head back to stare at the recovery-room ceiling. “I admit that

visually the change is striking, but that doesn’t mean I accept it

intellectually.”

“You’ve been more thoroughly analyzed and appraised than any single Human being

in recent history. While Humans and Ashregan look a lot alike, subtle chemical

and physical differences remain. The Amplitur missed some of those.

They didn’t alter everything. You’re definitely Human. As Human as I am.”

He looked back at her. “Why doesn’t that possibility mime with glee?”

Their conversation was interrupted by the opening of the single door.

First-of-Surgery entered, resplendent in dress vest and shorts. Even for one so

cosmopolitan it took an effort of will to enter a room occupied solely by

Humans, but he concealed his unease gracefully.

Ranji was shown reams of charts and figures (which could have been faked) and

dozens of three-dimensional pictures (likewise fakable). The senior Hivistahm

was very persuasive, but not completely convincing. Numbers and words were

feeble levers with which to try and topple a person’s entire life. The brief

visit of the young Human who had so closely resembled him had carried more

weight than all their statistics.

Though unprepared to acquiesce, he confessed a willingness to contemplate

possibilities. First-of-Surgery considered it a victory.

“My head hurts,” Ranji muttered.

Three claws on the Hivistahm’s right hand snicked together. “As well it might,

considering the quantity of excess bone that has from both sides of your skull

been removed. A portion was used your occipital orbits to restore to normal

Human diameter. For the same reason your appropriately shortened fingers will

ache for a while. The discomfort will pass.”

The disconsolate patient fingered the thin bedsheet. “Why bother? Why go to the

trouble?”

“So that you’ll be comfortable among your own kind,” Trondheim told him. He

looked over at her.

“My kind? Which ‘kind’ is that? You?”

She didn’t look away. “Yes. Me. It helps to explain … certain things.”

“There more is.” First-of-Surgery found a suitable seat. “The ganglionic complex

the Amplitur emplaced in your cerebrum remains, but all neural connections

between it and the rest of your brain severed have been. It can

affect you no longer.”

“I see,” he said quietly. “This means that the Teachers can no longer

communicate directly with me?”

“That is so. We hopeful are also that the operation has restored your Human

mind’s ability to against uninvited mental probes defend itself. You from now on

against that enemy should secure be.”

Against the enemy? Who was the enemy and who ally? he thought tiredly. It was

too much for a simple soldier’s mind to grasp. Soldier … for whom, and whom

against?

Vast resources had been brought to bear to convince him of his Humanity. Did he

continue to resist them from reason … or stubbornness and fear? Had something

vital been taken from him … or restored? How would he know? How could he find

out?

Confrontation with a Teacher would answer all his questions, but somehow he

doubted any were to be found on Omaphil. Therefore he would have to arrive at

conclusions by other means. Of one thing he was certain.

If everything they ‘d shown and told him was true, if he was Human and not

Ashregan, then his whole life up to this point had been nothing more than an

elaborate lie.

How much did they know, his parents? Mother and father whom he’d respected and

honored from the day he’d learned how to speak. Were they no more than innocent

recipients of irresistible Amplitur “suggestions”? Or was the nature of their

participation more elaborate, more sinister?

He blinked, conscious of warm pressure on his forearm where Trondheim gripped

him gently. “Are you all right, Ranji?” Even his own name sounded unnatural, he

thought. She did not have the right accent.

First-of-Surgery had risen anxiously to stand behind his chair. “You are not

again violent going to become, are you?” –

“No. I’m too tired to be violent, even were I so inclined.” Keeping a wary eye

on his patient, the surgeon resumed his seat. Ranji directed his words to

Trondheim. “While I’ve been listening to everything you’ve been telling me I’ve

also been remembering my childhood.”

“Your Ashregan parents,” she murmured sympathetically. He gestured, then

hesitantly added the Human equivalent; a terse nod of affirmation. The movement

felt not unnatural.

“Tools of the Ashregan, willingly or otherwise.” First-of-Surgery was

unrelenting.

Despite his promise Ranji experienced a sudden urge to smash the surgeon’s

toothy snout down his throat. A perfectly natural reaction, he told himself. For

a Human. The harder his mind tried to convince him that they’d been telling him

nothing but lies, the more his body and emotions argued otherwise.

Trondheim was talking. “It’ll be okay. Everything’ll be all right.”

“Will it really?” He wondered if the translator was conveying something of his

fear and uncertainty along with his words. “I’ve been Ashregan all my life. Now

you ask me on the basis of images and figures to suddenly be Human. No matter

what happens I’ll always be Ashregan.”

Surprisingly, she smiled. “You act more Human than you know, Ranji-aar.”

“I say that this thing you cannot do! Unscientific it is. Against accepted

procedure it is. Truly forthrightly dangerous it is!”

“Dangerous to whom?” The gray-furred Massood towered over the Hivistahm. Though

he wore the uniform of a full field commander, his recent duties had been

largely administrative in nature.

The uncommon insignia of the S’van who waited patiently nearby identified him as

a scientific advisor to the military with attendant special privileges and

qualifications. The Hivistahm found the combination inherently contradictory.

First-of-Surgery knew he could not, for example, have sanely combined soldiering

and medicine.

The three sentients stood on a long wide porch that clung like an attenuated

bird’s nest to the sheer cliff of black basalt. The dawn did its best to

mitigate against unpleasant discussion. It was near the end of the second of

Omaphil’s two springtimes, an uncommon seasonal arrangement that was the result

of orbital peculiarities. High forest grew right to the base of the cliff,

succumbing only in the distance to cultivated fields. On the horizon sunlight

diverted by the towers of Oumansa sought oblivion in yellow gleamings.

A storm was massing behind the distant city, silhouetting it in black weather.

Hard to believe, the S’van thought, that on a day like this the civilized

inhabitants of Oumansa were a people at war. As were his companions of this

bright morning, and all their relations. Out beyond the crisp, unpolluted

atmosphere of Omaphil, ships and sentients wheeled and maneuvered for strategic

advantage, seeking opportunities to capture and destroy. The S’van tried to work

it all into a joke, but just then there was little humor in him.

A handsbreadth from a sheer dropoff an empty table awaited them. An automated

server brought refreshments.

“Your opinion will be noted but it will not change anything.” The field

commander sipped from his peculiar drinking utensil. The Massood were noted for

their dedication to the cause and for their fighting abilities. Masters of tact

they were not. The S’van hastened to intervene, disdaining the use of his

translator in favor of fluent Hivistahm. He could speak Massood as well.

“I’m sorry, First-of, but the commander is right. The decision has already been

made, at Military Council level. Even if we wanted to, there’s nothing we can do

about it.”

“This is not a decision for the Military Council to make.” The surgeon was

livid, which in a Hivistahm generated interesting color changes in the scales

which covered the head. Teeth clicking in agitation, he settled into

one of the self-adjusting chairs. Among his people brooding had been raised to

the level of fine art.

Deep within the wiry mass of black beard the S Van’s lips worked soothingly. ‘

‘I realize that your staff here still has preliminary studies they would like to

complete.”

“Complete? Preliminary?” The Hivistahm ignored his drink. “We barely begun have.

Conceive of it! A Human child raised as an Ashregan. To like an Ashregan think,

talk, believe, but to like a Human fight. We have his Hu-manness restored.”

“But not his Humanity,” the Massood interjected.

“That will in time come to him. All the more reason here to keep him, so that

help we can provide as well as study.”

“Personally, I agree with you.” The S’van sampled his drink.

“Then why is it not so ordered?” The Hivistahm eyed the splendiferous sunrise

morosely. “Why this precipitous decision?”

The Massood put down his drinking utensil. “Admittedly it is something of a

gamble. But it is one that the Council feels it must take.”

“He is not properly to his new condition acclimated,” the surgeon grumbled. “As

you say, he has not yet had his Humanity restored. We cannot his mind rebuild as

we have his body. Yet you wish us via prostheses to temporarily back his

Ashregan appearance give him.” Claws clicked against claws.

“If this thing the Council proposes in its finite wisdom fails, we lose not only

this individual but the unique opportunity he presents.”

The field commander sipped delicately. Working and living alongside Wais and Mo

tar, he had learned manners. “I remind you that the subject’s wishes must also

be taken into consideration, and that he energetically supports the proposal.”

“I am to the subject as sympathetic as any,” huffed the Hivistahm, “but we must

think first of the good of the Weave.”

“As do my superiors. The fact that the Council’s desires happen to coincide with

those of the individual weaken your position considerably.” The Massood leaned

forward.

“As you know, this Ranji-aar is apparently but one of many like him who were in

prebirth corrupted and co-opted by the Amplitur. That he wishes to return to his

people and reveal the heinous deception to his friends and fellow fighters in

order to foment rebellion among them is considered by the Council an enterprise

of sufficient worth to make the risk worth taking.”

ulf that is truly what he has in mind,” said the surgeon.

“Truth is always the first casualty of war.” The Massood waxed uncommonly

philosophical, and his companions eyed him in surprise. “I have seen the

xenopsychs’ analysis. At this point in time our Ranji-aar trusts no one,

including himself. Therefore he must be allowed to find truth, along with

himself. Otherwise he will be useless to us as well as himself. As you say,

physician, his problems cannot be cured by surgery. He must convince himself of

what he is.

“If he can also do that for his friends, then the Amplitur will lose not only

the fruits of their experiment but the most effective single fighting force they

have yet developed. The Weave will benefit in the short as well as the long

term.”

First-of-Surgery closed both sets of eyelids against the intensifying light. ‘

‘Unless the return to familiar surroundings his Ashregan conditioning

reinforces. If that happens then he is to us lost forever. Truly.”

The S’van clicked his short flat teeth in imitation of the Hivistahm. As was

often the case with the subtle S’van, the surgeon was unable to tell if the

burlesque was performed out of respect or amusement.

“That’s the risk. Of course, unless the reports I’ve been seeing are wrong,

there seems to be risk of another kind in keeping him here.”

“No, no.” First-of-Surgery sounded tired. “Accurate they have been. Suicide he

has threatened unless he is to his people permitted to return. If sufficiently

determined he was, we could not prevent it. Most frustrating truly. As an

Ashregan he would not do such a thing, which would mean we could for observation

retain him. But that failure would signify. It seems that for him Human to be

means success for our efforts, but that we lose him. Ironic it is.”

It was the S’van’s turn to philosophize. “Life consists of choosing between

successive contradictions, surgeon.”

“So I suppose we must let him go. But I fear to. Upon my Circle I do.”

“You’ve done great things here, First-of. But in times of conflict pure research

must give way to practical concerns.” This time there was no suggestion of humor

in the S’van’s tone.

“Truly that I realize.” The Hivistahm sucked at his drink. “But that does not

mean I have to like it.”

“The Human psychologists who have been consulted in the matter agree that to

hold him against his will is dangerous,” said the field commander.

“Human psychologists?” The surgeon sniffed. “That a contradiction in terms is.

With Weave guidance they have barely begun to learn how their own bizarre

behavior to quantify. Seek not enlightenment from them.” As no Humans were

present the surgeon felt he could speak freely.

An upper lip drew back and the field commander picked politely at his teeth.

Nose and whiskers twitched reflexively. “Well, if it is a ploy on his part we

will know soon enough. If not, then we may achieve a great deal. Even if he is

eventually discovered and killed, he will hopefully have had enough time to sow

some confusion among his fellow fighters.”

“I still a bad idea think it, and will so my opinion officially register,”

muttered the surgeon.

“That’s your privilege.” The S’van smiled, aware as he did so that neither of

his companions could discern it through the forest of a beard.

They were still arguing when evening commenced to darken the cliff face.

The battered uniform he’d been wearing when the lone Hivistahm and Lepar had

surprised him on Eirrosad had been carefully preserved in its original state.

Muddy and torn, it was returned to him in an airtight transparent container.

The prostheses which restored his Ashregan appearance clung uncomfortably to his

skull and fingers. To once more look in a mirror and see himself as he’d always

been was unsettling, though the attending medical personnel assured him he was

coping well. Head, eyes, ears, nose, and fingers looked natural enough. Unless a

scarce variety of organic solvent was applied at specific locations, the

prostheses could not be removed without damage to the underlying bone. On that

score, they assured him, he need not worry. Though they did not possess the

skills of the Amplitur, the Hivistahm and O’o’yan surgeons were in their own

right extremely competent. Ranji felt that the deception would pass.

He was instructed to say nothing to the Weave military personnel who transported

him back to Eirrosad nor to the bemused strike team which had been charged with

conveying him as close as possible to the spot where he’d originally been

captured.

Occasionally a Human or Massood would look up from its position on board the

sled to favor the enigma in their midst with a bemused stare. The single

passenger would in turn ignore them, sunk deep in contemplation as he gazed

intently at the treetops slipping past below.

His noncommunicativeness made the Human soldiers nervous and the Massood

twitchier than usual. If their passenger was, as rumored, one of the dangerously

modified Ashregan warriors of whom they had heard, why were they returning him

alive to a contested zone? Visions of accidental homicide visited many thoughts,

but weapons stayed in their holsters. The carefully chosen mixed-species strike

team was nothing if not highly disciplined.

So he intercepted no misguided shots as they lowered him to the soggy ground,

reeled in their cable and confusion, and pivoted to retreat westward before the

sled could be detected and targeted by an enemy missile.

As he had seemingly so long ago, Ranji once again found himself alone among

towering unfamiliar growths. Somewhere high in the canopy an arboreal creature

peeped querulously, wondering if it was once more safe to emerge from its hiding

place. Water dripping from broad spatulate leaves dampened him with elfin

reminders of the morning’s shower.

They had dropped him in a pleasant, peaceful, relatively dry spot. A good place

to relax and think, except that he’d already done too much thinking recently.

Better to concentrate on the arduous trek ahead instead of wasting energy on

difficult questions he had no answers to. If he lingered, he might encounter an

uninformed Weave patrol. It would be embarrassing to be captured all over again.

Orienting himself, he started off in an easterly direction.

The Eirrosadian fauna caused him more concern than unseen trigger-happy

Massood/Human scouts. Once, something sinuous that crawled on eight short legs

struck at him, aiming curving fangs at his knees. They ripped his pants but did

not penetrate the flesh beneath. He flayed the repulsive creature with the beam

of his pistol, and it curled and died.

Over fallen trees, through rotting clumps of wood, around impenetrable clusters

of vine-strangled bushes he climbed and waded, until an explosive shell made

smoke, ash, and decomposing rubble of the top of a broken snag off to his right.

Throwing himself prone, he landed in spongy muck near a smaller stump, straining

to see where the fire had come from. Another shell whined through the space

previously occupied by his head, shattering the trunk of a waist-thick bole

behind him and sending it crashing to earth in a sonorous confusion of lianas

and branches.

Scrambling to his knees, he dashed to his left, pistol at the ready. That’s when

the voice ordered him to halt, drop his weapon, put his hands atop his head, and

turn. He hesitated momentarily, then complied. Whoever his attackers were, they

had him outgunned.

Hopefully they weren’t the panicky type. He could hear them chatting tensely

among themselves as they approached, could sense the muzzles of their weapons

aimed at his spine. Only when they were quite close did he turn slowly to reveal

his face.

When they recognized him as one of their own, their astonishment was something

to behold. Startled realization quickly gave way to relief, then amazement as he

identified himself.

“Your death has been an accepted fact for some time, honored Unifer.” The

soldier hastened to recover Ranji’s gun and return it to him. Another offered a

food packet. It contained traditionally bland, thoroughly pureed Ashregan food,

not the coarse, tough stuff Humans consumed. He dug into it gratefully, not even

waiting for it to heat.

Another member of the trio scanned the woods alertly. “This whole sector is

crawling with enemy slider patrols. They are constantly probing our forward

lines. Occasionally some try to sneak through on the ground; such ground as

there is on this miserable planet.”

“I saw sliders, and our own floaters,” Ranji lied. “It’s difficult for anyone

riding above to see down into the canopy.”

The third soldier agreed readily. “It’s no wonder you weren’t spotted, Unifer.

I’m only glad that we found you before the enemy. I am sorry we shot at you, but

you must understand we didn’t expect to encounter anything in this area but

Massood and Humans. You have been some time unaccounted for.” Ranji tensed

slightly until he realized that the soldier’s tone was devoid of suspicion.

The one watching the forest spoke up. “Your special unit has been pulled back

and reassigned to operations elsewhere, Unifer.” Convinced of their safety, he

turned to gaze at the young officer. “How is it you’ve spent all this time

wandering about in this patch of jungle?”

“Lost my direction finder.” Ranji grunted. “Lost about everything. Got hurt and

had to hide from enemy patrols. Took time to find food, build temporary shelters

. . .I’ve been too busy just staying alive to try working my way back.” He

gestured appreciatively. “I knew that if I could just keep calm and stay clear

of the enemy, my own people would rescue me eventually. I am sure there will be

commendations in this for all of you.”

That observation distracted the questioner sufficiently to interrupt what

threatened to become an ominous line of thought.

“Spent a lot of time in the hollow of a tree,” he continued inventively, seeing

how enthralled they were with his tale of survival. “Kept me hidden and dry, but

impossible to spot from the air by friend or enemy. I needed time for my leg to

heal. Hurt my face and hands, too,” he added in a sudden flash of inspiration.

They all touched the backs of their right hand to Ms. “It is good to find you

alive, Unifer.”

He could feel his indoctrination, his recently acquired Humanity, beginning to

crumble in the presence of Ash-regan compassion. Weren’t these his people?

Hadn’t he spent his whole life among them? What was the difference between

Ashregan and Homo sapiens anyway? A few genes, some slight differences in

stature and appearance. It was good to again be speaking in a familiar tongue,

to be eating the food of his childhood, to slip easily into the casual byplay of

words and gestures he’d known all his life. He’d prepared himself to cope with

familiarity, but not with warmth and affection. It weakened and unsettled him.

Not unnaturally, his alarmed rescuers assumed his reactions were the result of

his extended sojourn in the jungle. They hastened to help him back to friendly

lines.

His nervousness faded rapidly. Everyone was overjoyed to see him. No one voiced

suspicion or incertitude. His tale of injury and survival was accepted verbatim,

in part because there was no reason to doubt him, in part because they wanted to

believe it. When there is a need for heroes and they are so inconsiderate as not

to invent themselves, others take up the task for them.

No one questioned his appearance or physical condition. Insofar as they were

concerned it was a miracle he’d been found alive in any condition. When pressed

for details of his experience, he relaxed and allowed his fecund imagination to

take over.

When finally he was reunited with his own unit, the response was overwhelming

and utterly accepting. If he had told them he’d spent the previous weeks on

Eirrosad’s major satellite collecting mineral samples they would have believed

him implicitly. He received so many backhanded slaps he feared for the integrity

of his prostheses.

“Such a long time!” The naked adoration in strong Birachii’s eyes forced Ranji

to turn away in embarrassment. “Notice of your death was posted officially over

two months ago.”

“It was premature,” was all he could murmur.

They were walking the grounds of a forward firebase, concealed in the eternal

jungle some distance from where Ranji had been found. It seemed that everyone

recognized him and waved or shouted in passing, regular Ashregan and insectoid

Crigolit troops as well as familiar members of his own unit. He forced himself

to acknowledge each undeserved accolade, acutely conscious of how his miraculous

return had lifted their morale.

It was hard to keep from staring at his friends, knowing what he knew now about

their birthright. Appearances, which hitherto he had paid little attention to,

now aroused in him an almost morbid fascination. Cranial ridges that did not

belong, eyes that now seemed unnaturally wide, fingers lengthened by the

presence of extraneous bone, unusually flattened nostrils, and the absence of

external ears all struck him as both alien and familiar. There was within him

taking place a crisis of perception.

His reactions were noticed, and sympathetically attributed to the understandable

aftereffects of his exhausting experience.

The more time he spent among old friends and familiar surroundings, the darker

grew the shadow of doubt that had once more begun to shade his thoughts. Was

what he had seen and learned beyond doubt? Had every question been adequately

answered? That he was being manipulated he knew for a certainty. But by whom? By

which side? By the Amplitur, by the Weave … by both?

What was he, who was he, and where did his loyalty rationally lie? With

appearances, with genes, or with friends? He had been exposed to and had been

asked to accept in a very short period of time multiple revelations of

mind-shattering import. This he had done. Or so he had believed. At the time.

It was easier to live the days in languid succession, to simply exist, to be,

and not constantly torment oneself pondering the greater mysteries of existence.

One thing he could not escape, however. One thing there was always before his

eyes. No matter how he tried to avoid it, he could never again escape the

realization that his friends looked far more like Humans onto whom a few

Ashregan features had been grafted than the other way around.

When they inquired, as he knew they would, as to how he had survived for so long

without supplies, he told stories of gathering edible fruits and nuts, of

killing and eating small animals, of gathering rainwater in cupped leaves. He’d

done everything they’d been told to do in survival training, and this had

preserved him. They listened raptly, their appetite for his memories insatiable.

Had he in the course of his odyssey encountered any of the enemy? Several, he

admitted. No, not Massood or Humans. Hivistahm and Lepar. Yes, their presence in

a combat zone had surprised him. More than they could know. He had dealt with

them as circumstances required.

It was during one such gathering that swift, pretty Cossinza-iiv came forward

apologetically. “I have something important to tell you, Ranji.” The others

tried to shush her. “I’m sorry, but I can’t keep it a secret any longer.”

“Keep what a secret?” Ranji asked guardedly.

“Did you know that the big advance base to our immediate rear is tomorrow to

receive the newest batch of special fighters from Cossuut?”

Ranji was openly surprised. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

New recruits from home. New graduates. Had that much time passed since his only

concern in life had been to do well in the Maze?

“When they’re cleared to join us it will more than double our strength. The next

time Command gives us a special assignment we’ll be able to hit the enemy a lot

harder than we have here or on Koba.”

“That’s great.” Ranji mustered a minimum of enthusiasm. “That’s the secret?”

“No.” Cossinza was smiling. So were some of those behind her. “Your brother’s

with them. They jumped him a level.”

Distantly Ranji heard himself expressing his pleasure at the news. So Saguio was

here, on Eirrosad. Wonderful. Thus far he’d managed to beguile other Ashregan,

Crigolit, even close childhood friends. But could he fool his own brother?

That Saguio was Ms brother was something Ranji did not doubt. They shared

similar height and strength, the same desire and skills. Ranji was a little

smarter, his younger sibling slightly taller. The resemblances outweighed any

differences. He and Saguio had been fashioned from identical genetic stock.

Whatever that was. It didn’t matter to Ranji whether they shared the same

natural parents or not. Saguio was and always would be his brother.

His apprehensions were overcome the next morning as soon as he caught sight of

his brother stepping off the transport sled. As for Saguio, if Ranji had sported

two heads it would not have lessened his pleasure at finding himself again with

his elder brother.

They spent hours catching up, reminiscing, and swapping stories. If Saguio

detected a certain reticence on the part of his revered sibling to discuss their

parents, he chose to ignore it.

“I heard about what happened to you out there. I can’t imagine what it must’ve

been like.”

Brother benign, truer words never fell from your lips. What would be his

reaction, Ranji mused, when he finally learned the truth? Like everyone else,

Saguio was convinced his brother was a hero. But that didn’t matter, because he

was only a hero among the Ashregan, and he was not of them. Nor was Saguio, nor

Cossinza, nor clever Soratii-eev. Or were they?

He needed to arrive at truth: without interference from Humans, or Ashregan, or

Amplitur, or anyone else. Let them skirmish over the future of worlds or the

disposition of half a galaxy. The fight for his identity concerned him

nonetheless.

When he judged the moment propitious to finally reveal what he’d learned to his

friends, he realized they might very well kill him. Even Saguio might partake of

the festivities. There were no armed Humans, no self-assured Hivistahm around to

help him now. The balance of his life lay in his hands and no others. Whatever

else he might think of his former captors, he had to admire the risk they’d

taken in allowing him to return to his people. That suggested confidence … or

great daring. Both were reputed to be Human characteristics.

Before he spoke, before he put his life on the line, he had to be certain beyond

any doubt. Despite what he’d told his captors prior to his departure from

Omaphil, that was a destination he had yet to set eyes upon.

Meanwhile he relaxed in the company of his brother, and reminiscences of simpler

times. Of days when certainty had ruled his life, and the Purpose was always

there for comfort. Now that hitherto exalted philosophy struck him as something

less than grand.

How was he to proceed when the time came to try and convince Saguio and the

others that they were not Ashre-gan, but mere dupes of the Amplitur? He had with

him no damning pictures, no reams of statistics, no means for conducting tests

on querulous companions. Only his reputation and strength of character, and he

knew full well those might not be enough.

He didn’t have to do it, he knew. He was safe among those who admired and

respected him. On the basis of his perceived ordeal he could claim combat

fatigue and put in for a noncombat position. They would love to have him as an

instructor on Cossuut. He could try to forget what he’d seen, what he’d learned,

and return home to live out the remainder of his life among familiar

surroundings and friends. His participation one way or the other wasn’t going to

alter the course of a thousand-year-old conflict anyhow. Even if he was Human,

he owed nothing to that dire and unfamiliar species.

There remained, however, one responsibility he could not rationalize away, could

not shrug off. That was to the unborn. Unless they were treated, his friends’

offspring would unknowingly inherit the traits and physical distortions intended

for them by the Amplitur. There would be no convincing a child born of such

circumstances of its Humanness. Whatever his eventual fate, he did not see how

he could let it happen to those for whom no choice would be allowed.

He would make a beginning with Saguio. That decision, at least, was easy to

make. His brother would listen to what others would reflexively dismiss as

madness. With luck he would be able to continue at least a few before they

carted him away for medical treatment.

Chapter Thirteen

Ranji’s friends and colleagues were not the only ones who listened with interest

to his tale of solitary survival in the jungles of Eirrosad. The Amplitur

devoted much attention to the exploits of their new fighters. Among them his

story provoked a certain amount of contented jubilation . . . and curiosity.

Certainly his experience confirmed the viability of the genetic line they hoped

to propagate. It would not do for such a feat to pass ignored. Congratulations

were in order … as well as careful debriefing.

“The Teachers are coming!”

Ranji, Saguio, and several friends were relaxing in the field barracks when

Tourmast burst in with his announcement. Until Operations decided on their next

assignment there was little for them to do but exercise, try to stay active in

the debilitating humidity, and wait.

Silently Ranji absorbed the declaration’s import. The forthcoming confrontation

induced in him neither panic nor visible unease. He was surprised only because

he had not expected it to come so soon. A great calm settled over him. He would

not have to go seeking the answers to some of his questions: they were about to

come to him.

His future, like his self, would be defined by the reactions of the Teachers.

For the first time he would be bringing something other than simple awe to the

encounter. No matter what the outcome he could no longer think of them as purely

altruistic custodians of universal truths. The Humans and Hivistahm and Massood

had taken away his innocence and traded it for a dubious Humanity.

The Amplitur insisted they could not read minds, only venture suggestions. What

if he did not respond properly? What sort of suggestions ought he to expect? He

was almost too tired to care.

Ashregan and Crigolit officers hunted frantically for the dress uniforms which

were important only to them. While the Amplitur were not big on ceremony, many

of those ‘races which fought alongside them felt otherwise. A formal

multispecies welcoming committee was hastily assembled north of the central

landing disk.

The heavily armed transport skid was setting down silently even as stragglers

continued to arrive, uniforms hastily straightened, to swell the ranks of the

impromptu honor guard. An air of anxious uncertainty hung about the ranked

officers like stale pheromones.

None of which appeared to trouble the Teachers. There were two of them:

impressive when one realized that only four were present on all of Eirrosad.

None among the assembled Ashregan and Crigolit could imagine what would motivate

a surprise visit on their part to the potentially dangerous vicinity of a

forward support base.

Together they approached the regional commander on their four short, squat legs,

advancing with ponderous grace. Tentacle tips danced snake ballet in the turgid

air, describing arcs and circles pregnant with import only to another Amplitur.

As a Unifer, Ranji was among those in front. He looked on silently as the

esteemed pair conferred with the regional commander and his team. Among the

Teachers’ escort were a pair of tall, angular Copavi. Never having seen a Copavi

in person before, he focused his attention on them. They looked too fragile to

manage the long, narrow-barreled weapons they carried.

Then he saw that the Teachers were making their way toward the line in which he

stood. Any attempt to further divert his thoughts was reduced to an instant

exercise in futility.

Alongside him friends and fellow fighters murmured expectantly. Saguio expanded

with pride. His brother might be in for more excitement than he expected, Ranji

mused quietly.

Abruptly there was no more time for speculation. Stumpy eyestalks tipped with

black globes tilted toward him, and pupils like streaks of molten gold focused

on his own. As he returned the gaze he did his best to make his mind a complete

blank, intimidated despite supposedly firm resolve to the contrary. After all,

these were the Teachers.

He felt warmth and good fellowship flowing outward from them, to envelop him in

a soothing, reassuring mental blanket. How could such as these be responsible

for the abominations postulated by the representatives of the Weave? They were

the very essence of empathy and understanding. There was within them only

goodness and light. He decided not to think; only to react.

The base commander, a portly Ashregan of incongruously sorrowful demeanor, was

speaking.

“… And this is the famous Ranji-aar of Cossuut, who as you have heard only

recently returned to us, having spent many -months alone in the jungle behind

enemy lines.”

”A most remarkable episode.” Instead of projecting its thoughts into the minds

of its audience the second Amplitur utilized its horny mouthparts to replicate

the supple sounds of the Ashregan language. The utilization of natural speech

was in itself something of an honor for the one so addressed.

“You bring Wellness to us all.” Eyestalks bobbed at arm’s length from Ranji”s

face.

Simultaneously he felt the familiar tickling inside his head, indication that

one or both of the Amplitur was projecting directly to him. In spite of himself

he tensed, but the Teacher did not jerk away. There was none of the thrashing of

tentacles and twitching of limbs that would have signified contact with the

mental defense mechanism of a mature Human nervous system.

So he was not as Human as the scientists of the Weave insisted. Matter for

contemplation. How much more of what they had told him on Omaphil was nonsense

and propaganda? If he was fully Human, then his mental contact with a Teacher

should have sent it reeling backward in shock and pain. Instead those slitted

black eyes continued to weave imperceptibly on the ends of their stalks,

regarding him with beatific solemnity.

The gentling contact was full of admiration for his accomplishment and joy at

his safe return, as well as concern for his current health. There was in it

nothing hostile, nothing threatening. Nothing to fear.

What followed then was no more than an afterthought, a casual

inconsequentiality. An indifferent suggestion that Ranji’s line step forward so

that they might all be singled – out for special praise. Ranji blinked against

the sun, and in the duration of that blink he hesitated. His brother did not,

nor did any of the others. Only Ranji lingered; deliberately, minutely, making

of his hesitation a slight stumble before joining the others in their crisp

advance.

The tight smile stayed frozen on his face. Because he knew that among his

companions he alone could have held his position, he alone could have resisted

the suggestion. For the briefest of instants he had sensed command instead of

suggestion, pull instead of request. For such a small revelation it filled him

with great confusion.

And fear. Had his pause been noted and understood for what it was? The smoky

bulbous orbs hovering before him were impenetrable, the cephalopodian face

behind them unreadable.

The Amplitur gave no sign that anything was amiss or that it suspected anything

abnormal had just taken place. Sensitive tentacle tips reached out and around to

embrace him. He stood in that warm, alien grasp, numb and smiling, until he was

released. Wordlessly the Teacher retracted its tentacles and together with its

companion began moving down the line of fighters, leaving Ranji to try and

analyze the confrontation as best he could.

For the first time he had felt that contact with the Teachers involved more than

mere suggestion. There had been a definite tug, a compulsion. Having recognized

it, he’d been able to resist it, though he had eventually complied with the

actual command for fear of being found out. His friends, he realized, had not

been allowed that choice.

How many such “suggestions” had he and his companions unwittingly been compelled

to comply with in their lifetimes? This time he had been able to recognize and

resist. But neither had he reacted as a Human would have. What was he? What had

the Hivistahm surgeons made of him?

He had little time to wonder, because the Amplitur retraced their steps until

they were again confronting Mm.

This time the insinuating, insistent probe was directed at him alone. There was

no opportunity to conceal resistance among mass movement. He waited, fighting to

conceal his unease.

It was “suggested” that he tell his story once again, so that the Teachers as

well as his fellow fighters might benefit from his experiences. Under other

circumstances Ranji would have demurred, but he knew he was not being asked: he

was being told.

Though he knew he could have refused, he complied promptly and with apparent

enthusiasm, turning to face the ranks of silent soldiers. He could feel black

and gold eyes on his back, studying him intently, and did his best to ignore the

sensation as he once more regaled his companions with his carefully composed

sequence of elaborate lies.

Occasionally one Teacher or the other would silently suggest that he elaborate

on this or that particular point. Ranji complied readily with the mental

coaching that passed unnoticed by his audience.

When he’d concluded the tale he was offered the greatest honor of all. Had not

the Amplitur for thousands of years carried the burden of the Purpose

figuratively upon their backs? The Teacher nearest him knelt, beckoning to him

with both mind and tentacle. Given no choice in the matter, a reluctant Ranji

stepped forward and settled himself atop the Amplitur, straddling the smooth,

fleshy back. The Teacher thoughtfully steadied its passenger with a tentacle,

then stood.

One of the tall Copavi approached and activated an instrument to record the

image for distribution purposes. See! the picture would say. The accomplishments

of this brave Ashregan have raised him even above the Amplitur themselves.

Figuratively, of course. A sardonic Ranji had no doubt that the image would be

widely displayed.

As he quietly held the unaccustomed position Ranji noticed that he could easily

have slipped a knife into the base of the fleshy skull, penetrating the brain

and forever shutting off the flow of gentle but irresistible suggestions. The

violence of the notion unnerved him. The very concept would have been anathema

to an Ashregan . . . but not to a Human.

When the Copavi finished its work, a shaken Ranji was allowed to slip off the

slick, spineless back and resume his place in line. The Teachers formally

addressed the entire gathering, praising them for their dedication and bravery,

exhorting their dedication to the Purpose. Ranji listened as intently as the

others, but drew no comfort from the compliments. It was as if something

unwelcome and vaguely diseased were squirming unimpeded through his thoughts,

rearranging them to suit its own specific notions of right, wrong, and reality.

A parasite, he thought, only becomes a parasite when one is made aware of its

presence. There were on many worlds bloodsucking creatures which released

anticoagulants that allowed blood to flow painlessly and unbeknownst to the host

animal. The Amplitur, he now saw, did something similar with thoughts, causing

commands to be perceived as suggestions, orders to be seen as polite requests.

The realization made him feel unclean.

As the nearest member of the pair stared at him he again felt the mental

contact, the suggestion that by way of concluding the ceremony he offer a few

inspiring words to his fellow fighters. Anger momentarily overcame common sense.

“I’m sorry, but I’d rather not.” Even as the words left his mouth he found

himself regretting them.

The Amplitur’s weaving tentacle froze. Protuberant black eyes tilted further in

his direction. The suggestion was repeated, this time with compelling force.

Damn all ignorance! Ranji thought furiously. He deliberately ignored the

unmistakable command. Though the Teacher was three times his mass, in a

close-quarter fight it would be no match for his Humanized bones and muscles.

Unable to restrain their curiosity, a few fellow soldiers leaned forward just

enough to stare in his direction. The continued silence was making them

uncomfortable.

The second Amplitur approached and reiterated the suggestion. In the grip of

projected compulsion Ranji should have enthusiastically stepped forward to

harangue his friends. Instead he remained stolidly immobile, his expression

blank.

The Teachers conferred. Though Ranji could not read their thoughts they

broadcast their confusion through the active movement of eyestalks and

tentacles. Clearly they were puzzled rather than apprehensive.

After several minutes they turned again to face him. He readied himself to

attack or run as the situation dictated.

“You are tired,” came the empathetic thought. “It explains your hesitation. You

have been through a most difficult and trying time from which you have not yet

fully recovered. We understand.”

Ranji’s muscles untensed. Having discussed his defiance, in the absence of any

other immediate explanation they had chosen to interpret his noncompliance with

their request as the result of lingering trauma! His immunity remained a secret.

Relief continued to flow through him as they turned to exchange final

formalities with the base commander and his staff. He was angry with himself.

His resistance had been foolish and unnecessary. Had they suspected anything

unnatural he would have soon found himself in yet another operating theater full

of Amplitur surgeons eager to explore the parameters of his enigmatic mind. Luck

and circumstance had saved him, not a dubious intelligence.

He joined his companions in voice if not enthusiasm in shouting fond farewells

as the Teachers reboarded their transport. The encounter had left him more

confused and uncertain than ever. What sort of creatures were they, these

Amplitur, who could urge others to violence against their will while

simultaneously anguishing over their welfare? He had personally experienced that

concern along with their exercises in mental dominance. It was a contradiction

he found himself unable to resolve.

About one thing they had been quite accurate. He was extremely tired.

As the skid rose to treetop level and pivoted, the assembly began to break up,

officers and troops returning to duty stations or barracks. Conversation was

split evenly between the unprecedented visit and the forthcoming evening meal.

A number of Ashregan and Crigolit came over to congratulate him on the honor

he’d received, intercepting him before he could make it back to his room. One

Crigolit subjoiner was particularly effusive in her praise, offering by way of

the ultimate compliment the opportunity to copulate. Metaphorically, of course.

Saguio was waiting for him, the naked adulation on his face painful to behold.

Ranji found himself looking past his younger brother’s admiring eyes., deep into

the brain, in search of a peculiar neuroganglion that was not of natural origin.

Suddenly he wanted to thrust his hand in, through one of the unnaturally large

eye sockets, to pluck out the offending, traitorous organ.

How many other races sported similar Amplitur-induced modifications within their

minds, he wondered? The Crigolit? The Mazvec? Perhaps even the intelligent

Korath. The Amplitur dominated a vast number of worlds, he knew, and the more he

learned the more it was made clear to him that all of them were in need of

exploratory surgery.

”Wait until the family hears about this!” Saguio was rambling. “To be so

congratulated by a Teacher . . . no, two Teachers. That they should take the

risk to come this close to a fire zone just to praise you in person . . . it’s a

singular honor, Ranji.”

”I know.” He glanced up. ”Did you sense them in your mind?”

“Sure. Several times. It felt good, like it always does.” He blinked

uncertainly. “Why would you ask such a thing? Didn’t you feel them?”

“Of course.” He looked away. “They asked me to do something. They asked more

than once. I refused each time.”

Saguio considered. “Well, I guess they felt you weren’t up to it. What did they

want, anyway?”

“For me to-make a concluding speech. ‘Fight to the last for the Purpose!’ That

sort of thing.”

“You couldn’t manage that? For the Teachers?” Saguio eyed his brother askance.

“You don’t look that tired to me.”

“I’m afraid that I am.” Ranji found himself staring outside, at the surrounding,

all-encompassing jungle. “I’m very tired. I’m more tired than you know.”

A note of alarm crept into his sibling’s voice. “Maybe you’d better check back

in to the infirmary. You might’ve picked up something latent out there.”

No, I didn’t pick anything up, he thought. I left something. “I’ll be all right.

I just need to rest. The strain of having the Teachers here . . . you

understand.”

“I guess so.” Saguio sounded doubtful but willing.

“It’s almost meal time. You start on over. I’ll be along in a minute.” Ranji

barely quashed an incipient Human smile.

“If you’re sure …” His brother managed a grin. “I’ll find some good seats,

though after what you’ve been through you can probably sit anywhere you want.”

Ranji watched until Saguio disappeared around the next barracks. Surprisingly,

he felt the first pangs of evening hunger. Food, at least, was devoid of

biological and philosophical complications. Human or Ashregan, he could still

take pleasure in eating.

He had to tell Saguio soon, regardless of possible consequences. Better to have

it all out at once than wait for it to slip out in confusing, contradictory bits

and pieces.

Or he could end it. Just lift the service pistol from his belt, place it gently

against the side of his skull, and in an instant banish all pain, all confusion,

all uncertainty. No need then to agonize over who was telling the truth, over

the true nature of himself.

It was the thought that perished, not the mind that conceived and discarded it.

He did not fear death, but he refused to die without answers.

That much, at least, he knew about himself.

Chapter Fourteen

The three Humans sprawled languidly around the crescent-shaped table, shuttling

down drinks as they watched the projections which cavorted amid the storm of

colored lights that filled the relaxation center. Music caressed respective

tympana as near-naked men and women flitted erotically through fragments of

light sharp and distinct as metal shavings. They and their immediate

surroundings danced submerged in the mists of a perfumed artificial twilight.

The Center was extensive and they were not alone. Rep­resentatives of other

Weave species sought similar solace in the febrile evening. Massood and Wais,

S’van and Hivistahm and more eagerly availed themselves of the sooth­ing

surroundings. For each, different images dwelt in the deliberately coy shapes

which darted through the high-tech fog.

Not surprisingly, the perceptions of the Massood dif­fered little from those of

the Humans, though the figures that twisted and pirouetted for them in the

suggestive light were taller, slimmer, and completely covered in fine gray fur.

The Wais saw elegant movement devoid of heavy sex­ual overtones, while the

contemplative Hivistahm will­ingly allowed themselves to be blinded by deceptive

iridescence. Whatever the S’van observed amused them greatly, but then there was

very little which did not. Being bright and intelligent but woefully deficient

in imagina­tion, the O’o’yan saw not much of anything. Within the confines of

the Center, not merely beauty but virtually everything was in the eye of the

beholder. Most of the time the three visiting Humans preferred to eye the

projections instead of each other. Though Sergeant Selinsing was moderately

attractive, her fellow noncoms Carson and Moreno wouldn’t have dreamed of

undressing her with their active imaginations the way they did the figures in

the projections. She was, after all, very much one of the group. Besides which

she outranked them.

Carson manipulated a switch on the table. Instantly the projection he’d selected

was sitting there beside him, in­viting him with her eyes and more. He knew he

could reach out and touch it, experiencing a tactile fabrication guaranteed to

please. Like all such liaisons, however, it would prove as transitory as the

contents of his credit line, and about as satisfying. With a sigh he nudged a

control and watched as the apparition, like so many previous loves, returned to

the wizard regions which had spawned it.

Moreno was next to rejoin reality. To the silent amuse­ment of her companions,

Selinsing lingered longest among the projections. She blinked as the last one

vanished.

“That one was new to the files.” She was mildly apol­ogetic. “Mutant

slavo-equine. Very interesting.”

“Spare me.” Moreno slugged down recombinant li­quor. Smallest of the three,

spare of word and feature, he had the doe sadness of a saint and the moves of a

pit viper. His tiny black eyes scanned the rolling, uneven levels of the Center.

“I’m sick of this. Look at that odious pair over there.” His head bobbed.

Like a bear emerging from hibernation, Carson swiveled in his seat. Selinsing

tilted her head to one side.

The two Wais were deep in conversation, the hypnotic movement of arms, fingers,

head, and neck supplementing verbal communication. In attire they were

impeccable, in gesture flawless. Moreno wanted to puke.

‘ ‘They squat on their feathery butts and never get within a hundred kilometers

of any actual fighting, but if we happened to ask about joining the Weave they

would imme­diately vote against us.”

Carson belched, a rolling benthonic exhalation. “Who gives a shit about their

stupid Weave, anyway?” He sucked at his tankard. “Screw “em.”

“We do all the fighting and they won’t even let us vote in their organization,”

Moreno muttered bitterly.

“I don’t mind that.” Selinsing was incongruously pe­tite. “What I don’t like is

sitting here while their stupid Military Council decides strategy. They’ve

always been overcautious.”

“Just so.” Moreno straightened in his chair. “The only way we’re ever going to

get off this stinking, sweaty dung-ball of a world is to kick the living mierda

out of the enemy, and we can’t do that while we’re getting blitzed in here.”

“Can’t do it out there, either,” Carson reminded him. “Orders. You know what the

Council says. Patience.”

“Yeah, patience,” said Moreno morosely. “And the Massood go along with ’em. Damn

shrew-faces.”

“They’ve always gone along with the Council.” Selin­sing drew imaginary lines on

the tabletop. “That’s why this war’s been going on for so long. Not that they’re

cow­ards. Just overcareful. They’ve been listening to the S’van and Wais for too

long. Not to mention the Turlog.”

“I heard that two of the crabs were on Eirrosad, dictat­ing tactics.” Moreno

glowered at a distant pair of necking S’van. Their eruptive beards intertwined

indistinguishably.

“It would not surprise me,” said Selinsing. “Orders are that no unit can advance

more than two kilometers for fear of being flanked.”

“Flanked mierda.” Moreno’s disgusted gaze aban­doned the S’van. “War’s been

going on here long enough for everybody to know everyone else’s position. We

know pretty well where the enemy headquarters for this region is situated. We

ought to smash right in there, take it out, verdad?, and not stop until we reach

their planetary HQ.

That’d put fin to the Purpose on this piece of dirt. Then maybe they’d post us

somewhere decent.”

“I agree,” said Selinsing, “but Command doesn’t.”

Carson leaned back in his chair. “Why don’t you two quit yer bitching? We’re

stuck here and there ain’t a damn thing we can do about it because our own

officers spend all their time diplomatically disagreeing with Massood and S’van

tactical drivel. They’ve got less guts than the squids.”

“As a matter of fact,” Selinsing murmured softly, “it is said that the Amplitur

actually have two sets of guts.”

“Then they’re probably real happy with the current state of affairs.” Carson

sought wisdom in the depths of his impressive tankard. “Me, I personally don’t

think they want to beat us. Just keep things stalemated until they can outlive

us.”

Moreno rested his forearms on the table. The music of many-species music

ricocheted off surrounding walls. “I say somebody’s got to do something to

change the present state of affairs. Somebody’s got to do it now.'”

“What did you have in mind?” Eyes half-closed, the relaxed Selinsing

contemplated invisible amours.

“Our position is pretty isolated, the farthest advanced of any firebase. The

ideal place from which to strike. An end could be put to the business of

Eirrosad … if some­body had the guts to do it.” Eyes narrowed, he appraised

his colleagues. “Preferably several somebodies.”

“You mean hit ’em with just our own squads?” Carson shifted in his seat.

“Wouldn’t be enough firepower to be sure of success. Anyway we’d be ordered back

too soon for it to do any good.”

“Not if we started out with incontrovertible orders in the first place,” Moreno

ventured conspiratorially.

Carson blinked at him. “Must be too many lights in here. I ain’t followin’ you.”

Moreno put a hand on his friend’s arm. “What if the word came down from Command

level to carry out just such an attack?”

Selinsing uttered something unmistakably derisive in the language of her

ancestors. “At least you have chosen the proper venue for wishful thinking.”

“Yeah, dream on,” Carson grunted.

“You know Colonel Chin?” Moreno inquired of his companions.

When they drew close together Carson’s thick eyebrows resembled a pair of

caterpillars engaged in unspeakable activities. “Sure. Everybody knows Chin. But

Chin ain’t in command of our position. Wang-lee is.”

“That’s so. But right now Wang-lee is busy conferenc­ing with the major minds

back at Katulla Nexus, hashing strategy with the crabs and the S’van. That

leaves Chin in charge until she gets back.” He leaned forward eagerly. “I happen

to know Chin’s as tired of waiting on the Coun­cil as the rest of us.”

“I have never heard him say anything along those lines.” Selinsing was being

cautious.

“You wouldn’t expect him to blurt it out in public, now would you?” Moreno

smiled like a man in possession of a considerable secret.

Carson’s eyes widened. “You’ve talked to him! About this?” He whistled softly.

“One wrong word scrapes the wrong nerve and you’ll find yourself back at Supply

Cen­tral, busted in rank and cataloging foodstuffs for the du­ration.”

“Anything would be better than squatting in the middle of this jungle, waiting

to go mad.”

“You are joking,” said Selinsing slowly. “Though if someone like Chin were to

give the orders …”

“Give orders, hell.” Carson turned to stare intently at Moreno. “If Chin feels

the same way about these delays as the rest of us, could be he might consider

doing more than just issuing orders. Like maybe leading an assault himself.”

Suddenly aware he might have gone too far too fast, Moreno adopted a cautioning

tone. “Slow down, my friends. I’ve only suspicions. I don’t know Colonel Chin’s

feelings exactly. It’s only been mentioned on a couple of occasions, and

casually at that. Chin never got specific. He’s a funny kind of guy, even for an

officer.”

“Nothing wrong with his rep. I know he’s got what it takes upstairs.” Carson

rapped his belly. “Question is, does he have it here?”

“If we hit the enemy with our full strength,” Selinsing was murmuring, “not just

our three squads but everything on the base, we could roll right over them and

strike for their planetary headquarters. Ja; maybe even get ourselves a couple

of squids. Vacuum them right out of the forest.”

“That’s the wipe!” Carson drained his tankard, glanced hopefully at Moreno. “How

about it, Juan? You think Chin might go for it?”

“Not in so many words,” the shorter man replied care­fully. “Chin’s as focused

on his career as any officer. He’d have to feel he was covered in case of a

screwup.”

“Certain ambiguities might creep into official commu­nications, rendering

ultimate comprehension a matter of individual interpretation.” Both men looked

at Selinsing, who smiled like a petite wolverine. Communications was her

subspeciality.

“There is a certain officer in Base Operations,” she explained unctuously. “He

is Massood. If these hypothet­ical orders happened to be received in Massood,

difficul­ties in translation might have to be resolved as best as possible by

whichever personnel happened to be present at the time.”

“Like you?” Carson wore a grin of a different sort.

She smiled ever so slightly. Escaping rainbows stained her jet-black crewcut.

“It is not inconceivable. It would of course also be incumbent upon me to see

that matters of ambivalence were conveyed personally to the acting base

commandant so that he could propose a determination based on available evidence

and expert opinion.”

“You again.” Carson’s admiration knew no bounds.

Having intended only to submit the first draft of a casual notion, Moreno was

somewhat taken aback by the speed with which his companions had proceeded to

polish it.

“Slow down. We’re all half-drunk.”

“Not me,” Carson insisted cheerfully. “I’m four-fifths, at least.”

“What if Chin doesn’t take to the idea in the spirit with which it’s offered?”

Selinsing shrugged. “Then I can be held responsible for a poor translation from

the Massood, remember? I’m willing to take that much of the risk. If he so

chooses, all he can fault us for personally is an excess of enthusiasm.”

Carson’s chair hummed as it retreated from the table. He rose, weaving only

slightly. As he stepped out of the Human cone of influence, the shape in the

shadows changed from that of a tall, voluptuous woman to a short and to the

sergeant’s eyes utterly repulsive female S’van.

“Let’s do it now.” His eyes blazed. “Let’s do it quick. I’m sick of sitting on

my ass blowing kisses at shadows. I want to kill something.”

That was Carson for you, his friends knew. Just a reg­ular guy. Whispering

excitedly among themselves the non-coms exited the club, oblivious as always to

the expressions of disgust and relief which crossed the faces of their non-Human

allies and fellow patrons as the three primates de­parted.

Chin’s apartment was located deep within the forward firebase’s central

accommodations complex. Given the op­tion, on Eirrosad as elsewhere,

high-ranking officers usu­ally elected to sacrifice sweeping views in favor of

claustrophobic safety. As befitted the base’s second-in-command, Chin rated not

one but three rooms: a sleeping cubby, private hygienic facilities, and a

meeting and strat­egy room. Native vegetation had been planted atop the complex,

which in combination with sophisticated meth­ods of camouflage allowed the base

to blend into the sur­rounding jungle.

It was quite late and typically dark outside when the three noncoms ventured

from their quarters. Overhead, the camouflage aerogel shimmered like fro/en

smoke, concealing movement, mass, and heat from possible de­tection. Beneath its

distorting imagery hundreds of sol­diers and support personnel sheltered.

The stone-faced, uninhibited Chin greeted them in a pair of briefs. He disliked

climate control as much as of­ficial ceremony and in the privacy of his own

quarters disdained the use of both. Formally attired, his nocturnal visitors

were soon sweating profusely.

Physically Chin was anything but impressive. He was shorter than any of them,

Selinsing included. Like her, his features were small, verging on the delicate.

The Malay returned Chin’s stare boldly. There was about as much fat on him as on

an egret, which he superficially resembled. Despite that he looked older than he

was.

Yet this was a man who had spent his entire adult life fighting in the service

of the Weave. The mere fact of his continued survival was all the testimonial he

needed. The numerous scars which covered his body, scars which even Hivistahm

medical science had been unable to eliminate completely, underlined his

accomplishments as rakishly as they clothed his muscles. Small he was, but

nothing to trifle with.

In his expectant presence Carson and Selinsing wa­vered. In the confines of a

commandant’s quarters at two o’clock in the morning, intentions nurtured by

boredom and booze tended to lose immediacy. As the one who had originally

conceived it, a hesitant Moreno was therefore left to give birth to the

proposition.

“Colonel, sir, my colleagues and I, well . . . we’ve been talking.”

“So I presumed when you requested a meeting at this unconscionable hour.” Chin’s

words were like the rest of him: short, clipped, to the point.

Moreno was not intimidated. Chin was widely re­spected as a soldier’s officer.

“It’s something that’s beeir bothering us for a long time, something we’ve

talked about a lot. It’s not anything we can take care of without help.

Command-level help.”

“Your help, sir,” Selinsing chipped in. “And your dis­cretion.”

“Really.” Eyebrows ephemeral as a late-night regret rose slightly. “It’s good to

know that one’s opinion is re­spected by one’s troops. Excuse me a moment.” The

near-naked officer rose to check the door, then his viewscreen, before resuming

his smile and his seat. ‘ ‘Cool out tonight. Metrolg predicts rain.”

“When doesn’t it rain on this stinking planet?” Carson muttered rhetorically.

“When indeed. Tell me now: with what do you need my help?”

“Something of vital importance, sir,” Moreno told him.

“Allow me the privilege of making my own evalua­tion,” Chin murmured. “It may

differ from yours.”

“I don’t think it will, sir.” Moreno glanced at his friends for support, then

smiled tightly back at the com­mandant. “None of us do.”

When the word came down from Colonel Chin’s Tactics Group that something big was

in the offing, the Massood were willing, if a shade puzzled. It struck several

of their officers that they had not been consulted on procedure. Informed that

the success of the exercise hinged upon sur­prise and unpredictability, they had

to confess that it had indeed caught them completely unprepared, and might

logically therefore have the same effect upon the enemy. De­bate, they were

informed, would only slow them down. It was time to act, not discuss.

When informed of the nature of the forthcoming oper­ation, the Human officers

and noncoms expressed unqual­ified enthusiasm. Though most of them were as tired

of sitting around as the trio which had confronted Chin, none had heretofore

manifested their feelings in half so overt a fashion. One or two of the younger

officers did find them­selves pausing to wonder at the abruptness of it all, but

their curiosity was drowned in the rush of preparations which followed the

handing down of orders.

Among the support personnel, Hivistahm and O’o’yan, Wais and Yula and the rest,

there were only the usual misgivings. As the representatives of the noncombat

spe­cies lived in a perpetual state of apprehension anyway, it mattered little

to them whether Human and Massood forces were coming or going. They performed

their assigned tasks with silent efficiency while doing their best to keep their

attention averted from the bloodthirsty grimaces and ex­clamations of those

sentients who were preparing to die on their behalf.

Some who were hobbyistically inclined to philosophical consideration of matters

strategic wondered why this par­ticular moment had been chosen for a massive

attack and could find no reason. It did not trouble them overly. It was in the

nature of Humans to do the unpredictable. They had been doing it with regularity

and to great effect ever since they had been recruited into the effort. No

Hivistahm, no Lepar was about to second-guess them.

Imagine mounting an all-out assault on the enemy when there was no obvious

justification for doing so! Clearly a stroke of purest brilliance. The support

teams threw them­selves energetically into the last-minute, frantic

prepara­tions.

F’tath was not a high-ranking officer, but he was S’van. Even as he joked and

hurried to carry out his own duties, he found himself questioning the press of

activity. Not the actual orders; they at least were in line with historical

Human-Massood strategy. What concerned him was the narrow chain of command down

which they had been passed. For example, as pertained to his own department,

there hadn’t even been time beforehand to discuss pro­jected lines of supply, an

omission which to him smacked of the blatantly neglectful.

He promptly made it his announced intention to bring the oversight to the

attention of his superiors at Sector Command as soon as he finished supervising

requisite preparations for the battle group’s departure, this being about as

close to actual combat as a civilized S’van could come. So hectic was the press

of work, however, that he could not seem to find sufficient time to properly

formu­late the questions he badly wanted to ask.

Which was very much the intention of those who had drawn up the departure

schedules.

By the time F’tath and those few others to whom similar thoughts had occurred

were allotted a break, dozens of heavily armed sleds and sliders were rising

above the for­est canopy and streaming away eastward, the start of the assault

undeterred by the morning rain. At which point it seemed foolish even to a S’van

to question an operation already under way. So F’tath and others of like mind

carried their concerns with them to bed.

No reserves were held back. Every slider, sled, and sol­dier on the base was

thrown into the all-out attack. Hu­mans and Massood rolled over the first couple

of enemy positions before the startled defenders realized what had hit them.

Crigolit and Ashregan were prepared to beat back surgical thrusts by small

groups of fast-moving troops, not the kind of ravening firepower which the

at­tackers now brought to bear. That was how it had gone on Eirrosad: probe and

flee, strike and retreat. Hurt your en­emy as much as possible and then fall

back to heavily fortified bases deep in the jungle.

The Crigolit and Ashregan had no idea how to react to the sudden shift in

tactics. Not that their assailants gave them time for prolonged contemplation.

The Massood in particular were elated at the speed with which the first couple

of enemy positions were overrun. Casualties were light, boldness and

determination having proven themselves the equal of twice the firepower. They

complimented their Human allies even as they redoubled their own gracefully

lethal efforts.

Certain Human noncommissioned officers felt them­selves vindicated. The first

enemy bases had been taken with greater ease than anyone could have hoped for.

Not only Human senses had been dulled by the long war of attrition on Eirrosad.

Crigolit and Ashregan reaction times were likewise well below the usual, to

their detriment. It was a damn good thing, Carson told his colleagues, that they

had decided to move first.

Conferencing with his subordinates, Chin hit upon a strategy of racing past

instead of engaging the remaining three enemy firebases to strike at enemy

Sector Headquar­ters itself. Barely enough time was allotted for the squad

supervisors to bellow their agreement, let alone voice any objections.

If they could not merely take out but capture that critical installation it

would place them in position to flank and put pressure on the enemy’s planetary

HQ. A victory of that magnitude might not end the war for Eirrosad, but it would

unequivocally upset the status quo. Dispersement of this possible conclusion

induced tired soldiers to redou­ble their efforts.

Where resistance was weak or even nonexistent slider riders and sled troops

raced ahead, bypassing bewildered enemy emplacements and floater forces, leaving

them with nothing to shoot at but vacant forest and empty air. Though

increasingly spread out, the combined Human-Massood battle group persisted in

its wild, mad advance, shoving aside or smashing everything in its path.

Floaters were blasted out of the sky before they could assume adequate defensive

positions, or were shot down from behind as they tried to retreat. Enemy stores

and structures were demolished on the ground as the sled teams strafed and

bombed them in passing.

Stealing a modicum of time, the commandant of one of the remaining enemy

firebases did manage to mount something of a counterattack. Sliders and floaters

and sleds filled the air with explosive projectiles and needle beams, cohabiting

in technologically advanced mayhem as they darted through and around

tree-covered Sludgel while driving the unfortunate native fauna half-crazy.

The Humans excelled at such random, individual combat, cutting up and isolating

enemy forces into smaller and smaller groups, until there was nothing left to

fight back. Outmatched, Crigolit and Ashregan units had no hope of halting the

assault.

Ineffective as it was, when the first enemy counterattack came F’tath fully

expected Command to give the order to hold and consolidate their substantial

gains. When no such directive was forthcoming he sought clarification beyond his

immediate command level, only to be informed that Colonel Chin and his staff

were far too busy plotting the next stage of the advance to grant an audience to

a lower-level supply officer. Though he responded with the usual S’van humor, it

was not the response F’tath had hoped for.

In a combat situation, even S’van had learned the value of deferring to Human

judgment, but something about this particular campaign left F’tath feeling more

than a little uneasy. Though bold and clever on the battlefield, Humans were not

perfect, not immune to the occasional tactical mistake. He tried to share his

concerns with others, but they were either numbed by the incivility of it all or

else too busy to listen to him. In point of fact he was usually too busy to

listen to himself.

But there was always time for worrying.

Chapter Fifteen

So swift, brutal, and effective had the Weave assault been that both forward

firebases had been lost by the time Ranji’s group received word to mobilize.

Saguio had been lounging close enough to unit communications to overhear the

first reports.

“They came in so fast, with utter recklessness,” he said breathlessly. “Our

people didn’t have a chance. Northwest Base managed to put together a

counterattack but Com­mand Central doesn’t expect it to stop them.” Outside the

barracks, members of different species were running or scuttling about

frantically. Sirens wailed and vehicles sped across the grounds with criminal

disregard for equally frantic pedestrians. The base’s inhabitants were hastily

trying to bring order out of chaos.

Crigolit barely paused long enough to exchange greet­ings via antenna touch,

while Segunians tripped over ev­erything including their own gangly limbs in

their fervid attempts to reach their stations.

Ranji paid little attention as his brother harangued fel­low members of the team

from Cossuut. The Humans and Massood, it appeared, had attacked in overwhelming

numbers, concentrating a tremendous amount of firepower on a small front. They

had pushed past or broken through successive defensive layers and were

apparently striking directly for Sector Headquarters itself, with little in

their path to slow or stop them. The battle front, which had been relatively

stable for many years, had been completely shattered.

Skids landed outside the barracks, fully stocked and readied for combat by the

base’s Acarian equipment han­dlers. A dazed Ranji felt himself swept along as

the trans­port rose and sped northward, skimming the treetops in its haste to

reach their assigned position.

The Cossuut unit was supposed to be utilized only for special purposes, but in

the face of Sector Integrity’s col­lapse every available fighter had been

conscripted for de­fense. As the craft began to descend toward the line which

had been established outside one of the three surviving firebases, Ranji was

forced to seriously consider the like­lihood that he might soon be called upon

to strike at Hu­man beings with something more damaging than sharp queries.

Could he give the order to fire on his own kind? If they were indeed his own

kind, he reminded himself. In the frenzy of confusion and preparation that

engulfed him he was no longer certain of anything, except that prospects for a

long and comfortable retirement had recently been drastically reduced. Death at

least would resolve all un­ certainties and put an end to his private

sufferings. .j

Once more the peculiar calm which his troops mistook j for quiet confidence

settled over him. Then someone was shaking him by the arm.

“Did you hear, Ranji?” Saguio regarded his brother with concern. “Change of

plans. Command’s leaving all the firebases to fend for themselves. We’re being

commit­ted directly to the defense of Sector Headquarters.” His | eyes

glittered expectantly. “We’re going to be right in the ” front of the

fighting. No more sneaking around in the mid­dle of the night.”

“I heard. Get into your armor. Tell Tourmast and Weenn to pass the word. We’re

liable to come under fire before we arrive.”

Saguio frowned slightly. “Headquarters hasn’t come under attack yet. Body armor

can get hot. There’s plenty of time.”

“Where Humans are involved there’s never enough time. Just ask the survivors of

the two forward firebases … if there are any. Move it!”

Startled, Saguio rushed to comply.

Ranji followed deliberately. War of a different kind was raging within him,

unsupportable claims doing battle with reluctant truths, emotion locked in

earnest combat with reason.

Abruptly the grandiose futility of it all struck hard. A thousand years of

unending conflict, not over survival or culture but an idea. The more tenuous

the concept, he mused, the greater the ferocity with which it was con­tested. It

seemed a wasteful repository for a gift as pre­cious as intelligence.

But if there was nothing to do battle over, what place did someone like himself

who had been trained to fight from birth have in civilized society, be it

Ashregan or Human? He began to think of himself as an intellectual as well as

emotional foundling. Did such thoughts trouble his friends from home? Had they

ever worried any Humans, and if so, how had those mysterious creatures dealt

with it? He wondered if he would ever know.

Certainly they were a most unique and peculiar species, and what was he if not

peculiar enough to be one of them?

The cataract of concern dulled his mind as he slipped into his own field armor,

a task he’d drilled at often enough to perform without thinking.

“They’re doing what” Field Marshal Granville gaped at his Massood counterpart

only long enough for the import of the other’s words to sink in before the two

of them started toward Communications. Granville was a mature, stocky, slightly

overweight man, but over the short dis­tance he had no trouble keeping up with

the long-legged alien. Additional confirmation of the initial reports was

mirrored in the expressions of the communications personnel on duty,

irrespective of species.

“There is no longer any question of what has happened.” The Massood district

commander’s whiskers were twitching violently. “On-site verification arrived

just before I left to inform you. I felt it would be more believable coming from

me than via courier or over the system, and I am sure that like myself you

desire to waste as little time as possible in dealing with the consequences of

these actions.”

“Gratefulness for that, Shatenka,” wheezed the field marshal in passable

Massood. The two sector commanders hurried to the nearest console, causing the

Hivistahm tech­nician seated there to fumble nervously at his translator in the

presence of so much feral rank.

“Are you in contact with the base in question?” Granville inquired bluntly. The

Hivistahm replied in the affir­mative. “Then put me through.”

“Truly I should like to, honored Commander, but I cannot,” the Hivistahm replied

sorrowfully.

“Why not?” Granville’s tenebrous Human tone made the non combative Hivistahm

shake slightly.

“Because there is truly no one there. All responses from programs are.

Apparently everyone in the attack partici­pating is, even to including support

personnel.”

“This is madness.” Commander Shatenka added some­thing in colloquial Massood

which none of the tangent translators near him succeeded in picking up.

The two commanders moved to another console and confronted a Human officer.

“Who’s in charge out there?”

Names scrolled down the screen in front of the woman like damned souls plunging

hellward. “A Colonel Nehemiah Chin, sir.”

“I have remembrance of that name.” Shatenka’s upper lip curled emphatically. “A

good officer. It makes no sense.”

“I’ll say it makes no sense,” Granville growled. “Who sent him orders requesting

an all-out assault in his sector? It leaves us damn exposed back here.”

“I have already called for a full defensive mobiliza­tion,” Shatenka assured

him.

“I know, I know. That’s hardly the point.”

A Hivistahm analyst looked up from her console, wary of the Human commander’s

temper. “Honored sirs, first reports indicate that the forces in question

already taken have two major hostile positions and are directly for the enemy

Regional Command center striking.”

“You’re right. Someone is mad.” Granville glanced up at his tall counterpart and

lowered his voice. “What’s your considered opinion, Shatenka. Can Chin bring

this off?”

The Massood considered, digging energetically at a back molar. His whiskers

subsided. ‘ ‘The forces in question are composed largely of your own kind.

However, since you ask my thoughts, I should say it depends on how much

firepower they can ultimately bring to bear when they fi­nally reach their

target. If by then the enemy has not pro­foundly reduced them in strength and

they do not pause their attack long enough to give the Ashregan time to mus­ter

reserves from other regions, then I should think it pos­sible. Just.”

Granville angrily fingered his translator. “If this attack fails, or even

stalls, they’ll find themselves trapped be­tween large-scale enemy regional

defenses and those they’ve bypassed or failed to wipe out on the way in. In

which event we could lose the entire battle group.”

“Your thinking mirrors my own. They have advanced too far too fast. Now they

have no choice but to press the assault.”

“Maybe not. If we can reach individual squad leaders, we can countermand their

orders. If enough of the group turns together, they ought to be able to fight

their way back.” Granville plotted a path toward fieldcom.

Shatenka followed. “Communications at this range will be bad.”

“I know. I wish R&D could find a way to defend a communications relay satellite

against knockdown for longer than a couple of days. We’ll just have to do the

best we can.”

Somehow he was not surprised when the O’o’yan tech­nician informed them that he

could not make contact with a single element of the rogue Weave force.

“The problem is at the receiving end, Great Marshal. It matters not which

frequency I employ. There is no ac­knowledgment.”

“It fits.”

“What fits, my friend?” Shatenka inquired anxiously.

“Chin’s acting on his own, without orders.”

The Massood growled softly, his small triangular ears flattening against his

skull. “That is a very serious as­ sumption.” i

“Grounded, I think, in more than coincidence.”

“Perhaps. But irrelevant should the venture succeed.”

“Truly, as our Hivi friends would say. He’s been very clever.” There was

grudging admiration in the field mar­shal’s voice. “He’ll emerge from this

either a damned hero, or just damned.”

“We cannot reinforce them.” Shatenka pointed out.

‘ ‘I know. The extent of their advance places us in enough danger as it is. I

only hope that our opponents are so dazed and confused by Chin’s attack that

none of them take the time to realize how exposed it’s rendered us back here.

“In the meantime, until the situation resolves itself we’ll back him every way

we can and pray his people bring this off. We can forward certain classes of

supplies by unpi-loted sled. I’ll see to that. You deal with any questions from

Central.”

“I would far rather be on the battlefield.” The Massood sniffed pointedly.

“Your thoughts,” muttered Granville acerbieally, “mirror my own.” He turned back

to the O’o’yan tech. “Keep trying to make contact. If you reach anyone—Hu­man,

Massood, Lepar, regardless of rank or position—I want to know about it. If I’m

not here, find me. If I’m asleep, wake me. If I’m in the can, beat on the door.”

The O’o’yan inclined its narrow, delicate head. “Un­derstood, Great Marshal.”

Any early feelings of uncertainty among the members of the attacking force about

their chosen course of action van­ished as enemy resistance collapsed under the

fury of the Human-Massood assault. There was barely enough time to savor each

triumph before orders arrived directing the next attack on the enemy’s position.

Certainly there was no time to formulate questions, which was the intent of Chin

and his collaborators from the beginning.

The attack gave no sign of faltering. The soldiers of Chin’s battle group were

in superb condition, and even seemed to gain strength with each objective

attained. Though the initial advantage of surprise had been ex­pended, the

battle group continued to forge ahead on skill and dedication alone.

The counterattack gave some members of Chin’s staff pause, especially when he

insisted on sending shock teams and scouts on ahead to probe the enemy’s SHQ

defenses in spite of the fact that the enemy now had to be aware of their

intentions. But since Chin’s predictions had been coming true with edifying

regularity, pause did not give way to objection. Not that a few concerns would

have swayed the colonel in any event. There were too many others on the staif

who fully supported his strategy.

While Chin’s reaction to his accomplishments thus far was less than boisterous,

some of his personnel were less restrained. Three noncommissioned officers in

particular made no attempt to hide their feelings. Though exhausted, they had no

intention of requesting a break, neither for themselves nor their troops. Not

with the perimeter of the enemy’s Sector Headquarters already under attack from

outlying scouts striking from superfast sliders.

Take that objective, they knew, and the poofs back at Regional would have no

choice but to back them with fresh troops. They would have gained too much to

risk giving back. Enemy influence across the entire southern quarter of the

Eirrosadian landmass would be broken.

Things were going so well that Chin had decided to send several squads racing

around behind the enemy HQ in order to be in position to interdict any attempts

at re­inforcement. In an earlier era such strategy might have been carried out

with aircraft, but with the advent hun­dreds of years before of compact

computer-guided mis­siles and energy beams capable of knocking anything out of

the sky, control of the air had become irrelevant to modern warfare. Among the

clouds there was no place to hide.

Increasingly tired but increasingly confident, Chin’s group continued to

advance.

Even in moments of direst distress it was in the nature of the Amplitur to

remain calm, a characteristic which their allies found endlessly reassuring.

Since the universe had evolved gradually, they were fond of pointing out, it

similarly stood to reason that there was no need to concede emotion to haste. It

required an extraordinary series of debilitating circum­stances to reduce an

Amplitur to agitation.

While distinctly nonplussing, the current situation failed to qualify.

“It would seem,” commented High-many fold-Leaving, “that our position here has

changed rapidly from dangerous to precarious.”

“That is unarguably so.” Place-bereft-inward favored the speaker with one eye

while the other swiveled independently on its stalk to study the slowly shifting

topographical image that floated in the air between them. “An exceptional effort

will have to be made if we are to stave off serious damage to local

expectations.”

They would have liked to have conferenced with their col­leagues at Planetary

Headquarters, but the press of battle and Weave interference techniques had

rendered that impossible. It was only by chance that they, the only other pair

of Am­plitur on Eirrosad, happened to be at the Southern Sector HQ when the

Weave had launched its blistering and utterly unexpected attack. Both were

acutely conscious of the demands their allies had subsequently placed upon them

and deter­mined to resolve the situation to the best of their abilities.

Unfortunately, the attacking Humans and Massood were disinclined to cooperate.

Though reluctant to expose themselves to the exigencies of a combat situation,

the Amplitur had no intention of con­centrating their efforts on securing their

safety through per­sonal flight. Such an action would have had a devastating

effect on the morale of their allies. If they were cautious it stemmed from

understanding of an underlying reality: there were not that many Amplitur in the

universe and their sur­vival was vital to the advancement of the Purpose. They

did not run, but, rather, guarded themselves well.

The Ashregan and Crigolit officers who joined them in the chamber were neither

calm nor composed. It might even be said that they had passed beyond agitation

to panic.

“What are we to do?” The Ashregan spoke without offering so much as a polite

greeting or casual honorific. The Amplitur understood and said nothing. Most

other species had not yet begun to come to grips with the va­garies of their

endocrine systems.

Besides, desperate circumstances did not permit time for civilized verities.

One of the Crigolit scuttled forward and employed its forelimbs to unfold a

collapsing readout. “We have con­cocted a plan.” Chitinous digits traced glowing

lines on the screen. “First we concentrate our forces much as the enemy

expects.”

High-manyfold-Leaving commented dryly. “I do not see the reinforcement of

tactical redundancy as extricating us from our present situation.”

The attempt at sarcasm caught the Crigolit unprepared, but it continued anyway.

‘ ‘The intent is to lull the enemy into false expectations of quick victory.”

“Given our present circumstances it will not be neces­sary to lull them,” the

Amplitur murmured.

A sound akin to rusty whistling and air escaping underwater emerged from behind

the Crigolit’s mouthparts. “I elucidate further, honored Teachers. Here,” and

his digits moved, “we place the special squadron from Cossuut. Fortuitously they

are among us. Only when the enemy finally attacks in full strength do we exert

our utmost to hold them back, as the special Ashregan fighters stab into them

from behind.

“Under ordinary battle conditions this would seem a futile tactic, but even

Humans must grow tired from con­tinuous fighting. They are spread out and their

lines of communication and supply grow longer as they advance. In such a

situation a small, irresistible force operating be­hind their lines might wreak

considerable havoc.”

The two Amplitur consulted, leaving the representatives of their allied races to

mill about in awkward silence. It was Place-bereft-inward who finally replied.

“There is considerable risk. If the fighters from Cossuut do not have an impact

then we will have reduced our de­fensive capabilities and gained nothing in

return.”

“Then we should concentrate our forces here,” chirped one of the assembled

Crigolit officers.

“Neither shall we do that.” High-many fold-Leaving gestured absently with a

tentacle. “It is our intention to put up only minimal resistance and abandon

this place to our voracious enemy.”

Many of those among the assembled had thought them­selves beyond shock. They

were wrong.

“Honored Teachers, I ask you to reconsider,” pleaded the ranking Ashregan. “The

distance to Planetary Head­quarters’ perimeter and the safety it would provide

is more than five days’ travel by fast skid. During that time we would not be

able to use many of our heavy weapons and could not maintain an adequate

defensive formation. Fast-moving pursuit could take us apart a little at a

time.”

“We can defend this installation!” The ranking officer’s adjutant was as

insistent as she was outraged. “Whether the Cossuut group is otherwise employed

or not. Let the Humans and Massood come. They are effective in the jungle, but

can they dig a determined defense out of this mountain? Tired and worn as they

must be, I think not.”

“Our greatest weakness since Humans have allied themselves with the Weave has

been our repeated under­estimation of their abilities, in tandem with an

unpredict­ability which verges on madness.” Place-bereft-inward relied on logic

to convince, though it would have been easier simply to “suggest” the decided

course of action to those present.

“As you so bravely state we might well be able to de­fend our position here.

However, after careful considera­tion of all relevant factors we postulate an

equal chance of failure. Even odds are no odds at all.

“If we utilize our full strength to defend, and lose, then this entire region

falls under the control of the enemies of the Purpose. Gathering Weave strength

here would threaten our very hold on this world, rendering the security of

Plan­etary Headquarters itself untenable.”

“Does not retreat allow the enemy to achieve the same goal at little cost?” The

bold female Ashregan was unre­pentant. ‘ ‘I fail to see virtue in flight.”

“I shall elucidate.” The Amplitur extended two of the four digits on the end of

its right tentacle and impacted the drifting topograph. It froze. Colors

appeared on its surface as High-manyfold-Leaving manipulated heavy air.

‘ ‘We will put up minimal resistance before abandoning this installation, but

neither do we propose complete re­treat.”

“I don’t understand,” said the ranking Ashregan.

“The female is half-right. The enemy will be tired, but that does not mean they

will be weak. We note that Hu­mans have repeatedly demonstrated uncommon

endurance under stress. It is almost as if they revel in personal suf­fering, as

though pain and discomfort are required before they can reach great heights.

According to a captured Hu­man psychologist this ‘ennobling angst,’ as he called

it, is endemic to the species and a requirement for its survival and

advancement. Insane as it sounds it is nonetheless very real. We must try to

comprehend it if we are to for­mulate successful strategies for defeating

them.”

“Your pardon and understanding, honored Teacher,” said the Ashregan commander, ‘

‘but I fail to see how this impacts on our present situation.”

Place-bereft-Inward took up the explanation. “This strange thesis holds that the

more difficult the situation, the harder Humans fight. It is when everything is

going their way that they are apparently at their most vulnerable. In order to

make use of this knowledge we must for now accept this reversal of reason

without trying to understand it.

“The Humans are superb fighters, but they are not superbeings, and they have

their own unique weaknesses. It is through our comprehension and utilization of

these vul­nerabilities that they shall be defeated, not by any attempt to impose

our system of values upon them.”

In the silence that ensued the two Amplitur perceived that their attempt to

spread enlightenment had produced only bewilderment. “I shall be specific.”

Place-bereft-Inward’s words were accompanied by a mental suggestion of badly

needed reassurance. “The majority of our people will pull out, but not to

retreat. Some will race toward Planetary Headquarters, giving the arriving enemy

the im­pression that all are attempting to flee in that direction. It will seem

the natural thing for us to do. Meanwhile the bulk of our forces will head not

for the perceived safety of the headquarters perimeter but for the dense hilly

jungle to the southwest.”

“That places us farther from potential safety or rein­forcement than anywhere

else,” one of the elder Crigolit was unable to forbear from pointing out.

“Precisely,” the Amplitur replied with cool confidence. “It is the last thing

the enemy would expect of us. From a strategic standpoint it is an almost Human

move. New problems require equally new and radical solutions.

“After the enemy has wrested this installation from the modest force which will

remain to ‘defend’ it, and after they have begun their pursuit of the group

which will be sent fleeing northwestward, but before they can consoli­date their

new conquest, we will counterattack. Not in an attempt to retake our position

here, which would concen­trate our forces dangerously, but all up and down along

their line of assault. This time the element of surprise shall be ours.”

“Your pardon, honored Teacher,” said the obstreperous female Ashregan officer,

“but this strikes me as strategy based on hope as much as knowledge. The Humans

excel at the kind of fragmented combat you propose.”

“That is so.” Both Amplitur agreed readily. “But you forget the Cossuut unit.

Surprise and support from the rest of our forces should enable them to make a

much greater impact than they would be able to if attacking on their own.

Remember also that our assailants are not all Hu­mans. According to the reports

there are Massood and noncombative species in the attacking force as well. If

these can be thrown into confusion or panic, it will greatly complicate the

Humans’ ability to fight, since they have come too far to quickly evacuate

support personnel.”

“And our fighters will be fresh and rested,” High-manyfold-Leaving pointed out.

“That counts for much.”

While there was some continuing discussion both Am­plitur impatiently suggested

that their allies put any re­maining objections aside in the interests of speed,

concurring that insufficient time remained for the luxury of independent debate.

So it was not surprising when the assembled officers declared in a body, “We

accept the plan of the Teachers.”

“We feel wellness at your decision.” The Amplitur re­plied simultaneously,

gratified by the unanimous accep­tance of the foregone conclusion.

Chapter Sixteen

Hidden deep within difficult, highly vegetated terrain, the forces which had

withdrawn in hasty but orderly fashion from the interior of the mountain

fortress were barely able to monitor the Weave attack when it finally arrived.

Those limited Ashregan, Crigolit, and allied troops who had been left behind to

mount a semblance of a defense fought long and hard before they were overwhelmed

by the ferocity of the assault, bravely sacrificing themselves in the cause of

the Purpose. The Amplitur could not have hoped for better results.

Holding alertly at their assigned position, Ranji’s group was aware of what was

taking place only through infre­quent and cautious internal communications. They

were too far away to hear the rumbling explosions which issued with pernicious

regularity from the interior of the tabletop mountain as its conquerors

obliterated stores, equipment, and defenders with equal glee.

Soon squads of attackers were regrouping atop the jungle-clad butte. Espying

fleeing enemy, small teams shot off in pursuit, intent upon running down and

destroying every potential survivor before they could reach the distant safety

of their planetary headquarters.

Ranji considered the Ashregan, Crigolit, and others who had accepted death in

the service of a feint. It frightened him to know that there was a time when he

might have done so with equal enthusiasm.

Now all he saw was the extinction of brave individuals whose deaths in no way

enriched the universe. There was something inherently obscene in the notion of

dying for a strategic advantage. For example, from what he had seen Humans who

would readily sacrifice themselves in defense of their world or even a friend

were much less likely to do so to preserve an abstraction.

Like the Purpose, he told himself.

He was finding it increasingly difficult to believe in much of anything.

The Amplitur, of course, did not readily sacrifice them­ selves for the cause.

Though it was ostensibly because of their limited numbers, Ranji more and more

had come to think of this as a convenient rationalization. The notion stuck in

his conviction and would not be moved.

For reasons unknown, swept up in events he could not control in that uneasy time

and place, he found himself thinking frequently of the Lepar.

Then the word was passed that it was time to strike, and’ his only thoughts were

for survival.

Seemingly from behind every tree and rocky pinnacle the squads of Ashregan and

Crigolit slammed into the con­querors of the mountain, most of whom were for the

first time in several days just starting to relax. Their timing could not have

been better had prognostication been other than a prehistoric fancy.

Innumerable firefights erupted in the terrain between the mountain and

south-flowing rivers, consuming frantic members of varying species with inchoate

impartiality. Humans and Massood frantically rushed to gather wits and weapons

with which to defend them selves.

So furiously did they strike back that in places the coun­terattack was stopped

cold, the attackers annihilated de­spite the advantage of surprise. Elsewhere it

was Humans and Massood who were devastated, unable to mount an adequate defense

or flee to safety.

Ranji fought to defend himself and, surreptitiously, his brother. It troubled

him that he, likely Human himself, was compelled by circumstance to kill other

Humans. Letting the natural killing reflex take over allowed him to ignore his

initial inhibitions. This surprised him when it should not have. After all,

Humans had been exterminat­ing each other without compunction for thousands of

years.

Saguio, Soratii-eev, Birachii, and the others charged into combat armored with

the blissful balm of ignorance, un­aware they had been called upon to slaughter

their own kind, a task they executed with unalloyed vigor.

As for Ranji, under the pretext of essaying strategy he strove to avoid as much

actual combat as possible. Cog­nizant of his recent experiences, those operating

under his command considered his reticence prudent. He did man­age to fire his

weapon frequently, with an inaccuracy those who happened to be momentarily

caught in his sights found laudable. Innocent succulents and trees suffered the

consequences of his anguish.

Spread out over a huge section of swampy terrain, the conflagration would have

struck an onlooker as natural rather than artificial in origin, as if some

immense blaze had suddenly erupted in the heart of the tabletop mountain and

spread to the surrounding forest. Indistinguishable as to source, plumes of

smoke rose from burning vegetation, from burning machines, from burning bodies.

Amid heat and smoke and dense vegetation it was dif­ficult for Ranji to tell

Crigolit from Ashregan, Ashregan from Massood, Humans from his friends. Only

differing armor and equipment types offered ready means for iden­tification. One

had to think fast and shoot faster if one expected to survive. He sought solace

in delay and tried not to think.

By keeping his personal floater as close as possible to the ground he managed to

avoid the bulk of aerial combat. It was while working his way slowly through a

grove of massive, heavily buttressed trees that he came upon the two corpses.

They were Human, one of each gender. Great black­ened gaps showed in their light

field armor where energy weapons had struck home. Their own rifles lay nearby,

punctuation marks bestriding lost lives. The right side of the man’s skull was

missing. Though cauterization was extensive Ranji could still see part of the

brain, drying in the air like a wrinkled gray melon. The man lay crumpled on his

side, his companion on her back. Her skin was pale, and he was very glad she did

not much remind him of the woman he had known on Omaphil.

This close to the mountain the soil was more than firm enough to support his

floater. He landed in hopes of learn­ing what he could.

Close inspection of the corpses told him little he did not already know. He bent

over the man. If he peered hard enough into the gaping cranial cavity, would he

be able to see a small bundle of nerves, the nodule that Hivistahm and Human

surgeons had assured him was alien to every unaltered Human mind? Since he

sensed he would not his examination was cursory at best.

Rising, he resumed his seat on the floater and sent it forward, angling slowly

through the grove. Every channel of his communicator was alive with orders and

exchanges. Around him the jungle boomed and hissed like a gigantic reptile

caught in the throes of violent death. He did not look back.

There was nothing he could do. If he tried to surrender to the opposition under

battlefield conditions he would likely be shot on sight. The bulky, securely

attached cephaloprostheses which had restored his Ashregan appear­ance could not

be removed without the aid of a fully equipped surgery.

Thoughts of surrender passed quickly. That was not why he had returned to his

friends.

He cruised slowly through environs becoming unnatural. Repeated clarion calls

over his communicator heralded successive triumphs for the Purpose. Dull

instinct dragged him along while his field equipment kept him alive, armor-shell

protecting epidermal shell concealing . . . what?

Hammered at multiple points along their line of ad­vance, the fatigued attackers

were gradually cut into smaller and smaller groups. Expectations of glory gave

way to concern for survival. Without orders, without direction, they began to

retreat, fleeing back toward the meandering river they had so exultantly crossed

the day before. Sup­plies from Granville and Shatenka’s joint command did not

even have the chance to arrive before the retreat began, and could not in any

event have prevented the disaster.

The faithful of the Purpose took many prisoners that day. When it became clear

that the assault had been turned, the Amplitur sent a powerful combined

battlegroup in pur­suit of the survivors. Many of Ranji’s friends participated.

They swept beyond the rivers and overran the forward Weave firebase from which

the attack had been mounted, taking control of its minimally manned weapons

systems and natural defenses and bringing a great swath of previ­ously

Weave-controlled territory under Amplitur control. The opportunities for rescue

of those surviving Humans and Massood who had been scattered throughout the

end­less jungle were reduced from modest to nil. Indeed, Granville was forced to

request reinforcements simply to hold his own position.

Carson, Moreno, and Selinsing did not even have the consolation of knowing that

their deaths had contributed to a gallant failure. It was an ignominious rout.

Caught between impenetrable canopy and a fast-moving Crigolit floater,

Selinsing’s slider disintegrated under a hail of en­emy fife. Carson was shot

down over the main river, while Moreno died trying to escape the captured

fortress, which was rapidly turned into a sandstone tomb by counterat­tacking

Ashregan and their backups.

Many who were not killed fighting went down in the jungle on disabled vehicles,

like so many exhausted birds unable to complete an especially difficult

migration. Some were rescued by daring outfliers who ignored Granville’s orders

to stand clear. Others were caught and slain or cap­tured by the pursuing enemy.

Colonel Nehemiah Chin might have escaped to face court-martial. Instead he chose

to use the concentrated firepower of his command sled to cover the retreat of

less heavily armed regular troops. Those who escaped might live again to fight

another day, whereas his military career was already finished.

The great gamble had not paid off. Having acquired a debt he knew he could not

pay, he saw no reason to return.

It was most ironic because everything he and his co-conspirators had hoped for

had come to pass. They simply had not credited the enemy with the wherewithal to

mount an effective response, an oversight which he spent much of the time

remaining to him regretting.

Death brought peace to Colonel Chin, but not content­ment.

For the Weave forces on Eirrosad the debacle was total. Plans for pressing the

enemy on other fronts were aban­doned as reinforcements were hurriedly rushed to

defend what remained of Granville’s shrunken sector. Overall strategy suffered a

severe and embarrassing retrenchment. Chin’s Catastrophe, as it came to be

known, forced Weave tacticians to abandon an optimistic status quo in favor of a

policy of anxious defense. Meanwhile, the dead com­mander’s dour superiors

reaped a harvest of recrimina­tions.

It was as serious a battlefield defeat as Weave forces had suffered in some

time. The effects were felt beyond Eir­rosad, reverberating throughout the chain

of command all the way up to the Grand Military Council itself.

As for the Amplitur, they did not throw up their tenta­cles in triumph and husk

hosannas to the Purpose. It was not in their nature to celebrate death, even

that of those who would destroy them. Revelry was left to the Crigolit and

Ashregan, the Molitar and Mazvec. The Amplitur would celebrate only when the

Purpose was fulfilled, be it a hundred years in the future, a thousand, an eon.

That did not mean they did not find gratification in the accomplishment.

For their brilliant tactical maneuver High-manyfold-Leaving and

Place-bereft-Inward received quiet praise and new assignments. Of rest there

would be none. There would be plenty of time for the Amplitur to rest once the

Purpose had been fulfilled. Until that far distant day there was still too much

for them to do and too few of them to do it.

The news from Eirrosad had depressed everyone at Weave Command on Omaphil.

Conversation and spirits alike were muted. Even the normally jocose S’van were

subdued.

Two Humans, a pair of Massood, and three S’van clus­tered in a high-ceilinged

chamber afire with images of suns and ships. Rising and descending on invisible

supports, they studied and analyzed the three-dimensional represen­tation of

their particular quadrant of the galaxy, not so much reading the map as voyaging

through it.

One of the S’van waved the small wandlike device he carried. Representations of

starships swirled and reposi-tioned themselves according to his directions. In

the en­closed chamber his translator boomed.

“We’ve already overextended ourselves in our attempt to take Eirrosad. It

weakens our inner spatial defenses and exposes us along this entire line. I say

it’s time to consider pulling back. A strategic retrenchment does not a retreat

make.”

“We cannot,” argued a Massood floating high above him. “If we give up Eirrosad,

it will make it extremely hard to advance into the next important enemy sector .

. . here.” Her wand stirred galactic soup.

“That’s true. Our next big thrust will be made much easier . . .if we can hold

Eirrosad,” another of the S’van said pointedly.

“Would you concede the Amplitur the same sort of, ad­vantage we seek for

ourselves?” she riposted. “There are no other habitable worlds in its immediate

vicinity.”

“It’s premature to speak of concessions.” One of the Human officers descended to

the same level as the S’van. “Our situation on Eirrosad’s been damaged but not

devastated. We may not be in a position to mount any attacks for a while, but I

think we can hold on to what we have.”

“I don’t doubt that.” The S’van put both hands behind his back, thrusting his

thick beard forward. ‘ ‘My concern is that by continuing to support forces on

Eirrosad we weaken ourselves elsewhere. It’s well known that Humans dislike

looking over their shoulders, lest they see some­thing that displeases them. In

warfare ignorance is not bliss; it’s lethal stupidity.”

“Look,” said the other Human sharply, “I’ll grant that you guys are brilliant

tacticians, but you’re as cautious as any of the species who don’t carry guns.

If it wasn’t for us and the Massood, you wouldn’t advance anywhere. You’d just

sit around on your hairy butts waiting for the Amplitur to hit you at their

leisure.”

As Human and S’van glared at each other from per­spectives that differed as much

as their respective heights, one of the Massood hastened to change the subject.

“On a related matter, it seems clear that the decision to return the altered

Human-Ashregan to his friends was a mistake.”

“We can’t be certain of that yet.” The Human who replied sounded slightly

defensive.

The more belligerent of the two S’van grinned. “Igno­rance in this case is

embarrassing.”

The senior S’van had yet to say anything. It was a mar­vel to him that

individual members of the contentious species of the Weave could cooperate long

enough to have a discussion, much less fight an interstellar war. If the

Amplitur could but see how truly fragile was the structure of the Weave, how

fractious and argumentative its mem­bers, they would surely press their

millennia-old assault even harder.

“That incident is history,” the S’van commented. “Not every experiment produces

the results one hopes for. Time spent on recriminations is divisive and

wasteful.”

“We don’t know what the subject’s present condition is.

Just because he hasn’t contacted us yet doesn’t mean he’s never going to.” It

was the Human’s turn to be defensive.

“It’s perfectly understandable that you stretch reason out of compassion for one

of your own. Had S’van been the subjects of genetic manipulation by the Amplitur

we would be equally concerned.”

As was typical of his kind, the Human refused to be swayed by mere logic. “We

don’t know for certain that his Ashregan conditioning has reasserted itself. We

don’t know for a fact that the work our people did with him here on Omaphil was

unsuccessful.” He hesitated. “Majority opinion holds that he’s probably dead,

because he was returned to the region where our recent losses occurred. Prior to

our reversal of fortunes there, enemy casualties are known to have been heavy.

It’s reasonable to assume he was among them. Until then he may very well have

been trying to decondition his colleagues, which was his avowed intention in

returning.”

“Probably we will never know,” said the other Massood.

“Truly I would like to.”

Everyone looked up as a new figure drifted in to join them. Access to the map

chamber while conferencing was in progress was supposedly forbidden, but

First-of-Surgery had been granted clearances usually denied even to senior

officers.

The darkling enclosure was alien to him, so very differ­ent from his normal

brightly lit surroundings. Further­more, it was occupied by intimidating Humans

and Massood. He instinctively stood close to the S’van.

“I know you.” The younger Human officer frowned slightly in remembrance. “You

oversaw the whole exper­iment.”

“As you truly remember, you may also recall that I most strenuously argued

against the unfortunate subject Ranji-aar to his friends returning, but was by

the military overruled.” He met and held the Human’s stare, some­thing none but

a Turlog could manage for long.

“At the time we felt we had no choice,” said the other Human.

First-of-Surgery eyed him frostily. “Of course you a choice had. You could to

myself and other specialists have listened. But your actions were, from what I

have seen and studied, of military thinking typical. You around you gather

experts and analysts. Not to their opinions listen to, but to an intellectual

blanket create to from criticism shield yourselves. Behind this barrier you

carry on as before, deluded that you of the help you have acquired made use. Now

you have for this shortsightedness on Eirrosad paid the price.”

“Now just a minute,” said the other Human. “Are you suggesting that the return

of this individual to his former friends and associates had something to do with

our recent defeat on that world?”

“I suggest nothing. I infer nothing. It is only that when the unexpected itself

repeats, is piqued my interest in re­lational hypotheses.”

“It has been determined that the Eirrosad disaster was the fault of a single

renegade Human colonel who delib­erately excluded from his decision-making

process all tac­tical advice except that which arose from a select inner

circle.” The other Human spoke with assurance.

“An all too common fault.” The Human turned sharply on the S’van who’d made the

comment, but could discern nothing in the way of expression behind an

all-obscuring black beard.

“It distresses me to bad news bring atop bad news.” First-of-Surgery clicked his

teeth softly. “Facts have an awkward way of lives of their own assuming.”

“Go ahead,” the nearest Human grumbled. “We’ve heard little else these past few

days. A little more won’t make any difference.” The surgeon’s translator

rendered the primate’s guttural barkings into barbaric but compre­hensible

Hivistahm. This maceration of his elegant lan­guage did not irritate him. As a

physician he had a better understanding than most of Human cultural failings.

“Please my inadequate words excuse, but it has my ex­perience been that visuals

time as well as confusion save.”

Removing a control wand not unlike those in the pos­session of his military

colleagues, he adjusted it while waving at the empty space between them. Several

star sys­tems were rudely swept aside, to be replaced by the float­ing image of

a Human skull. As he spoke, sections exploded and expanded to reveal hidden

secrets.

“You all are or should by now be conversant with the recent studies which were

conducted on this world on one of the genetically altered Humans who were

preborn ab­ducted by the Amplitur. It was my privilege in charge of those

studies to be.” The wand moved.

“Before the individual in question was at his request returned to Eirrosad an

operation was carried out in which the Amplitur-induced alteration to his brain

was surgically isolated from the rest of his nervous system, thereby ne­gating

its influence.” Slitted pupils monitored Humans and Massood for reaction.

“I remind you that my staff and I considered this indi­vidual’s release and

return premature.”

“That’s old news, not bad news,” commented the near­est Human.

“Truly.” The surgeon’s tone was sharp. “Under natural conditions Human neural

tissue rarely regenerates. Mod­ern Hivistahm and O’o’yan technology enables us

such regrowth artificially to induce, thereby rendering the Hu­man physiologic

condition known historically as ‘paraly­sis’ a medical anachronism.

“Prior to the conclusion of surgery on the individual in question the

Amplitur-induced neural nodule within his brain was biopsied. A computer

projection on recent anal­ysis based a potential capacity for self-regeneration

of this organ suggests.” As he spoke, animated neurons reas­serted themselves

within the immensely magnified image rotating before them.

“This is a prognostication only,” observed the male Massood. “The fact that such

growth can occur does not mean that it will, or that the Amplitur organ will

success­fully reconnect itself to the appropriate portions of the individual’s

brain.”

“Such rapid cellular growth could even be carcino­genic,’/’ pointed out one of

the S’van in uncharacteristically humorless fashion.

“That is not an impossible scenario,” First-of-Surgery admitted. “In that event

the individual might die before the condition could be detected and treated.

Conversely, if successful regrowth and reconnection were to occur, he might

despite all our arduous work with him here, under the sway of the Amplitur again

find himself. Or the clash of what he knows with what he feels might well

unbalance him mentally.”

“Then all our work here was for naught,” said another S’van.

“Not true. We learned much of importance.” With a wave of the surgeon’s wand the

magnified bits of Human brain and neural tissue vanished. “We are certain in the

future others modified by the Amplitur to encounter. Per­haps by then we will

have how permanently to inhibit the Amplitur organ from regenerating

discovered.” To the en­suing silence he added a note of hope.

“As has pointed out been, this a prognostication only is.” Double eyelids

blinked. “Such regrowth may not take place, or if it does neural reconnection

may not recur, nor may there be any harm to the individual. This but one of many

possible physiologic scenarios is.”

“You assign the worst case a high priority, though, or you wouldn’t have

interrupted this conference to tell us about it.”

First-of-Surgery regarded the scaleless warrior Human. An ineffable sadness

colored his laconic response. “Truly.”

The other Human nodded slowly as he spoke. “What we really need to do is find

the world where the Amplitur are doing the actual modifications on Human infants

and embryos and blow the goddamned place all the way back to the First Cause.”

First-of-Surgery shivered slightly at the Human’s unbri­dled ferocity. If not

for the need to recruit species capable of combating the advance of the

Amplitur, he might not have been above consideration of a little genetic

engineer­ing himself. Though from the beginning he had concealed his feelings

well, the whole business had unnerved him more than he would have cared to

admit.

One thing his studies had led him to ponder was if a “civilized Human” might not

be a contradiction in terms, a biological impossibility. He was glad he would

not be around to find out, for even the most optimistic scenario had the war

against the Amplitur continuing far beyond the end of his projected lifespan.

Even so, his sleep was troubled.

Chapter Seventeen

As was traditional, victory celebrations were kept to a minimum. However,

Military Command decided that its triumphant but exhausted soldiers deserved not

merely a rest, but that greatest of all rewards for those who serve in combat: a

visit home.

Had Ranji been given the option he would have chosen to stay on Eirrosad. His

genuine hesitancy was, however, interpreted as modesty, and together with his

friends he was shipped back to peaceful Cossuut. His subtle hints that he be

allowed to remain behind were swamped in the flush of congratulations. Realizing

that excessive demurral on his part would only eventually attract unwanted

atten­tion, he had no choice but to accept the enforced vacation.

As a Unifer much attention was focused on him. When­ever possible he tried to

have his subordinates answer the innumerable questions that were put to the

group, with the result that he became more than ever an object of curiosity and

interest. In seeking obscurity he found only fame, or at least fame as it was

known within the homogenized ethical orbit presided over by the Amplitur.

Though the cephalopodians had no need of such in­tangibles themselves, they

recognized the importance of maintaining good morale among allied races and did

their best, when circumstances were appropriate, to encourage it. Public feting

of the victorious was useful. Modest ad­ulation was not discouraged. As for the

Amplitur themselves, they ascribed glory to an abstract rather than to

individuals.

Saguio proudly appointed himself guardian of his broth­er’s solitude, shielding

him from the queries and attentions of the curious. I wonder if he would be so

zealous in my defense, Ranji mused in the privacy of his apartment, if he knew

how hard I fought recently to avoid combat. But he was glad of the privacy.

His self-imposed isolation during the voyage back to Cossuut was interpreted as

introspection and suitably re­spected. After a while even the most persistent

left him in peace, allowing Saguio to relax his vigil.

Ranji used the time to try and prepare himself for the inevitable forthcoming

confrontations. Despite his best ef­forts, however, he was unprepared for the

storm of emo­tions that tore through him when he was greeted at the shuttle

disembarkation point by his joyful parents. He was able to maintain control only

by lavishing his attention on his little sister, Cynsa, of whose genetic makeup

he was relatively certain. As certain as he could be of his own, he reminded

himself.

“Good to have you home, firstborn.” As a sign of pa­ternal Ashregan affection

his father was rubbing Ranji be­tween the shoulder blades.

“Yes, son. We worried, and missed.”

Both his mother’s warmth and his father’s radiant pride struck Ranji as so

genuine that for a moment he nearly forgot everything that had happened to him

in the previous months. Once more solid reality dissolved into an unset­tling

speculative mist. Once again his identity fled the realm of verifiable knowledge

for distant, uncertain bio­logical shores.

He found he could not look long in his parents’ direc­tion. Not while the great

question remained unresolved. Were they innocents or collaborators, empathetic

dupes or cold-blooded agents of the Amplitur? How much of what they did and said

was of their own volition and how much at the prompting of Amplitur

“suggestion”? Was their “love” for him and his siblings anything other

than the consequence of “careful calculation? Would he ever know?

Modern technology could pinpoint the location and di­mensions of black holes and

quasars, antimatter accretions and Underspace … but where was love? How did he

find it? By intuition, research, simple triangulation, what?

Cynsa’s hugs and laughter provoked no such introspec­tive agonies. At the

heart-wrenchingly familiar family compound he played with her incessantly,

luxuriating in her innocence and ignorance. She didn’t care who or what she was,

only that her beloved elder brother was home for a while.

But she was growing, developing the same acute re­flexes and lanky form as her

brothers. Ranji knew that her innocence could not be preserved indefinitely, any

more than had his own.

He’d been home more than a month when the authorities asked him to speak at the

commencement exercises for the next group of graduating fighters. It was

impossible for him to refuse.

Now he looked out across a sea of young Ashregan faces. Twice as many as in his

original group bore the telltale marks of Amplitur genetic manipulation. He

wanted to cry out to them, to hold each and every one close while explicating

the appalling details of alien du­plicity. Their upturned gazes were focused on

him, eager and expectant. The Amplitur had stolen their birthright and crippled

their capacity for independent thought. To stand there on the podium and look

down at them was almost more than he could bear.

As his silence persisted murmurs arose from the other speakers and dignitaries

seated behind him. His trauma, those in the know explained knowledgeably. It

will pass.

He forced his lips to move and sensed sounds emerging from his throat, but it

was as if another person was speak­ing. He, Ranji-aar, was completely detached.

The cool, robotic presentation garnered more approval from the captive audience

than it deserved. Any who found it disap­pointing were too polite to voice their

opinions.

Only recently he had been as young as those now raptly and unquestioningly

listening to him. He could pity, but not condemn. The great lie of their

condition was not of their choice.

He had returned to seek truth and dispel lies. Now he saw that this was neither

the time nor place to try and depose something half so elusive. They would

surely lock him up or worse, seek the advice of an Amplitur “spe­cialist.” In

the confusion that would invariably result, he would be quietly disappeared.

Though the knowledge he carried threatened to choke him, somehow he made it to

the end of his speech, recit­ing the prepared text as mechanically as any

artificial di­aphragm. The prophylactic distance between himself and his

audience vanished when he was asked to answer a few questions.

Had he been blind he still could have told the pure Ashregan in the audience

from the modified Humans by the nature and emphasis of their queries. His

perception had been altered by experience and revelation. Never again would he

mistake an Ashregan for a Human or vice versa. He had become irrevocably attuned

to the differences.

He was careful to reply as an Ashregan, muting the Humanity he had acquired on

Omaphil. The audience hall would be a bad place in which to arouse suspicions.

It was not without some relief that he allowed himself to slip back into the

familiar mannerisms of his childhood, to be nothing more than a young warrior,

even a young hero, surrounded by friends and relations.

Afterward it was impossible to forget the many faces that came up to

congratulate or greet him personally, im­possible not to see. beyond shining

eyes and obscenely swollen cheek ridges to the bastardized DNA beyond. Bur­ied

within those coils, at least, was the real truth.

Raised as Ashregan, they would be sent to slay Hu­mans. Returned to Humanity,

they would exert twice the effort to kill the Ashregan who had betrayed them

before they were born. That, too, was truth, one he didn’t much care for. Even

at his young age he had learned that it was not in the nature of truth to be

likable.

Only the fact that confusion nearly outweighed his anger enabled him to keep his

emotions in check. While he was certain he could no longer be what he had been,

neither did he yet know if he was truly capable of being what he was. Whether

out in public or at home with his family he was careful of what he said and how

he acted lest it occur to someone that he might be acting “Human.”

As it mounted, the fury he felt only served to further confirm his Humanity.

New graduates not only replaced his battlegroup’s few losses but nearly doubled

it in strength. He and his fellow Unifers received this statistic and more

during a meeting with senior Ashregan officials. In vain he searched the

assembled for the revered figure of his teacher Kouuad. That was an individual

he would very much like to have questioned. How much did he know? How ignorant

had the venerable, fatherly Kouuad been of his students’ bio­logical history?

Perhaps, Ranji thought, he was not present precisely because he was privy to

such knowledge.

Soratii-eev nudged him. They were being addressed by an officer of considerable

reputation and rank.

“You have rested long enough. The Purpose needs again what only you can give.

“Your sorties on Eirrosad and Koba have been but pre­liminaries for what is to

come, tests in which you and your troops have succeeded admirably. Having

accomplished all that was hoped for you, it is time for you to lead a historic

assault against the enemies of reason.” Ranji and his friends shuffled

expectantly in their seats.

“What’s our target this time?” asked Cossinza-iiv from the corner.

The speaker yielded the podium to another officer. “Eirrosad and Koba are

disputed worlds. It is in such places that the forces of the Purpose and those

of the Weave have contested for supremacy for the past hundred years.” He paused

for emphasis. “Thanks to your recent accom­plishments the decision has been made

at the highest lev­els to carry the attack directly to the enemy in a manner not

attempted for some time.”

Producing a wand, he used it to generate the image of an alien star system,

complete to moons and asteroid belt. An occasional comet sped through the

three-dimensiona construction to vanish in odd comers of the room. The attentive

listeners ignored such cosmic distractions.

Sharpening focus, the speaker drew their attention to the fourth world out from

the slightly pale sun. It exhibited the familiar single large landmass haloed by

clouds and ocean.

“This is Ulaluable.” Since his translator was not pro­grammed to react to proper

names the officer had to pro­nounce it slowly for his audience. “Not a large

world nor one particularly rich in natural resources, though it has its share.

It occupies an important position beyond what the Weave would refer to as its

frontline, if such archaisms had any meaning in space.” As he manipulated the

wand controls illuminated portions of the projection punctuated his speech.

“It possesses fewer than the usual complement of is­lands, a benign climate,

many highlands, and modest mountain ranges. There are highly productive

farmlands. Since it was first settled Ulaluable has been a significant

contributor to the enemy resistance. Naturally it is well defended.” Pinpoints

of light sprang to life on the plane­tary surface.

Birachii squinted at the projection. “Mighty extensive troop distribution for a

contested world. Where are our forces concentrated? In the opposite hemisphere?”

The officer caused the globe projection to rotate a hun­dred and eighty degrees.

The scattering of indicator lights on the other side of the landmass was not

significantly different from what they had already observed.

“Ulaluable is not a contested world.” Only after the resultant buzz of startled

conversation began to fade did he add, “It is in fact a highly developed,

thoroughly civ­ilized world, long ago settled and largely colonized by Wais,

though there is also a substantial minority Hivistahm population.”

“Which means there’s no way we can carry out a land­ing there.” Cossinza

gestured at the rotating globe. “The defenses of a settled world would cut us to

bits as soon as we touched down.”

The officer turned to her. “Though Ulaluable is highly developed, its largely

agricultural nature and intermittent mountainous topography offer unpopulated

expanses where a determined landing force might successfully establish itself

before the planetary defenses could muster a reac­tion. Certainly the population

does not expect an attack.”

“With good reason,” Soratii noted. “Who makes up the defending garrison?”

“It is largely Massood, with the usual Hivistahm tech­nical support teams. There

are some Humans present but according to the best available intelligence their

numbers are small.” The speaker regarded his audience earnestly.

“Much time has been devoted to the gathering of req­uisite intelligence. There

are many reasons besides its to­pography why Ulaluable lends itself to

unexpected attack. Most of its major power facilities lie exposed in the

foot­hills and mountains. Several important communications centers have been

constructed nearby. If these could” be overrun before the defenders could bring

reinforcements to bear, it would give an invading force not only a tactical

advantage but considerable leverage in any subsequent ne­gotiations.

“One reason why something like this has not previously been attempted is because

the usual Ashregan-Crigolit-led strike force could not advance from objective to

objective quickly enough to make it viable. The enemy’s confidence springs from

identical knowledge. Your special teams have demonstrated the ability to attack

with speed. With your

people in the vanguard our tacticians believe a successful invasion of Ulaluable

can be carried out. The local Wais population is of course incapable of offering

any resistance.” He hesitated.

“I do not think I need speak of the effect such a defeat would have on Weave

morale.”

The initial speaker regarded them solemnly. ‘ ‘If more of your kind were

available we would consider attacking an even more important enemy world.

Ulaluable was cho sen specifically because of its perceived vulnerabilities. We

value you all greatly and have no intention of sacrificing you on behalf of a

gesture.

‘ ‘Because of the unique nature of this expedition participation is not

compulsory. No opprobrium will attach to any who choose demurral.” Silence

greeted his words. Wishing badly to say a great deal, Ranji could only keep

still. The elder officer gestured approvingly. “I believed Iand hoped that would

be your response.”

His slightly junior colleague surveyed his expectant audience. “You will have

the best backup available. Experienced Ashregan, Crigolit, and Mazvec troops

drawn from ‘ other theaters of conflict will fully support your strikes. We are

depending on you to provide speed and decisive­ness, not overwhelming firepower.

‘ ‘If it appears that despite all our careful planning the gambit is doomed to

failure, you will be brought out im­mediately, irrespective of risk to

evacuating personnel.”

“Even if it means losing a ship,” added the senior of­ficer. “The High Command

holds your troops in that much regard.”

“We don’t think you will fail.” Certainly, Ranji thought, both speakers sounded

confident. “If we did, this venture would not have reached the planning stage,

much less advanced this far beyond it.”

Like his companions, the proposal left Ranji somewhat dazed. It was so

unexpected because it was utterly unlike the strategy of patient attrition the

Amplitur had favored for a thousand years. They were adapting to new

circumstances with a speed that left him breathless. How the Weave would react

to such tactics remained to be seen.

He and his kind, he knew, were to constitute the cen­terpiece of such

innovations.

The senior officer broke the ensuing silence. “Not in­cidentally, you are all

being promoted. Every one of you, every member of your respective groups. Such

honor is not unprecedented, but it is unusual. The High Command takes pride in

you and your accomplishments.” He sought out a particular individual.

“You, Ranji-aar, are hereby raised to Field Unifer.”

Cossinza gasped softly. Soratii sat motionless. If he was upset at being jumped

in rank he did not show it. Ranji didn’t think it would bother him. Since the

days of the trials they had become good friends, respectful of each other’s

abilities and opinions.

To be given command was the last thing he wanted, yet to refuse the honor was

unthinkable. Doing so would ex­pose him to relentless scrutiny. From now on it

would be impossible for him to hang back and hide on the battle­field. Not only

would he be unable to avoid the killing, he would be forced to direct it.

At least, he told himself, as commanding officer he would better be able to

insure Saguio’s safety. Aware that everyone was expecting some sort of response

from him he said, “When are we to depart?”

“Preparations require another five days,” the officer told him. “That should

give everyone ample time to prepare, and to spend more time with mates and

offspring. Rest, delight, and immerse yourselves in the Purpose.”

The meeting was at an end.

“You will take care of yourself.”

His father stood alongside him in the back of the family compound as together

they contemplated the sunset. Ranji wanted to scream questions and accusations.

Instead he stood silently, trying to sort the emotions that gnawed at his

insides.

“And you will look after your brother.”

Ranji heard himself replying. “Yes, Father.”

Grainfields stretched from the rear of the residential square to a bilious

orange horizon. This time of year they lay fallow, their unrelenting flatness

interrupted only by the stark silhouette of an isolated, twisted kekuna tree.

As the dorsal arc of Cossuut’s sun sank out of sight, the’ two turned to walk

back to the house. “You know, Ranji, you’ve been acting rather strange since

you’ve been home.”

“Have I?” Clods of recently turned earth gave him something to focus on. Some he

kicked to bits, others he spared. As he would soon be expected to do with

friends in battle.

“Your mother and I don’t understand. Are you sure you’re all right?”

His father’s concern proved nothing one way or the other, Ranji knew. Once again

he was made aware of the damning ignorance that jailed his spirit. Mind-dupe or

cal­culating agent? A glance at the old man proved unenlight-ening as ever.

“I’m sorry if I strike you as unnaturally introspective,

Father. You should know that combat tends to dull the

senses.”

“No; there’s something else.”

Halting, Ranji forced a narrow Ashregan smile. “I’ll take care of myself, and

Saguio as well. Rest assured on that.” There at least was a promise he could

make with assurance.

It wouldn’t do to leave his father questioning. The old man might seek answers

from local officials or, worse, from the Amplitur stationed on Cossuut.

Embarrassing queries might find their way back to him, even on distant

Ulaluable. He knew that only continued caution would preserve his secret.

Leave-taking gave him no difficulty until it came time to say good-bye to his

sister. That guileless innocent cried as she hugged him close. He could feel the

growing strength in her, strength the Amplitur intended to put to dreadful

misuse, and somewhat to his surprise he found that he was crying, too. The

outpouring of emotion must have eased his father’s concerns, because the old man

made his farewells quickly, propounding no more unanswerable questions.

Sensing that it was for the last time, Ranji looked back as the transport

vehicle carried him and Saguio away from the house, away from the grainfields in

which he’d played as a youth, away from the residential complex and the only

home he’d ever known.

Because in that final moment he had to make a decision in order to keep his

sanity, he’d decided that his parents were innocent, as captive of Amplitur

machination as he and his brother. He reached that conclusion on the basis of

more than twenty years of love and affection, under­standing and nurturance. His

mother and father had to be ignorant of the biological truth because every

Ashregan lived in fear of the terrible, dreaded Human beings. Surely no amount

of Amplitur suggestion could have so thor­oughly overcome that deep-seated

terror for such an ex­tended period of time. Yes, surely they were dupes, tools

of the Amplitur, as innocent in their own way as his baby sister. They had to be

because he wanted it to be so.

How would they look at him if the truth were to be revealed?

The transport accelerated, plunging into the onrushing night.

The speech of the three Wais administrators was so rapid, convoluted, and

inflected that it was almost impossible for the translators the non-Wais wore to

render it compre­hensible. Despite their agitated discursion, the trio of

ornithorps retained their composure. To have exhibited exasperation in the

presence of other species would have been, well, unrefined.

“What reason can you have to call us here, away from our daily work?” The Wais

who spoke sported a fringed neckpiece of breathtaking elegance which served not

only as a testament to her importance but was ravishingly beau­tiful in its own

right. The feathers which protruded from her flowing attire were of exquisite

color and expertly groomed, as were those of her two male companions.

The instant his translator finished, the S’van replied. “Evidence has recently

come to light which suggests that the enemy is planning something

extraordinary.”

“Of what concern, pray tell, might Amplitur military intrigues be to us?”

Concerned that in her haste to reach the meeting on time it might have slipped a

finger-length too low, the administrator gently fluffed her neckpiece.

The S’van withheld the comments which automatically came to mind when one found

oneself dealing with the I Wais. “We have word that they are planning to mount

an attack on one of the primary Weave worlds.”

Though they found the news as upsetting as would any civilized member of the

Weave, none of the Wais reacted visibly. To have done so in front of aliens

would have been considered unbearably gauche.

“That is difficult to believe,” said one of the male Wais finally.

“Though controversy continues, the evidence seems ir­refutable.”

“Which unfortunate world is to be the target of this outrage?”

“That we haven’t been able to determine . . . yet.” The S’van wished for a

platform. He didn’t like looking up at the Wais. Having to tilt his head back

raised his beard off his chest and exposed the sensitive skin beneath. “Thanks

to our informants we have been able to reduce the list of candidates to three.

Tuo’olengg, Kinar, and . . . Ulalu-able.”

Very little could induce a Wais’s neck feathers to spike and pupils to widen,

but the S’van’s announcement man­aged that accomplishment.

“How can this be?” So upset was the remaining male ornithorp that he nearly

committed the unpardonable sin of misinflecting the interrogative. “Surely the

Amplitur know from experience that an attack on any developed world would be

soon surrounded and annihilated.”

“You’d think so.” The S’van readily agreed. “That’s why we’ve gone to such

lengths to confirm the information we’ve received. If all these enemy

preparations are simply in support of a feint, it’s far and away the most

elaborate one they’ve ever propagated. We can’t take that chance. As the current

Administrating Triumvirate of Ulaluable do you want us to take that chance?”

The polyphonic Wais reply was as unanimous as it was harmonious.

“That’s what we thought your reaction would be.” The S’van looked satisfied.

“The Grand Council has deter­mined to implement exceptional security measures on

all three worlds. If the Amplitur’s purpose in this was to force us to

reallocate scarce resources, then they’ve already ac­complished what they set

out to do. You’ll be given every­thing this quadrant’s Command can spare.”

“What would possess the Amplitur to embark on an adventure with no chance of

success?” the female mem­ber of the triumvirate sang bemusedly.

“Obviously they think better of their chances.” The husky voice of the Massood

officer who’d accompanied the S’van was a sharp contrast to the mellifluous

tones of the Wais. “Perhaps you have heard about the new fighters they have been

using? The ones who hurt us so badly on Eirrosad?”

“We have heard. While the Wais are noncombatants, we are not indifferent to the

progress of the great con­flict.”

A half-hidden figure behind the Massood stepped for­ward. “If the Amplitur

choose Ulaluable as their target, you’ll have to be a damn sight less

indifferent.”

Though not nearly as tall as the Massood, the Human officer towered over the

S’van and Wais. Stocky and pow­erfully built, he sported a heavy mustache and

long side­burns which curled toward his chin. Even as they went to

great lengths to conceal their distaste for the primitive cosmetic affectation,

the Wais instinctively drew back from] the massive primate.

“This would be a lot easier if we knew which of the] three worlds they were

going to hit, but we don’t, so the | same defensive resources have to be

allocated to each. Ulaluable gets no more than Kinar or Tuo’olengg. I prom­ise

that we’ll do our best for you, but I’m afraid you’re going to have to issue a

general alert. Besides the need to brief you, the governors of Ulaluable, that

was our pur­pose in calling this meeting. I hope there won’t be any panic.”

The slightly taller male replied condescendingly. “The Wais do not ‘panic,’

sir.”

“No,” muttered the Massood under his breath. “They just freeze at the smell of a

weapon.”

The female glared. “We will do our part. All necessary measures will be taken .

. . insofar as a wholly civilized people can respond to such a threat, of

course. As a cho­sen representative of the populace I assure you that you will

have our full cooperation. We may not be able to ‘kill,’ but we can do much else

in our own defense.”

The S’van hastened to try and lower his allies’ emo­tional temperature. “We know

the Wais do not fight. Re­member, I’m S’van. We do not fight, either.” The,

administrator seemed mollified.

“The Council will appreciate any assistance you can render to the defending

forces. Additional personnel are already on their way. Massood and . . .

Humans.”

Feathered heads dipped together, chittering softly. Again it was left to the

senior female to speak. “You must be aware that Human combat troops have never

been sta­tioned on Ulaluable, or for that matter any of the Wais worlds. It is

not part of the Covenant of Agreement.”

Out of the corner of an eye the S’van saw the muscular Human stiffen slightly.

However, he said nothing, exhib­iting a self-control not normally associated

with his kind. He was a ranking officer, the S’van reminded himself, and

intelligent enough to know that in such circumstances it was better to let a

S’van do the talking.

“All Human personnel will be assigned to and billeted at Important industrial

and communications facilities. Cities and unnecessary contact with the general

population will be avoided.”

“Suits us fine,” the Human could not resist muttering.

The male Wais who spoke affected not to hear the com­ment. “We are of course

grateful for the assistance of all our friends and allies. It seems we are to

have no choice in the matter anyway.”

“On the contrary,” said the S’van. “If you so desire, these additional defensive

forces allocated to Ulaluable can instead be divided among the other threatened

worlds.”

“That will not be necessary,” the female hastily as­sured him. “You must

understand that while you concern yourselves with matters military, it is left

to us to deal with the delicate social fabric of our society.”

“I do understand.” The S’van smiled behind his beard. Of all the Weave races,

only the S’van utilized the smile more than Humans. “It is my hope that

Ulaluable is not the target of the Amplitur.”

The three ornithorps whistled agreement in unison, each musical exhalation

pitched slightly differently from that of its neighbor. “We are obliged for your

concern,” the fe­male said, “and realize that extraordinary circumstances call

for extraordinary measures. We gratefully accept the temporary stationing of

additional Massood and Human soldiers in our soil.”

“Temporary,” chorused her male associates.

The Human officer continued to observe and listen in silence. He’d served as

liaison to the “civilized” Weave races too long to allow their reactions to the

presence of his kind to upset him. Save for the Massood and occa­sionally the

S’van, the thanks Humans received for putting their lives on the line in defense

of other species was in­different at best. He sighed resignedly. The Wais could

not help the way they were. At such times the Human lot’ could be a difficult

one.

They would provide ample material aid, but that was all. Once, he had seen a

Wais, fortified with medication, through a tremendous effort of will actually

lift and fire a small handgun before collapsing in a nauseated faint. It was an

experience not likely oft to be repeated, even if Ulaluable was attacked. The

defense of their world was up to him and his kind . . . and the Massood, of

course. No getting around it. That was .the way the pulsar spun, he told

himself.

Silently he wished for the meeting to end. Someone had to serve as a liaison to

the Wais, and he had been com­pelled to accept the role. That didn’t mean he had

to like it. Like the majority of his kind he had been trained as a soldier.

Direct action suited him, diplomacy made him itch. He longed for reassignment to

a combat unit. Even the sympathetic S’van was starting to get on his nerves.

Idly he fingered his service belt. Like his boots, the material of which it was

fashioned was incredibly light, tough, attractive, and of Wais design and

manufacture. That was what the Weave was about, he mused. Each spe­cies

contributed according to its talents and abilities. Wais designed, Lepar

carried, Hivistahm engineered, S’van held together, O’o’yan maintained, and so

forth. Turlog thought, Humans and Massood slew.

He comforted himself in the knowledge that the spe­cialty nature seemed to have

assigned his kind was at least easy to understand.

Chapter Eighteen

The grim expression Ranji wore whenever he was com­pelled to leave his cabin

discouraged even close friends from trying to talk to him, and helped to

preserve his solitude during the long Underspace journey out from Cossuut.

Everyone knew that as Field Unifer great re­sponsibilities devolved upon him. It

was therefore only natural to assume that his attitude was a reflection of the

serious inner contemplation that preceded battle. He was left alone.

His isolation suited Ranji just fine. Had his companions known the real reason

for his solemnity they would have been shocked and dismayed. Not only was he not

deeply engrossed in preparing battlefield strategy; he was wholly absorbed in

trying to find a means of avoiding combat altogether.

There were too many times when he wondered why he was bothering to try. He was

one man, one individual caught up in a millennia-old galactic conflagration that

involved billions of intelligent beings. Events of prodi­gious import were in

motion, and like litter on a wave he found himself helplessly swept up and

washed along, to be pounded against whatever shore fate had in store for him.

Not for the first time he found himself thinking that perhaps the best thing he

could do was simply try to pre­serve his own life and live it out as comfortably

and un­obtrusively as possible.

Only, he was repeatedly hammered by uneasy dreams, and visions of his sister

slicing Human throats at the be­hest of shadowy, tentacular forms. Thoughts were

not as easily avoided as friends.

What could he do? They were about to attack a devel­oped Weave world largely

populated by the ultracivilized, innocuous race known as the Wais. As the mere

appear­ance of enemy troops was likely to paralyze the popula­tion, they would

have to be defended by Massood and Humans. How could he, as Field Unifer, avoid

participat­ing in battle and giving orders if not directly having a hand in the

deaths of many of his own kind? Desperately seeking a means of avoidance, he

found only bleak and inner despair.

Time was running out. The invasion force was less than five days from the

target. Preparations for touchdown had already begun. He might yet be spared

contemplated ag­onies, he knew, for their landing shuttle might well be blown

out of Ulaluable’s sky by orbiting or land-based defenses, thus sparing him the

need to make life-threatening decisions. His attitude toward such a quick and

exonerating death had grown dangerously ambivalent.

Perhaps worst of all, the truth gnawed at him like an insect struggling to

escape its cocoon. He had returned to his people to give them knowledge, only to

find himself unable to speak. The futility of his circumstances tor­mented him

far worse than any prospect of dying.

His colleagues saw the inner struggle mirrored in his expression and

misinterpreted its origin to his benefit.

He considered feigning mental collapse, seeking sur­cease in an inveigled

disgrace. But that would not preserve his brother, nor prevent his sister from

being trained to follow after. There was simply no way to extend his soli­tude

to those he loved. He would have to find another way.

As attack preparations around him intensified, he redi­rected himself to the

problem with ferocious application.

It wasn’t until the day before the fleet was to phase out of Underspace that he

remembered the kindly Lepar, Itepu. Remembered his compassion and understanding.

His had been a simpler view of the cosmos, basic and uncompli­cated. In such

simplifications were certain virtues. He pondered those memories, trying to

recall everything he and the Lepar had discussed during his half-forgotten

jour­ney from Eirrosad to Omaphil.

When the word came for all soldiers to don field armor and equipment, he was

much eased in mind. He knew now what he was going to have to do. If it ended in

death, then at least he would be spared the future tribulation of thinking.

Those under his immediate command relaxed when they saw their Unifer stride

purposefully into the landing shut­tle. Clearly the depth and extent of his

hermetic contem­plation during the voyage out from Cossuut had amply prepared

him for the forthcoming conflict. It boosted their morale accordingly.

“Look at him.” The recent graduate nudged his com­panion as they watched Ranji

board the command sled. “Utterly self-possessed. He’s ready.”

“I hear he’s always like that.” The young woman tracked the Unifer’s progress

admiringly. “You heard the story of how he handled himself on Eirrosad?”

The man was checking the charge level on his stinger. “Never panicked, kept his

head when everybody else was losing theirs. I’m glad we’re in his group.”

“By the Purpose,” said a much shorter Ashregan from nearby, “I’m just glad he is

on our shuttle!”

They examined each other’s armor locks and visors, ex­changed and rechecked

weapons. Once the shuttle touched down on the Ulaluablian surface they would be

thrust out­side and into a combat situation, where such checks would have to be

performed, if at all, under arduous and possibly lethal conditions. Better to

make certain seals were tight and weapons powered up now.

It must have been something to see: a dozen immense starships suddenly and

simultaneously materializing from Underspace just above the cloud layer of

Ulaluable’s blue-green globe. There was nothing present to witness the sight,

however, except the alert sensors of the automatic! orbiting planetary-defense

system, which responded anon.

As ships dropped shuttles in the fashion of fecund invertebrates, on-board

weaponry had some success in deal­ing with the cluster of orbiting

hellaciousness. One ship | was destroyed by a self-guiding orbital mine, both

erupt­ing in a flaming plume of metal, gas, and organic com­ponents. Seared

vacuum momentarily blinded every instrument in the vicinity. Five other vessels

were badly damaged by high-power, mirror-aligned particle beams.

The rest unloaded their deadly cargo with admirable speed and dispatch.

Metaloceramic crescents dove into the clouds and made their way to the waiting

surface, where their con­tents spread out and sought cover with slick alacrity.

Not every shuttle made it to ground. Some were oblit­erated by surface-based

weapons. Others ran afoul of scrambling high-speed aircraft. But by the time the

sur­viving starships retired to the protective astrophysical anonymity of

Underspace, the greater portion of the battlegroup had successfully disembarked

and dispersed. Now if Ulaluable’s defenders chose to use heavy weapons on the

invaders they would be putting at risk sensitive por­tions of the very world

they were supposed to be protect­ing.

Ordinarily destruction or damage to half an attacking force’s ships would be

sufficient to bring an invasion to a halt, but not this time. There was too much

at stake for the Amplitur to recall their ground forces, which after all had

made it down largely intact. The components of the engagement had shifted

surfaceward. Time to see what the Ashregan-led battlegroup could do.

Ranji’s shuttle landed hard in a grassy glade surrounded by extremely thin, tall

trees, rattling both soldiers and equipment. The attenuated woods provided some

cover from patrolling aircraft, as did the soot-colored clouds from which a

light rain was falling. As troops rushed to disembark, the shuttle’s crew stayed

at the equipment which projected half a dozen ghost shuttles overhead, their

purpose being to bemuse and distract enemy sensors.

Ranji commanded slightly less than a thousand regular and modified Ashregan

soldiers riding skids and floaters. They deployed themselves with gratifying

speed, erecting camouflage and establishing a perimeter while engineers

excavated a hole deep enough to conceal the shuttle. Maintained and defended by

its own crew, it would serve as a field base, a point of reference, and, if need

be, a means of final retreat.

Their target was the control station of the principal power-distribution grid

for the entire northern third of the planetary landmass. Like any other

unavoidably unsightly industrial complex on a Wais world, it had been sited as

far as practicable from the nearest population center.

An intricate network of dams in the nearby mountains stored water for irrigation

and hydropower. It would have been a simple matter to target them for

destruction by land-based missiles, but that would require their replace­ment by

the eventual victors. A much more sensible course of action involved the

incapacitation or better yet, the cap­ture of the complex that stored and

distributed the power thus generated.

If Ranji’s group could capture the complex they would control the supply of

energy for half the population of Ulaluable. Nor could the defenders blast them

out without de­stroying the critical components of their own power grid. A

successful assault on the center would weaken local com­munications, industry,

and transportation significantly.

The Wais were little better prepared psychologically to deal with an attack than

if they had not been warned at all. True to the claims of their chosen

administrators, they did not panic: they merely shut themselves away in their

homes and waited for defenders or assailants to triumph. In the sparsely

populated regions where the invaders landed, it was more difficult to pretend

nothing so unciv­ilized was taking place. Some citizens fled, others barricaded

themselves in their places of work, and a small portion went catatonic.

Of all the Weave races, the Wais were perhaps the least well equipped to deal

with the awkward reality of contentious violence. The very thought of their

exquisitely coiffed I garden world being subjected to onerous combat was enough

to induce severe trauma in the more sensitive of them. It was left to

Ulaluable’s Hivistahm inhabitants to maintain the abandoned planetary

infrastructure and assist the defenders in the movement of troops and supplies.

The second group of invaders made swift progress to­ward the capital city’s

communications center until they came up against a small but well-entrenched

cluster of determined Massood. As the defenders were in possession of advanced

surface-to-air weaponry, the attackers’ skids I and floaters were unable to

detour to their target.

Thus bogged down, the invaders were forced to take up secure positions of their

own, which gave the besieged Massood time to call in reinforcements from the

city. This included a flying squad of Humans, who threw themselves against the

Ashregan with utter disregard for their own safety, making life miserable for

the Unifers in charge of the attack by reducing their careful timetables to

chaos.

In spite of the fact that the majority of actual combat was restricted to

obscure or outlying areas, there were ca­sualties among the civilian population

. . . from heart fail­ure, shock, and cerebral hemorrhage. Wais physicians

(those who were not themselves paralyzed by circum­stance) were kept busy

tending to their own kind.

Soratii’s team successfully wrested control of Ulalu­able’s northernmost

shuttleport from its defenders. If they could hold the place, it would allow for

faster and safer resupply from orbit. As their first important conquest, the

achievement cheered every member of the invading forces.

Ranji’s group received the news as they were skimming in attack formation toward

their designated target, their skids and floaters tearing along just above the

ground at maximum combat speed. Since their attention was concentrated on

sensors and weapons systems, their cheers were silent ones.

Once more those close to him took his silence and oti­ose expression for quiet

determination and resolve. It would have shaken their confidence not only in

their Unifer but in themselves had they been able to see the pain and

uncertainty that raged within him.

Tormented by unceasing doubt and confusion, Ranji left necessary decisions to

subordinates like Weenn and Tour-mast. In the absence of direction from above

the group’s flexible command structure allowed them to skillfully guide the

battlegroup through rugged mountains toward its target. Ranji’s continued

silence as they neared the high, narrow valley which had been selected as a

staging area for the actual attack began to concern them, but they said nothing.

By now their Unifer was famed for his moodiness.

Underground lines fed power from dozens of different sources to the main

distribution center, which lay on a fertile plain between the nearest

conurbation and the mountains. It was decided to attack late at night. Despite a

thousand years of military development, ordinary dark­ness still offered

soldiers a certain amount of cover which strategists and planners were pleased

to take advantage of at every opportunity. The absence of notable geological

features in the vicinity of the target rendered a stealthy approach impossible

anyway.

Ranji found himself hoping that the majority of the complex’s defenders were

Massood. From what he knew of the psychological makeup of the Wais, actual

operations were probably being run by local Hivistahm.

Any formal defenses were probably of recent installa­tion, since, like any other

civilized Weave world, Ulalu-able would have been ill prepared for a serious

assault. In that respect resistance might be less well organized than it had

been on Koba or Eirrosad. The downside was that they had to continue to advance,

since they as yet con­trolled little territory and therefore had precious few

places to retreat to.

He didn’t doubt that the complex’s defenders were pre­pared to extend greetings

to any uninvited visitors. Since sheer cliffs and steep gorges offered some

protection even from modern weapons, they would anticipate an assault from that

vicinity rather than the open plains of the south, though they would doubtless

be alert to an attack from any direction. Local geology allowed little leeway

for subtle strategies.

The outcome would be determined by whose fighters were the more skilled, the

more determined, and by what sort of weaponry the defenders had managed to put

in place.

Whoever they were, boldness was not their hallmark. When Soratii’s squads first

sortied from the foothills they met intense fire and promptly withdrew. Had

Ranji been I in charge of the complex’s defense he would have followed | up with

immediate pursuit and counterattack, if only to test his attackers’ strength and

resolve. Those inside the distribution grid’s perimeter did no such thing. In

classical fashion they chose to sit behind their screens and sensors and weapons

and wait for the next hostile move.

Probably not many Humans, then, he decided, feeling a little better about the

situation. He smiled relievedly, suddenly realized what he was doing, and

glanced around the interior of the command skid to see if anyone had noticed the

unnatural, un-Ashregan expression. No one had. Everyone was concentrating on

work or conversation. In the future he would have to be more careful. Assuming

he had one. And if he did, what would it be as?

If naught else the long journey outward from Cossuut had given him ample time to

think. He had arrived on Ulaluable with a vague notion of what he wanted to do.

All that was lacking now was a means for carrying it out without getting himself

or any of his friends killed while integrating his intentions into the little

matter of the battle he was expected to direct. Surely a simple enough task.

The practical knowledge he’d acquired on Kobe, Eir-rosad, and even Omaphil

enabled him to probe the enemy’s defenses with few casualties. Though hastily

installed, they were substantial and deadly. Soratii’s peo­ple encountered and

reported the presence of photic charges, heat- and shape-seeking missiles, and

intelligent explosives, in addition to an aurora dome which would instantly

short out the components of any approaching ve­hicle, not to mention microwaving

its inhabitants. The complex was going to be difficult to approach, much less

capture.

In the attackers’ favor was the fact that on a civilized world such

installations were not constructed with an eye toward defense. Most of the

distribution complex was lo­cated aboveground, buildings and facilities arranged

in an aesthetically tasteful but exposed star pattern with typi­cally lush Wais

gardens burgeoning between. The defend­ers would also be hampered by the need to

keep the grid functioning while simultaneously fighting off any assailants.

Ranji knew that in order to have any impact he would have to move fast. As

Ulaluable’s defensive command identified the invaders’ targets, they would

proceed to rush reinforcements to those areas. He had no intention of be­ing

stuck in the mountains for a long siege. Whatever he finally decided to do would

be executed with speed.

Exhilarating, this independence of mind, he mused. Ex­hilarating, and addictive.

Occasional missile exchanges produced a lot of noise and flame but no serious

damage to either side, as anti­missile weaponry obliterated projectiles in

midnight. Beam projectors were held in reserve, since the use of such ad­vanced

devices simultaneously exposed their positions to enemy sensors and return fire.

The extended, cautious firefight that occupied the day­light hours witnessed

much sound and fury but nothing in the way of advance or retreat. The Massood

and Hivistahm defenders soon realized that their attackers wished to capture and

not destroy the distribution complex, and were able to conduct their defense

accordingly.

The slightly sloping plain that halted at the base of the mountains was sliced

by several mostly dry gullies, watercourses designed by nature to drain the

foothills in the rainy season. An intent Ranji had begun studying them through

magnifiers from the moment of his group’s ar­rival. Now he left his position

near the front of the com­mand skid and moved to stand next to his adjutant,

Birachii.

“I’ll need a floater.” He poked at the luminescent, hov­ering representation of

what in ancient times would have been called the battlefield, his finger tracing

one particular topo­graphical feature until it came to rest among several

pin­points of blue light. “It looks like this one squad’s made some real

progress. I’m going to check out their status.”

“Your pardon, Ranji?” Birachii eyed him uncertainly.

“I said, I’m going out. To have a look around.”

The sub-Unifer hesitated. “I ask excusal for making exception, Ranji, but you’re

the group commander. If you’ll just tell me what you want, there are many on

board or outside who are much more expendable than yourself and who’d be glad to

go in your stead.”

“Thanks, Birach, but I have to do this myself. See, I’m not just going out to

survey the terrain. I have it in mind to reconnoiter an idea.” He turned.

“Jhindah-ier will be in charge until I get back.” Birachii didn’t try to hide

his surprise. Though a perfectly competent officer, Jhindah-ier was a member of

the pure Ashregan contingent and not one of the modified.

“It’s bad procedure.” Ranji found his friend’s concern touching. “And not in

keeping with the teachings of the Purpose.”

“Birach, ever since we were children we’ve been noted and promoted for doing the

unexpected. I’m just taking another step along the same old trail. Don’t worry.

I just want to confer with the squad leader. I have every inten­tion of

returning to supervise the rest of the attack. Now stop mooning at me like a

lovesick youngster and requi­sition that floater.”

Chapter Ninteen

Intelligent shells dueled in the airspace between the moun­tains and the

distribution complex, darting and feinting, occasionally annihilating each other

in spectacular bursts of high explosive. Others released enervating gases, which

were as quickly rendered harmless by receptor-seeking neutralizing bonders.

Rapid-mutating biological agents had not as yet been utilized, since they had an

awkward habit of infecting those who employed them as readily as they did those

they were intended to incapacitate.

Set afire by explosives, much of the flora proximate to the combat zone blazed

hellishly around Ranji as his floater shot down the canyon he’d chosen. The

coniferous forest which coated the rugged mountain slopes had been turned into a

crackling, snapping inferno. He ignored the confla­gration. The lightweight

field armor he wore kept him cool and comfortable while supplying him with

fresh, filtered air.

Just ahead a giant tree exploded from the heat, show­ering him with flaming

splinters. The floater rocked slightly but stayed on course as he continued to

descend, hugging the bottom of the canyon tight enough for the air-repulsion

vehicle to send droplets flying from the debris-laden rivulet that coursed

muddily below.

Then he was out of the foothills, screaming through the steep-sided gully. Smoke

from burning plains grass and scrub formed dense red-brown clouds which settled

in the gully, choking off forward vision and forcing him to rely on instruments.

Informed of his intentions, the scouting squad was wait­ing for him, hunkered

down on both sides of the narrow, soot-filled stream. As he neared the shapes

that material­ized out of the gloom, he carefully brought the floater to a halt.

Gravel crunched beneath the craft’s landing struts as it settled to the ground.

Something scrabbled through the muck under his boots. Looking down, he saw a

dark green multilegged shape desperately scrambling for the perceived safety of

shallow water. Some kind of local reptile or amphibian. For a sin­gle pure

instant unsullied by war or confusion or self-damnation the universe stopped. In

it nothing moved, nothing existed save for him and the single poor mud-dwelling

creature beneath his feet whose misfortune it was to have found itself caught up

in the maelstrom of a higher confrontation. He thought of Itepu.

With the toe of his boot he gently boosted it over the last obstacle in its path

and watched until it had found obscurity beneath the water’s soot-laden surface.

His instruments indicated three troop skids and half a dozen escorting floaters

strung out in line down the wind­ing canyon. That was the best the gully would

permit. If it narrowed any further, they would have to begin advanc­ing vehicles

in single file. The Ashregan squad leader had properly concerned herself more

with avoiding enemy de­tection than concentrating firepower.

She was understandably surprised that battlegroup com­mander Ranji-aar, the

Field Unifer, would expose his valuable person to such conditions.

“Greetings, honored Unifer.” She was short and petite even for an unmodified

Ashregan, but there was strength in her greeting and in what he could see of her

face through the protective visor. ”Do you wish to take personal com­mand of

the squad?”

“Not at this time, officer.” He peered impatiently past her. Regular troops were

staring in his direction, unable to restrain their curiosity. Among the modified

who were present he recognized the Sub-Unifers Tourmast and Weenn from the

Eirrosad campaign. He’d be able to work with them. “You have under your command

a young sub-officer named Saguio-aar?”

The thick smoke rendered formalities extraneous. She responded with a thin

Ashregan smile. “Your brother’s on the second transport skid, sir. If you would

like him brought forward, I can …”

“No. Just making sure of my information. What I would like is for you to resume

your advance, officer.”

She eyed him evenly. “We’re very exposed here, sir. The situation could become .

. . active.”

He met her stare without blinking. “As you may have heard, Unifer, I’m not

exactly a desk soldier. I expect things to get active. As a matter of fact, I’m

kind of count­ing on it. Someone has to strike first.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll let you know if I have any suggestions. In the meantime this is still your

squad. I await your actions.”

She turned and snapped orders to a subordinate, who cocked his head once to the

side in the Ashregan gesture of acknowledgment and began relaying directions via

the communicator hung around his neck.

An instant later troops were scrambling to activate float­ers as the three skids

rose into the smoke-filled air. Ranji turned his own vehicle over to another

soldier, opting in­stead to join the squad commander on board her craft.

The group resumed its cautious advance down the wind­ing channel, sensors wide

open and feeling for anything that might smack of enemy defenses. Instruments

showed small rapids ahead, and air-repulsion units thrummed a little harder as

one vehicle after another surmounted the cataract, bouncing slightly at the

bottom.

There was clearer air ahead, and a revelation which Ranji had suspected from the

careful study of available maps but which could only be confirmed by on-site

ob­servation. The gully did indeed negotiate a course all the way from the

mountains to the foothills through the dis­tribution complex itself.

“Camouflage up!” snapped the Squad Unifer. Com­bined with the drifting haze from

the many fires, the diffusion units would help to conceal their presence.

They were close enough to see Weave attack sleds rising from within the enemy

compound and accelerating north­ward. Much nearer still, tall, slim pylons

quivered with energy, their presence marking the boundary of the aurora dome.

They pulsed like firebrands on the skid’s sensor screens.

Unaffected by such artificial constraints, the gully marched on, wending its way

into the heart of the distri­bution complex. In the rainy season it probably ran

full, Ranji decided, an impressive torrent filling the cut cur­rently occupied

only by a dirty trickle.

The complex had been designed to facilitate specific functions, he knew, of

which defense against an extra-planetary assault was not one. Its hastily

installed aurora dome would have been set up to stop an attack by skids and

floaters. Air-repulsion vehicles. That traveled above-ground.

The technology of modern warfare had become so complicated that sometimes the

simplest things were overlooked in the rush to defend against the highly

ad­vanced.

If they went in single file on minimum power, it was just possible they might be

able to avoid the center’s de­fenses. There would be some downward leakage from

the dome, but unless he was completely mistaken about its style of construction

their field armor should be able to slough off its effects.

That was essentially what the squad commander pro­posed. Having long since

worked out the details and come to the identical conclusion, Ranji let her

ramble on until the time came to bestow his blessings on the plan, which he did

without hesitation. After all, their initial aim was the same: to slip safely

inside the enemy’s defensive perimeter. It was only afterward that their

objectives would diverge.

Her subordinates expressed quiet enthusiasm for the plan. Visions of triumph and

rapid promotion filled the minds of those gathered in the command skid.

“If we can do this,” one of them murmured, “we can change the whole thrust of

battle.”

Truer than you can know, Ranji thought approvingly.

Of course, the stratagem which had gradually been gathering strength inside him

ever since they’d left Under-space might be doomed to failure. His attempt to

imple­ment his intentions might well result in the death of Saguio and all their

friends in addition to himself. He wouldn’t live long enough to shoulder the

responsibility of failure.

But he’d waited and stalled and delayed long enough. It was time to act.

Consequences would remain forever un­foreseen unless he forced the issue. With a

little luck he might be the only one to die. He could hardly dare coun­tenance

the possibility that he might succeed.

They were working out the line of approach when he vouchsafed an objection. “I

hate to point this out—” The Sub-Unifers and their commander looked up at him.

“—but there’re too many of us.” He stirred the hovering projec­tion with a

finger. “No way will we be able to slip three transport skids and half a dozen

floaters inside unob­served. ”

The squad leader glanced at her second-in-command, then back at Ranji. “What do

you suggest?”

“The success of this little sortie rides on surprise, not numbers. I think we

should go in with the most compact, toughest unit we can condense out of your

squad. Nothing against the other troops, but to me that means every sol­dier who

hails from Cossuut. They’ve had the same train­ing, they know what each other is

likely to do in a given situation. We’ll have less firepower but better control

over it.

“Furthermore, those of us who hail from Cossuut have Human stature if not facial

features. If we’re spotted inside, the defenders may hesitate before challenging

us, a delay of judgment which could prove crucial to our suc­cess. Our moving at

night can only contribute to their confusion.”

“Those who don’t participate in the initial attack can be held back as

reinforcements or in the event cover is needed for any eventual retreat.” She

waited for him to finish.

“I want you to take every non-Cossuutian soldier with you on two of the skids

and four of the floaters, assume a position halfway back up the gully, and

wait.”

“Yes, sir,” she said uncertainly. “Wait for what, sir?”

Ranji did not hesitate. “Developments.”

The squad commander was tapping her nose with a forefinger. “What you say about

surprise versus firepower makes sense, sir, but there are no more than twenty or

thirty soldiers from Cossuut in my unit. I’m afraid that if you go in with so

few you’ll achieve surprise but little else.” Assertive murmurs rose from her

non-Cossuutian subordinates. By their silence Ranji saw that Tourmast and Weenn

sided with him.

He hadn’t convinced the others, though. If the argument continued and the squad

commander remained obstinate, sooner or later someone would think to pass the

proposal on to field headquarters. He knew what kind of response that would

produce. It would mean the end of everything he’d planned. Nor could he hope to

wait for another chance that might not come. He had to convince her.

Staring straight into the female Ashregan’s eyes, he tried to will her to his

way of thinking. “I understand your concerns but if we don’t try this, we’ll

have wasted a unique opportunity. Either we do it my way or we don’t do it at

all.” He leaned as close as courtesy would allow, trying to utilize his

overbearing height. “Surely you see that it has to be done my way?”

She started to reply, caught herself, and blinked. “Yes, of course you are

right. It has to be that way. I’m sorry. I just did not see it at first.” Her

tone was perfectly level as she addressed her bewildered subordinates. “The

Field Unifer is right. His is the best way.” As Ranji straightened she turned

back to him.

“We will position ourselves as you suggest and wait for further orders.”

“Good.” Though pleased, Ranji was a bit startled at the speed with which she

acquiesced. “With fewer troops we can get in and back out that much faster.”

“Yes, sir,” she murmured agreeably. “Whatever you say, sir.”

Thick smoke and the onset of a dismal evening combined to conceal the bustle of

activity in the gully as soldiers responded to the new orders, changing craft

according to whispered directions. When all was done, the two floaters and

single transport skid in the forefront of the column held only special troops

from Cossuut.

“You’re sure you know what to do?” Ranji and the Ashregan squad commander stood

up to their ankles in gully mud, enveloped in near total darkness. All suit and

vehicle lights had been, turned off lest someone inside the Weave compound spot

them moving about.

“Yes, honored Unifer. I am to assume a defensive po­sition and wait for

developments.”

“Don’t forget it.” If she thought his emphasis redun­dant, she chose not to

point it out.

With Tourmast and Weenn at his side he watched as the two heavily laden skids

and their escorting floaters made their way back up the canyon. They were soon

swallowed by the smoke-filled night.

‘ ‘You sure won her over fast,” Tourmast commented.

Ranji gazed in the wake of the last floater. “Not really. My way is the best

way.”

“Is it?”

He frowned and turned to his friend. “You don’t believe in my plan?”

Tourmast essayed the kind of thin Ashregan grin he’d grown up with. “I have my

doubts.” He glanced at Weenn. “But we believe in you, Ranji. Because of what you

accomplished back home. Because of Koba, and Eir-rosad.”

Ranji was more shaken than he cared to admit. He’d have to proceed carefully. If

he lost the confidence of such as these, it would be they and not the Ashregan

squad leader who would bring his unjustifiable tactics to the no­tice of higher

command.

Of course, if it got to that point, it would mean that everything he’d planned

and hoped for had failed anyway, and what happened to him would no longer

matter. And he knew that if he tried to intimidate Tourmast the way he had the

Ashregan, that tough Cossuutian noncom would simply laugh at him. From here on

everything had to go smoothly, he knew. There would be no time for involved

explanations and no second chances.

Tourmast was right. The squad commander had given in with surprising ease. It

was something to think about . . . later.

Saguio ventured an encouraging sign as Ranji and the two noncoms climbed aboard

the remaining skid. Ranji found himself wondering what his brother would look

like without his genetically engineered cranial ridges and un­naturally

expansive eye sockets, with protruding nose and ears and shortened fingers. If

everything went according to plan, he might soon have the chance to find out. He

kept his expression carefully neutral.

“We will wait until midnight local time,” he told his subordinates.

When there was no more time left he gathered his friends and fellow soldiers

close around him. Communi­cators carried his words to those mounted on the pair

of flanking floaters outside.

“You should all have been briefed by now. Since they have a lower profile the

two floaters will try the gap first, keeping as close to the ground as possible.

If they make it through undetected and without damage or injury to those aboard,

the rest of us will follow on the skid.

“If the radiation from the aurora dome doesn’t fry us through our armor or

incapacitate our vehicles, the plan is to keep moving down the gully until it

passes close to a structure. At that point those on the floaters will abandon

their vehicles and attempt to force an entrance. As we will by then be inside

the defensive perimeter the likelihood is strong that individual buildings will

not be guarded.

“If entry is successful the rest of us will follow in twos and threes. The one

thing we don’t want is to bunch up in a large group which could easily attract

attention.”

A soldier in back gestured for attention. “Your pardon, Unifer, but leaving our

vehicles behind means going in without heavy weapons.

“That’s right, but remember: if at all possible, we want to capture this

facility, not destroy it. We’ll be a lot less conspicuous without them and once

we’re inside it would only inhibit our maneuverability anyway. If things get too

tight, we can always return to the gully and bring them on line.” He let his

gaze rove over his expectant audience.

“I want every one of you to take the attitude .that we’re out to avoid a fight.”

Bemused muttering rose from the group. “No shooting, no killing unless in

self-defense. If we can just keep our calm we may be able to stroll into

sensitive areas and quietly take over.”

“That’s not how we did it on Eirrosad.” This time the objection came from the

center of the group. Ranji didn’t waste time trying to identify the speaker.

“This isn’t Eirrosad,” he reminded them quietly. “It’s a civilized world, with

much worth preserving. Our goals should include the concept of minimal

destruction. Any idiot can fire at anything that moves. It takes a true soldier

to know when to pick his shots.”

“It’s unnatural,” said someone else.

The irony of his reply was not lost on Ranji. ‘ ‘You know, you’re starting to

sound exactly like a bunch of Humans.”

No one had a rejoinder for that, the ultimate insult.

‘What happens if we do manage to make it inside?”

Weenn said into the ensuing silence. “There’ll be illumi­nation. Under lights we

look a lot less Human.”

“So does our armor,” Ranji admitted. “We won’t fool anyone who gets close into

thinking we’re Human, but our shapes are Human enough that at a distance or on

first glance they may very well hesitate, and he who hesitates is lost.”

Tourmast’s gaze narrowed. “That’s a Human expres­sion, Ranj.”

“Consider the applicability and not the source.” Ranji stared at his subordinate

and friend, focusing on the facial ridges that no longer looked natural. From

experience he knew that they could be removed, but first he had to excise doubt

and ignorance, and keep those around him alive long enough to perform the

necessary preparatory intel­lectual and emotional surgery. His revelations would

be of little use to the dead.

“This is crazy,” Weenn was muttering. “Precisely the sort of thing one would

expect from you, Ranji-aar. It also just might work.”

“If you pull this off,” Tourmast was saying, “you’ll be the biggest hero since

Sivwon-ouw of Hantarie.”

“I’m not interested in herodom. I’m just trying to ac­complish the maximum gain

with the minimum risk to life.” Ranji turned and considered the smoky view

for­ward. “If our latest information is correct, the installation is currently

being operated principally by Hivistahm, with Massood and S’van assistance and

Massood defenders. There will also be the usual scattering of other species.

Doubtless some Human soldiers will be present.”

“It doesn’t matter if they’re all Humans in there,” said someone behind him.

“We’ll handle them, Unifer!”

How much more than your safety I am now charged with none of you can imagine. He

checked his chronometer.

“Very well then. It’s not time yet. Ready yourselves, and those of you on guns

and sensors keep alert. All the enemy has to do to ruin our plans radically is

overfly this gully and take one look down.”

Between the smoke, fumes, and moonless night, the darkness when they finally

began to move was Stygian. Fitfull bursts of light flared occasionally overhead

as in­telligent shells and missiles expunged one another with joyful

determination. Energy beams probed vaporous reaches, singeing atmosphere and

soil, seeking enemies. Ranji was a gratified witness to the ballet of

destruction: it would make the work of the defenders’ detection sys­tems more

difficult.

Oblivious to the petty discord of contumacious sentients, a storm blew in from

the east. Wind and driving rain stirred the swirling clouds of smoke, putting

out fires and driving exposed soldiers on both sides to shelter. Thunder and

lightning would serve to further confuse sen­sitive detectors on both sides.

Ranji knew they had to move quickly now. If the gully down which they were

traveling filled with runoff from the foothills, his entire plan of ac­tion

would have to be abandoned. Neither skid nor floaters were designed to operate

underwater, much less their occupants.

Everyone held their breath as the first floater eased be­neath the lightly

glowing wall of the aurora dome. A gen­erating pylon just to the left of the

gully gleamed on the pilot’s screen, its lethal outline clear and sharp despite

the torrential downpour.

Moments later the second floater followed, powered down to the point where its

landing skids dragged in gully-bottom mud. Once on the other side of the charged

aerogel dome its pilot pivoted the craft to signify that they had made the

transition safely.

The much bulkier, less maneuverable transport skid rose and moved slowly

forward, its air-repulsion units func­tioning at the minimum level necessary to

lift it off the surface. Ranji found his attention flicking between the bank of

sensors that would scream for attention if the au­rora dome began to affect the

craft’s instrumentation and a rearward-facing detector. At any moment he feared

that a wall of water might come rushing down the gully, forc­ing them upward

into dangerous prominence.

But the water level remained unchanged beneath the ad­vancing skid, and the

sensors slept on.

Once safely inside the defensive perimeter the three craft regrouped lest even

their weak emissions be picked up by the complex’s defenders. Tight-beam

communicators were not employed. Instead, Weenn passed instructions to the

floater pilots by climbing out onto the dripping nose of the transport skid and

yelling at them through the rain. Ranji smiled to himself. So much for advanced

technology. Its unavoidable drawback was that no matter how clever in design, as

soon as you employed it to disturb or otherwise make use of the usable

electromagnetic spectrum, some other equally sophisticated device somewhere else

could sense its operation. Not so two people chatting back and forth.

Still advancing on minimum power, the three vehicles drove deep into the heart

of the energy-distribution com­plex, following the winding path of the gully.

Once every­one tensed as a large freight skid thrummed past just ahead of them,

gravid with cargo. As it was not a military ve­hicle it possessed no sensing

equipment of its own, and the crew was intent only on their assigned

destination, not the familiar, unremarkable terrain they were crossing. No one

looked outside and down, and so the huddled intrud­ers were not seen.

Where the gully made a sharp bend to the west it wid­ened slightly, leaving a

steep bank on one side and a shallow muddy beach on the other. There they

disem­barked from their cumbersome vehicles, Tourmast in par­ticular bemoaning

the need to leave behind the heavy weapons that were mounted on the skid. All

internal power was shut down as the troops assembled outside in the rain and

muck.

“Remember,” their Unifer admonished them, his visor flipped up to expose his

face to the rain and darkness, “from here on you have to try and look like

Humans, walk like Humans, think like Humans.” Nervous laughter rose from people

as yet unaware that they were being instructed to act like themselves. The

mounting irony threatened to overwhelm Ranji.

“What happens if we’re challenged?”

He squinted at Weenn through the pounding rain. “We’re a battle squad on our way

to take up newly as­signed positions. Nobody shoots, nobody even makes a hostile

grimace unless I give the word. I’ll handle any confrontations. I can speak

Human pretty good, without the aid of a translator.”

Tourmast was close by his side. Very close. “I didn’t know you could talk Human,

Ranj.” The downpour muf­fled his words. “When did you pick that up?”

“What did you think I’ve been doing all the time I haven’t been talking to

anybody? There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Tourm. Maze me if there isn’t a

lot you don’t know about yourself.” He headed off into the rain, leaving his

friend and subordinate to gaze after him thoughtfully.

Scouts from the floaters scrambled up the crumbling north wall of the gully,

momentarily vanished, then re­turned to indicate that the grounds surrounding

the nearest large structure were occupied only by decorative plants, walkways,

and fountains arranged according to typical Wais design. Advancing at the run in

double file, the rest of the squad followed. Exterior lights from the building

and other nearby structures scarcely illuminated the line of dim bipedal shapes

that splashed forward through dark rain and expanding puddles.

With a very few exceptions a door is recognizable any­where civilization has

taken hold. As expected, no guard lingered in the downpour outside the one they

soon con­fronted. A small amber glowlight shed minimal illumi­nation on the

solid landing below. While the rest of the squad hugged the shadows, Ranji tried

the door pull. It opened easily.

The light inside was much brighter than he would have preferred, but there was

little to be gained by trying another structure. They were in a relay or

switching station of some kind. Around them massive machinery hummed with

purpose, oblivious to the conflict that raged outside as loads were shifted and

power shipped to urban centers far to the south. Illumination came from

lightstrips laid into ceiling, walls, and floor. Those in the floor were

color-coded.

Muttering an order to Tourmast, he waited nervously until everyone was inside

out of the storm. As Weenn shut the exterior door behind the last soldier a pair

of Massood appeared in the corridor just ahead. One was intent on a recorder pad

while her companion recited readings from a panel of telltales. He grunted

something, started to move on to the next in series, and froze as his eyes met

Ranji’s. One long-fingered hand instinctively readied for the side-arm secured

at his waist.

“Don’t do that!” Ranji’s Massood was erratic, and he hastened to adjust the

translator built into his field visor as he approached the pair. “We’re here to

talk, not fight.” Glancing back at his troops, he added in a terse whisper, “Try

to look relaxed and indifferent.”

The Massood’s cat eyes widened slightly as the figure in field armor slowly came

forward. The female stood mo­tionless, still clutching the recorder pad. Ranji

felt his companions’ eyes on his back, heard their confused whis­pers as they

wondered what their Unifer was up to. But they were mindful of his orders, and

kept their weapons lowered.

He stopped an arm’s length away from the towering, lanky, gray-furred figure.

Vertical pupils expanded and contracted. Both short, pointed ears were cocked

sharply forward. Whiskers twitched violently. The Massood clearly confused.

“We’re not hostile,” Ranji assured it.

The technician swayed slightly. “But you are Ashregan,” it declared with

certainty.

“That doesn’t matter. I’m telling you the truth.”

He expected further argument, wondering how he was going to persuade them before

someone in his squad came forward, gun at the ready, to see what was going on.

Instead, the Massood’s twitching eased and it relaxed visibly. “I believe you”

“Yes,” added his companion with utterly unexpected alacrity, “we believe you.”

Desperation must make a man convincing, he told him­self, bemused but much

relieved. “Why don’t you go and inform your superiors of our arrival? Tell them

there’s a squad of armed altered Ashregan down here ready to sur­render. We’ll

await your return.”

“That is a good idea.” The two technicians turned and departed. Ranji waited

until they were safely on their way before rejoining his companions.

Their unease was palpable. “What’s going on?” Tour-mast wasn’t the only one who

crowded close, demanding an answer. Saguio’s anxious face was visible behind his

visor. “Why’d you let them leave like that?”

“What did you tell them? They didn’t look worried,” Weenn asked.

During the walk back Ranji had composed a response. “I told them that we were a

special floating unit disguised to look like Ashregan.”

“And they believed that?” Tourmast was more than doubtful.

“You saw what happened, didn’t you?” said Saguio. “They just walked away

quietly. No fear, no panic. Just like we were allies.”

The Sub-Unifer wasn’t convinced but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Nothing he could envision nor any­thing in his training had prepared him for the

scenario he’d just witnessed. “What now?” he muttered.

“We go forward, of course.” Ranji turned and beck­oned casually. Several

soldiers exchanged glances, but all followed.

They had nearly traversed the length of the switching station when Weenn,

advancing on the right, called for a halt. Tension took hold of the squad as

they sensed move­ment in front of them.

“Something here doesn’t make sense.” Tourmast gripped his weapon, waiting for

the sensors in his hood and visor to interpret what he couldn’t see with his own

eyes.

“Everything makes sense,” Ranji assured him quietly.

“There they are!” A startled soldier shouted as she started to raise her rifle.

Ranji rushed out in front of her, raising his voice.

“No shooting, I said!” In the stunned faces of those who gaped at him there was

much confusion and in several cases, the first inklings of painful suspicion.

Saguio could be counted among the latter.

By the time anyone thought of wresting command it was too late; they were

completely surrounded by armed Massood. Engulfed in an unprecedented and

inexplicable calm, intruders and defenders regarded one another nervously.

“Stranger and stranger.” Tourmast regarded his friend and superior closely. “Why

haven’t they fired on us?”

Feeling more vulnerable than he ever had, and with good reason, Ranji addressed

his troops. “Turn over your weap­ons.” He glanced in Tourmast’s direction. “They

haven’t fired because I’ve informed them that we’re surrender­ing.”

“We’re doing wha?” Weenn blurted.

“Surrendering.” His eyes roved over the squad, trying to seek out the one

unsteady weapon that could reduce his plans to chaos. “This is an order. You are

to comply . . . now. If the thought troubles any of you note that we’re

thoroughly outnumbered.”

Someone mumbled loudly. “Traitor!”

Flinching, Ranji tried but failed to identify the speaker. “I’m no traitor, as

you’ll see. I know exactly what I’m doing and everything will be explained to

you so that you understand.”

“What’s there to understand?” A resigned Tourmast deactivated his rifle and

slowly placed it on the floor. “It looks pretty straightforward to me.” His tone

left no il­lusions about what he was feeling.

Ranji walked over to him. “I know what you’re thinking, Tourm, but you’re

operating under a significant number of mistaken assumptions.”

Tourmast didn’t meet his gaze. “Is that so? What sort of ‘mistaken assumptions’?

That you’re someone any of us should continue to pay attention to, for example?”

Around them disgruntled, angry Cossuutians were laying down their arms under

watchful Massood eyes.

Ranji held his temper. “For starters, how about the fact that you’re not

Ashregan, but Human.”

Tourmast’s expression twisted unpleasantly. “My first thought was that you’re a

traitor and a coward, but I see now that’s not fair. You’re only crazy.”

“It would shock you to know how many times I wished it were that simple.” He

backed up and raised his voice. “All of you, listen to me! We’re not Ashregan

who’ve been modified to look and fight like Humans. We’re Hu­mans who’ve been

raised to believe that we’re Ashregan. I’m sure that at one time or another

you’ve all noticed and remarked on the similarities, from our reaction times and

muscular density to our physical stature and enthusiasm for combat.”

“What nonsense is this?” The brief speech had done nothing to convince Tourmast

of his friend’s thesis. Or his sanity. “It’s all been explained to us from

childhood. Such characteristics are the gifts of the Teachers, given to us so

that we may better defend the Purpose.”

“Rather than given us gifts they’ve stolen our birth­right,” Ranji shot back.

“We are Human. No Ashregan can be ‘modified’ to do what we’ve done. All our

lives are lies. Yours, mine, my brother’s.” Utterly baffled, Saguio gaped at his

mad sibling. “All of us.

“Once we were all wholly Human children, or at least Human embryos. We were

abducted, stolen from our par­ents, and without consent surgically and

genetically al­tered solely to serve the Amplitur’s needs. They placed us with

Ashregan families, gave us Ashregan histories, had us raised to believe we were

Ashregan. They’ve trained us to fight as Ashregan warriors, and when they’re

satisfied with our performances, we’ll be withdrawn from com­bat.” He paused for

emphasis. “For breeding. So that we’ll pass on the traits they’ve inserted in us

to our un­knowing offspring.”

“You forget one thing,” said a soldier as she reluctantly divested herself of

her weapons. “I myself have felt the Teachers in my mind. Most of us have. If we

were Human something in us would resist such Teacher contact. This is a fact

that is widely known.”

“True,” Ranji replied, “but what’s not widely known is that the Amplitur have

inserted into each of our brains a special neural nexus of their own design.” He

tapped his forehead. “Here. Through means no one as yet prop­erly understands it

negates the mechanism in the Human nervous system which responds defensively to

attempted Amplitur probing. It renders us susceptible to their mental

‘suggestions.’ ” The Massood soldiers, he noticed, were paying as much attention

to him as his fellow Cossuutians.

“Why should we believe you?” Without really under­standing why, Weenn found

himself wavering. “Why should we believe anything you say?”

“Because I’ve seen the nexus inside my own skull.” He swallowed. “Many of you

have heard the story of my mi­raculous survival on Eirrosad. It’s all falsehood.

I did not spend months wandering alone in the jungle. Instead, I was captured

and taken to a world called Omaphil, where Hivistahm surgeons severed the

connections between the Amplitur nexus and the rest of my brain. As a freed,

re­stored Human on Eirrosad I saw how Amplitur probes were used to manipulate

the rest of you. I saw because self-determination had been restored to me, if

not the bi­ological defenses common to all natural-born Human be­ings.

“It nauseated me, and it made me angry. I determined to bring the truth to as

many of my fellow abductees as possible. Until we were sent here I had no idea

how to do that because I knew that as soon as I started trying to explain you’d

think me insane and have me turned over to the psychologists. They, in turn,

would call in the Ampli-tur. And that would likely be the end of me as a

free-thinking, independent-minded individual.

“I understand what you’re going through right now, what you’re thinking. I

understand because I fought the idea as hard as you’re fighting it this minute.”

“They did something to you, all right,” Weenn mur­mured sadly. ‘ ‘Affected your

mind somehow. Messed up your thoughts.”

Ranji was nodding grimly. “I know words alone won’t be enough to convince you,

because they weren’t enough to convince me. You’re going to have to see the

scanner images and the rest of the proof for yourselves.”

Under the watchful gray cat eyes of a group of wary and very puzzled Massood,

the disarmed Cossuutians were led from the switching station. Outside, the rain

had eased. A cluster of Hivistahm and Massood hovered at the edge of the gully

where Ranji’s people had abandoned their vehi­cles.

“Images can be faked,” someone in the group mut­tered.

Ranji was ready for every objection because not long ago he’d voiced them

himself. “True, but close-quarter surgery cannot. I don’t expect any of you to

believe or understand until one of you undergoes the same operation I did while

the rest look on. You can’t deny the evidence inside your own heads.”

Tourmast strode disconsolate but thoughtful across the damp walkway. “So someone

has to volunteer themselves for the operating table. The enemy’s operating

table.”

“You’re going to have to stop thinking of Humans as the enemy. The enemy is us,

we are them. I know it’s going to take a tremendous readjustment on everyone’s

part.”

“Our Unifer,” Weenn muttered. “Master of under­statement.”

“I know how hard this is.” Ranji implored his friends. “You’re going to have to

throw out everything you think you know, think you feel. But it can be done.

It’ll be easier for you than it was for me because you have me to help you. I

had only Hivistahm and Humans.”

They entered a large angular building fronted with sheets of bronzed

translucence that glittered in the walkway light-strips.

“This operation,” Tourmast persisted. “Is it risky?”

“So I was told. I won’t lie to you. Dangerous or not, everyone will have to

undergo it sooner or later.”

“What about this?” A female soldier had removed her now unnecessary hood and

visor. She ran gloved fingers along her cranial ridge.

“More Amplitur handiwork,” Ranji told her. “Along with the diameter of our eye

sockets, the length of our fingers, and the other physical differences. Under

the right instruments the proof is clearly visible, and it can all be

corrected.” He touched the calcareous mass above his re­cessed right ear. “This

is a prosthesis. I’ve already seen myself as a Human. Great revelations

sometimes spring from small sources.”

“No Hivistahm or Human’s operating on me,” some­one in the middle of the column

muttered. Angry whispers indicated he was not alone in his determination.

“I’ll do it,” a voice announced unexpectedly.

Ranji looked into the crowd, to find his brother meeting his gaze.

“As far as I know, Ranj, you’ve never lied to me.” Saguio surveyed his fellow

fighters, many of them child­hood friends. “If Ranji-aar says this is the truth,

then I believe him.”

“Sagui, it doesn’t have to be you. We can …”

“What’s the matter, Unifer?” A belligerent young woman pushed her way toward

him. “Afraid to have your own flesh and blood go down on the table?”

“Yeah,” said someone else accusingly. “Don’t you want him made more ‘Human’?”

“Don’t you see?” Saguio importuned his brother. “It has to be me. If I don’t

have the operation, neither will anyone else.”

Intending to reply, Ranji found himself choking on his objections. His brother

was right, of course. Saguio had always been smarter than his older sibling had

given him credit for.

Tourmast put a comradely arm around his superior’s shoulders. “We’ll all be

watching closely when the Hivistahm cut your brother open, Ranj. It would be

well for them to find something. Because if they don’t, no matter where they

imprison us or how they treat us or what they do to us, one of us somehow,

sometime, will find you and kill you.” He gave Ranji’s shoulder a suggestive

squeeze before removing his hand.

The response was steely cold. “If nothing is found you won’t have to worry about

finding and killing me, Tourm. Because I’ll have attended to that particular

detail my­self.” The Sub-Unifer grunted under his breath. There was nothing more

to be said. They quite understood one another.

The dialogue was unnecessary, Ranji knew. The Hivistahm surgeons would find an

Amplitur-induced nexus inside his brother’s skull, just as they had within his

own. They had to. Otherwise it would mean that he truly had been lied to, had

somehow been thoroughly and disas­trously fooled.

He refused to consider it. Another attempt to so dras­tically rotate his

perceptions and rewrite his sense of self would put an end to him as efficiently

as could Tourmast.

The column turned left at the end of die corridor. A gaping double door

beckoned, and they were herded into a high-ceilinged chamber packed with

instrumentation.

The Massood officer who’d taken them in charge van­ished, to reappear moments

later in the company of a harried-looking Human who struggled to mine sleep from

his eyes. His brushy crown of red hair jolted memories Ranji thought long

buried.

“What the hell is this?”

Ranji walked up to him. He was taller than the man, though not the armed Massood

who stood nearby.

“My name, sir, is Ranji-aar. Despite that I am not Ashregan but Human, like you.

So are my companions.”

“You don’t say.” Having cleared his eyes, the man be­gan rubbing his chin. “Part

of you looks Human, part Ashregan. We’ve heard about your kind.”

“The result of Amplitur bioengineering performed on Human infants and embryos,”

Ranji explained.

“Sounds like antimat to me. What do you expect me to do with you?” Nearby, the

Massood officer’s nose wrin­kled in the presence of so many strange smells.

“Get in touch with your Military Council. Contact the central medical facilities

on the Yula world of Omaphil, and if he’s still there, ask for a certain

Hivistahm First-of-Surgery. I was there not long ago. They’ll tell you all about

me.” Exhausted beyond measure, Ranji sank to the floor on shaky legs. “In fact,

they’ll be more than a little relieved to hear that you’ve spoken with me.”

The Human exchanged a glance with the Massood, who curled an upper lip by way of

response. “Assuming I go to the trouble of making such contact, what am I

supposed to say?”

“Tell First-of-Surgery to come with as many skilled surgeons as the Weave can

spare. Tell him there’s work for them here.”

The Human’s gaze narrowed. “At the moment we’re being hard pressed by the rest

of your friends. As you undoubtedly know, the local population is worse than

use­less in the face of armed invasion. That leaves it up to us temporary

immigrants to try and save their world for them. Right now that’s all that

concerns me. This is no place for a medical convocation. Yet you expect me to

requisition the use of deep-space relay time on behalf of some half-Ashregan

freak, because he wants to see a doctor?”

Ranji looked up tiredly. “If you don’t, I can guarantee that the remainder of

your military career will be spent tending sanitation facilities on the airless

moon of Earth.”

The Massood leaned forward and whispered in broken Human. “Consider: Though

armed they have committed no violence. After successfully breaching our defenses

without raising any alarm they surrendered peacefully when they could have

caused a great deal of damage. While I also view the creature’s words with the

greatest suspi­cion, it cannot be denied that there may be more to this than

self-delusion.”

Silently the Human officer pondered the tall armored enigma that called itself

Ranji-aar. “How’d you get inside the dome, anyway?”

“I’ll explain everything … as soon as you get in touch with your superiors and

verify what I’ve told you.”

Another pause, whereupon the man reluctantly turned and shouted something in

guttural Human. There was movement in the corridor outside. The Massood leaned

forward politely, whiskers twitching, lower lip curled slightly downward to

expose sharp teeth.

“We are complying with your suggestions. You must understand that it will take

some time to make contact and receive a response. Until then you and your troops

will be held under guard and appropriately treated.”

Ranji nodded tiredly, free at last to employ whatever Human gestures he wished.

“Thank you. I have one ad­ditional request. I ask that you isolate me from my

com­panions.”

The Massood officer said nothing, but the fine erectile fur on his muzzle

stiffened slightly.

Chapter Twenty

It was strange to sit by himself in the room they had given him and wish for the

defeat of Birachii and other old friends. If they overran the distribution

complex and “res­cued” Ranji and the other captives, even Saguio’s determination

to support his brother might falter. Certainly there would be no reunion with

First-of-Surgery, no re­vealing, liberating operations for his companions. He

would be shipped off-world at first opportunity, an object of anger and pity for

the curious Amplitur to prod and probe.

But deprived of its Commander’s strategic skills, the attack faltered. Birachii

and Cossinza’s squads failed to dislodge the installation’s defenders. Even as

they la­mented the loss of the brave assault team led by their friend and

Unifer, they fell back to the protection of the foothills and requested

instructions from Regional Command.

Two weeks later a column of heavily armed and ar­mored attack sleds arrived at

the distribution complex, having fought off sporadic enemy attacks all the way

from Usilayy, Ulaluable’s capital city. The Massood and Human officers in charge

of defending the installation were sur­prised to learn that the convoy had made

the dangerous run not to bring reinforcements but solely to escort the tiny

clutch of prisoners back to the capital.

The pressure of coordinating the center’s defense didn’t allow much time for

casual conversation. Now it was too late. But the Human officer who’d confronted

Ranji on that rainy, confusing night many days earlier did manage to be present

when he and his companions were being loaded aboard the armed sleds.

“Look, I don’t know who or what you are or how much of your story is true,” he

told his former prisoner, “but if you are Human under all that extraneous

calcification, how did you come to look like this?”

Ranji glanced back at him. “I told you. The Amplitur.”

The man nodded sagely. “Wouldn’t put anything past the squids. But this …” His

voice trailed off. “Will you do me a favor? We don’t know each other and you

cer­tainly don’t owe me anything, but when you get to wher­ever it is you’re

going, and your situation is finally resolved, will you let me know what the

results are? As one curious primate to another?”

“I’ll try.” They parted with a handshake. The wholly Human gesture at last felt

easy and natural to Ranji. The unconvinced among Ranji’s fellow soldiers did not

hesitate to curse the exchange.

In contrast to its arrival, the convoy’s run back to Usilayy was uneventful.

Having decided to concentrate their firepower on specific targets, the invading

Crigolit and Ashregan had few personnel to spare for disruptive sorties of

dubious military value. Had they known that Ranji and his companions were

traveling with the convoy, its prog­ress would have been considerably reduced.

But as far as Ashregan command was concerned, they’d perished bravely while

trying to infiltrate an enemy installation. No­tification of that conclusion was

already on its way to friends and relations.

Never having had the opportunity to examine Humans at close range, Ranji’s

companions were forced to admit the extraordinary similarities between

themselves and their guards, while the Humans in the convoy regarded their

prisoners with equal dubiety and puzzlement. Anyone who continued to insist that

captors and captives were not somehow related was asking a lot of the principle

of con­vergent evolution.

Everyone knew, however, that physical appearance was not what mattered when

evaluating potential enemies o allies. What was important was what individuals

believe and how they thought, and in that respect the gulf between was still

wide. With the possible exception of their enigmatic leader, the clutch of

captives remained wholly Ashregan in attitude and outlook.

Usilayy betrayed no sign of the war that raged around distant strategic centers

and military targets. The city simmered beneath a serene autumnal sun, genial

and bustling ablaze with late-season flowers and trees that dripped

coppery-colored leaves into neatly domesticated streams and dancing fountains.

Within its protected and manicured confines the notion of war seemed a far-off,

abstract ob­scenity.

Wais officials left disposition of the special prisoners to grim-faced Massood

and Humans, studiously avoiding al­lies and enemies alike.

Despite the knowledge that he’d done remarkably well in safely delivering

twenty-five of his companions to the Weave, Ranji couldn’t help but lament the

absence of good friends like Soratii and Cossinza. Their deliverance would have

to await additional progress. With luck the invasion would fail and they would

be captured before they could be evacuated.

If not, at least Tourmast and Weenn and the rest could be shown the truth.

Afterward they could somehow be returned home or to their units, there to

further spread the knowledge of what the Amplitur had done to them. They’d have

no other choice, any more than had Ranji.

It would all have to be done with the greatest stealth and care lest the

Amplitur learn what was happening. Ranji would not put it past the Teachers to

sorrowfully and with great regret put an end to an unsuccessful experiment by

having the several thousand participants still under their control quietly

terminated.

It was proposed that the captives observe the operation via special monitors set

up for that purpose, but despite the fact that no actual cutting was involved,

Tourmast and the others would have none of that. Unanimously, they insisted on

being present in person. Otherwise they would believe nothing.

In appropriate garb they crowded into the operating the­ater. It was spacious,

spotless, and elegant, as befitted a Wais-built facility. Visible instruments

mirrored in design the multitude of flowers that carpeted the grounds outside.

In aspect it was far more reassuring than intimidating.

Ranji was with his brother in Preop. Their respective situations

notwithstanding, it was Saguio who did most of the comforting.

“Relax, Ranj. If what you’ve been saying is true, then I’ve nothing to worry

about.”

“It’s still a complex operation.” Ranji gazed down at his brother. “Even if they

are just severing neurons and not excising the nodule itself.”

“Hey, you went through it, and look at you: no crazier than usual.” Saguio

grinned tightly. “Not that I’m not ready to get it over with.”

“I’ll be there every minute. So will the whole squad.”

“Yeah, great.” Fear momentarily shadowed the younger man’s face. He forced it

aside. “Don’t let ’em cut any­thing I might want to use later.”

An O’o’yan arrived to administer a glass of water con­taining an oral

anesthetic. Five minutes later two of the short, reptilian meditechs were

guiding the cushioned op­erating pallet and its comatose cargo into the Surgery.

Conversation died among the onlookers as Saguio’s pallet arrived and was locked

in position. The O’o’yan immobilized his head with air clamps, then stepped

back. Several Massood guarded the doorways.

A pair of Hivistahm assumed operators’ positions at the surgical station. They

were accompanied by a Human sur­gical programmer, the most competent on

Ulaluable. Af­ter scrutinizing them dubiously, Ranji walked over and put a hand

on the top of the console.

“Wait a minute. Where’s First-of-Surgery? “

The nearer of the two Hivistahm blinked up at him. “I Second-of-Surgery am,

chief physician on Ulaluable. The First-of-Surgery to whom you refer unable to

come is. Distance and time prohibitive are.”

An anxious Ranji looked over at his recumbent, anes­thetized brother. Lying

there motionless he looked even younger than he was. “None of you have ever been

in­volved in an operation like this. I expected someone ex­perienced. ”

The other Hivistahm replied stiffly. “I assure you that there is no need our

competency to question. The appro­priate programming instructions were

transmitted and thrice checked before into the computer being entered. Remember

that it in control of the actual procedure is. We are present only to check and

monitor.”

Still Ranji hesitated. ‘ ‘That programming was designed for my skull, my brain.

Not Saguio’s.”

“The instrumentation is designed variations into ac­count to take. Truly calm

yourself. If uncertainty arises, we are here to adjudicate.”

Tourmast’s voice sounded from nearby. “Something wrong, Unifer?”

He could insist they wait until First-of-Surgery came in person from Omaphill.

That risked unnerving his fellow Cossuutians even more than they already were.

He wa­vered, staring at the helpless form of his brother.

“Call it off,” he said finally, walking around the console. “I don’t care how

carefully you recorded the necessary in­structions, I’m not going to allow …”

Something stung him in the middle of the back and he whirled. One of the Massood

guards was standing there, pointing a narrow metal tube in his direction. Two

long fingers were tensed on the complex triggering mechanism.

It seemed as if the Surgery was being pumped full of fog. He stumbled against

the console, dimly felt it bang into his back. Through the thickening mist he

heard the rising, uncertain murmuring of his fellow soldiers, and the voice of

the Hivistahm in charge.

“Better it is that the patient not remain long under an­esthesia. There no

danger is. Your leader understandably concerned for his sibling is. He merely

tranquilized has been. This way is for him and his brother both better.

Everything under control is. By the Circle I, as a physi­cian, swear it.”

As the shot’s effects spread like a deep massage throughout his body Ranji lost

control of his lower limbs. Two Massood caught him under the arms and at the

an­kles. He felt himself being carried from the room. Fight­ing to shout, to

call for help, he discovered that his larynx had been rendered as dysfunctional

as his legs.

A face appeared before his eyes, its outlines swimming. Weenn gazed down at

Ranji as he was carried past. The fluid expression on his friend’s face was

unreadable.

When he awoke he sat up in the bed so sharply that the O’o’yan attendant who

happened to be checking his waste-recovery system fainted, with the result that

instead of shouting imprecations and demands, Ranji found himself bending over

the unconscious creature trying to stop the slight bleeding at the back of its

head.

His return to consciousness, not to mention his abrupt physical reaction, had

alerted monitoring hospital instru­mentation. Hivistahm and other O’o’yan came

running. Those first on the scene were greeted by the disconcerting sight of the

Human warrior bending over the bleeding at­tendant. The tension level rose

quickly until Ranji was able to explain. Thus reassured, they hurried to assist

both O’o’yan and patient.

Ranji apologized, and the attendant absolved him of any blame. It was his fault,

the O’o’yan explained. Though an experienced rneditech, he’d never worked with

Humans before. It was his responsibility to be appropriately pre­pared, and he

ought to have anticipated potential shocks.

“Your concern is appreciated,” the attendant con­cluded.

“Never mind that.” An impatient Ranji evaluated shoulder insignia until he

located the highest-ranking Hivistahm present. “How is my brother? Where is he?”

“He’s fine.” A young man stood grinning in the door­way. “Resting comfortably.”

As he entered Ranji saw above his heart the symbol of the Human combat meditech

corps … the traditional caduceus with its entwined snakes spitting caustic

venom. “Matter of fact, he’s in the next room.”

Ranji started forward, stumbled, and allowed the tech to steady him. Though

concerned, none of the Hivistahm or O’o’yan stepped forward to offer physical

assistance. They were still subject to certain inherent antipathies only a few

of their kind had been able to overcome. They ex­amined the nude primate with

professional detachment.

“Take deep breaths,” the tech advised Ranji. “Your clothes are in the side

closet.”

Ranji nodded and did as he was instructed. When he felt halfway steady on his

feet he dressed. Still fumbling with the seals on his undersuit he hurried to

the next room down the hall. Two Massood were posted there, two Hu­mans within.

At a nod from the tech they let him pass.

Saguio was sitting up in bed, an entertainment projec­tion dancing in the air

before him. As his brother entered he waved and touched an unseen button. The

projection vanished.

“Hi, Ranj.” He smiled easily, looking relaxed and comfortable. “You look worse

than I do.”

Ranji put out a hand to steady himself against the wall. “I suppose I must. How

are you feeling?”

“Well. I heard what happened to you. That was a nice gesture, but apparently

unnecessary. I’ve been up all morning. You haven’t.” He looked past his brother

to the tech and the guards. “Could we have some privacy, please?”

The tech hesitated, then nodded. Turning, he spoke to the guards, smiled briefly

back into the room before fol­lowing them out into the corridor.

Ranji scanned the room. “Probably isn’t any privacy. I’m sure they’ve had

sensors on both of us ever since we got here.”

“I’d be surprised if it was any other way. If the situation were reversed, we’d

be doing the same. The rest of the squad was in earlier. They watched the

operation. It must’ve been pretty convincing because they all believe you now.

So do I, even though I didn’t get to see anything. Tourmast said that organ

showed up on the visual probe exactly as you described it. The meditechs even

let them manipulate the visuals themselves.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I

don’t feel any different.”

“No,” Ranji told him slowly, “you won’t.”

“They ran some tests on me right afterward. Stuck me in a machine they said came

as close to duplicating a Teacher … an Amplitur mind-touch as could be done

with circuits and programming. This time I was conscious of what was happening

inside my head. I could feel the pushing. Never felt that before.” He shifted in

the bed, gazed earnestly at his brother. “Is that really what it’s like? The

Teachers really have been making us do what they want without us even realizing

it?”

Ranji nodded slowly, luxuriating in the increasingly fa­miliar Human gesture.

“They’ve always referred to their pushes as ‘suggestions.’ I suppose that’s all

they are, ex­cept that nobody has the ability to turn one down. Except Humans.

The operation doesn’t give us back the Human neurodefense mechanism, but it does

make us immune to Amplitur suggestion. Those of us who have the surgery will

never have to suffer that again.”

“And the rest of it, about us being abducted Human children and all, that’s true

then, too?” Ranji nodded sol­emnly.

Saguio looked pensive for a while. “It’s a lot to handle all at once, Ranj. A

lot.”

“Sorry. It’s not the kind of thing that can be ladled out in small doses.”

‘ ‘How long have you known? Since your disappearance on Eirrosad, right?”

Without waiting for his brother to reply he leaned back against the curving

mattress. “I’ve been Ashregan all my life, and now a few scalpel passes later

I’m Human. I wish I did feel differently. It might make it easier to accept.” He

touched his head. “The damned thing’s still in there, isn’t it?”

“They told me that it’s too deeply embedded in the cerebrum to risk removing,”

Ranji explained. He touched his own skull. “I have one, too, remember. So do all

our friends.” He found a chair and pulled it over next to the bed. Though

designed to support the backside of a Hivistahm tech, it would hold him if he

watched his balance.

“There are things that have been bothering me ever since we landed on this

world. I wanted to be able to share them with someone, but I had to wait. Now I

can share them with you.”

Saguio blinked ingenuously. “Share away.”

Ranji hesitated. “What time are they supposed to feed you?”

His brother gave him a strange look but replied readily. “I last ate about an

hour ago. I don’t imagine I’m due for another feeding until evening.”

“Call an attendant. You have the means to do that, don’t you?”

“Sure.” Saguio thumbed the requisite switch. Moments later a single O’o’yan

entered. Ranji addressed it without turning, keeping his eyes on his brother.

“We’d like something to eat, please.”

“It is not yet scheduled.”

Ranji concentrated on his request. “We really would like something to eat.

Now.”

The O’o’yan blinked. “Certainly. Do you have a par­ticular meal request?”

“No.” Ranji was satisfied with the response. “What­ever you can bring will be

fine.”

“Very well.” The slim little reptilian attendant left to comply.

Saguio was staring intently. At the same time he was quite aware of the presence

of untiring monitors in the room.

“What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” said Ranji in a slow, deliberately self-contradictory manner. “I was

just feeling hungry.”

“Oh, yeah. Hungry.”

A silent Ranji sat across from his brother, pondering. The sensors overhead

could record his words, his expres­sions, his movements; but they could not read

his thoughts.

The experiment only confirmed the hypothesis that had been maturing in his mind

ever since he’d had the dis­agreement with the female Ashregan Unifer in the

gully outside the power distribution complex. She’d consented to his radical

proposal too quickly, too easily. At the time he’d thought little of it, though

it had nagged at him inter­mittently ever since.

Then had come the confrontation with the two Massood technicians inside the

switching station. After that he’d no longer been able to bury his suspicions in

the back of his mind.

And now the ready acquiescence to his request for an unscheduled meal. From an

O’o’yan, for whom a deviation in scheduling was akin to altering respiration.

He was anxious to test his theory further. On a S’van, perhaps, or a Massood

field officer. The effort required was something of a strain, like concentrating

for a long time on small print.

According to what the Hivistahm had told him on Omaphil, the effect was

electrical in nature. It had been ex­plained to him that there were primitive

creatures which could sense such impulses but could not distinguish those

generated by the mind from those produced by the rest of the body, nor could

they in turn affect them. They could only detect. On Earth they were known as

sharks, and the organs capable of detecting and crudely analyzing im­pulses were

called the Ampullae of Lorenzini. Coincidentally, the attitude and temperament

of such creatures was said to be not unlike that of Humans themselves.

What name should he give to the related but far more sophisticated organ inside

his brain? What did the Amplitur call that portion of their unique minds which

could via projection induce subtle alterations in the firing of another

sentient’s neurons? Induce, adjust, rechannel. Suggest.

As he had suggested to the female Ashregan Sub-Unifer, the pair of Massood

technicians, and now to a single O’o’yan medical attendant.

He’d examined and reexamined the period immediately after his own operation and

was positive that for some considerable while thereafter he hadn’t possessed

such ca­pabilities. Therefore they took time to develop. Perhaps something

within the brain took time to heal following the actual surgery. Whatever it

was, it was utterly unexpected. Of that he was certain. The Hivistahm surgeons,

his fellow Humans, none of them knew or suspected anything.

At present Saguio could do nothing, was completely unaware of the ability that

might have unintentionally been bestowed on him as a side effect of the

operation. As to whether he would develop anything like it only time would tell.

Not a lot of time, either. Ranji would have to watch him very carefully. He was

conscious of the fact that what­ever had happened to him, to his mind, might

constitute something unique, an aberration not to be repeated. Just because it

had taken place in his brain as a result of the operation didn’t mean it would

recur whenever similar sur­gery was performed on a fellow modified Gossuutian.

In­dividuals might heal, might recuperate differently, with wildly differing

results.

“You all right?” Saguio was eyeing him curiously.

Ranji smiled. “Just the lingering effects of whatever it was that Massood

smacked me with.”

“What was it you wanted to share with me?”

“Tell you later. Right now I want to know how the others are doing.”

“Ciscine-oon and Dourid-aer agreed to have the oper­ation as soon as I came out

of it and proved to everyone’s satisfaction that no harm was involved. Ciscine’s

probably in surgery right now. The head Hivistahm told me that if all went well

they hoped to perform two operations a day until they’d gone through the whole

squad. They had a second team standing by to execute the follow-ups.”

Ranji frowned. “Follow-ups?”

“You’re the one who told me about it. Cosmetic sur­gery.” Saguio scratched his

cranial ridge with a too-long finger. “I imagine they’ll be coming for me pretty

soon. You too, Ranj. If I’m going to be Human, I expect I’d better look the

part. Bet I make a better-looking Human than you.” He reached out and put a hand

on Ranji’s shoulder. “You’d better prepare yourself, brother, because when they

finish cutting on me there are a lot of questions I mean to ask you.”

Ranji gazed back at his sibling. “Don’t worry, Sagui. I’ll answer every question

you’ve got. In fact, I have an­swers to questions you haven’t begun to

formulate.”

Chapter Twentyone

The battle for Ulaluable raged, with the invaders seemingly incapable of making

significant headway and the defenders unable to drive them off-world. Meanwhile,

the pace of op­erations continued at a steady two per day as one after an­other

of Ranji’s fellow soldiers submitted to the programmed manipulations of the

sonic scalpel. The Hivistahm could eas­ily have performed half a dozen of the

surgeries per day, but the more dilatory pace allowed the anxious patients to

re­ceive greater individual attention during the recovery period, while

simultaneously helping to assuage the lingering unease among the as yet

untouched.

Having thus insured the Cossuutian prodigals against fu­ture Amplitur mental

manipulation, Weave Command had no more idea what to do with them than if they

had suddenly been presented with two dozen defecting griffins. Their view of

Human culture and Humanness being understandably skewed, instructional materials

suitable for correcting a life­time of misconception were provided for the use

of the Restorees as they came to be called. These, combined with the Hivistahm’s

expert cosmetic surgery and the friendship and compassion of those Humans on the

medical staff, helped to speed and ease the defectors’ mental and emotional

transi­tion from Ashregan to Homo sapiens.

As their new Humanness began to take hold and the full import of what the

Amplitur had done to them sank in, several volunteered their fighting abilities

on behalf of the Weave. Such offers were not so much denied as avoided. Despite

the assurances of the Hivistahm surgeons, Weave Command was still suspicious of

them, Ranji knew. They could hardly be blamed. He and his friends were an

unknown quantity. How unknown not even his brother suspected as yet.

The defectors were kept under close observation, osten­sibly to insure their

complete and successful recovery. They complied by adapting to their new

circumstances with gratifying speed. Before long they were wandering freely

among the rest of the Usilayy Human contingent, which was to say that they were

restricted to the confines of the military compound lest their appearance on the

city streets actively disconcert the natives.

The only Wais Ranji encountered were those official translators and support

personnel who had survived the rigorous psychological training that allowed them

to inter­act with combative sentients like Humans and Massood without suffering

consequent mental damage. Ninety-eight percent of the population had never seen

a Human being in the flesh, and their protective government wanted to keep it

that way. The invasion had caused trauma enough.

Not that the Weave compound was confining. It was as lavishly landscaped and

exquisitely maintained as the rest of the capital’s facilities. The Wais desired

to make con­ditions for their vitally needed if inherently unbalanced allies as

comfortable as possible. Grassy hills, streams, small waterfalls, flowers, trees

alive with delicate, brightly hued arboreals; all contributed to a placid

tranquillity that belied the seriousness of the situation.

Ranji explored the compound with a dedication that provoked mild amusement among

his comrades. Rather than being frantic for exercise, however, he was seeking a

location where they could hopefully gather in compara­tive solitude. For mutual

contemplation, as he explained to one curious soldier. In reality he was trying

to find a place out of sight of prying eyes and ears where he could prepare them

for developments they were as yet unaware of.

Eventually he settled on a smooth-sided hollow in a cluster of round, reddish

boulders located at the northern limits of the compound. The small pond at the

bottom was fringed with tall yellow reeds from which pinkish puff balls

occasionally issued, fragile hallmarks of inter­mittent propagation. Amphibious

ground-dwellers scuttled through the water or peeped from cracks in the rocks.

It was a natural place to mingle, and their presence there should not provoke

excessive comment.

They assembled in twos and threes, chatting among themselves, curious and by now

more than a little bored. Ranji had a couple of technicians surreptitiously

check the boulders and plants for concealed sensors. They found nothing. Their

inspection was far from thorough, but it would have to do. He couldn’t wait any

longer. If he did, those who had been operated on first might start suspect­ing

things, and in the absence of understanding that could prove dangerous. None of

his companions were blessed with his perspective.

Just in case, he restricted the initial discussions to in­consequential matters.

Having established a pattern of meeting regularly in the hollow, he was careful

to divulge nothing of import for several days.

When he finally did broach his feelings they were met with the expected

skepticism. Then a soldier named Howmev-eir recalled requesting and finally

demanding of a Hivistahm access to certain historical records. Informed

initially that such recordings were unavailable to him, upon his insistence they

were supplied with a dispatch which startled him.

Nor was his an isolated experience. Upon reflection, several others among the

first dozen who had been oper­ated on recalled similar incidents. They’d sought

no deeper explanation beyond a belief that their former captors and new allies

were simply doing their best to please them.

“They were doing more than just trying to help out new friends,” Ranji

explained. “Once each of you insisted, really pressed your point mentally and

emotionally, none of them any longer had any choice in the matter, any more than

they would have if an Amplitur had made the same requests. Or ‘suggestions.’ “

He eyed them meaningfully.

“Yet if we make similar demands of fellow Humans it doesn’t trigger their neural

defense mechanism. So this new ability of ours can’t be perfectly identical to

that of the Amplitur. There are differences.”

Tourmast spoke up. “I thought it was strange when they acceded to my request to

take a stroll outside the com­pound last week. We Humans aren’t supposed to show

ourselves to the natives.” He grinned in spite of himself. “Makes them jumpy.”

Other members of the group ex­citedly related similar experiences, though these

were far from universal. Not everyone had healed yet.

“If what you’re suggesting is true, Ranji, we should be able to do pretty much

as we please with our hosts.”

Ranji nodded. “Except that Humans won’t be affected, and if we aren’t very

careful we’ll set off alarms. Asking the Massood for an aircraft, for example,

and having them provide it to us would alert the average soldier that some­thing

was very definitely amiss. If we don’t watch the number and degree of our

‘suggestions,’ pretty soon the consistently peculiar and contradictory will be

tracked back to us. We’re already on a kind of postoperative pro­bation to see

that we make good Human beings.”

“I’m a good Human being.” Weenn was strangling an imaginary victim. “I already

want to kill every Amplitur I can get my hands on.” Suddenly his belligerence

vanished, replaced by solemn contemplation. “And I wouldn’t mind finding my

natural parents, either. If they’re still alive.”

“Unlikely.” Ranji’s tone was compassionate but un­yielding. Cold reality

suggested that all their natural par­ents were dead, having been replaced long

ago by the Ashregan surrogates they all were familiar with.

“If the Amplitur learn what has happened to us, they will do their utmost to

have us killed. Judging from the uneasy manner in which the sentients of the

Weave regard their Human allies, I wouldn’t put it past them to do the same. I

have personal experience of that paranoia. As for our fellow Humans, they don’t

understand themselves, so I would not expect them to understand what has

happened to us. Until we better comprehend the consequences and ramifications we

must keep this secret, utilizing our new ability only when absolutely necessary.

“As a result of Amplitur genetic engineering and sub­sequent Hivistahm surgery

we have become something new and different, something the Teachers did not

foresee. In that regard, all their intricate intriguing has backfired on them.

Instead of becoming their most effective soldiers we’ve been transmogrified into

their worst nightmare: Hu­mans who possess the Amplitur ability to suggest. But

we are still few. We have a lot to learn about what’s happened to us, and we

need time. For all any of us know, the talent may fade with age. Other factors

we can’t imagine may affect it temporarily or permanently. In the meantime we

could easily be exterminated by fearful enemies or friends.” He let his gaze

rove the faces of his intent col­leagues. “We’re going to have to be very

careful.”

“What I find interesting,” said one of the technicians, “is that these neural

connections have apparently grown back along entirely new paths. You’d think at

least some would have regenerated according to their original Ampli­tur genetic

programming.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too.” Ranji paused. “It suggests to me the

presence in the Human brain of some heretofore latent genetic command, as if

programming was present but access to the computer denied. The Amplitur provided

the necessary access in the form of the engi­neered neural nodule. When the

connections they supplied are surgically interrupted, the brain provides latent

reconnection instructions of a different order.

“I’ve learned that a large portion of the Human brain, our brain, is not used.

Perhaps the addition of the Amplitur nexus activates some previously dormant

portion not due to, fully evolve for another million years or so. After all, the

nodule confers no inherent abilities itself. It hasn’t given us the abil­ity to

communicate as the Amplitur themselves do, mind to mind. It’s only an organic

electrical switch.”

“That’s all right,” said Tourmast, indicating the technician next to him. “I

don’t want to know what he’s think­ing anyway.” There was some nervous laughter.

“There might be other changes yet to come,” Weenn suggested. “Anybody starts

levitating, I’m first in line for instructions.” He was only half joking.

“If this is all as you say,” the technician murmured, “then it means that at

least as far as cerebral structure is concerned, the Amplitur and not the

Ashregan or Massood are Humankind’s closest relatives. Maybe we should be allied

with them after all and not the Weave.”

That was a thought which had not occurred to Ranji or anyone else, and it froze

the group in contemplative si­lence for several minutes. Then Tourmast spoke up.

“No. Remember what we were taught: biological veri­similitude and appearance

count for nothing. They counted for nothing when we thought we were Ashregan and

anx­ious to fight Humans, and they count for nothing now. As Humans we have to

fight the Amplitur because of what they believe, and what they want to make us

believe. Not because of physiological similarities or differences. The Lepar and

the Sspari and the Hivistahm see the universe as we do. They believe in

independence of thought and purpose like we do. The Amplitur don’t. As a Human I

have no intention of being a part of their damned ‘Pur­pose.’ Especially after

learning the truth of what they’ve done to us.” Murmurs of assent rose from

those clustered close around him.

“What about the others?” someone in the group asked.

“Yeah,” wondered Weenn. “You forced the truth on us, Ranji, and we all but

killed you for it because we didn’t believe. How are we going to spread the

news? How are we going to save the rest of our people here and back on Cossuut?”

“Continue to be cooperative, grateful, and helpful,” he replied. “Be careful to

make as few ‘suggestions’ as pos­sible. Meanwhile I’ll be talking to the

authorities here. I have some ideas.”

“They’re not going to let us go back to Cossuut the way they let you stumble out

of the jungle on Eirrosad,” Tourmast insisted. “I don’t see them taking that

kind of risk with so many of us.”

“Not to Cossuut,” Ranji admitted.

Despite intense questioning, he would say no more.

He made his suggestions with great care, speaking now to a particular S’van, now

to an influential Massood. His fel­low Humans he avoided utterly, since they

could not be similarly persuaded. He let no one help him, preferring to work

alone. That way if he failed or caused an alarm to be raised, only he would be

suspected.

As expected, strong objections were raised when he fi­nally presented his

proposal to Ulaluable’s defense com­mand. In support of his intentions he

pointed out that only Ms release on Eirrosad, which at the time had been

ac­companied by similar reticence on the part of his captors there, had enabled

him to liberate the twenty-five of his kind that the Weave now held.

There was much animated discussion, during which support for Ranji’s position

came from unexpected quar­ters. From Massood and S’van he had previously

per­suaded. Those who objected were puzzled by their colleagues’ eager

acquiescence, but to Ranji’s relief their bemusement did not extend to

suspicion.

It was therefore reluctantly agreed that much as Ranji had been turned loose on

Eirrosad, his rehabilitated com­rades would have their Ashregan appearance

temporarily restored, whereupon they would be armed and set free in small groups

to work their way back to various enemy units, in the hope that they could, as

had Ranji, bring in by one means or another more of their kind to receive the

benefits of restoring truth and humanizing surgery.

If questioned they were to explain that in the course of combat their squad had

been captured and sent to the cap­ital for internment, from whence they had

managed to steal several floaters and flee. Weave pursuit caused them to split

up in the hope that it would enable at least some to escape. There was nothing

in the story to provoke even an Amplitur into drawing an analogy between their

flight and Ranji’s earlier “escape” on Eirrosad.

Not everything transpired as hoped or planned. Some of those who went out were

“saved” by pure Ashregan or Crigolit forces and could do nothing but bide their

time and await reassignment. Others were more fortunate. Res­cued by roving

squads composed of their own kind, they used materials supplied by the Hivistahm

and Humans to begin the slow, cautious process of explanation and con­version.

The adamantly reluctant they were finally able to convince through

demonstrations of their ability to mentally influence non-Humans such as

Ashregan and Crigolit.

As the weeks wore on and the battle for Ulaluable re­mained stalemated, the

Tightness of Ranji’s course of ac­tion was proven by a returning trickle of the

Humanly disenfranchised under the guidance of exhausted but tri­umphant seers

like Tourmast and Weenn. The forewarned Weave commanders of installations and

regions targeted by the invaders who were thus visited immediately notified

Central Command, which sent out heavily armed escorts to convey the bewildered

prodigals back to the capital.

There they were promptly subjected to the corrective manipulations of the

efficient Hivistahm surgical team un­der the direct supervision of

First-of-Surgery, who had finally arrived from Omaphil, and an avalanche of

irrefutable explanation from those who had already under­gone and survived the

liberating ordeal.

By the end of the Ulaluablian year, more than half of the nearly two thousand

modified Human-Ashregan as­signed to the invading force had in this fashion been

qui­etly and successfully restored to their birthright and identity as Human

beings. Working slowly and patiently and utilizing their newfound skills with

discretion, Ranji and his companions had thus far managed to avoid piquing the

interest of any enemy officers. They were helped by the fact that the invaders

were suffering substantial losses among regular Ashregan and Crigolit as well.

Not all could be saved. More than a hundred had already perished or been

evacuated as a result of the fight­ing. Ranji and his friends grieved for their

lost relations even as they persisted in their work.

Ulaluable’s defenders had finally begun to dislodge the invaders from their

forward positions and to push them back toward the resupply bases they had

established and secured upon landing. Attempts by the enemy to reinforce their

situation met with intermittent success, as ships at­tempted to phase out of

Underspace, disgorge their heavily laden shuttles, and vanish into the safety of

distorted phys­ics before increasingly effective Weave orbital defenses blasted

them out of reality.

It was decided to make an assault on the invaders’ plan­etary headquarters,

located on the southern shore of a vast freshwater lake in the north-central

part of the continent, in hopes of taking them by surprise and securing a

decisive strategic advantage. It was a risky undertaking and one which received

unqualifiedly enthusiastic support from the Wais, who continued to suffer

spreading racial traumatization as a consequence of the invasion. Like most of

the Weave races they were desperate to destroy the enemy, even if it meant

fighting to the last Massood and Human.

A large group of restored Humans demanded the priv­ilege of leading the attack.

At first the notion was resisted by Ulaluable’s military command. Though eager,

to many the restored soldiers had yet to conclusively prove the per­manence of

their conversions. What better way, Ranji and his friends argued, than to lead a

dangerous assault against their former allies? Debate on the matter raged within

the multispecies Command. Eventually it was decided in favor of the supplicants.

After all, certain members of that Command insisted through their subsequent

bemusement, they had done nothing more than act favorably and responsibly on the

numerous suggestions they had received.

Chapter Twentytwo

It struck him as strange to be carrying Human-designed weapons, though he was

familiar enough with them from years of studies on Cossuut. Just as it still

seemed unnat­ural to be fighting alongside Humans and Massood instead of against

them.

It was also sobering to be treated as no better than any of the rest of the

troops in your battlegroup. Ranji and his companions were used to being

considered the elite. Now they formed only one component of a much larger force

whose average soldier was presumed to be the equal of their best.

On the other hand, it was a pleasant change to be able to melt into a larger

mass of beings, not always to be singled out physically as different from

everyone else. Some of the officers knew the full story behind the new squad

that spoke fluent Ashregan, but other than finding them interesting oddities the

regular troops readily ac­cepted Ranji’s people as their own. Tourmast and Weenn

and the others quickly found themselves subsumed in an easy, informal

camaraderie that would have been inher­ently excluded by the formalities of the

Purpose.

There was something to being Human, they soon de­cided, that rendered the

prospect of proximate battle more exhilarating than ever. Such feelings were

enhanced by the fact that they now had much more to fight for than an elegant

philosophical abstract.

Like everyone else, Saguio volunteered to participate, but this time Ranji

insisted that his brother stay behind. It didn’t matter if one of them perished,

but it might matter very much if the knowledge Ranji had confided only to his

brother vanished without being retained for future study. Saguio protested but

could not fault his brother’s logic. He agreed to remain in Usilayy.

Ulaluable Weave Command had consented reluctantly to the single strike. If it

failed to achieve its objective immediately, all survivors were to pull out

fast. Command was as yet unwilling to expose the restored Humans, most of whom

were still feeling the aftereffects of cosmetic sur­gery, to the risks of an

extended assault and possible sub­sequent recapture.

Physically, Ranji and his friends were indistinguishable from the other Humans

in the strike force. As none of them had demonstrated any revisionist Ashregan

tenden­cies since their restoration they had been allowed to form fighting

squads of their own and maintain their internal lines of command. It was decided

it was not necessary yet to integrate them into other Human units. Besides

com­plicating internal communications, separating the new­comers from their own

kind could only enforce their sense of isolation. Better for full integration to

be achieved nat­urally instead of by directive. It was also decided that they

were likely to fight with greater confidence and skill if surrounded and

supported by familiar faces.

So Ranji was able to have Soratii and Weenn and the rest of his friends around

him. Brusque Birachii had been saved, too, and Cossinza, she of the liquid voice

and light­ning reflexes.

But too many of the deceived still slaved in the service of enemy Purpose here

and on distant Cossuut for any of the Restorees to rest.

Their salvation would have to proceed one step at a time, he told himself. First

the diversion of the Ulalu-ablian invasion. Then resurrection.

Cossinza hovered nearby, chatting with those she com­manded while experimenting

with the novelty of the wide smile. Ranji was the target of many such, for

during the past months in Usilayy the two of them had grown close. There had

been other women. One in particular he remem­bered, from Omaphil. But Cossinza

was of Cossuut and the other was not, and in Cossinza he knew there was no

deception. It was good to have someone besides his brother to confide in.

But he continued to broker intimacy with caution, and did not tell her

everything. Not yet. For her part she re­spected the hesitancy she sensed.

Ranji’s introspective na­ture was well known to her and her friends. She liked

him too much to try and intrude, knowing that when he had something to confess

she would be the first to hear of it.

The heavily armored transport sleds and their outriding sliders roared northward

at precarious speed, sometimes Jbarely skimming the surface of plains,

hillsides, and lakes. In four days they were beyond the range of ready

rein­forcements. If they were attacked before they reached their target, Ranji

knew, orders were to break off and return. Under such circumstances there would

be no time to make insistent suggestions to the contrary.

But the skies and horizon stayed clear of all except star­tled local fauna, and

the tense strike group raced on to­ward their objective.

Because of the extreme danger involved, every Human and Massood in the group,

including the sled crews, was a volunteer, of which there had been no dearth

once the proposal had been floated. The strike force was split half and half

between Humans, including Ranji and his friends, and Massood. A few unusually

bold Hivistahm techs had contributed their services, though, of course, not for

com­bat. Their activity would be confined to sled maintenance and navigation.

Force tacticians hoped to slip at least ten percent of the small, highly skilled

strike team inside the enemy’s defen­sive perimeter before they could fully

mobilize to meet the attack. Hopefully these troops would wreak sufficient havoc

to turn the enemy’s attention inward, thus allowing the rest of the force to

collapse the perimeter at enough points to insure victory. At worst, they would

inflict suf­ficient damage before pulling out to have made the assault

worthwhile.

First-of-Surgery and his staff raised what objections they could, to no avail.

Risking a valuable scientific resource like the Restored for mere military

purposes struck him and his colleagues as the height of uncivilized absurdity.

On Omaphil their opinion might well have prevailed, but Ulaluable was a world

under siege, where military needs took priority. Their Wais hosts, who under

more pacific circumstances would have agreed with First-of-Surgery’s position,

voted against him.

Besides which the Restored were now considered fully Human. As such, they had

Human rights and could do as they pleased. If they wanted to participate in

scientific research, they were welcome to do so. It was not the fault or

responsibility of Military Command if what they wanted to do was fight.

Ranji was staring out one of the narrow sled windows at the manicured landscape

of Ulaluable speeding past when Cossinza sat down next to him, folding herself

into a fixed piece of support foam. There were no chairs on board the transport.

Only the foam, which adapted itself freely to a variety of physiognomies. Thus

Massood could rest comfortably next to their Human counterparts, and Hivistahm

alongside both.

At present they were traveling through high desert, the sleds keeping low enough

to kick sand and gravel into the air, unsettling nonburrowing fauna and plants.

Such dis­ruption of their carefully nurtured natural order would have displeased

the Wais, but there were none aboard to bear witness to the persistent

disturbance.

“When Tourmast appeared to tell us what had happened to you and the others we’d

thought long dead, I was not alone in thinking that the press of combat had

driven him insane.” She joined him in staring out the window. “Even after he and

those who’d returned with him showed us the proof, I still doubted. It was only

when he informed us that he was operating under your command that I began to

believe. I’ve always thought you the best of us, Ranji-aar. It’s an opinion I

shared with many.” She put a com­forting hand on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine

what it must’ve been like being the first of us to be exposed to the truth.”

He continued to stare at the alien landscape racing past before finally turning

back to her. “Cossinza, do you feel ‘Human’?” He studied her face: pale blue

eyes, sharp but small nose, the wide, thin-lipped mouth and prominent

cheekbones—a flower seared but not scarred by fire. Strange to look upon a woman

without spacious eye sock­ets or cranial ridges, with a prominent nose and

protrud­ing ears. There was less, and yet there was more. Truly beauty was more

than bone deep.

She removed her hand and leaned back into the foam. It flexed to accommodate her

form. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve always been Human. It’s hardest at night. In

your dreams you tend to revert.” Her eyes focused on the sled’s curved ceiling.

“You remember growing up, training, friends and family. Then when you awaken you

have to force yourself not to think of them.”

“I still wonder if our Ashregan parents were willing participants in the

deception or innocent dupes forcibly inducted into their roles by the Amplitur.

Some days I hope to find out. Other days I hope I never do.” That was a

singular ineffable sadness all the Restored shared.

“We have to rely on each other now.” She shifted on the foam.

He nodded, glanced back at the window. “You can hate the Amplitur for what

they’ve done to us, but at the same time you have to admire them for trying to

defeat an en­emy through genetics instead of on the battlefield. It would have

taken hundreds of years for their interbreeding plan to have had a debilitating

effect on Humankind.” He shook his head at the presumption. “No Weave race, and

certainly not us, has that kind of patience. Except maybe i Turlog.”

“I’ve never seen a Turlog,” said Cossinza. “From what I recall of my studies

they’re supposed to be pretty hideous to look upon, and antisocial besides.” She

sat up in the foam and utilized her translator to address a Massood sub-officer

seated not far away. “You there! Have you ever seen a Turlog?”

“Only in recordings,” the Massood replied pleasantly. “The species is

underpopulated.”

“Would you know where to find one?”

“Not on Ulaluable. You would have to go to their own” world, or one of the major

Weave centers.”

Cossinza nodded understanding, then suggested almost playfully, “We’re both

pretty thirsty. How about getting us something to drink?”

The Massood hesitated, gave them an odd look, then rose and ambled off in the

direction of the on-board dis­penser, his light underarmor gleaming dully. Ranji

remon­strated softly with his companion.

“You shouldn’t do things like that, Cossinza. It’s through lack of respect that

dangerous secrets are revealed.”

“Take it easy.” She smiled across at him. “Some of us aren’t as skilled at this

suggesting business as you, Ranj. We need to practice.”

“Practice on the enemy.” He was unmollified. “Not on allies. If we use our

abilities too casually, sooner or later some S’van is liable to discern a

pattern. I understand that just about everything amuses them, but I don’t think

they’d laugh at that.”

She replied evenly. “In a little while we’re going to be killing, maybe be

killed in return. I didn’t think it would matter so much.”

“Try to be more selective in the future.” He was delib­erately cool.

Gunecvod reached the dispenser and called for three con­tainers of cold water.

As the second tumbler filled the thought about what had just occurred and

struggled to make sense of it. His upper lip curled, exposing sharp teeth. He

did not feel certain enough to broach his thoughts to any of his companions, but

neither could he simply dismiss what had happened as inexplicable and set it

aside.

Unlike any others in his squad, he had many years ago spent time as a prisoner

of war on the contested world of Nura. More remarkably still, in that time he

had actually encountered one of the dread Amplitur. It had been inspecting the

facility where he and his fellow prisoners had been interned. Pausing before

him, it had inclined both eyestalks in his direction. To the day of his death he

would be able to visualize those protuberant, glistening orbs hov­ering close to

his twitching face.

Then had come the probe. He’d stood helpless before it, vaguely aware of but

unable to resist the intrusion, that gentle violation of his innermost sanctity.

For a while the Amplitur had explored his self, unable to read his thoughts but

quite capable of interpreting his reactions. Then it had withdrawn and moved on.

Other than a patina of unclean-liness which lingered for some time, Gunecvod had

in­curred no harm as a result of the probe. It was something he would never

forget.

It was also something he had never expected to experi­ence again.

Yet he had. Just now. There was no mistaking it. Though mildly, indefinably

different, it was sufficiently unmistak­able to prohibit confusion.

His first wild, mad thought was that an Amplitur had somehow succeeded in

disguising itself as a Human or Massood and slipping onto the sled. Somehow that

seemed a feat beyond the reach even of those masters of bioengineering.

His attention returned to the man and woman who had been among those who had

suffered as puppets of the Am­plitur. They were conversing among themselves, not

look­ing in his direction. He reviewed what he had just experienced, scrutinized

the relevant circumstances.

If they were thirsty why did they not fetch their own refreshment? Was there

something unseen wrong with their limbs that they should make such a request of

a Massood soldier? He had not wanted to comply, yet that was pre­cisely what he

was doing. And why? Because he’d felt compelled to. Not out of friendship, or

understanding, or a desire to be of assistance. Out of a brief, seemingly

harmless compulsion.

He had served alongside Humans for many years and was familiar with their

aspect. He could tell there was no tension in these two. They reposed utterly

relaxed in their surroundings. Could they be unaware of what at their urg­ing

had just transpired? It seemed unlikely. What had the Amplitur done to them?

What had they become?

Yet they and their fellow Restorees had been cleared to rejoin their kind by

both Military and Science Command and further, to participate in the forthcoming

assault. Against that weight of official evidence he could throw only a

transitory suspicion born of unforgettable experience.

It didn’t matter. There was no misreading the sensation, no mistaking what had

just happened to him. The Humans had suggested and he had responded. They had

pushed.

Could any of the other Restorees do it? He didn’t know and felt it might be

hazardous to try and find out. From now on he would carry with him the burden of

dangerous knowledge. He would have to watch his back, his move­ments, his very

thoughts lest one of them suspect that they had been found out. Nor could he

tell any of his family or friends. They would not believe him, and his

accusation would surely get back to those under suspicion. He sus­pected they

might readily take steps to preserve their secret.

He feared the Amplitur, but he feared Humans in pos­session of Amplitur

abilities far more.

It was all up to him, until he could either find the means to prove his theories

to others or otherwise rectify the situation. He knew that he had to do one or

the other. The danger was real, real in a way only one who had suffered the

probing of the Amplitur could appreciate. Others might not understand. It had

already been suggested on more than one occasion that his years in captivity had

rendered him slightly unbalanced, fit to soldier but not to mate.

They were all wrong. His experience had left him en­lightened, not damaged. Now

it fell upon him to put that enlightenment to use for the goodness of his kind,

for the ultimate benefit of all intelligent species. If these muta­tions were

allowed to spread they would constitute a dan­ger to the Weave greater even than

that posed by the Amplitur. They had to be dealt with. If not by a be­nighted,

ignorant authority, then by one who knew.

If necessary, by soldier Gunecvod acting alone and for the good of all

civilization, praise be to the Lineage!

But not now, not in this place. For now he would have to exercise patience. So

what he did was gather up the three filled tumblers in his long fingers, still

the convulsive twitching of his whiskers and lips, and return to the pair, a

pleasant expression cemented in place. If they wanted to talk, he would talk. If

they wished to exchange jokes, he would joke with them. He would bend the

opportunity to his own needs, use it to learn as much about them as he could. If

they tried to push him again, he would not resist. Unless something made them

suspicious there would be no danger in succumbing to their suggestions, whereas

if he tried to resist there might.

Command did not suspect. Had these Human-Ashregan been developed by the Amplitur

so they could then be scattered throughout an ignorant Weave to wreak

destruc­tion of unknown dimensions? But they were going to at­tack the

Amplitur’s headquarters on Ulaluable. Maybe the entire invasion was nothing more

than an Amplitur decep­tion, Gunecvod mused, an elaborate tactical ruse designed

solely to allow their Human puppets to “escape” and in­filtrate Weave forces.

The Amplitur had infinite patience. Perhaps even their puppets were unaware of

what was transpiring, were con­vinced that the actions they had taken thus far

to return to their species were the result of their own discoveries and

free will. Perhaps unsuspected mental commands had been implanted deep within

their engineered minds, designed to go off next year, a hundred years, from now,

when the Amplitur would make known their true and secret inten­tions and

reassert control over their bewildered minions.

These before him might very well fight hard to dislodge Ashregan and Crigolit

and Molitar from Ulaluable. And all the while equivocating Amplitur would sit

safely in their ships, watching and silently applauding the success of their

duplicitous efforts, sacrificing their ignorant un­knowing allies in pursuit of

some far more intimate, dis­tant goal. It was a plan of great subtlety.

Thanks be to the Lineage that he, Gunecvod, had been clever and wise enough to

have discerned it.

This was fortunate, because the man and woman did not, insofar as he was able to

tell, try to influence him again. Yet he never doubted, never questioned what

had happened, so lucid and powerful had the single experience been.

Ranji and Cossinza were glad of the Massood soldier’s company. The need to deal

with a representative of an­other allied race forced them to think of something

besides incipient combat, helped to keep their minds off potential

unpleasantries.

Gunecvod found them good company, though the woman was much more open and giving

of herself than the man. This served to confirm what he had already sus­pected:

that the male was the more dangerous of the pair and would require closer

attention. Other Restorees came and went, their furless faces flexing like

glutinous putty, their thoughts as closed to him as the feral suppuration of

their distinctive endocrinology. Throughout it all he main­tained an engaging

and salutary attitude, seeking to add all he could to the mental file he was

assembling on each and every one of them.

Chapter Twentythree

The sleds and sliders of the strike force put on maximum acceleration as they

went in low and hard. Defensive elec­tronic firecontrols barely had time to

react to reports from querulous sensors, plot, aim, and fire before the sleds

were racing past, already beyond range of outer defenses. The attackers needed

to penetrate as far as possible before the full spectrum of the invaders’

weaponry could be brought to bear.

Several near hits rocked the armored sled. Its compan­ion off to the left was

slowed by a missile, then fell out of the sky as it intersected the path of a

high-energy particle beam. At the speed it was traveling it disintegrated as

soon as it struck the unyielding ground, leaving behind a trail of flame,

twisted metal, scorched ceramics and plastics, and pieces of its crew,

democratically scattered across the gravel-laden surface.

The Massood pilot of Ranji’s sled wove a path through the intensifying fire,

doing her best to make use of avail­able natural cover. It was no task for a

predictable com­puter, not even one programmed with chaos logic. Fireballs and

flaring energy beams singed the air around the agile craft, not quite making

contact, not quite de­stroying.

The invaders had emplaced their installation well, siting major structures

against a towering sandstone cliff that re­stricted approach from east and

south. It would have been difficult to hit with aircraft or missiles, and

presumptuous

air-repulsion vehicles were forced to run a gauntlet of de­fensive weaponry and

sensors located on surrounding buttes and hills. The entire setup was a tribute

to typical Crigolit planning and forethought.

In contrast, all the attackers had on their side was bold­ness and surprise.

Initially, those served them quite well.

The surviving sleds and their darting, nimble escorting sliders smashed through

the next line of defenses as the startled enemy rushed to assemble its forces.

They were inside the perimeter. Ahead lay sloping sheets of sprayed polymer,

fronts for structures which sliced deep into the towering cliff face. There were

few windows and at ground level only entrances cut to peculiar Crigolit design.

Explosives peeled aside reluctant doors as sleds slowed to land.

Troops fanned out fast, able to race for predetermined objectives thanks to

intelligence supplied by the Restorees. Armed defenders began to appear, slowing

the assault.

Ranji’s group headed for the central communications complex. Years ago he’d

assaulted a similar target, on Koba. Only then he had been fighting alongside

Ashregan, not Human beings. He who so desperately sought com­munication and

understanding seemed fated to always be disrupting it.

He had no time to remark on the irony: he was too busy trying to stay alive.

Entering through a two-story-high gap their sled’s weap­onry had blown in the

outer wall, they soon encountered resistance. The combined Human-Massood force

swept it aside. In some cases the Restorees were able to dupe armed Ashregan

into surrendering by addressing them in their own tongue, without the aid of

translators. In others and when there were no Massood around, Ranji’s colleagues

“suggested” that their opponents put down their arms. They did so, with

gratifying if not always universal re­sults.

Rushing past the outlying portions of the installation deeper into the mountain,

they emerged into a vast supply staging complex. Armed but empty floaters sat in

triple ranks, waiting to be fueled and crewed.

While some of the attackers began destroying the irre­placeable transport

vehicles, Ranji led his own squad on­ward, still hoping to locate the

communications nerve center. Their advance was periodically stalled by brief but

intense firefights.

In order to combat the persistent but isolated and dis­organized defenders,

Ranji’s squad fragmented for flank­ing purposes, coming together to engulf each

pocket of resistance before spreading out again to make contact with those

behind.

Weenn suddenly appeared. He was breathing hard and looked concerned. “We’re

having some trouble over on the other side.”

“What kind of trouble?” Ranji asked him as they crouched behind a huge gray

Segunian packing cone.

The sub-officer’s expression twisted. “It’s the Massood. One tried to shoot her

squad leader and another tried to shoot himself. We got them both restrained,

but barely. When we tried to find out what was going on, they both went comatose

on us.”

The slim, muscular shadow that was Cossinza hovered nearby, covering the two men

as they conversed. “What’s he talking about?” Her eyes never left the sighting

predic­tor of her rifle.

“One case of combat madness I could allow for, but not two. They were

influenced.” Fighting echoed throughout the complex, explosions reverberating,

weap­ons hissing in the enclosed spaces beneath the mountain. He rose alongside

her and gazed speculatively into the depths of the staging area.

“There are Amplitur here.”

Weenn nodded somberly. “The other Massood figured that out pretty quick.”

“Tell our people to keep a close watch on them and on the Hivistahm sled techs.

They may have to pull back and leave the rest of the fighting in here to us.”

“They realize that,” Weenn told him, “but they want, to try and stick it out.

Their understanding of the danger is balanced by their desire to kill Amplitur.

None of them have ever even seen one. They look on it as a real potential coup

… if they can bring it off without getting their brains turned inside out in

the trying.”

Ranji chewed his lower lip. “We can’t order them out. The other squads must be

making real progress for one of the Teach . . . one of the Amplitur to risk

itself in combat. It wouldn’t do so unless it had no choice. That means there

are no back exits to this complex. It’s trapped in here.

“You and Tourmast and the others with experience stick close to the Massood. If

they show signs of being pushed, use your own abilities to push back. Knock ’em

out if you have to. When this is over we’ll have some allies with terrific

headaches, but at least they’ll still be alive.”

Weenn looked uncertain. “Won’t they suspect?”

“I don’t think so. With their thoughts and intentions being jostled in so many

different directions at once they won’t have time to sort through the confusion.

Later they’ll ascribe their feelings to Amplitur manipulation under combat

conditions. In any case we have no choice. We can’t let the Amplitur influence

our allies at will.”

The sub-officer nodded understanding and hurried to re­join his own troops.

Despite being fully restored, despite everything Ranji had learned and

experienced, it was hard to set aside a lifetime of conditioning. The childhood

awe in which he and his friends had held the Teachers lingered in his emo­tions

if not his mind. It wasn’t so very long ago that he had stood with pride before

his parents and relations in the great hall of Kizzmat, waiting to receive

honors from the Teachers themselves. So it was that he advanced un­easily

knowing that one of the Amplitur was near. Cossinza was no less edgy.

Defenders and attackers advanced and retreated within the staging area, shooting

and screaming imprecations and defiance, transforming the enclosed space into a

fiery farrago of death and confusion in which it was difficult to tell friend

from foe despite the aid of advanced technology. Occasionally confused but ever

courageous, the Massood stumbled forward. It seemed to some among them that the

Amplitur were not so effective now as they had been when first their influence

had been felt. The evident waning of this particularly insidious threat impelled

the tall warriors to greater effort. This in turn further inspired the Humans

who fought alongside them.

Both the battle for control of the staging area and com­munications complex and

the one for the minds of the relentless Massood were waged simultaneously. The

small group of restored Humans monitored both. For the Am­plitur, Ranji mused,

confusion must be near complete.

Certainly that was the case for Sigh-moving-Fast. Though to its Ashregan escort

the Teacher appeared calm and in complete control of the situation, inwardly

their leader was appalled and stunned by what was sensed.

It seemed that individual Massood soldiers were re­sponding readily to

suggestion, but after moving on in search of others to push and then reaching

back to check on those initially persuaded Sigh-moving-Fast was shocked to

discover that their original belligerence had reasserted itself. From this

irrefutable and disconcerting conclusions could be drawn.

Something or someone was countermanding his influ­ence.

That unique mind reached out, probing the maelstrom of conflicting thought

impulses that energized the room far more thoroughly than could mere primitive

weaponry. The notion of a renegade Amplitur was never considered. One might as

well anticipate a reversal of entropy.

The Weave had been studying the Amplitur for hun­dreds of years. Had they

finally made their long-hoped-for scientific breakthrough and succeeded in

duplicating the Amplitur ability to touch minds via physical instrumenta­tion?

If so, then Amplitur counterintelligence was in worse shape than anyone had

imagined, for no inkling of any such development had recently been brought to

the atten­tion of the ever-alert servants of the Purpose.

Yet what other explanation could there be?

Crigolit and Ashregan kept watch, weapons ready to fend off any attack as they

maintained a protective mobile barrier around the single Amplitur. The Teacher

had joined the defense of the staging area because it was the only portion of

the headquarters complex where the enemy had penetrated dangerously far. If they

could drive them out, it would unbalance and possibly signal an end to the

entire Weave assault. Hence the willingness, yea, even of a Teacher to expose

its august person to the possibility of physical harm. Particularly in such

close quarters, a little mental persuasion was worth many guns.

Sigh-moving-Fast tried without success to isolate the source of reactionary

influence. To do so effectively and quickly the presence of two additional

colleagues was de­manded. None were presently available, as they were currently

engaged in directing the installation’s overall defense. Therefore, the burden

of discovering the source of the unexpected interference fell squarely upon

Sigh-moving-Fast.

Despite the concern of the mixed-species escort, the Teacher urged them onward,

that exceptional mind relent­lessly seeking, hoping by accident if not intent to

encoun­ter and confront the mystery. Substantial physical and mental differences

notwithstanding, Crigolit and Ashregan responded instantly to their leader’s

orders, forming a seamless unit that gouged a distinctive salient out of the

attackers’ line, advancing and retreating as though they were all of one mind.

Sigh-moving-Fast’s original shock was as nothing com­pared to the emotions that

shook the cephalopodian quadruped when the source of countervaling influence was

finally located. It emanated not from some intricate apo­theosis of Weave

technology but from several of the advancing Human soldiers! A greater horror

could not be envisioned.

Alarmed but desperate for elucidating confrontation, the Amplitur bade its

anxious escort remain behind, lest their presence induce this special quarry to

retreat before vital information could be obtained. Of all the minds working to

countermand Amplitur influence, one was noticeably more penetrating and

persuasive than the rest, and it was on those thoughts that Sigh-moving-Fast

attempted to fo­cus.

Having been slowed by determined resistance, the Weave attack fragmented. It

enabled the Teacher to ad­vance without fear of intersecting a large body of

enemy troops. By the same token its own path of retreat was far from assured. It

was a situation that called for some dar­ing. Understanding of the phenomenon

was worth more than control of Ulaluable itself, and without proof even the

least sanguine colleagues would be reluctant to be­lieve. Sigh-moving-Fast could

scarce credit its own senses.

Could the mind which was so effectively if crudely af­fecting the thinking of

hostile Massood also influence Crigolit, or Ashregan? Sigh-moving-Fast had no

way of knowing, but continued to advance quite conscious of how much was at

stake. It was vital to the Purpose that at least one such specimen be obtained.

When the disagreeable alien consciousness seemed on the verge of merging with

its own, the Amplitur gingerly extended a hesitant mental query.

Sigh-moving-Fast knew that if the target was truly Human, the biped’s

ill-understood neurological defense mechanism might strike back at the probe

with paralyzing fury. But no other way could be envisioned. Dangerous or not,

this had to be attempted. Without contact there could be no enlighten­ment. The

Teacher extended.

Touched.

Contact engendered no cataclysmic response. Ravening primate insanity did not

erupt outward to overwhelm and destroy. A tense-Sigh-moving-Fast was calmly

elated. ThisHuman and a few like it could mind-touch, but as a con­sequence of

developing that capability it seemed they could no longer instinctively strike

back at what they themselves had acquired. In that respect they were as

neurologically defenseless as the carefully bioengineered Human-Ashregan

soldiers of Cossuut.

At the light-speed of awful realization the import of unpleasant coincidence

abruptly replaced the fear in Sigh-moving-Fast’s mind.

At present it was no more than a preliminary supposi­tion, but one that could

not be dismissed out of hand. It was widely known that a distressingly large

number of the special soldiers from Cossuut had been lost in the battle for

Ulaluable. It was not impossible that some had sur­vived death. Certain

implications of this line of reasoning were most unpleasant. A specimen and

answers were de­manded—preferably both.

Though skills and ability of long standing were utilized, it was clear that the

Human was immune to their influence, just as it was clear that it was unable to

retaliate via the fearful reflex all its kind were supposed to possess. This

contradiction was full of threat and promise.

Emboldened by continued consciousness, the Amplitur attempted to probe further.

Surely there were limits to the depths it could push.

Ranji stiffened slightly and found himself placing his rifle on the floor. Next

to him Cossinza was doing the same. Both straightened and took several steps

backward.

“Ranji?” she stammered. “You feel it, too?”

“Amplitur,” he muttered without hesitation. “Trying to get inside.” He squeezed

his eyes shut until tears started from the corners. When he opened them again he

found he was able to retrace his steps and recover his weapon. With his help she

was able to do likewise.

“It’s like a commanding headache.” She winced. “It hurts, Ranji. I can’t make it

go away.”

“Concentrate on something else,” he urged her. “Anything else. Try to push

yourself the same as you’d push a Massood or Hivistahm. You have to. Because of

Amplitur bioengineering our nervous systems don’t have the ability to fight

back. You have to resist with your mind.” He twitched visibly as a particularly

strong probe ventured the suggestion that he stick the muzzle of his weapon in

his mouth.

If he could resist with his mind, he thought angrily, perhaps he could strike

back the same way.

The Amplitur stumbled, nearly losing its balance, all four legs gone suddenly

shaky as the incoming mental blast interrupted the orderly flow of electrical

impulses in its brain. Two nearby Crigolit gazed horrified at the half-crumpled

Teacher, but Sigh-moving-Fast hastened to in­form them that all was well. Thus

reassured, they chose to advance to their right, seeking the enemy.

Momentarily left to itself amid grounded vehicles and mountains of supplies, the

stunned Amplitur struggled to equiponderate its equilibrium. It was not

concerned by its momentary isolation; the Amplitur were quite self-contained,

and used to being alone.

It was both shocked and repelled by what had hap­pened. The specimen had struck

back. Not in the blind, reflexive fashion of its kind but much as another

Amplitur would have. It was a unique development, replete for Sigh-moving-Fast

with a deliciously horrific fascination en­hanced by the drug of unprecedence.

There were no guidelines for what to do next. Procedure would perforce have to

be invented from moment to moment.

Using the tentacles on either side of its mouth, the Am­plitur steadied itself.

Now that its awareness had been raised it would not again be so easily

influenced. While briefly effective, the force of the push had been diffused due

to a concomitant lack of direction. Its wielder had demonstrated power but not

sensitivity, strength but not skill. Talent without experience.

Intrigued beyond caution, Sigh-moving-Fast continued to move forward, heedless

of any personal danger. The Teacher kept probing, searching, trying to acquire a

feel for attitudes and sensations that finally convinced it of the truth it had

suspected: the projective Humans, or at least the pair it was in contact with,

were indeed renegades from the Cossuut project. The weight of evidence had

fi­nally passed the point of denial.

But how? What had changed them so, what within them had been altered to such an

inconceivable degree? Their Ashregan orientation and their desire to serve the

Purpose had apparently been destroyed, to be replaced with a res­toration of

their Humanity . . . and something else. Some­thing more. Explanations had to be

obtained.

If control, however tenuous, could be established over such gifted individuals,

much might become possible. Properly guided and directed, a Human who could

push, could suggest, would be far more valuable than one simply educated to

believe it was Ashregan. Slipped back in among their own kind they could wield

influence enough to advance the cause of the Purpose by hundreds of years.

From the first moment of contact Sigh-moving-Fast had sensed that great

possibilities were in the offing. Aware­ness induced in the clumsy, bulky form a

permeating well-ness. Resolve was strengthened.

At approximately that time a new, third mental presence impinged on

Sigh-moving-Fast’s consciousness: a Mas-sood, hyper with xenocidal ferocity.

What startled the Amplitur to the point at which it was necessary to pause and

analyze was that the Massood’s hostility was directed not toward any of the

enemy but at the Humans around him, and in particular the two Humans with whom

Sigh-moving-Fast was already in contact.

Astonishingly, therefore, the modified male and female were being stalked by

enemy and ally alike. Why this should be so could not be imagined. Anxiously

seeking answers, the Teacher had unearthed only another question.

The Amplitur had survived and prospered by bending evolution itself to their

needs. Sigh-moving-Fast did not hesitate to reach out and touch the mind of the

new arrival, inducing synapses to fire in a desired pattern. There was

hesitation on the part of the Massood, then a resumption of movement.

While quite capable of proceeding alone, Sigh-moving-Fast was perfectly happy to

make use of whatever tools might happen to proffer themselves.

Gunecvod ducked behind a towering ceramic cylinder the color of rotting teeth.

Inclining his lanky six-foot-six-inch frame slightly to the right, he was able

to see the two Humans where they crouched behind cover of their own. Around him

the vast staging chamber was still afire with death and destruction.

Several other preoccupied Massood darted forward to the left and behind him. At

the moment they and the two Humans were the only other ones in sight.

His quarry had not observed his approach. Whiskers twitched violently as his

lips drew back to expose his full complement of teeth. Now was the moment to end

the threat to civilization, to protect his own kind! Raising his rifle, he took

careful aim at the female, letting the auto­matic sight lock in on the back of

her skull.

He hesitated.

Something was not right. The Humans looked alert, but not as though they were

keeping watch for advancing en­emy. They held their weapons casually, almost

indiffer­ently. Yet their attitudes were completely focused. It was not only

unnatural and unsoldierly, based on all that Gu­necvod had observed of the

primates previously; it was quite inHuman.

The female staggered, clasping her head in both hands. Gunecvod growled in

astonishment as her companion laid his weapon aside and moved to embrace her

comfortingly. His fingers quivered near the trigger as he temporarily disengaged

the sight Sock. What was going on here?

Until he found out it might be better simply to wound, to incapacitate them. The

three of them were isolated in this corner of the staging chamber. He would have

time for hasty but effective interrogation. His knowledge of Hu­man physiology

would permit that.

He raised his rifle a second time. As he did so fresh thoughts rippled unbidden

through his mind. Was he going mad? The threat needed to be terminated, not

studied. He was in a combat situation, not a lab. He wondered at his hesitation,

at the second thoughts.

He was certain the Humans were not the source of his confusion. There was no

guile in their indifference. They were truly unaware of his presence, much less

his resolve. Why then this sudden faltering? His thoughts were at war with his

intentions, and the result was most disturbing.

Trembling with the effort it required, he stepped out from behind the cylinder

and advanced slowly. His spasms and contortions were not the product of normal

Massood hyperactivity. The rifle’s muzzle swung through wild arcs, as if it had

taken on a life of its own. Gunecvod gave every appearance of a creature

fighting desperately for control of its own neuromuscular system.

Out of the corner of an eye Ranji saw the Massood approach. He turned, a

startled expression slowly spread­ing across his face as he watched the swaying

soldier aim his rifle.

As Gunecvod touched the trigger a flurry of tiny con­tradictions seemed to

explode inside his brain, blurring his determination along with his vision. The

shot went wild.

Cossinza was right behind Ranji as he dove between stacks of metal tubes. She

was not quite quick enough. The second energy bolt struck her hip and was only

partly dissipated by her light armor. She didn’t collapse so much as sit down

heavily.

He’d only wounded her, Gunecvod saw. Excellent! de­creed one part of his brain.

Horribly inadequate, insisted another. Grabbing his forehead as if he could

somehow squeeze out the confusion that was tearing him apart, the snarling

soldier fired again in the male’s direction.

The shot struck nowhere near the retreating Ranji.

Warily hefting his sidearm, he turned up the amplification on his translator.

“Soldier, are you out of your mind? Have you forgotten your Lineage? I’m Special

Staff Officer Ranji-aar, tempo­rarily assigned to the 84th HS battlegroup!”

“I know who you are!” the Massood’s translator roared. It was loud, but not as

loud as the pain in his head. He staggered but stayed erect. “I know all about

you!”

Ranji was not very familiar with Massood mannerisms, but it was clear enough

that this particular individual was unbalanced. Right now the sole objective

must be to dis­tract him and draw him away from the injured Cossinza.

“We’re Human! We’re your friends, your allies.”

The Massood bared sharp teeth, resisting the pounding in his skull as he scanned

his surroundings. “Not you, Ranji-aar! Not you and your mutant friends! You have

to die, all of you. You are too dangerous to let live. You may have fooled

everyone else, but not I, not Gunecvod! I know you for what you are, offspring

of the Amplitur. I will not let you play with my mind. I defy you!” Cossinza

flattened herself against the floor and covered her head as the soldier fired

blindly into the stacks of supplies and equipment, his rifle crackling.

“You’re crazy!” Ranji kept moving as he spoke.

Gunecvod whirled and scorched the floor where his quarry had been standing an

instant earlier. Wheezing Massood laughter bubbled from his throat.

“I think not. I know what you can do because you’ve done it to me. The water.

Remember the water!” He fired again, obliterating a stack of lubricating

injectors. Alien stink stained the air.

“Even if you’re not imagining things, what does it mat­ter?” Ranji yelled from

cover. “We’re Human, we’re your allies!”

Gunecvod turned slowly, searching. “Are you? I do not know what you are. I know

only what you can do, and that cannot be allowed. Cannot! You have to die. All

of you have to die.”

Abruptly Ranji realized what must have happened. “Listen to me, Gunecvod of the

Massood! This isn’t you thinking, these aren’t your thoughts. I know that

there’s an Amplitur close by. That’s who wants us dead. That’s why you’re acting

like this!”

Gunecvod stood swaying, blinking uneasily. The Hu­man was trying to trick him.

The decisions he’d reached had been arrived at well beyond the range of Amplitur

influence. What;/one of them was nearby? It didn’t mat­ter. Certainly the

creature would delight in seeing one ally kill another . . . but he’d determined

that these modified Humans were not allies, could not be allowed to live. If

that put him on the side of the Amplitur, it was only tem­porary and

coincidental . . . wasn’t it? He reached up and pressed long fingers against the

side of his skull. Kill, wound only, support . . . there was too much going on

inside his brain. Cognitive space was limited, perception was limited, reality

was far too open to speculation.

What was happening to him? Which of his thoughts were his, which those of the

modified Human, which those of the Amplitur? They were crowding him out, these

ir­resistibly subtle deep probers, shoving the mere proprietor of the mental

field of battle aside. When they had con­cluded their contest and one had

emerged the master of persuasion, would there be anything left of Gunecvod?

Truth eluded him like a fast-moving insect.

A cross between a scream and a sob emerged from his trembling mouth. His nose

twitched uncontrollably, and spittle dripped from the lower jaw.

Taking a calculated chance, Ranji slowly rose from be­hind the replacement

landing skid he’d been using for cover.

“Look at me, Gunecvod of the Massood. I’m Human. I’m your friend. It’s the

Amplitur who’s putting these evil thoughts in your head.”

“No!” The end of the rifle gyrated. “No, I made up my mind before this! My own

mind. I reached conclu­sions. I vowed … I …”

“There are only a few of us.” Ranji stood ready to dive behind the protective

skid again if the muzzle of the weapon rose any higher. “I won’t deny that we

can do . . . certain things. That doesn’t make us any less an ally of the

Massood. Are you so sure that we’re dangerous to you? Are you completely

convinced? Think, Gunecvod! We could be the critical link in the ultimate

destruction of the Amplitur. In saving your own people from the Pur­pose. Don’t

throw that chance away. Who are you to make a decision of that scope?”

“Who am I?” Gunecvod blinked as he attempted to focus painful consideration on

the suddenly confusing sub­ject. “I am … I am .. .”

It was true. He was only a simple soldier. Not a S’van, not a Turlog. An

ordinary warrior of unspectacular lin­eage.

Was that movement behind him? He whirled, searching wildly for bulging eyes on

weaving stalks, for a large, soft body armed with questing tentacles and

irresistible thoughts. Alone; he was so alone. With his wavering de­termination,

with his cataclysmic thoughts.

The Human female lay nearby, half-paralyzed by his weapon. He took a wavering

step toward her. “I … I am sorry. I do not understand, I didn’t …”

She looked up at him, anxiety and compassion colliding in her expression. “I

understand. You didn’t know what you were doing. It’s all right.” She looked

sharply to her left. “There is an Amplitur here.”

Suddenly he was very calm. He knew, with the clarity of perfect certainty,

exactly what it was he had to do. He raised the muzzle of his rifle. Behind him,

a reluctant Ranji drew his sidearm and aimed.

As Cossinza screamed good soldier Gunecvod gripped the muzzle of his weapon in

his teeth and, as a warm and welcoming peace took possession of him, thumbed the

trigger.

She was still staring at the smoking body when Ranji knelt beside her. ‘ ‘I

didn’t mean for him to do that. I didn’t mean for that to happen. When I reached

out to him I was just trying to make him feel better, to ease the pain that was

tormenting him and making him act this way.”

He helped her find a place to sit up. “Meanwhile I was pushing him to withdraw

and the Amplitur was pushing him to shoot, and in the midst of all that you hit

him with a double dose of sympathy and understanding, the one thing he wasn’t

expecting and didn’t know how to handle. The contradiction between what he

started out to do and what he was feeling from you was too much for him. He

couldn’t take it anymore.” He glanced in the corpse’s di­rection.

‘ ‘I guess he was tired of arguing with himself, of trying to decide which were

his thoughts and which were being imposed from outside. So he resolved it the

easy way. Damn. This wasn’t what I wanted.” He rose to survey their

surroundings.

“You need medical attention. This far out in front I’d rather not use a

communicator. Might be picked up and targeted by the other side.” He eyed her

speculatively. “I could carry you.”

She shook her head. “Fighting’s moved deeper into the mountain. Hand me my

rifle.” He did so and she cradled it in her lap. “You can find help a lot faster

without me. I’ll be all right here.”

“Sure?”

She managed a wan smile. “Just don’t stop for a sand­wich on the way back.”

He nodded, turned, and started off toward what he hoped was the center of the

advancing Weave force.

Chapter Twentyfour

Twenty strides and several thoughts later he rounded a corner . . . and there it

was. A glistening, glutinous shape resembling a shift loader encased in amber.

One eyestalk and one quadruple-digited tentacle swung lazily toward him. Horny

mouthparts clacked rhythmically while irides­cent blobs of color pulsed and

contracted within the smooth epidermis, chromatic indicators of their

progeni­tor’s emotional state.

Once it had been an object of respect; indeed, venera­tion. A Teacher. Now it

was as alien to him as a living creature could be. In place of the visceral

hatred that ve­neered his spirit old memories, old teachings, old admi­ration

threatened to overwhelm him.

He blinked, smiling to himself. Cold realization burst the narcotizing bubble of

nostalgia.

You move fast, he thought, but that won’t work on me. Not now. Not anymore. I’m

ready for you. My whole life has been spent preparing for this.

Having identified Ranji as one of those unsettling mod­ified Cossuutian Humans

capable of pushing, the Amplitur followed its reflexive defensive reaction with

more subtle suggestions. Why did Ranji fight so hard to deny his her­itage? Why

not allow the pain to be banished? Follow and return. Abandon this foolishness,

the confusion that was tormenting him. Return to the peace of the Purpose. The

harmonizing, calming, reassuring tranquillity of the Pur­pose.

Ranji felt as if someone were trying to stuff his head full of thick, cottony

insulation, to muffle not only sound but thought. He swayed slightly but held

his ground, nei­ther advancing nor retreating. Cossinza needed medical

at­tention. A moment ago that single thought had commanded his actions. Now it

was fusing with a pastel mental bubble as inconclusive as a drunken sunset, its

importance muted by unanticipated indecision. He felt he would need all the

concentration he could muster, every iota of energy, sim­ply to move his limbs

of his own volition.

How had this happened, Sigh-moving-Fast wondered? Where had the great experiment

failed, and whence this extraordinary and utterly unexpected biological

develop­ment? Of one thing there was certainty: this remarkable individual had

to be obtained for study, alive and intact. Alongside that the taking of

Ulaluable faded into insignif­icance.

The Human appeared poised to flee. While simultane­ously reaching, pushing,

cajoling with its mind, the Amplitur spoke aloud, utilizing the translator

positioned beneath its mouthparts. Anything to hold the biped within range.

“Stop! I know what you are, Human. You must come with me.”

A hesitant Ranji slowly shook his head, a gesture the Amplitur sadly recognized

as Human and not Ashregan. “My companion is injured and needs help.”

“Come with me,” said the Amplitur soothingly. “Med­ical assistance will be

provided, wellness guaranteed.”

“The kind of wellness you brought to the real world of my birth? No thanks.” He

was smiling now. Aware of what the Amplitur was trying to do, he was able to

resist, brush it aside, fight it off. “You can’t do anything to me or mine

anymore. Your experiment is a failure. We’re go­ing to beat you, you know. Maybe

not in my lifetime, maybe not in my children’s, but the end is inevitable.”

“All that is inevitable is the triumph of the Purpose.” The Amplitur sounded

tired. “Do you not realize that when they learn of your capabilities your own

allies will annihilate you? Just as the single Massood intended?”

“This is all still new to us and we were lazy. That’s what made the soldier

suspect. It won’t happen again. We’ll be careful.”

“Be careful as you will; such power cannot be con­cealed forever. I implore you:

share what you have be­come, share your great and accidental gift, with those

who best understand its import. We can teach you, show you how properly to make

use of it. You and your kind can still be part of the Purpose. A vital part.”

“No thanks. I don’t want to be a part of anything any­more, except Humanity and

eventually a family. Keep your damned Purpose. I prefer independence. I prefer

Human­ity. I prefer me.”

“That is unfortunate. You and those like you are dan­gerous. You must be

studied, appropriately supervised, and if that is not possible, contained.”

“Sorry. Some of us are out of the cage you built for us, and we’re not going

back in. You can’t stop me. If you could I’d be following you meekly back to

your lines right now.”

“You are wrong.” The Amplitur reached into the pouch that was slung between its

head and forelegs and extracted a small angular plastic shape. Ranji couldn’t

keep himself from staring.

“What is an Amplitur, the self-proclaimed epitome of higher civilization, doing

with a gun”

“I am not sure. This is quite an anomaly, is it not? But the gun is real. It

feels real to me. If I am compelled to use it the effects will be real to you.

So you see, you are after all my prisoner.”

“You won’t use that on me,” Ranji observed firmly. “You’re not capable of it.”

The Amplitur pointed the pistol at a stack of small ob­long crates and fired.

The crates exploded.

“You know that my eyesight is excellent. It is equal to my resolve. You will

come with me voluntarily or if need be I will destroy your limbs and drag you.”

“This is very un-Teacherlike behavior,” Ranji com­mented, trying to determine

his next move.

“These are very unusual circumstances. Extensive mental discipline and training

allows me to temporarily subvert those natural inhibitions which would paralyze

a Hivistahrn or T’returian caught in a similar situation. Externally I realize

that my actions verge on the unstable, yet through the Pur­pose I am able to

overcome this. Presently I am functioning within a self-induced psychosis.

“The actual methodology of the cerebroethical gym­nastics required to accomplish

this remarkable feat need not concern you. Concentrate instead on the weapon and

the danger to your person, and respond appropriately to my instructions.”

Ranji eyed the gun, thinking hard. “I’m not going any­where without Cossinza.”

“By the Wellness, bring her. I calculate that you pos­sess the necessary

physical attributes and the distance is not far. I promise you that she will

receive immediate and expert medical attention.”

Could he make it to cover? How much of the Amplitur’s threat was backed by

resolve and how much was bluff? Judging from the brief demonstration, the tiny

gun was powerful enough to blow his legs off at the knees. Of course, the

Amplitur could regenerate them later, but that didn’t make the prospect any less

pleasant.

In any civilized being thought must precede action. The homily was nonetheless

applicable for all that it was Teacher training. Ranji put up his hands.

“All right. I’ll go with you. Anything to help Cos­sinza. “

“Now that,” said the Amplitur as it gestured with the gun-wielding tentacle, “is

a sensible response.”

Ranji approached the Teacher. “Have any of you ever remarked on the cyclical

nature of your reasoning? ‘The Purpose is everything, so anything can

be used to justify the Purpose.’ “

“Humankind is a young race, and therefore prone to oversimplification. But I

have great confidence. With proper education you will mature.”

“What you call education I’ve learned through bitter revelation is something

else. You utilize the same tortured logic to cripple semantics as you do

independent thought.”

“Both of you, freeze!”

Eyes on stalks and eyes in sockets looked leftward. A single Human soldier stood

behind a loading ramp, his heavy cassion rifle trained in their direction. He

was male, young, confused, and scared. The bad combination froze Ranji

immediately.

The heavily armed youth was staring wide-eyed through his visor at the Amplitur.

“I heard about the squids. I studied ’em. But I swear to Gaea I never thought

I’d see one in person.”

A field soldier’s thought processes are necessarily straightforward. To him the

relative positions and spatial relationships of gun, tentacle, and hands were

all the ex­planation the tableaux before him required. He addressed Ranji

without taking his eyes off the Amplitur.

“Are you all right, sir?”

Ranji turned slowly. “No problem.”

“You there, thing. You’re my prisoner. Put down your weapon.” His finger was

taut on the rifle’s trigger, the muzzle focused unswervingly between the two

eyestalks.

Sigh-moving-Fast hesitated, trying to apportion atten­tion between the mature

Human and the young warrior. Two subtentacular digits tensed on the firing

mechanism of the angular pistol.

Ranji saw. Too far to jump. His stomach contracted to a small, hard ball.

“You’re just in time, Tourmast,” he said quickly. “It knows all about us.”

Instantly the Amplitur’s mental focus shifted fully from the prisoner to the

newcomer, hoping to mute hostile thoughts and induce the Restoree to lay his

rifle aside. If necessary it would try to push first one, then the other. At

worst, if the soldier started to fire then Sigh-moving-Fast could still react

rapidly enough to kill one if not both of them. A forceful probe impinged on the

soldier’s mind.

It brought forth a cataclysmic shriek of raw, uncon­trolled energy, a

concentrated eruption of fear, horror, loathing, and primitive primate hatred.

The Amplitur shook violently. All four legs gave way simultaneously and it

collapsed, managing to get off a single shot before blacking out. The pistol’s

explosive shell blew a hole in the staging chamber’s distant ceiling.

Startled, the soldier had also fired once, missing badly. Now he leaned up

against a fuel cell of Segunian design, his rifle dangling from one hand as he

flipped up his armor visor with one hand and pressed against his forehead with

the other. Sweat poured through his fingers.

Ranji had thrown himself to the floor. After checking to make sure he hadn’t

been hit, he rose and approached the flaccid body of the Teacher. Limp, rubbery

tentacle-tips yielded control of the handgun.

Walking up to the fuel cell, he put a comforting arm around the younger man’s

shoulders.

“Shit.” The soldier shakily set his rifle aside and cra­dled his head in both

hands.

“Bad?” Ranji inquired solicitously.

“Going away now.” The younger man took several measured deep breaths. “I heard

about that, too.” He nodded in the Amplitur’s direction. ‘ ‘Not going anywhere

soon, is it?”

“Not for a while, no.”

“Good.” He shuddered slightly at the memory of it. The sensation was slipping

away like foam on a befouled tide. “Creepy, when it tries to get inside your

mind like that. Feels . . . unclean. Like the most embarrassing thing that’s

ever happened to you blown up a thousand times bigger for everyone to see.

Didn’t it know something like this would happen if it tried that?”

Ranji regarded the slack, comatose form. “It thought you were something else.”

The soldier’s gaze narrowed. “Something else? And who’s this Tourmast

character?”

“Someone else. Why don’t you take charge of our pris­oner here?”

“What, me?”

“Amplitur prisoners are pretty rare. You’ll probably get a promotion out of it,

maybe even a commendation.” Ranji looked past him. “Where’s the rest of your

unit? I’ve got an injured colleague and I’d rather .not use a com­municator to

call for help this near to enemy hostiles.”

“They should be over that way, sir.” The soldier ad­justed the communicator

built into his visor. “Enemy’s been pushed back pretty far. I think we’re safe

in calling in.”

Ranji considered, then nodded. “I’ll rely on your judg­ment. I’ll go tell my

friend help is on its way. We’re back over here.” He pointed, and the younger

man indicated his understanding.

Lying immobile on its side, the Amplitur didn’t look very frightening, the

trooper reflected as he studied his prisoner. Soft and slow. One bulging, golden

eye gazed vacantly in his direction. It was about the ugliest thing he’d ever

seen, and since he’d joined up with the Human battleforce that was aiding the

Weave he’d encountered some remarkably ugly things. Ashregan, Crigolit, Molitar,

Acuria, Massood and Hivistahm, Wais and Lepar. Ally or enemy, it didn’t much

matter. Each was a greater paragon of ugliness than the next, and he wasn’t

especially enam­ored of the facial features of some of his drinking buddies,

either.

He shifted his rifle to a more comfortable position, pleased that like the rest

of his friends back home he’d chosen to take part in the great conflict. What

more could a man want out of life than the opportunity to eliminate some of the

ugliness from the universe?

The Amplitur sensed that its paralysis would fade, but until then it would have

to suffer the feral attention of the biped as well as a certain amount of

physical discomfort. Unable to move more than a few extremities,

Sigh-moving-Fast shifted one eye to track the departure of the Human Restoree.

There was no help to be had, no other brethren within range. It had taken but a

moment for its personal status to change from that of captor to captive.

Tricked, and cleverly so. The Restoree had seen and seized a chance to make use

of Sigh-moving-Fast’s unfamiliarity with combat conditions. But in his haste to

aid and comfort an injured companion the Human had forgotten one thing. Secrets

could still be divulged, confusion spread, discord sowed.

“Listen to me.” The translator croaked enticingly. “That man is no longer wholly

Human. He has been changed. He is now more like me than you.”

“Yeah, right.” The soldier’s expression was pensive.

“This is true! He has been modified. First by my kind, subsequently by something

else. He can influence minds; he can push, just as can I. He is dangerous.”

“You’re telling me. All of us Human folk’re dangerous, squid. As you’re finding

out. You know, I picked up a lot about your species in studies, but they never

told me you had a sense of humor.”

“You must believe me!” The primitive biped’s indiffer­ence to logic was

infuriating. “If you have studied my kind, then you know we are incapable of

prevarication.”

“Unless that’s a lie, too. Our specialists don’t com­pletely trust everything

the Weave tells ’em. One thing they’re far from sure about is you. Don’t know

enough about you yet to be sure of anything. So they’re withhold­ing judgment.”

He gestured with the tip of the cassion rifle. “So am I. If you want to turn me

against one of my own kind, you’re gonna have to dream up something a lot less

silly than that.”

Sigh-moving-Fast raged impotently, but try as he might, he was unable to give

the Restorees’ secret away. The Weave strike force took the headquarters

complex, capturing or killing all but a few of its inhabitants. Human and then

Hivistahm physicians dealt efficiently with Cos-sinza’s injury. With the aid of

an implanted neuromuscular stimulator, she was up and walking within a few days.

He’d always been able to talk to Saguio, Ranji knew, but this was different. It

was wonderful to finally have someone to share with, in matters of intimacy as

well as friendship. Cossinza did more than merely listen. She un­derstood. Heida

Trondheim had been sympathetic, but no more. What existed now between him and

Cossinza went much deeper. He felt fulfilled.

With time now to relax a little and contemplate things besides combat, other

Restorees were also pairing off, de­veloping liaisons, getting to know one

another. The spe­cial characteristic they shared made it natural as well as

necessary.

Their secret remained inviolate. The one Amplitur who had learned the truth had

made a desperate break for free­dom while being escorted from the captured

staging cham­ber to a waiting sled, only to be shot down by impulsive Human

guards before the officer in charge could intervene. It perished ranting,

spouting mental and verbal gibberish about unsuspected threats to the stability

of civilization. The exact nature of its dying diatribe went unreported, as no

recorders happened to be operating in the vicinity at the time.

Wherever they were sent, the Restorees would have to stay in contact with one

another, Ranji knew. To report any changes or permutations in the Talent, as

they had come to call it; to provide support and understanding for one another;

to better assist other deceived and debased Cossuutians in regaining their

stolen birthrights, and so they could, if and when necessary, act in concert.

It was good to be Human and have Human friends, he knew. Assuming he and his

fellow Restorees were Human, and would not become something else. Actual

determination of that was going to take time. He was certain they had much to

learn.

For example, had the severed neural connections be­tween the Amplitur nexus and

the rest of his brain ceased growing? That was but one of many things that would

have to be watched.

/ am mine own experiment, he thought. As such he intended to monitor its

progress very carefully.

Their plan and intentions exposed, the Amplitur aban­doned the great project on

Cossuut. Their modified fight­ers could no longer be trusted in battle, not when

every opponent knew and could reveal to them the truth of their origins. Many

died natural deaths on that unhappy world, until the end believing themselves to

be Ashregan. Others perished in battle. The fortunate ones were captured.

As was only natural, following the requisite surgery the newly Restored were

assigned for repatriation to a reedu­cation group composed of fellow Restorees.

After participation in many battles, Ranji and Cossinza and those of their

friends who had survived multitudinous conflict were retired with full honors,

the grateful sym­pathy of the Weave, and the melancholy compassion of their

kind. The name of their true devastated homeworld became yet another in a long

line of rallying cries and watchwords by which the soldiers of the Weave fought.

In due time offspring were born to those who had sur­vived the ministrations of

the Amplitur. They appeared in every way to be normal, healthy children.

Their parents monitored their maturation with the ut­most care.

*******************************************************

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Born in New York City in 1946, Alan Dean Foster was raised in Los Angeles,

California. After receiving a bachelor’s de­gree in political science and a

Master of Fine Arts in motion pictures from UCLA in 1968‑69, he worked for two

years as a public relations copywriter in a small Studio City, Cal­ifornia,

firm.

His writing career began in 1968 when August Derleth bought a long letter of

Foster’s and published it as a short story in his biannual Arkham Collector

Magazine. Sales of short fiction to other magazines followed. His first try at a

novel, The Tar‑Aiym Krang, was published by Ballantine Books in 1972.

Foster has toured extensively through Asia and the isles of the Pacific. Besides

traveling, he enjoys classical and rock music, old films, basketball, body

surfing, and karate. He has taught screenwriting, literature, and film history

at UCLA and Los Angeles City College.

Currently, he resides in Arizona with his wife, JoAnn (who is reputed to have

the only extant recipe for Barbarian Cream Pie).