The Damned Trilogy: A Call to Arms, The False Mirror, and The Spoils of War

Alan Dean Foster

A Calls to Arms

For Robert and Melody Bryan:

May all your cats purr, And carry you wherever you wish to go. I

One-who-Decides lay back on the sickle and relaxed, the curved command lounge suspended high above the floor at the end of its powerful, flexible armature. At a touch it would drift higher or lower, left or right so that the Amplitur could inspect, interview, check on, or give advice to those under its command. It could do the same by means of the communications hook clamped snugly across its head, but it believed strongly in the personal touch. It lay comfortably on the supportive cushion, straddling it with four short, stumpy legs. This arrangement allowed free movement of the two tentacles that protruded from either side of the head. Each ended in four manipulating digits that rippled and flexed lazily as though conducting an unseen orchestra in a silent waltz. The globular gold-flecked eyes scanned the vast chamber, the slitted pupils expanding and contracting as they focused on specific sectors, seeking positions where efficiency could be improved. When making such suggestions One-who-Decides spoke always encouragingly, never with the brusqueness that characterized other races. The Amplitur had never been harsh. Once, they had been hesitant, but that was all before the Purpose. Before maturity. Hard to believe there had been a time before the Purpose. One-who-Decides knew it was so because of history. The very idea was alien, an unbelievable fragment of another time and universe. It was realization of the Purpose that had matured and forever altered the Amplitur. Now it was changing the galaxy. Prior to realizing the Purpose, the Amplitur had been content to refine their modest civilization: excelling at certain arts, mastering intricacies peculiar to their species, wishing only to be left in peace to develop at their own pace, desiring only to be themselves. Then had come realization of the Purpose. One-who-Decides gently nudged a control and the sickle swung left and down toward Navigation. How could the Amplitur have existed prior to the Purpose?

Baffling!

Early evolution had been entirely instinct-driven. Amplitur lying quietly in the warm waters of the homeworld, barely able to hunch about on muddy shorelines on as yet undeveloped legs as their sensitive tentacles probed the mud for crustaceans and edible bivalves. Amplitur in which intelligence was still a flickering spark, reproducing through mindless budding, creating offshoots of themselves as they converted vegetable matter and animal protein into energy by means of clever intestines and horny mouthparts. That much it could comprehend. What was difficult to imagine was the Amplitur civilization that had existed prior to the Purpose. It was there for any to examine: in the histories, in the ruins and records of past triumphs, in the steady march of the unique Amplitur technology. All meant nothing: technology, art, even life itself was meaningless without the Purpose to give form and substance. Merely pondering it was enough to bestow strength and confidence on the uncertain. One-who-Decides was honored to be an Amplitur in its service. Crew and ship hummed softly beneath the hovering sickle and its questing passenger. Technicians chatted in their multitudinous languages, exchanging gestures and humor. The latter was a concept the Amplitur struggled hard to understand. That they could comprehend that which they did not themselves possess was a tribute to their perseverance. Not that it mattered. What mattered was that they all served the Purpose. It was the hallmark of civilization. Of course, there had been one or two species blind to the Purpose. History told of them as remorselessly as it spoke of advancement. Races who could not be convinced or biologically altered or otherwise persuaded of the truth. The relentlessly hostile and unremittingly insane. Nothing for them but the most reluctant elimination lest they stall the expansion of truth. This the Amplitur regretted most of all. Not so much because they found the obliteration of an entire species inherently wrong, but because once gone a people could never be integrated into the Purpose. It was a step they had been forced to take only twice in thousands of years. Memory of those isolated catastrophes served to prod the Amplitur and their allies to ever greater efforts. One-who-Decides was determined that it would never preside over such a failure. Those ancient Deciders had done what was necessary, but the stigma of failure still clung to their bud-lines. The Amplitur had come far since those times. Many new peoples had joined with them to advance the Purpose, and general knowledge and science had expanded accordingly. Other races contributed mightily to expansion, providing new ways of thinking, new approaches to old problems, each adding its own special abilities to the service of the Purpose. In this the Amplitur viewed themselves as no better than any other race. All were equal beneath the Purpose. As its discoverers, however, they knew that certain responsibilities accrued to them. These they had not sought and would gladly have surrendered, if a new species capable of assuming the burden had appeared. In the absence of such, the Amplitur continued to serve. Someone had to make decisions, One-who-Decides knew. Other peoples contributed in different ways. The Crigolit were fine soldiers who bore the brunt of fighting when that could not be avoided. The Segunians were skillful manufacturers. Multitudes of active T’returi fed many more peoples than themselves. The Molitar, physiologically similar to the Amplitur, supplied brute force and an overawing appearance whenever that was deemed useful. Sometimes an impressive demonstration was enough to convince the recalcitrant to alter their ways. It was also cost-effective. Combat was wasteful and time-consuming. A life lost in battle was a mind lost to the Purpose. No reason for such solemnity, One-who-Decides thought. All was going well. Not long ago another intelligence had been brought into the Purpose. Physically powerful but technologically primitive, the Ashregan had resisted only briefly in the face of a technology so far in advance of theirs that they could barely begin to comprehend it. When contacted they were less developed than the Crigolit, more so than the Molitar, and as helpful as any. Unlike some other peoples, they had wisely chosen not to fight when fighting would have been futile. They had demonstrated unexpected maturity by immediately opening themselves to the beauty and wonder of the Purpose. That was the inevitable decision of any truly civilized people, One-who-Decides knew as the sickle swung from Navigation toward Internal Engineering. Seeing their commander approach, the staff at that position busied themselves. Their reaction pleased it. The Commander could not have smiled had it wished to, for its mouthparts were not well designed for expression. Light flashed off its mottled orange skin, the gold and silver streaks which identified individual Amplitur highlighting its torso and head. The entire wall opposite Engineering was transparent: a concession to aesthetics. Screens and long-range detectors were much more useful for locating objects outside the vessel. The transparency was a testament to Amplitur-allied manufacturing techniques. Within certain physical limits they had achieved perfection, of which the wall was one demonstration. One-who-Decides studied the streaking stars, the staff responsible for safely convoying a craft full of living organisms between them, and abruptly nudged a control. The sickle shot upward. Many Amplitur were afraid of heights, but not One-who-Decides. It was a thing which could be conquered. One responsible for the safety of many ships could not be dominated by psychological weakness. It had been driven out through introspection and sheer determination, the kind of determination which had raised One-who-Decides to commander. Modest gratification for much hard work. It was only a matter of having confidence in the supportive technology, in the padded sickle and the woven fiber armature and the motors that enabled it to move freely above the command center. Not everyone could do it, One-who-Decides knew. Slitted eyes regarded the efficient bustle below the hovering perch. A dozen different races worked side by side in the Command room while others executed vital functions elsewhere on the ship. None felt superior to its neighbor. Tiny Acaria assisted massive Molitar. Spindly Segunians made way graciously for fluid Ashregan. All were united by the Purpose. All save perhaps a few degenerate individuals, for there were individual exceptions in every species. The crew was a tight unit, their thoughts and actions devoted to a single end. That was all the Purpose was. An end. There was nothing exotic about it, nothing even a simpleminded Vandir could fail to understand. The Purpose was integration: utter and complete physical, cultural, and mental integration. When a race reached a certain level of technological and sociological sophistication, it either self-destructed or began a long slide leading to complete cultural degeneration. Voices of promise that might have contributed to a great multiracial civilization vanished in mindless orgies of barbaric self-indulgence or atomic immolation. They were forever lost to the Purpose. When that happened the Amplitur sorrowed, and their allies in the Purpose sorrowed with them. On such occasions something distinct and unique went out of the cosmos, never to be shared or enjoyed by others. Once, the Amplitur had actually intervened in a desperate attempt to save a psychotic race from itself, so great was its promise. Such had been the fury, the blind hopelessness, and the depth of self-loathing to which that people had sunk that not even the Amplitur with their peculiar abilities had been able to forestall the cataclysm. In spite of all that could be done, the species perished, destroying itself utterly and rendering its exquisite planet uninhabitable. One-who-Decides raised the front part of its body, aware that the eight tips of its tentacles had been clenched almost painfully during its thoughts. This was an improper time for such musings. There was work of Purpose to be done. Sometimes logic and reason were not enough. On such occasions it was necessary to employ primitive but graphic methods to demonstrate new realities to the unenlightened. The Amplitur always regretted this, but not as much as they would have regretted abandoning an intelligent race to the inevitability of self-destruction. As a people, the Amplitur had dedicated their very existence to the prevention of such disasters. As long as they had the will and the strength to help, no species would fail to realize its full potential. For this sacrifice the Amplitur did not expect even gratitude. Their sole reward lay in the knowledge that by their work they were furthering the Purpose. Merely to be Amplitur meant to be ready to sacrifice oneself. From time to time members of other races and even the occasional Amplitur would question it all. What was the Purpose?

What might be its end?

With unfailing logic it was pointed out that the Purpose was the end unto itself. When the work was done, when all had been unified, something greater would manifest itself. For now it was enough to do the work, secure in the knowledge that it was the right work to do. Reason was a wonderful thing, One-who-Decides knew. But when would an end be made to it all?

When every intelligent being in the galaxy had been integrated into the service of the Purpose, it was declared with the certitude of obviousness. And, if Amplitur science eventually succeeded in finding a way of crossing the intergalactic gulfs, when any intelligences there had also been brought into the Purpose. One-who-Decides could not concern itself overmuch with such weighty matters. There were decisions of much more immediate import to make. Everything that happened aboard ship eventually devolved upon the Commander. It was a responsibility to be accepted with honor. The heavy body shifted irritably on the cushion. Soon would come the time of reproduction, which could not be allowed until the present effort on behalf of the Purpose had been satisfactorily concluded. Once there had been a time when such biological functions had been dictated by simple hormonal balances. Only in the time of civilization had the Amplitur learned how to adjust their body’s endocrine system … and those of others. One-who-Decides could not allow decision-making ability to be impaired by the exigencies of reproduction. A tentacle tip made a note to report for testing. If necessary, a pill could be taken. Golden eyes studied the vast arc of the transparent wall, pondering the expanse of space outside the ship. Much beauty was to be found in the cascade of stars and worlds, in the iridescent wash of nebulae so like the changing gold and silver patterns that highlighted Amplitur skin. Underspace shifting diffused the shapes beyond, reducing great suns to ethereal blurs of color which only added to their loveliness. Only in the full light of the Purpose could such magnificence be truly appreciated. One-who-Decides did not have eyes capable of making sense of what they saw. Only advanced instrumentation could do that. With a gentle exhalation the Commander turned back to the sickle’s control panel. This expedition was to be regretted. The majority of new races readily accepted the logic of the Purpose and embraced it fully upon first encounter with Amplitur envoys. Sometimes the Amplitur’s presence was not even required and allied peoples could make the presentation themselves, for the delight of the newly persuaded often exceeded that of their instructors. There were even instances when the enthusiasm of allied races had to be restrained lest they give the wrong impression to those very people they were trying to convince. Yet there remained those times when reason and logic were not enough. On such occasions a display of the nobility of Purpose was usually sufficient to convert the recalcitrant. A small force of, say, thirty warships suddenly materializing from Underspace in orbit around an indecisive world was often enough to persuade the locals to take the requisite next step up the ladder of galactic civilization so that they, too, might bask in its glory. Only rarely had it been necessary to use actual force. Like now. Such work the Amplitur found emotionally draining, but they could not in good conscience delegate it wholly to their friends. Their destiny compelled them to participate in such action against their own wishes. The power arm hummed in response to a command and the sickle plunged its passenger floorward, until it hung a short distance above the highly reflective surface. A passing Ashregan officer blinked and turned in response to the gentle mental touch from One-who-Decides. “Ship status, engineer?” One-who-Decides was not ignorant of the condition of the vessel, but it would not do for its subordinates to think that their commander spent all its time high above the floor, dreaming upon the sickle. The Ashregan responded. An efficient species, physically strong but not particularly intelligent or imaginative. One-who-Decides thought of them as catchalls, as nonspecialists who could be relied upon to do a little of everything efficiently but nothing especially well. They made good supervisors, good integrators. The Commander listened to the report and accepted the slight bow which passed for a sign of respect among the Ashregan peoples before dismissing the officer with a slight mental push that was simultaneously reassuring and rewarding. The ability to do that was the other thing which distinguished the Amplitur from all other intelligences. Even from the Korath, who for sheer intellectual capacity exceeded their Amplitur mentors. Only the Amplitur possessed projective minds. Only they could convey through thinking alone their wishes, desires, and the pure beauty of the Purpose. All other races were receivers, sensitive to varying degree to Amplitur projections. Those who were naturally deficient could be biologically altered to make them more receptive, and their newfound receptivity passed on to succeeding generations. The Amplitur were deft bioengineers, and the altered races did not object to the procedure. Why should they, when it strengthened their bonds within the Purpose?

Furthermore, the Amplitur could only project. They could not truly “read” the minds of their allies. There was no question of invasion of privacy, a basic need which the Amplitur themselves understood. Talented though they were, the Amplitur had yet to find a way to alter the mind of another being to make it projective. The burden of projection therefore remained heavily and solely their province. Perhaps that was why the Amplitur had been the race chosen to reveal the Purpose to an ignorant universe, thought One-who-Decides. Other peoples had been given strong legs and muscles to drive them. The invertebrate Amplitur had been compensated for their physical deficiencies with the ability to project. Thanks to their peculiar ability, feelings and actions could be communicated among peoples of antagonistic evolutionary backgrounds, with the Amplitur acting as relays for the demands of the Purpose. There was no loneliness within the Purpose. All worked together to advance it. Perhaps in time another species would achieve projection, or Amplitur scientists would devise a way to modify another mind to project as well as receive. That would be a grand day for all. And presently one entirely hypothetical, mused One-who-Decides. Enough to be content with the ample work still to be done. It might not be necessary to use weapons. The Amplitur could project much besides orders and good feelings. Uncertainty, discomfort, and as a last resort and then only to advance the Purpose, pain. If applied selectively to ruling members of a hesitant species, this was sometimes enough to mute their resistance. When it was not, an individual or two might perish. That was still preferable to an armed assault on the surface of an inhabited world. That was not going to happen here, One-who-Decides thought firmly. War was the last resort of the incompetent. The proper thing to do was not to place oneself in a position where such an outrage was required. The very thought of it sent a subcutaneous ripple down the mottled torso. Sometimes the Commander wondered what it would be like to have a skeleton instead of a flexible internal webwork of ligaments and tendons. Bones were an evolutionary throwback, of course, restrictive and confining. They compelled the species to concentrate on physical development to the concurrent neglect of the mind. All the higher intelligences were invertebrates, with only a few exceptions, like the Ashregan and Crigolit. Amplitur bioengineers had managed to free individual Ashregan from their skeletons. But the results, while functional, were considered aesthetically unpleasing to the species involved. So there was very little work done in that area anymore. The Ashregan and their biological relations were doomed to haul their calcified innards around with them to the end of time. Still, they were accepted as equals within the Purpose, even if the biologists did tend to regard them as evolutionary freaks. They were to be admired, thought One-who-Decides, for having developed intelligence in spite of such a handicap. That was the true beauty of the Purpose, that it excluded no one. An Ashregan could stand side by side with a Molitar, while an Amplitur mediated between them. That was what really mattered, the Commander knew. The meeting of minds, the unity of understanding and Purpose. That was what bound together such a diverse assemblage of peoples. Not insignificances like physical differentiation. The work ahead filled One-who-Decides with trepidation as worst-case scenarios were anticipated. Nevertheless, it would be pursued with vigor and dedication in the knowledge that the end result would be an important expansion of the Purpose and the greater mystery for which it stood. Just because they were fighting the Sspari did not mean the commander had to like it, even though it was the work for which it had been trained. Fighting was a disagreeable business, smelling strongly of uncivilization, as did the need to maintain enormous stocks of war material and the fleets to transport it. One could not even take joy in victory, since achieving it would require the death of large numbers of the enemy … all intelligent minds lost to the Purpose. The only satisfaction lay in knowing that the surviving Sspari would be fully integrated into the delights of the Purpose. And because those Sspari who would perish would never know that pleasure, One-who-Decides regretted their forthcoming deaths even more than those that might occur among its own kind. There seemed no other way. All avenues of persuasion had been tried. Though a diminutive and physically unimposing race, the Sspari were possessed of a stubbornness and inability to see reason out of all proportion to their size. All of which meant nothing, One-who-Decides knew. It was intelligence which mattered. That the Sspari had, though not to any great or remarkable degree. Enough, however, to warrant their inclusion in the Purpose, as soon as they could be taught not to resist their own destiny. Even the traditional show of force had failed to convince, serving only to warn them of what was to come and allowing them time to prepare. The Amplitur knew that might be the result, but they tried it anyway. The peoples of the Purpose did not attack without first trying persuasion. They were integrators, not conquerors. Next had come the traditional attempt at subverting the government, through innuendo and bribery carried out by allies who physically resembled the Sspari. The morality of such methods was often questioned, but the Amplitur would do anything to avoid war, that obscene offense against reason. Unfortunately, the government of the Sspari had not fallen. The resultant conflict had raged for years, with the Sspari occasionally making advances. Though they fought with a tenacity which was as determined as it was foolish, the overwhelming strength and diversity of the Peoples was slowly pushing them back to their homeworld. When the Amplitur gained ground, they rarely surrendered it back no matter what the cost, while the Sspari could be induced to make orderly retreats. How could they stand against the peoples, who fought from a position of moral as well as physical and intellectual strength?

Racial or planetary sovereignty counted for nothing when ranged against the Purpose. Furthermore, the Amplitur possessed the patience of the ages, and the confidence that victory was inevitable. The only variable was time. One-who-Decides did not understand how the Sspari could fail to see this. Could they not see that full integration was inevitable?

That was the destiny of all intelligences, save those two whose extermination had been regretfully required. That would not happen to the Sspari, the Commander vowed. And when the war was over, only a minimum of genetic reengineering would be necessary to insure their eternal happiness. It was terrible, though, that intelligent beings on both sides had to die to bring that about. The instrument arc that clung to the Commander’s forebody above the eyes provided a steady flow of information about the ongoing battle. Had the flagship been positioned a few more planetary diameters in, it might have been possible to see the small flashes of light which signified the presence of warships dropping troop shuttles to the surface of the Sspari homeworld. Ships of the Purpose would phase out of normal space to be confronted by the Sspari defense forces, there would follow a brief exchange of immensely powerful weaponry, and then one ship or the other would retreat back into Underspace. The idea of combat in Underspace, at supralight speeds, was naturally absurd. You could hardly do battle when your presumed target outpaced both weapons and tracking devices. So combat took place in orbit around contested worlds, when ships materialized back into real space. If damaged, one could retreat back into Underspace and safety, so long as there was power to do so. Such encounters were a matter of guesswork and seconds. Real combat took place on the ground, where heavy weapons could not be used lest they fatally damage the very environment an attacker was seeking to control. The trick was to remain safely in real space long enough to land or reinforce troops. It was this that the Sspari were striving so strenuously to prevent. Let the attacking ground forces gain control of the Sspari centers of communication and technology, and there would no longer be reason to fight. The Amplitur had found they could leave the business of policing any postcataclysm fanatics to the local people themselves, once their allegiance to the Purpose had been secured. One had to admit that for such an unprepossessing folk, the Sspari had fought long and hard. All for nothing. The fleet of the Peoples had reached the Sspari home system. The Sspari had tried to stop them near an impressive three-ringed gas giant, where the fleet had phased out of Underspace. Now they had been pushed back to their homeworld. The Commander observed it through the towering transparent wall. A lovely world, all brown and green. Soon the command staff would be able to view it in person. One-who-Decides was honored to direct this final assault force. Mottled orange hide rippled fluidly. It was always an emotional moment when a new species was brought to the Purpose. At first there would be sadness among the Sspari for those who had perished. But the Amplitur were the kindliest of victors. They required no reparations, desired no vengeance. They wished only that which they had sought from the beginning of the unfortunate conflict: understanding. Peace would be struck, whereupon the Sspari would find themselves living exactly as they had prior to the war, with the exception that instead of wasting their time striving for individual racial achievement they would now be contributing to the much vaster and more satisfying ends of the Purpose. This often produced an outburst of rage among the population, when they realized that their leaders had led them into battle and sacrifice for nothing. The Amplitur and their allies would do their best to prevent such a bloodbath from occurring. For now, though, there was a final battle to be won. The information arriving from the ships darting in and out of real space indicated that it should not take much longer. So it came as something of a shock when Suern of the Korath and Co’oi of the Crigolit swung up in front of the Commander on a sickle of their own. It was Co’oi who reported through the translator that hung against her thorax that the landing forces were being attacked in strength by an unknown, hitherto unsuspected group of vessels. One-who-Decides did not panic. That was not in the nature of the Amplitur. The information arc allowed rapid communication with Amplitur on other ships. There were twelve in all: only twelve among thousands of other peoples, scattered throughout the fleet. Twelve to make final decisions and give advice. They were along more to offer moral support than strategy, since it had been assumed that the Korath and their allies were more than capable of putting an end to the Sspari resistance. They were also present to aid in dealing with any unexpected developments, of which this certainly seemed to be one. II

“I thought the location and number of all surviving Sspari warships down to the last were well known to us?”

“So was thought it,” said Co’oi of the Crigolit, antennae twitching uncontrollably. “Calm yourself,” said One-who-Decides, issuing in addition to the words a projection of soothing reassurance. The Crigolit relaxed visibly. “Explain the apparent contradiction.”

“The attacking vessels are other than Sspari.” The Korath’s voice was almost inaudible. “The fleet has been forced to cancel the planned landing to deal with the new threat.”

“How many attacking vessels?” asked One-who-Decides. “Uncertain still.” The Crigolit paused as she listened to the reports competing for time on her headset. “Real-space conflict time is an approximation at best, but the number large is.”

“Capabilities?”

“Some weapons new, not yet analyzed. Explosive plasma. Dangerous and difficult to avoid.”

“Artificial intelligence guided?”

The Crigolit was hesitant. “Cannot yet be stated with any certitude.”

The Commander shifted on the cushion, wishing for the legs of a Molitar. “Change to defensive mode. Break off the proposed landing and contemplate an englobement.”

Suern of the Korath spoke up. “Might that not be premature, Commander?

The Sspari will gain hope from it. I would rather deal with a dozen unexpected warships than give an enemy new hope.”

“I would rather be thought hesitant than reckless. My first concern must be for our own. We can phase to Underspace only a limited number of times. I would not like to be caught in real space, unable to phase out, with an overpowering force waiting for us.” One-who-Decides conveyed a mental imperative to the Korath, who blinked. “If this is a clever ploy of the Sspari we will find out soon enough. If not, wisdom dictates caution. We will worry about the psychological effects on the Sspari later. Presently we must do battle with what we can see.”

The Crigolit acknowledged with a wave of both antennae while the Korath spread its upper limbs. One-who-Decides nudged a control and the sickle rose on its flexible arm, shifting to battle control on the far side of the room. Events bode ill. Whence this unexpected assault, these unanticipated reinforcements of a lost cause?

Ships of unknown type, new weapons: everything pointed to a space-traversing race other than Ssparian. But the Peoples had been pushing back the Sspari for more than a hundred years. From the moment conflict had been joined to the present day they had no known allies. Flashing, brightly lit battle predictors gave One-who-Decides more information than had its subordinates. There lay the Sspari, trying to cover the space between their homeworld and the fleet. There the fleet itself was arrayed, ships phasing in and out of Underspace according to traditional tactics. And scattered among them were bright pinpoints of red, vessels of unknown origin trying to time their emergence into real space properly to engage the ships of the Purpose. Injuries were being suffered. Damage was heavy. One-who-Decides sorrowed for the losses on both sides. It was not afraid for itself. No Amplitur who had served the Purpose for a lifetime feared mere physical dissolution, except insofar as that might inhibit or slow the advance of the Purpose. There were decisions to be made, and One-who-Decides proposed them. Its good sense and confidence lent strength to worried officers and technicians. Simultaneously it stayed in contact with its fellow Amplitur throughout the fleet. One-who-Listens and Tall-straight-Walker had assumed personal command of the defense. It was soul-rending to see a glowing dot—bright green in the case of the Peoples’ forces, yellow for the Sspari, intense red for the unknowns— vanish from a screen, indication that it had been impacted by a plasma ball or thermonuclear device or some other terrible weapon which caused the loss of hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives. Lights dancing on a screen were feeble indicators of the issues at stake. So simple and silent, the vanishing of a light. With it perished offspring, families, clanmates, friends; hopes and dreams and fears. Not to mention the setback to the Purpose. It was foolish and wasteful. The Amplitur passionately hated both. There was little time for sleep all the rest of that day and the greater part of the following. As the Amplitur required less than many, One-who-Decides was still alert when the critical moment came. According to the predictors, circumstances had degenerated to the point where a small group of hostiles might successfully interdict any landing without sufficient support from the fleet. This allowed the Sspari to divert vessels from planetary defense to attack. Even as this was realized, one of the strange alien vessels materialized into normal space concurrent with the flagship. There was a brief exchange of firepower before the flagship could retire once more to Underspace. Damage had been sustained though hull integration had been maintained. But the Korath had planned well. Inspired by temporary success, the Sspari had diverted too much of their effort to attack. Materializing from Underspace on the far side of the planet, ships of the Peoples managed to put substantial landing forces down on the surface before the defenders could react. Upon learning this, the remaining Sspari vessels broke away in a desperate attempt to deal with the landing. Their new allies, realizing that the battle they had come to aid was lost, retreated permanently to Underspace. Essentially the contest for Sspari was over. Ground combat, the real fighting, might take another hundred years, but Sspari resistance had been broken. Final victory was something the Crigolit, Ashregan, and other combative races would achieve. The Amplitur could go home. Now was time to consider reproduction as well as the identity of those whose appearance had nearly turned triumph into defeat. Whoever they were, they had fought extremely well. Had they arrived earlier, the commander might now be contemplating disaster. It was clear the unknowns were technologically advanced. More dangerously, they understood the components of warfare and were capable of employing them. Most races could not, being psychologically unsuited to the manipulation of the patently mad. Only extensive bioengineering had made the allies of the Amplitur combat-capable. What sort of methods did these unknown assailants use?

It was imperative to learn more about them. One-who-Decides issued directives to that effect. Not all the enemy had succeeded in avoiding or fleeing destruction. One severely damaged vessel was discovered drifting motionless in orbit, unable to move, unable to seek sanctuary in Underspace. It was a great stroke of luck. The brief but intense moments of spatial combat between ships only infrequently produced survivors. This was due to the types of weapons used and the unforgiving nature of space itself, whose harsh conditions usually finished what complex weapons had begun. A Segunian-commanded warship had located such a vessel. Whether its internal life-support systems had survived intact and functioning remained to be determined, but One-who-Decides was hopeful. Time and careful handling eased the captured vessel alongside the much larger flagship. Its shape was different from those used by the Peoples, but not incomprehensibly so. It was possible to divine function from observation. Its drive was inoperative, but external inspection showed no evidence of implosion. Its builders were skilled. Analysis revealed that the light which emerged from unbroken ports filled a normal chunk of the spectrum, suggesting that the crew possessed good vision within familiar parameters. The presence of oxygen and nitrogen in common proportions was noted. Short of confrontation there was little means of judging physical shape, size, or capability. That was shortly to be remedied by a boarding party. They would go in prepared to deal with resistance but admonished above all else to secure live specimens. Limited resistance there was, stubborn and frustrating. It was overcome by the introduction of a mild soporific into the ship’s ventilation system. A short while later it proved possible to extract the survivors one by one, like so many seeds from a pod. It developed that the appearance of the Sspari’s unexpected allies was to be but the first of many surprises. Instead of finding representatives of one race as was normal, the boarders encountered individuals representing several different species. That much was self-evident even to nonspecialists, who were used to dealing with races whose types could include miniature workers, multiple sexes, or androgynous types like the Amplitur themselves. That was not the case on board the captured vessel. Its crew was clearly composed of members of half a dozen different species, all working in apparent harmony and cooperation. It was a discovery fraught with promise as much as threat. For while it meant that the Amplitur and their allies might now have half a dozen new races to battle, it also introduced as many to be integrated into the Purpose. The Amplitur were overjoyed. For the first time they had encountered a federation of races other than their own. Here was a group of intelligences which had learned to cooperate among themselves without the Purpose to guide them. There was much to be learned from this discovery. Not all the ships which had come to aid the Sspari had been destroyed. A number had escaped to warn their fellows. That was to be regretted, since it would have been useful to maintain surprise. The Amplitur were not long on regret. It was a waste of protein. They would cope as they had always coped. The diversity of the captured vessel’s crew was impressive. There were even non-oxynitro-breathers aboard: two methane-suckers and one which extracted oxygen from water. Nor were the captives awed by the force they had encountered. They believed that their own federation rivaled in strength that of the Peoples of the Purpose. The delight of the Amplitur was magnified tenfold. It called itself the Weave. When joined to what the Amplitur had laboriously constructed, it would effectively double in size the Peoples of the Purpose. A revelation of great import, which the Amplitur recognized with a conference on board the flagship of the expeditionary force. A few high officers among the allied races spoke out against the meeting, lest the Sspari launch a last, desperate attack and catch all the Amplitur vulnerable on a single ship. The possibility did not trouble the Amplitur. Given such an unlikely happenstance, a Molitar or Korath could take over and finish the resultant battle effectively. The Amplitur regretted the dependence which their allies occasionally displayed. Did they not realize that within the Purpose, all peoples were equal?

Fast-blue-Breeder had requested the meeting. The moment needed to be commemorated. As they gathered aboard the flagship there was much intertwining of tentacles tips and soft husking of mouthparts. Despite the stress of the expedition and attendant combat, two of the Amplitur were reproducing. Following a fifteen-month gestation period, the large buds blossoming from their backs would be carefully removed and placed in nursery environments to mature as new individuals. Until that time the budding infants would depend on nutrients supplied by their parenting bodies. Though immobile, they were capable of learning, both through observation and the instruction offered via intimate telepathic communion with their parent. In a cleared recreation chamber the commander of the captured vessel was brought before the gathering. The locale had been selected to reassure, not to impress. In addition to the Amplitur a number of Crigolit technicians were present, together with some Segunian go-betweens. A single Molitar guarded the doorway, its bulk effectively obscuring it. The twelve Amplitur rested in a semicircle as the tall, thin alien faced them. He favored one of two legs, obviously injured. Within the fleet which had attempted to aid the Sspari he ranked somewhere in the middle. Not the equivalent of One-who-Decides, but higher than a technician. The thin frame was covered with fur and the short snout filled with sharp teeth. It was vertebrate and male, which was not as surprising as the fact that all the races of the captured ship were vertebrates. Preliminary research suggested that the organization to which these diverse species belonged, their “Weave,” was as contentious as it was powerful. Arguments and even actual combat between members was endemic. The Amplitur understood. To be united within the Purpose was very different from being tenuously tied together by feeble treaties and imperfect alliances. The latter bespoke an organization strong only militarily. Offered the beauty and inevitability of the Purpose, the fractious peoples who comprised the Weave would eventually put aside their disagreements and arms to join together with the more mature intelligences of the Purpose. None of the languages utilized aboard the captured vessel were especially complex, including that of the ship’s commander. Mechanical translation was feasible. The Amplitur, of course, had no need of it. The alien regarded his captors, straining to isolate shapes in the dim reddish light. One of the observers noted his difficulty and ventured a solicitous projection. “Is the illumination too weak for you?”

The alien officer stumbled and clutched reflexively at his head. “Who said that?”

When no reply was forthcoming he took several long strides forward. His long muscular arms and sharp teeth could have inflicted considerable damage on the slow, soft body of an Amplitur, were it not for the gentle restraining field that stopped him. He felt of it hesitantly before backing away. “Can he see us?” one of the other Amplitur thought generally. “We have been assured,” Fast-blue-Breeder opined, “that his vision is competent within the accepted spectrum, which is to say that it is efficient and like that of the majority of our allies in being shifted further toward the ultraviolet than our own. Nonetheless …” At Fast-blue-Breeder’s direction, brighter light filled the room. The alien regarded the twelve silent Amplitur. Tentacles and their manipulative digits wove silent, indecipherable patterns in the air. His mind simmered with uncertainty. Fast-blue-Breeder raised one tentacle and spread the four digits by way of greeting. “We mean you no harm.”

“You show otherwise,” the alien responded. “You attacked us. We responded as necessary. We are told that your name is Prinac and that you are the ranking surviving officer of the vessel now under our control.”

“What are you going to do with us?” the alien asked sharply. Its black nose and ears were in constant motion. “Brusque and impolite.” The thought occurred to all the Amplitur simultaneously. “Indicative of a primitive species not long a-venturing.”

“You will not be harmed,” said Soon-dark-Concerning, a half-mature bud bobbing gently on its back, silent and observing. “You are going to be brought into the Purpose.”

“What is this ‘Purpose’?” the alien inquired. “That is all we have heard about since you took us, this ‘Purpose’ thing.”

One of the other Amplitur explained. “And what if we do not want to join your Purpose, like the Sspari who requested our help?”

“There is no choice for an intelligent race. Were we not here speaking with you now, there would still be no choice. Eventually the Purpose would find you. It is what it is.”

“Maybe it’s not what it is for us,” countered Prinac. “What then?”

“You will be persuaded.” The Amplitur wondered why this was so, that so many races were slow to see the beauty and wonder of the Purpose. The alien commander adopted a typical bipedal defensive posture: legs bent, hands extended. A primitive display, thought One-who-Decides, for all that it was backed by apparent intelligence. “My people can be very hard to ‘persuade.’ As can our Weave allies.”

“You are not truly united,” said one of the other Amplitur. “You argue among yourselves, but rarely resort to combat.”

“We are not by nature inclined to combat,” Prinac shot back, “violence being the hallmark of the uncivilized.”

“On this we are agreed,” thought Fast-blue-Breeder communally. “But we will fight if necessary to avoid being conquered by anything like you.”

“We do not ‘conquer.’” There was exasperation in the thoughts of the Amplitur who replied. “Within the Purpose all are equal. So shall you be with us.”

“From what I have seen and heard,” the alien responded, relaxing a little, “you Amplitur seem to be a little more equal than any of your friends.”

“We were the first to realize the Purpose, the first to understand its implications.” One-who-Decides gestured imploringly. “You must realize that nothing you can say, no objection you can raise, is new to us. It has all been said and raised by dozens of races before you. “If we were the conquerors you speak of, how is it that in this vast force which has defeated the objections of the Sspari and driven your own allies into thoughtfulness we number only twelve?”

It made the alien hesitate. Double lids blinked. “That is the truth?

This is all of you in the whole fleet?”

“We always tell the truth,” said Fast-blue-Breeder. “When one struggles to serve and understand the Purpose, there is no rationale for prevarication. It is wasteful.”

“We possess no extraordinary physical strength or fighting ability,” said another of the twelve. “The soldiers aboard this one vessel could overpower us easily any time they wished.”

“Why don’t they?” asked Prinac stiffly. “Understanding the Purpose, they have no wish to.”

“Well, I do not understand, and I do not want to, nor does any of my crew.”

“Understanding takes time. In a universe as vast as ours, revelation is in short supply. It is anyway a better thing when understanding arrives through study and thoughtfulness rather than coercion. Then one truly understands.”

The alien hesitated. “You have said that you are not going to harm us. What are you going to do with us?”

To the Weave commander it appeared as if those confronting him had suddenly gone comatose. In reality they were conferencing. Nor was it the first time they had done so. His eyes widened in realization, the slit pupils expanding horizontally. “Telepathy is a fantasy, direct mind-to-mind communication a dream. It violates the laws of conservation of energy as we understand them. But you can do it, can’t you?

You really can?”

“It is a survival trait unique to us,” One-who-Decides explained gently. “In its early days our world was an extremely primitive and hostile place. Despite this ability we do not feel that it makes us any better than any other people. Only different.”

For the first time, the alien commander projected fear. “Can you read my mind?”

“No,” said one of the Amplitur quickly. “And remember that we always speak the truth.”

“If you cannot read another mind, how do you …?”

“We project. That is the gift. Anyone can receive. That ability lies dormant in most developed minds. With none to project to you, you do not even realize it is present. “If you observe carefully you will see that none of us has been moving our mouthparts, though we are quite capable of communicating by means of modulated sound waves, as you do. We have been projecting to you from the moment you appeared before us. Having never been projected to before, you naturally assumed that we were communicating with you by means of sound waves. That has not been the case. “As you will also note, there is nothing in the least detrimental or harmful about the process.”

“That does not answer my question. What are you going to do with us?”

“I think,” replied One-who-Decides, the matter having been already agreed upon, “that we will assist you in repairing your ship.”

“What’s that?” Prinac blinked again. “We will help you to fix your vessel to the best of our ability. Since the mathematics are unvarying, the means for traveling through Underspace are universally similar. Only materials and design differ. “We intend to allow you and your crew to return to your home. Though we had no quarrel with you, your people attacked our ships and killed many. You will serve as messengers, apprising your people of our existence and intent. Hold nothing back, tell everything. We will supply you with additional information and statistics where your own observation is inadequate. “I sense your fear. You will not be interrogated or mind-altered or otherwise persuaded against your individual will to do any of this. Should you choose to do so, you may say nothing, or invent your own tales. We cannot prevent that. You will simply be provided with information. It will be your choice as intelligent beings to disseminate or conceal this information as you see fit. Surely you cannot fear ideas!

“Nothing will be concealed within your ship or implanted upon your physical person, although we could easily do both.” Long-burdened-Walker moved slightly forward and demonstrated. The Weave officer suddenly bent double, his hands clasping the sides of his head as he dropped to his knees. It lasted only for an instant but took longer for him to recover. When he rose shakily, his hands were trembling and his tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth. “What—what was that?

What did you do?”

“There are many means of communication.” One-who-Decides projected compassionately. “Are you still in pain?

Do you require the attention of a physician?”

“No,” said Prinac weakly. “No, I will be all right.” His expression, such as it was, had changed radically. “Which of you did that?”

“It does not matter.” One-who-Decides gestured with a tentacle. “Any of us are capable of such communication.”

Prinac took a deep shuddering breath. “I begin to understand how twelve of you can control a force of this size.”

One-who-Decides was appalled at the implication. “We do not do so through that type of communication.”

“You do not have to. It is enough for those serving you to know that you can. This is how you keep everyone in line.”

“No one is ‘kept in line.’ We are all servants of the Purpose together.” One-who-Decides strove to be patient in the face of such ignorance. “You will come to realize this, and then you will be ashamed of your thoughts. “You may choose to resist with force. You know that you would not be the first to do so. It results only in unnecessary suffering on both sides, since in the end all are contentedly integrated into the Purpose. When that day comes you will no longer fight and argue among yourselves, understanding as you will the true meaning of existence. Archaic concepts such as interspecies conflict over simple physical differences or mental outlook will disappear.”

“We might beat you, you know. You have no idea how strong the Weave is. And you will not learn more from me, my crew, or our ship’s storage facilities. Because no one knows how big the Weave is, exactly. I do not think you have ever faced anything like it.”

“It matters not. Without a singleness of purpose to unite, there can be no true strength. You live lives of aimlessness and wasted existence and can therefore pose no real threat to us. The Purpose is not the Amplitur, nor is it our allies. It exists exclusive of us, outside and beyond us, the real reason for everything that is. You cannot defeat that.”

“That is to be seen,” replied Prinac even as he sounded less confident of his own power and philosophy. It might take a little longer, One-who-Decides mused. It was often such to varying degrees with primitive peoples. Gentle persuasion and reassurance almost always worked, though it was true they had never before encountered an organization like this Weave. But what an astoundingly grand opportunity it presented!

Elation flowed between the twelve. Not one, not six, but an unknown number of new intelligences to bring to the Purpose. This was one of the seminal moments of history, and it was a privilege simply to be present. He felt a great love and affection for this Prinac; representative of an alien species, commander of a hostile warship. The projection rolled out from all and they could see that the Weave officer was affected by it. “You are mad” was his response when the wave had subsided. “I do not love you. I do not love your Purpose. I do not love anything about you. Your intentions I find repulsive and your persons unpleasant. I especially do not like the way you treat your slave peoples.”

“Slave peoples?

What is a slave?” inquired another of the Amplitur. Prinac explained. There was some uncertainty among the twelve. “This concept is foreign to us. We do not understand what you mean.”

“I will try to clarify.”

Still the Amplitur failed to understand. “There is no slavery, as you call this thing, within the Purpose. How can there be, with all intelligences being equal?”

“But you are not equal. You Amplitur are in control, whether by virtue of the fact that this ‘Purpose’ is your creation or through your ability to project telepathically. You control and the rest are subject to you. They do not try to rebel because they are afraid.”

“You display ignorance, which is understandable.” One-who-Decides spoke, resorting to words for the aesthetic effect. “You there!

Scomatt, third officer of the Crigolit. I am One-who-Decides. Are you afraid of me?”

“Of course not,” said the Crigolit. “We work within and for the Purpose, and furthermore, we are friends.”

The fleet commander projected satisfaction, which the alien, too, could not fail to feel. “You over there, Aswen of the Segunia. Do you fear me?”

The response was the same from all, even from the huge Molitar who guarded the door and could have crushed every Amplitur in the room before mere weaponry could have reduced it to a pile of disorganized jelly. Fast-blue-Breeder regarded the prisoner. “We do not understand what you accuse us of.”

“Because you are blind to it.”

“Are you so certain that it is we who are blind?

We offer you cooperation, understanding, empathy, and openness within the Purpose and you respond with fear of domination. Why do you think your vision so much more acute than ours?

Why should it not be the other way around?”

“All I can say is that my own people will never be part of your Purpose, no matter what you do. You can hurt me up here,” and he tapped the side of his angular skull, “even kill me, but it will not matter.”

“We intend no such thing.” The Amplitur were shocked at the notion. “We do not wish to kill anyone.”

“Tell that to those who crewed the ships you destroyed.”

“They attacked us,” One-who-Decides reminded the alien. “I say again that we had no quarrel with you and your kind.”

“The Sspari came to the Weave. They explained what was happening. Many within the Weave were reluctant to send help because they did not want to get involved, but others saw rightly that you would find us eventually. Better to find out what we might be up against as soon as possible than to wait for you to surprise us.” The alien’s thoughts were awash with obvious pride. “That is what the Weave is about.”

“It sounds not so very different from the Purpose,” observed another of the Amplitur. “Save that you argue among yourselves to no end.”

“We value our independence,” Prinac told them. “Something your ‘allies’ seem to have forgotten.”

“All are free to act as they wish,” said One-who-Decides, “within the Purpose. Daily life differs on all worlds, among all races. Neither we nor anyone else interferes with another race’s culture or art or traditions. Within that context we all strive toward a greater common goal, one which renders all friends. Not masters and slaves, as you describe it.”

“This is not for my people, nor I think for any others within the Weave.”

“Do you not see,” said a tired Amplitur, “that the very discussion we are now having has occurred many times in the past, and that the end is always the same?”

“Perhaps this time it will be different.”

“No, it will not be different.” One-who-Decides moved forward on short, stumpy legs. “It may happen quickly or it may take much time, but no other outcome is possible. The Purpose is the Purpose. So it has been for thousands of years. This will not change.”

“And in spite of everything I have said, you are still going to help fix my ship and let me go?”

“Have I not said that we speak always the truth?

The message must be conveyed. It is horrid that many had to die to allow that. Fortunately many of your ships escaped to safety.”

“Yes, I imagine that surprised you.” The alien did not try to conceal his satisfaction. “It did not surprise us, and it pleases us. We regret the loss of any individual intelligence in a universe of millions of worlds inhabited by perhaps thousands of intelligences. The death of even one diminishes the Purpose.”

“You really are a strange bunch,” Prinac commented, scratching his long upper lip. “If you were not fanatics you might even be likable.”

“Fanaticism and dedication are terms whose parameters could be argued endlessly. We believe we are dedicated. We already like you; for your forthrightness, your honesty, and your bravery.”

“Don’t like me. I prefer it that way.”

“On this thing we must insist.” One-who-Decides gestured with a tentacle, the manipulative digits lining up to point. “Go back to your vessel, to your own people and to your allies. Tell them of what you have seen. You will be supplied with all the information your storage facilities can accept. What you do with it is your concern. “We ask only that you do not censor. Let others judge as freely as we let you judge. Reveal or destroy, but do not modify. “We will not be able to monitor your actions or affect them in any way. The range of our ability to project is short.”

“How can I be sure of that?

How do I know you are not telling me that when you could actually influence me or my crew over a considerable distance?”

“If we meant you harm, intended to try and ‘control’ you,” Fast-blue-Breeder pointed out, “why would we tell you otherwise?

Why not simply do it?”

“I do not know.” Prinac let out a short, whistling breath. “I am not a philosopher; only an officer on a small ship.”

“Then do not take decisions of great import upon yourself. Let others observe, analyze, decide. Think for yourself. In this be,” and there was something akin to mild amusement in the Amplitur’s projection, “independent.”

“I admit I do not understand you people.” Prinac started to back away from the twelve, in the direction of the single doorway. No one moved to stop him. “All I can say is that we will never be a cog in your Purpose.”

One-who-Decides directed the Molitar to move aside. “‘Never’ is a term we understand, I think, far better than you.”

III

Chichuntu was a sublimely beautiful world, elegant and refined as its inhabitants. The Wais were ornithorps: tall, quiet, manicured of manner and appearance, rarely flustered, and always comfortable no matter what their surroundings. They possessed the kind of self-control, Caldaq thought, that had always eluded the Massood. Their uniforms were never dirty and they walked as if dancing. Polite they were in conversation, and formally correct without being unctuously so. Wais society was perhaps the most complex in the entire Weave. Every movement, every gesture and inflection contained multiple levels of meaning and implication, usually comprehensible only to another Wais. Compared to their own language and culture, those of the other races were simple, almost childlike. They were also natural mimics. The combination made them unsurpassed linguists. Because of this, Wais worlds were often chosen to serve as regional command bases despite the formalized protests of the inhabitants. It was pointed out that because the Wais were so polite and correct, their presence and indeed their society itself had a meliorating effect on the more contentious members of the Weave, where everyone lived in fear of giving casual offense to his neighbor. It was hard, however, to become upset during a discussion moderated by a Wais, to shout imprecations and insults to a Wais translator knowing that it would automatically moderate both accusation and response. Oftentimes shame and embarrassment prevented trouble before it could happen. A regional command center seemed out of place on a world like Chichuntu. On Massoodai, for example, it would have been sited far away from any metropolitan area, or buried deep within granite mountains. The Wais had insisted on placing it within the boundaries of a major city park, and had proceeded to beautify it with fountains and landscaping. Indeed, this whole world was one vast park, Caldaq mused. It was not to his liking. Too many hedges, too many closely planted trees. He would have preferred open plains, where trees clustered in small, defined places or grew respectable distances from one another. Where a Massood could move traditionally, as his ancestors had traveled, fully utilizing his long legs, covering distances with great strides. Not in pursuit of trade or quarry, but something more honorable. To run long, leap far, jump high: that was what the Massood did best. It was because of that tradition, because sport held importance within Massood culture, that they had turned out to be one of the few Weave races suited to combat. It was a task they had assumed reluctantly, as would any intelligent species. But someone had to do the actual fighting. The S’van and the Hivistahm and the Lepar and even the Wais contributed much in the way of support, but when it came to combat they were not of much use. Besides the Massood, only the Chirinaldo made decent soldiers, and those dizzy heliox-breathers were poor companions on a blasted battlefield. He adjusted his dress vest and shorts, smoothing out the short gray fur that peered from beneath the hems. The irises of his eyes were a lighter gray, the vertical pupils almost black. At the same time he tried to relax. That was something of a contradiction in terms. A Massood could not really relax. Immaterial on the battlefield, it often kept them from promotion to command positions, where the presence of a calmer S’van was more reassuring. Therefore it was doubly significant that Caldaq, being not only Massood but young, had been given captaincy of a ship. The honor was not unprecedented, but it was uncommon. Awareness of this only contributed to his nervousness. The trimmed whiskers at the end of his muzzle twitched maniacally. Curling one upper lip, he dug with a neatly trimmed claw at a bit of food that had lodged between two molars. Extracting the fragment, he examined it idly, glanced around to make sure no one was watching him. Ancestors forbid a Wais should catch him spitting on their groomed grounds. He derived a perverse pleasure from doing so. What did Command want with him?

His thoughts were a jumble of hopes and suspicions. He made a last check of his person, which would have seemed immaculate to any but a Wais, ran a claw tip over his teeth one more time, and paused briefly to sniff the air ahead. It smelled of green growing things and flowers. There were flowers everywhere on this world. It confused his sense of smell. Regional Command was located in an unprepossessing structure surrounded by a decorative lake. Once long ago he had accompanied his parents to such a place. They had been soldiers as well, though none had risen so high. He was acutely mindful of his responsibilities. His parents hadn’t wished to be fighters any more than he had, but since the Massood were just about the only Weave species which did not go into shock on the battlefield they had little choice. At least there was no lack of backup and support from those many races they helped to defend. The Massood did not have to manufacture any tools, grow their own food. Everything was done for them by those Weave peoples incapable of participating in combat. The black tuft normally present at the tip of each ear was missing from his left one. He flicked it repeatedly with a finger, a nervous habit. It was a genetic shortcoming often remarked upon by females. It marked him as distinctive, though not necessarily attractive. Inside, he followed the readout display which floated in front of his eyes, guiding him. What do they want with me?

he wondered. On the whole, I’d rather be running. He was a fine runner, too. Not as good a jumper, which was surprising considering his height. His most pronounced talents, however, were not visible, such as his ability to pause and consider before leaping into battle. The Amplitur, now, could simply bioengineer such desirable characteristics into their client races. Since the Weave could not, it was forced to make use of existing biological diversity among its citizens, diversity which sometimes threatened to tear the fragile coalition apart. Internal dissension was commonplace. Only the threat posed by the hated Amplitur held it together. Massood edginess could contribute to this dissension when concentrated in the confined compartments of a ship. A nervous captain wasn’t considered the most suitable to command a warship crewed by members of very different, highly argumentative races. Only Caldaq’s ability to control his natural instincts had enabled him to achieve that exalted position at such a youthful age. Other Massood frequently asked how he’d managed it. He tried to explain that it was a matter of thinking differently, of controlling one’s feelings as much as one’s metabolism. Easier to speak of it than put it into practice, they replied. He was several floors above the lake when the automatic door admitted him to his destination, after first running a thorough check on his identity. The Amplitur were not above reengineering similar physical types within their dominion to resemble members of Weave species and then sending them forth to instigate trouble on specific worlds. For example, one of the Amplitur client peoples closely resembled the Hivistahm, and they caused considerable trouble every time their agents were slipped onto a Hivistahm-populated world. It was left to the locals to root out the infiltrators, which they did with varying degrees of success. He didn’t much care for the Hivistahm. They were scaly green complainers, always dreaming of home, their fine-boned fingers capable of engineering and tech work beyond the ability of the most skilled Massood. Somber, homesick, and serious, they were not the best of company on a long voyage. But their dedication and talents made them invaluable to the war effort. Caldaq was grateful that there were no client races of the Amplitur who resembled the Massood. Brun was waiting for him. Like many S’van, he occupied an executive position, having risen far faster in the command hierarchy than was possible for any Massood. Caldaq was not jealous of this. It was the way things were. Like the Massood the S’van were mammalian. There the similarities ended. The S’van were short vegetarians, not as sophisticated as the Wais but more so than the Massood. Their squat, hirsute bodies were clad in practical clothing devoid of adornment. They were given to boisterous love songs and highly emotional renditions of complex poetry. Though not the linguists that the Wais were, they were comfortable among strangers, from the fighting Massood to the simple and often incomprehensible Lepar. Their nonthreatening appearance was a major reason why they were able to get along so well with representatives of many different species. Mentally they were lightning-quick, invariably making the right decisions at difficult moments. Not just for themselves, but for everyone else. It was only natural that they should rise to positions of importance. If someone was smarter than you, it was a fact to be accepted, not an opinion to be argued. You could object, take command yourself, and die nobly, or let a S’van make the right battlefield decision and live. War was not a sport. Caldaq was content to take orders from hairy, good-natured S’van, as were the rest of the Massood. It was different with other races. Because of its very nature a Wais giving orders could be insufferable. That inbred attitude of superiority rapidly grew tiring. But the S’van entertained no such illusions, cultural or otherwise. They were regular people. Just smarter than everyone else. If one irritated you, you could pick it up and toss it out the nearest window. Metaphorically speaking, of course. In many ways it was the S’van and not the Wais who held the Weave together. Brun was typical of his kind. Much older on the relational scale than Caldaq and half his height. Stocky, tailless, with a blunt flat face displaying rounded grinding teeth. Tightly curled black hair spilled over his head like oil from a fountain, trimmed to expose the eyes, nostrils and mouth. The impenetrable beard, like a creeping jungle, had to be cut back every three days. Though his salutation was cheery as ever, Caldaq thought he detected an uncharacteristic undercurrent of concern. Save for him and his host the office was empty. This was flattering but it also made Caldaq wary. He was being singled out for something. Whether good or bad he did not yet know. For all that Brun was so much shorter he didn’t seem so. Perhaps it was the air of confidence which accrued to many S’van. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a regional commander. “Problems?” Caldaq spoke fairly good S’van. Like its originators it was deceptively simple. The language was capable of vast elaboration. “What do you think?”

Caldaq considered. “It is rumored that the Amplitur and Crigolit are massing with the T’returi for a major assault in the vicinity of the Jiidge worlds.”

“Then you know as much as anyone else.” Brun’s voice was liquid and perfect. He paced away from the Massood—not out of fear or dislike but so he wouldn’t have to crane his neck as much to see the captain’s gaze. The commander led him through a door and into a refulgent starfield. Stepping into a projection room was exactly like emerging from the hull of a ship into deep space. Except the stars were not real but rather exquisite simulations which could be expanded or contracted like the field itself at an operator’s whim. As they walked through the projection the room automatically sensed where their feet would fall and provided the necessary transitory support. It would supply steps or downramps as required. Each point of light could be enlarged to show an entire system. Caldaq recognized many of them. After all, the display encompassed only a small part of the galaxy. It was difficult enough to try and memorize the relative positions of the worlds of the Weave, the Amplitur, and those in the immediate vicinity without trying to deal with the incomprehensible vastness beyond. Other dots when expanded would reveal themselves to be ships, or whole fleets. Within the projection a complete corner of the galaxy was represented, with its inhabited worlds, suns, nebulae, and baffling instruments of warfare. He noted combat activity in the Protan Sector. With Brun’s permission he voiced a request to the machine. That portion of the projection obediently expanded to show individual vessels orbiting a world. Everything he was witnessing in miniature was happening in real time, parsecs distant. It gave one pause. Not the projection itself. That was simply a superb example of Hivistahm-O’o’yan workmanship based on S’van design and a probable Turlog overview. No, what was truly awesome was the idea of trying to conduct war on a galactic scale, moving ships and personnel through hundreds of parsecs of real space. To keep the conflict lumbering along required every iota of scientific and technological skill both the Weave and the Amplitur could muster. What wore you down, Caldaq mused, was not the Amplitur’s skill in combat or their ability to make the best use of their allies. It was their patience, the sense of inevitability they strove to project. No matter how many defeats you inflicted on them, no matter the extent of their losses, they never entertained thoughts of surrender. Hundreds of years ago it had been accepted that they would have to be utterly destroyed in order to end the war. A daunting project when one considered the fact that the location of the Amplitur homeworld was unknown. The Weave hadn’t the slightest idea how far back in the starfield it lay, or even in what direction. There were times when the task seemed hopeless. The alternative was terrifyingly simple. You didn’t have to fight the Amplitur. All you had to do was join them in their Purpose, become one more component of whatever structure it was they were dedicated to building. Trouble was, they held all the controls. If you gave in, as one or two species had, there was no going back. No chance to reconsider. In all the hundreds of years it had been fighting, the Weave had yet to encounter a single race that had been allowed the privilege of changing its mind. The Amplitur were careful. There could be recalcitrant people, but not recalcitrant genes. Give in to the Amplitur, give in to their Purpose, and you acknowledged their right to mess with your DNA. Now that was truly frightening. Caldaq ordered the expanded scene to return to scale. World and orbiting vessels vanished, subsumed once more by the immensity of their surroundings. Brun led him on. There was no up or down inside the projection, no back or forward save as it related to your own perception. Many became uneasy inside the projection and had to be led out. It made the Wais uncomfortable. A huge, powerful Chirinaldo with its love of bright illumination would have found it intolerable. Caldaq thought the darkness and simulated stars relaxing. “You are anxious to fight.” Brun had climbed a couple of invisible steps and turned, now eye to eye with his companion. Caldaq could have matched his ascent, but that would have been impolite. “No one with half a brain is anxious to fight. Better to say I am impatient to participate. It is what I have been trained to do.”

“And in an exemplary manner, too. I’ve studied your record. There are those who think you show exceptional potential. Based on personal acquaintance, I naturally dispute that.”

A joke, Caldaq knew. His whiskers quivered and his nose twitched, as did the tips of his fingers. The S’van were always joking. They could joke about extinction, or the end of entropy. The Massood had their own sense of humor. It was only that the S’van’s was so much more … expansive than anyone else’s. That, and the fact that one never knew for certain exactly what they meant. They were so quick. “Relax. I didn’t call you in here to make fun of you.” Brun stared into the depths of the projection, eyes gleaming between beard and forelocks. “Your rapid ascension and an overview of your work suggest that you might be suited to a special mission.”

They were going to give him a ship, Caldaq thought. Because of his “special temperament,” as it was so delicately phrased in his records. He would not be the first Massood so honored, but it would mark him as unique because of his age. Members of his lineage would be proud. The S’van was watching him, his teeth clicking softly. Another sign of amusement. That was one thing about the S’van. Whenever their intellectual superiority started to grate, they would inevitably inject an interracially comprehensible obscenity or something else to lighten the atmosphere. Caldaq sometimes wondered if they did this because they were inherently jovial or because they were nervous about the reactions their superior intelligence might stimulate among less mentally endowed peoples. “The ship’s name is … well, I don’t know the Massood analog, actually, nor even the S’van. She’s Hivistahm-built, of course. All the newest technology. Fully multispecies serviceable to accommodate just about anybody in the Weave. Not big enough internally to suit the Chirinaldo, but then what is?

“Not your usual warship. Been specifically modified and equipped for extended Underspace travel.”

“A sabotage mission?” Caldaq fought to control his excitement, was betrayed by the quivering of his extremities and the dilation of his pupils. This was a chance to make a name for himself and his lineage. “Where am I being sent?

And what of my mission and crew?”

“You’re to be assigned quite a mix. Fellow Massood among them, of course. Not all have been preassigned. It was felt you should have leeway to engage specific officers you might want to work with in the event that …”

“Gratefulness for that.” It was the Massood manner to say what one wished to when one wanted to. Used to dealing with Caldaq’s kind, the S’van took no umbrage at the interruption. “You may have anyone you wish, provided they can be spared from their present positions. You’ll have a full complement of Hivistahm techs with the usual O’o’yan companions, a top-notch Lepar work crew, and at least a couple of Chirinaldo. A Wais or two.”

Caldaq winced. “Must I?”

Brun cocked his head slightly to one side. “What would you do if your mechanical translators failed?”

“Manage with gestures, if necessary.” Caldaq’s upper lip curled in amusement, showing sharp teeth. “Sorry, Captain. You’ll have to take them. Also a few S’van.” Brun added the last offhandedly. The S’van strove always to maintain a low profile. “And I think you will have a Turlog.”

Caldaq was surprised at that. The vessel they were assigning him to must be larger, its mission more important, than he had hitherto expected. There were not many Turlog, not even on their homeworld. They differed substantially from every other race in the Weave. Indeed, it was whispered they had more in common in many ways with the Amplitur than with species like the Massood or Lepar. But they had no love for the Amplitur, or their Purpose. They weren’t antisocial so much as solitary by nature. Though hermaphroditic, they laid eggs and did not bud like the enemy. Any species which evolved without the need for intersexual contact had no need to seek or develop the companionship of its own kind. It was a shame there were not more of them, because they had the unique ability to concentrate on two and occasionally three separate subjects at the same time. This made them especially valuable in combat situations, when strategy and tactics were being implemented. While not throwing themselves wholeheartedly into the war, they had recognized the danger posed by the Amplitur and had joined the Weave specifically for the purpose of combating them. They were long-lived and slow to reproduce. To have a mature individual assigned to one’s vessel was viewed in some quarters as the best of all possible good-luck charms. “Where exactly,” Caldaq asked with Massood directness, “am I going with this ship?”

“I’ll show you.”

Brun led him through the starry void until Caldaq sensed they had crossed all the way to the opposite wall of the projection chamber. In any event, the star systems which now surrounded them like paralyzed glowbugs were unknown to him. They stood on the edge of the unfamiliar. He heard a tapping sound. “You’re going here.” Caldaq saw that the Commander was rapping on the black wall. “I do not understand.”

“You’re going out. Out into the rim.”

“But there’s nothing there. That region is unexplored, unstudied.”

“Actually, I think there’s a bathroom there.”

As far as Caldaq was concerned, this time the S’van humor fell flat. Brun sensed as much and continued in a more serious vein. “You are going hunting, but not for Amplitur, or Crigolit, or any others. You are to search for potential allies.”

Caldaq’s mind whirled. He knew that on the rare occasions when a warship could be spared from combat it might be sent out to try and expand the Weave, though most new allies arrived in the form of spacefaring peoples who encountered the Weave in the course of their own travels. It was much the same with the Amplitur. But while such far-ranging expeditions sometimes encountered life, it was rarely intelligent and hardly ever useful. To the best of his knowledge, only two species capable of contributing even minimal support to the war effort had been so contacted since the conflict had begun. In other words, such journeys were a vast waste of time. It was not what he wanted to do. It was not what he had been trained for. His family lineage bespoke a different destiny. He tried to hide his feelings, but his lips drew back to show teeth. It was not so dark that the S’van failed to notice. “You’re upset. Don’t be. This work is important.”

“Be that as it may, it is work the O’o’yan or Hivistahm or even the Lepar might do. Well, perhaps not the Lepar. But others. Why the Massood?”

“Any expedition into the unknown must prepare for every conceivable contingency. We know neither the boundaries nor extent of the Amplitur’s influence. There is always the chance they may have allies in sectors we do not suspect. That is a possibility that must be contemplated.”

“Let someone else contemplate them!”

Brun remained calm. It was useless to try dressing down a Massood for insubordination. “You expected a front-line vessel, perhaps a landing command.”

“I am expected,” Caldaq replied carefully, “to fulfill certain expectations.”

The commander sighed. “I am familiar with the Massood and their hierarchy of familial obligations. Believe me, you will be more than fulfilling them by carrying out this command. “You were selected because of your unique temperament, your ability to control yourself in moments of crisis. It is because of this, if I may be permitted to stretch a point, Turlog-like capability that you have risen to the position you now hold. Certainly an experienced S’van or Hivistahm captain could lead such a mission, but it was felt that there would be advantages to having a Massood in command.”

Caldaq hesitated. “Then you expect to encounter trouble out there.”

Brun’s teeth clacked softly. “We don’t know what to expect out there. If we knew what to expect, we wouldn’t have to send a vessel to go look.”

“Communications?”

“There’s all sorts of electromagnetic babble, just like there is everywhere else, but whether it’s spewed by pulsars or unknown astrophysical phenomena or something else we’ve no way of telling at such a distance. The galaxy, my young Massood, is vast: the portion occupied by the Weave and the Peoples of the Purpose, very small. Again, if we knew these things, we would not have to send you to find them out for us.”

Though still displeased, Caldaq was calming down. After all, what more did he have a right to expect?

Command of a landing force on a critical contested world?

True, he had participated in half a dozen combat situations, but to fight and to command were very different matters. What more natural than that they should test someone promoted beyond his years with captaincy of a vessel to be sent into a potentially threatening but noncombat situation?

The experience would be good for him. The S’van was right. The S’van, affectionately curse them, were always right. They were offering him an advanced ship with an experienced, diverse crew. Specialists aplenty. He would not have to order S’van, for example, to fix a broken condensate, or use Lepar in a fight. There would be a Turlog to help design tactics and Chirinaldo to manage large weapons systems. He’d never worked with either species before, but anyone commanding a large-scale operation would have to do so. It was one thing to give orders to fellow Massood, something very much different to do so to a Chirinaldo. Experience. They parted in the manner of S’van and Massood, Caldaq having acquiesced to the directive. But he was still unhappy. IV

Caldaq considered resigning as he waited to board the shuttle which would convey him to his command, five planetary diameters out. It would be a dramatic gesture, a statement of confidence and independence. He also knew with great certainty that it would not be accepted. The only consequence would be an invidious notation on his record. Nor would it go down well with his family elders. It might return him to combat, yes: frozen in rank and with reduced respect among his peers. The Massood appreciated the bold, but not the foolishly wasteful. Still, he had half determined to go through with it when he encountered his assigned Second-in-Command in the embarkation lounge. She was not what he expected. Older, but still stoically beautiful. Combat had hardened her grace. While nothing more might be added there was little that age could take away. Her attractiveness was firmly set in the mortar of experience. Despite the difference in their ages, it was impossible not to regard her as a mating partner. Only the slight alterations and cuts necessitated by her gender differentiated her uniform from his. Their eyes met evenly. Variations in size among the Massood were insignificant among mature adults. Her name was Soliwik and she was a river of good advice and reassurance. Listening to her, talking with her there in the embarkation lounge helped to calm him in a way the suave Brun could never have managed largely because she was, like him, Massood. She displayed none of the jealousy that might have been expected from one assigned to serve a junior male promoted beyond her, nor was she averse to discussing the situation with him. “I have been told you possess an unusual temperament.”

His foreshortened ear flicked nervously. “They say that I possess self-control. More than the average Massood. They like the way I make decisions.” He picked comfortingly at his teeth, employing several ritual motions. It appeared to other races that the Massood never seemed to know what to do with their hands and long, triple-jointed fingers. Tooth-picking and mouth-cleaning were elaborate social arts among the Weave’s best soldiers. “That is what they tell me, anyway. Myself, I do not feel very much in control.”

“It will pass. You are uncomfortable with the task that has been assigned to you, unable to decline and afraid you may fail. I have seen your records and studied your lineage. You will not fail.”

He jerked around to stare at her, ignoring the murmur of alien tongues, the strange sights and smells that filled the embarkation lounge. The abruptness of the movement was normal for a Massood, in whose vocabulary the word tentative did not exist. “We have only just met. What makes you so confident of me?” In Massood society it was impolite to offer unsolicited evaluations of another’s personality, much less to make behavioral predictions. Soliwik did not back down. “Because I have observed how individuals react in such situations. I have seen enough to make judgments. You will be too busy settling disputes among your crew to have time to worry about why you are doing what you are doing and whether or not you should be doing something else.” The front half of her upper lip curled. “I have had the same expedition briefing. We are to reconnoiter a large, remote, unexplored section of sky. Who is to say we may not see some combat there?

This mission is not a punishment or expression of no confidence in your abilities. I think it is very much the opposite. You must approach it as such while keeping your teeth clean and sharp.”

He considered her words carefully. “Do you believe there will be hostilities?”

“One may believe anything of such a region. Who is to say what peculiarities may be encountered out where the spaces between the stars are so vast?”

“What you say is truth.” Slowly, expectation was beginning to replace his initial angry disappointment. “Simply returning with ship and crew intact will be sufficient to advance both our careers and reputations. I know that you have been trained to fight, as have I. This offers a better opportunity than assigned combat.”

“How can that be, if no fighting is involved?”

“First because in combat the chances for failure are magnified, and second because in large-scale engagements the actions of a single vessel rarely count for much. In this we will be on our own. If we fail, there will be none to witness it, and if we succeed in any aspect, the glory will be entirely ours. “We both seek challenge. The Massood have always done such. Here is an opportunity that can be as unique as we make it, even if there is no bloodletting involved.” She hissed slightly. “I understand that you have contemplated resigning.”

His eyes blazed. “Who told you that?”

“Departure is not time to begin a feud. Enough to know that I know. Is it true?”

He gestured by way of acknowledgment. “I had so considered.”

“You could not resign. The Massood do not resign without good reason. Personal displeasure at an assignment is not sufficient reason.”

“Don’t lecture me,” he replied irritably. “Consider our prime objective,” she said, blithely ignoring his request. “The Weave is home to few fighting peoples. There are only ourselves, the lugubrious Chirinaldo, and exceptional individuals among such as the Hivistahm and S’van. Sheer numbers limit our ability to confront the Amplitur. Trained fighters are too valuable to be allowed to resign.”

“My mate favors this journey,” he murmured. “She longs for cubs.”

“Conception is not permitted on a warship.” Soliwik spoke coolly. “Birthing is for stable surfaces.”

“She knows, but hopes for time upon return.”

His Second-to-be gestured understandingly. “I would think that would be readily granted if we achieve the least of our objectives. What does she besides fight?”

“She is a tech upgrade specialist. There will be plenty for her to do.”

“I look forward to greeting her.”

“I, too, long for cubs.” The confession surprised Caldaq. It was a subject he tried to avoid. Distractions could be detrimental to his performance. But there was unexpected pleasure in the confession. “I had a litter myself, some twelve years ago.” Soliwik’s whiskers curled upward. “All three grown now. There was a fourth who did not survive post-littering. One is a high jumper of some note, though these days there is little time for her to practice the true arts.” She pointed at his legs. “You look something of a jumper yourself.”

“Runner,” he said, correcting her. “Better to be a jumper on a ship. Facilities for running are never what one hopes for.”

“I sympathize. I am also a jumper, but for distance, not height.”

“So is Jaruselka. Perhaps the two of you could jump together.”

Mate-jealousy was uncommon among the Massood. Knowing that Soliwik had already littered would help promote friendship between the two females. Strong bonds were formed quickly and easily between individuals of both genders, an early evolutional and not societal development. Mutual reassurance on a personal level was vital to personal growth. “Verbal grooming,” a S’van researcher had dubbed it. Instead of picking lice from each other’s short gray pelts as their ancestors had done they now extracted neuroses from one another’s souls. A shame they could not share a litter, he thought as the shuttle rose orbitward, giving him ample opportunity to study the long legs of his second as she braced herself in the seat next to his. His own limbs were giving him plenty of trouble. Save for the Chirinaldo, the Massood were taller than any other Weave species. They had a difficult time with the general-use seats found on most vessels. When they returned from this voyage he would have to give serious attention to littering. The delights of domesticity were in short supply among the Massood, vital as they were to combating the advance of the Amplitur. Being of equal size and musculature, the females fought alongside the males. Perhaps even more importantly, both genders possessed similar temperaments. Jaruselka greeted them in the lock, reserving an especially hearty greeting for Soliwik and putting her immediately at ease. They embarked upon typical Massood conversation, frenetic and full of specialized female terms. Caldaq felt pleased rather than excluded. The next day his Second showed them the ship, which was unusually spacious. So were their personal facilities. It was better than he’d imagined, even though he’d expected something of the sort since the ship had been specially modified for extended cruising. Everything was new and contemporary, as Brun had promised. As Soliwik made the introductions, Caldaq took particular care to try and memorize the names or identification vowels of as many of the crew they encountered as possible. Most prominently there were the members of the Massood combat group, some of whom he was able to identify from family suffixes. Others were strangers to him. It was difficult not to linger among them, enjoying the relaxed conversation and swapping stories. As soon as possible, he made contact with his Chirinaldo fire-control team. A mated pair, they were pleasant and ponderous, their high, squeaky voices incongruous as ever. They were much too nice to be in control of the ship’s awesome defensive weaponry, a Chirinaldo specialty. Communicating through standard electronic translators, they spoke cheerily of their ability to obliterate other vessels and the hundreds of sentients aboard the instant he should deem it necessary. Because of their size their movements were restricted to limited areas of the ship. Their perspective on life and death was intriguing. Conversation with a Chirinaldo was always full of unexpected surprises and revelations. In the rare event of combat between vessels, their talents would be invaluable. They could command multiple weapons with unmatched skill. Their counterparts among the Amplitur’s allies were the Molitar, who were even bigger and stronger but not, it was joked among the Weave, nearly as bright. Dainty O’o’yan bustled past, monitoring instrumentation and readouts, their slim bodies and hands working as fast as those of a Massood but with far greater dexterity. They were friendly and even attractive, harmless in stature and appearance, but a little strange. Some of their low-level conversation was difficult even for a Wais to understand, and they preferred to associate almost exclusively with the larger, more sophisticated Hivistahm, whom they closely resembled. When encountered, the ultrapolite Wais greeted him exquisitely. Of all the crew thus far encountered only they moved about the ship in perfect contentment. Like everyone else, Caldaq knew the apocryphal tales of battered worlds from which survivors emerged filthy and tattered … except for the Wais, who drifted through war and peace alike attended by invisible, undetectable cleaning facilities. They spoke perfect Massood, of course, though he personally found their intonation too proper. It was a relief to leave them and encounter some of the Hivistahm. Theirs was the biggest contingent on board, and it was they who were largely responsible for the day-to-day operation of the ship. Though a good deal shorter than the Massood, they were considerably taller than the average O’o’yan or S’van. Soliwik had left them for a few moments. Now she returned to inform them that their departure from orbit was imminent … contingent upon his consent, of course. He indicated that she should proceed, confident that with S’van in charge of navigation and Hivistahm engineers overseeing the Drive everything would go well. He returned to his conversation. With their slightly bulging slitted eyes and bright green skins the Hivistahm were physically colorful. Their appearance belied their somber personalities. They had long, narrow snouts, much longer than those of the Massood but full of equally sharp if narrower teeth. Slim arms and stronger legs were good for running but not jumping. Hard, scaly skin gleamed iridescently where not hidden by thin, superstrong attire. Pleated pockets overflowed with tools and devices designed to perform arcane tasks. A typical Hivistahm tech would spend most of its time grumbling. Not complaining but simply muttering under its breath, worrying and dreaming of home as it perfectly executed this or that delicate task. Superb technicians, they never balked at taking orders from others. Not even from the S’van, whose attitude they found far too frivilous for their liking. Of all the races that comprised the Weave, the Hivistahm were perhaps the most dedicated to defeating the Amplitur, more so even than the Massood. They shared a racial dread of being integrated into the mysterious Purpose that went beyond actual understanding of what it would entail. Among the Weave it was said that a warship crewed by S’van and Massood might achieve more in battle, might execute the more brilliant maneuver or achieve the greater result, but that one largely run by Hivistahm would always return home. And then there were the Lepar. As usual, the only amphibious intelligences in the Weave were difficult to locate, working as they did in the cramped, less attractive sections of the ship where energy and heat and water and air blended into the technological brew that kept everything running. They found several, including the officer in charge, lazing in a water bubble, keeping themselves moist. To Caldaq they looked competent enough. He didn’t particularly like the Lepar, nor did he know anyone who did. Their presence was useful because they could tolerate extremes of temperature and oxygen deprivation that would kill a Massood or Hivistahm or S’van. In an emergency their work might prove vital. Their build was stocky without being graceful, wide blunt faces flanked by external feathery gills. Eyes were tiny and black and their skin was slimy and of a dark unpleasant cast. They were as ugly, he thought, as they were necessary. They greeted him in badly broken Massood, a valiant but ultimately futile attempt to eschew the use of translators. The Lepar were always trying to do what they could not. Speak other languages with the fluency of the Wais, run a ship as efficiently as a Hivistahm, even fight like the Massood. In the end they could only do the little they could. Their intense, small-eyed stares caused him to turn away in embarrassment at their condition. They wore little clothing, a necessity given their natural bodily slime and half-aquatic existence. Among the known intelligences, only the Lepar possessed long tails, a source of some amusement and many jokes among the other evolved species. Caldaq reminded himself that regardless of his personal feelings, as captain he could not even appear to look down on members of another Weave race. After all, the Lepar did much of the most dangerous work on board, and all of the dirtiest, and they carried out their unenviable duties quietly and without complaint. Unlike the Hivistahm, for example. Their contribution was as important as that of any other species. Turning back to face them, he found himself wondering not for the first time what thoughts they debated in their highly guttural, unelegant language. Wondering what might lie behind those tiny, dull black eyes. He excused himself as soon as possible, which appeared to suit them fine. They showed no especial need to be loved or even liked by the other races. All they wanted was to be left alone to do their jobs. This worked out well, since it was also what everyone else on the ship wanted for them. Actually, out of the entire crew the presence of a Massood combat group was probably the least necessary, since in the event of hostilities the ship’s long-range weaponry as directed by the Chirinaldo should be more than sufficient to handle any awkwardness. But he was glad of their presence if only for the company of his own kind. Soliwik commanded them, and was in fact only Caldaq’s second where matters of combat were concerned. The actual running of the ship was managed by two S’van. This did not trouble either officer. There might have been friction between a Massood and Hivistahm, or Massood and O’o’yan, but not between Massood and S’van. It was almost impossible to get mad at a S’van. Arguments were easily defused by a casual joke, an offhanded comment. The S’van had raised compensatory humor to a high art, and an infectious one at that. Caldaq wondered if it was an ingrained skill or one the species had developed to insure its survival. For despite their brilliance and their successes at colonization of new worlds they could have easily been destroyed by, say, the Massood or even the Hivistahm. Such thoughts reminded him of Soliwik’s remark, that he was going to be too busy settling arguments among the crew to worry about personal matters. The ship, at least, would give him no problems. It was a technological wonder, incorporating all the latest developments in Weave science. Since it had not been designed as a true warship, there was a great deal more room to devote to activities of a pleasurable nature. A good deal of effort, for example, had gone into providing the Hivistahm with the cool, dark, humid living environment they favored, while not, as was sometimes the case, forcing the S’van to share it with them. And while there was always room for smaller species like the O’o’yan, the Massood often found their quarters cramped and constricted because of space limitations. Not on this vessel. It made it easier to keep them on a combat footing. That was necessary because while they did not expect to run into the Amplitur or any of their allies, they likewise had no idea what else they might run into. So while there was no reason to anticipate combat, neither was there on board a total absence of tension. He soon discovered that there was much to keep him occupied, especially once they had entered Underspace. Even so, he found time to socialize with his fellow Massood. He and Jaruselka had time to themselves apart from their duties, and he was delighted to see that his mate and Soliwik had formed an instant friendship. It was particularly comforting on a long voyage for an unlittered female to have the companionship of an elder who had given birth. It took a great deal of pressure off him. V

There were frequent discussions of routines and objectives, with a Wais always present to clarify and explain nuances that might escape the electronic translators. One thing that did not have to be debated was course. Destinations had been determined by the astronomers of the Weave long before the ship had been readied for departure. Isolating suns likely to have planets was difficult enough. Trying to determine from aboard a ship in Underspace which were likely to support life was an impossibility. There were many reasons why this was so, not the least of them being that the presence of an oxynitro atmosphere was not necessarily a prerequisite for the development of intelligence, the heliox-breathing Chirinaldo being the most prominent exception to the usual but far from absolute atmospheric rule. Then there were the amphibious Lepar, and another intelligent but not yet mature species who extracted all their oxygen directly from water. Nor could the possibility of encountering even more exotic sentient types be ruled out. Among the allies of the Amplitur, for example, was a race of methane-breathers. So every system that boasted planets had to be closely inspected, lest a potentially useful … or dangerous … world be overlooked. He rarely showed the uncertainty he felt. It was not easy being less experienced than many of those he was expected to command. But being Massood, he appeared naturally jumpy and nervous to others, and so it was impossible for any but members of his own kind to tell when he was feeling uneasy. The extremities of a Massood were in constant motion: twitching, curling, quivering. Movements were jerky and swift, not smooth like those of a Hivistahm or languorous in the manner of the Wais. There was no hesitancy in the orders he issued, however, and the ship sped on through Underspace devoid of troubles mechanical or psychological. Upon reaching a new system and emerging into real space, a well-defined procedure was followed. Whether the subject to be studied was a gas giant, a moon thereof, or a smaller independent world, the ship would assume an orbit a safe several planetary diameters out. Masking would be engaged so that they could not be observed from the surface. The process bent light around the ship. In the unlikely event its location was crossed by astronomers or other observers on the ground it would not occlude any stars, thereby preventing detection. Usually it was only necessary to execute a single slow equatorial and a backup circumpolar to establish that a world was uninhabited. The presence of nonintelligent life could be duly noted and recorded from orbit, much to the dismay of Hivistahm biologists eager to examine and collect specimens from every new ecosystem. Caldaq sympathized with his scientific staff, but time could not be allotted to pure research. There were too many systems to be searched. The sum total of all such studies would be rendered meaningless by a final Amplitur victory. Their assignment was to seek out potential help, however limited. To find out potential allies. Not to learn. There were times when he questioned the work himself. Not because he was not doing what he’d been trained to do, which was fight, but because he was afraid he might not be doing his work well enough. In combat it was easy to determine if one was performing. His present assignment provided no such simple hallmarks from which to judge accomplishment. It was the same with running. He moved his legs, fought gravity, and the clock charted the degree of his success. Much more difficult to decide if he was, for example, settling arguments properly. There was constant trouble between the Hivistahm and the Lepar. It was in the nature of the Hivistahm to criticize, and they were particularly rough on the slow amphibians. Though patient, the Lepar would take such abuse only so long before reacting. Then there would be a fight, with the bulkier, stronger Lepar unable to get a grip on the slighter but far more agile Hivistahm. This only raised the Lepar’s level of frustration. Caldaq found himself spending much of his time mediating such confrontations, which nearly always ended harmlessly if noisily. The skills he was forced to call upon differed greatly from those demanded of a fighter. He was much more comfortable in the role of combatant than referee, especially when members of another race were involved. The usual result was that the Hivistahm would trot off muttering and whistling to itself while the Lepar would sulk back to join its fellows as if nothing had happened, leaving their commander to wonder if his intervention had done any good at all. At least when dealing with Massood you always knew where you stood following an argument. Whenever his sense of inadequacy or insecurity grew too great to internalize, Jaruselka was always there to comfort and reassure him, and Soliwik to offer sound, practical advice. He could also turn to his other seconds, the S’van T’var and Z’mam. That was one thing about the S’van: If you wanted them to be your true friends, all you had to do was plead ignorance or confusion and ask for their advice. They loved to give advice. Some postulated it was a physiological necessity for them, like inhaling. It was bearable only because the advice was usually sound. The troubles the expedition experienced fell well within the range of the anticipated. Things were going as smoothly, Caldaq thought, as even an experienced captain could have wished. They surveyed many dead worlds but also a surprising number that supported some form of life. One system of seven planets consisted of two outer gas giants, two inner seared rocks, and three worlds in between, all of which harbored life: an unprecedented occurrence. The Hivistahm and S’van scientists all but mutinied in their desire to examine the remarkable trio, frantic to compare evolution on one world with its neighbor, to measure similarities and differences. Once again Caldaq was required to deny their requests. Each of the three worlds was studied from orbit, and then it was time to move on. The grumbling of the scientists continued in Underspace, but the volume of complaints soon subsided. Everyone knew it was useless to argue with a Massood. Had a S’van been in charge there at least might have been some intelligent debate on the issue. Their reaction was not lost on Caldaq, whose admiration for Regional Commander Brun’s abilities rose another notch. The science staff’s disappointment was forgotten when the next system they entered proved to be home not merely to life but to intelligent life. The newfound species resembled the Hivistahm physically, but they were far too immature to be of any use in the battle against the Amplitur. They were living in tribal groups, primitive hunter-gatherers stuck at the spear-and-axe level of technology. Contact revealed a language primitive enough for the Wais to decipher in a couple of days. The natives treated the visitors as gods, refusing to accept that they were as mortal as themselves. It was conceded by the Hivistahm that these people would require several millennia of maturation on their own before they would be able to help in any way, a pronouncement rendered with more Hivistahm solemnity than usual. The ship continued on, burrowing through Underspace to check one world after another, following the complex course programmed into the ship’s navigation system by the very best of the Weave’s astronomers. Frustration levels among the crew waxed and waned with clocklike regularity, leading Caldaq to believe a psychologist should have been appointed captain rather than a fighter. The only member of the crew who never gave him any trouble was Pasiiakilion. On those occasions when he felt the need to get away from everyone else, including Jaruselka and Soliwik, he would go and visit the Turlog in its dimly lit artificial burrow. Squatting in a corner, it would regard him with one eye from the tip of its supportive stalk while the other concentrated on another task entirely. Though it appeared to be ignoring him, Caldaq knew the alien was devoting as much attention to him as it was to its studies. An inflexible, crustaceanlike exoskeleton gave Pasiiakilion little range of motion. The large, clumsy claws were hard put to operate the simplest switches and controls. Special amplifiers magnified as well as translated the scratchy Turlog voice. Compared to Pasiiakilion, the clumsiest Lepar on the ship was the very picture of grace. It had admitted him without greeting, neither rude nor accommodating. Caldaq responded to the subsequent silence with measured words delivered in an unchallenging tone. He was rewarded by a response, however unenthusiastically delivered. He could not tell how much of its attention the Turlog was devoting to his visit and how much to its reading, but at least Pasiiakilion responded. Its usual reaction was on the order of abyssal indifference. Sometimes he wondered how the Turlog might have evolved had it developed a more flexible body. As it was, they were highly dependent on sophisticated instrumentation to help them carry out the most menial personal tasks. Nor did he care for the Turlog’s quarters, feebly lit by faint reddish light. But it was quiet there. He could relax, isolated from the numbing details of command, and talk via translator with the one member of his crew who never gave him trouble. Sometimes he even received a reply. Discouragement and ennui finally gave way to excitement and expectation among the crew when the ship reached a small world circling a star of medium age, which was home not merely to intelligence but to a real civilization. Orbital observations revealed that while they had not yet acquired the ability to travel through Underspace, or indeed even between the worlds of their own system, the inhabitants had achieved a level of technology amenable to formal contact. There was ample evidence of the presence of aircraft and other sophisticated means of surface transportation. Furthermore, the natives responded to the eventual appearance of a shuttle above one of their principal urban centers with an appealing mix of curiosity and shyness. Contact was made with the leaders of the new species and formalities exchanged, whereupon S’van and Wais specialists landed to pursue further contact in person. Caldaq did not go, nor did Soliwik. Newly contacted peoples often became uneasy in the presence of the physically imposing Massood. They were much more at ease dealing with graceful Wais and short S’van. So T’var acted in his stead, daily apprising his captain of developments below. Caldaq’s concerns were exacerbated by the ever anxious Hivistahm. The contact party was virtually helpless without any Massood to protect them, though the S’van could fight if absolutely necessary. Their versatility was another of their admirable traits. If the natives were intent on deception, T’var could probably manage a successful retreat. His fears were groundless. The natives quickly demonstrated their maturity and friendship. Soon representatives were routinely shuttling back and forth between the surface and the ship, where they marveled at the achievements of the Weave and listened somberly to the history of its confrontation with the Amplitur. Such information was not restricted to the local elite, but was disseminated by domestic means of communication to the populace at large. Caldaq’s people spent a good deal of time educating and explaining. They were rewarded when the natives decided unanimously to join with the Weave and support the fight against the Purpose. Their enthusiasm was exhilarating and gratifying. The long voyage had not been in vain. Caldaq grew emotional. The natives possessed good mechanical and learning skills. Upon the introduction of Weave technology and training they would be able to make a significant contribution to the war effort. Fighters they were not, but that would have been too much to hope for. There was a considerable outpouring of honest affection when it came time for the ship to finally depart. T’var left their new allies with the promise that Weave ships would soon be calling in large numbers. The natives looked forward to receiving such visitations as soon as possible. Their eagerness to help was touching. It was also only sensible, of course, since if they failed to join the Weave they would eventually find themselves dominated by the Amplitur. Acquisition of a new, intelligent ally was enough to render the expedition a complete success and justify its expense. They would return to applause and commendation. All those good things that Soliwik had told him could come from such a journey now seemed within his grasp. But it was not yet time for Caldaq to enjoy them. Their mission was not completed. Eleven more systems remained to be scanned and examined before they could begin the long Underspace journey homeward. With success already assured, the atmosphere on board improved noticeably. The Hivistahm grumbled less and ceased provoking the Lepar. The S’van relaxed, and even the bored Massood were cheered. The latter looked forward to returning to combat, promoted and acclaimed. They had reached the limit delineated by navigation, a region of few stars and sterile worlds, when to everyone’s surprise and delight instrumentation detected what might be communications signals. There was nothing remarkable about them. They possessed no extraordinary range or power. Very typically stratified electromagnetic pulses. Nothing to suggest true civilization, of course. That would have been too much to hope for. But they did hint that another world had been located on which electronic means of communication had been developed. As soon as they arrived masking procedures were initiated and the ship established itself in a safe orbit several planetary diameters out. Initial anticipation fell rapidly when no indications of space-traversing capability were noted. Everyone was tired, Caldaq knew. Many besides the Hivistahm now spent much time thinking of home, and a predictable but nonetheless very real letdown had followed the discovery and cementing of an alliance with the inhabitants of the world previously visited. Surely any species they encountered subsequently could not be as helpful or friendly. He was tired himself. Despite his twice-daily workouts on the ship’s track, he felt himself steadily losing the muscle tone so carefully established through years of training. This world could be similar to the last one, but that was too much to hope for. More probably it was less advanced. In any event he knew he was unlikely to see the surface. Formal contact, should the locals prove advanced enough to handle it, would be managed by the S’van. The prevailing attitude on board as survey preparations were begun was one of hopeful boredom. Preliminary observations produced at least one astonishing discovery: the principal landmass of the planet had disintegrated. For once, the geologists had something to be excited about. Debate as to whether intelligence could even evolve in such a bizarre setting was resolved for a time by initial data which was, disappointingly, predictable and unsurprising. Urban centers and extensive agriculture were present, as were communications relay satellites. Only the distribution of population centers seemed slightly unnatural. More to study the remarkable geology of the planet than the works of its inhabitants, it was decided to add a diagonal circumnavigation to the standard equatorial and polar. As observation proceeded, further deviations from the anticipated norm were noted. Caldaq was informed of the presence of unusually large population concentrations in regions where, at least from orbit, there appeared no reason for them to exist. Similarly, areas that should have attracted heavy settlement were practically deserted. Such exceptions were to be expected. The developmental history of each species was different from that of every other. Land use was a subject for a follow-up expedition equipped to carry out advanced studies. Certainly this world, with its unique topography, would draw considerable attention from the specialists. The level of technological sophistication achieved by the locals and whether it might exceed that of the Weave’s recently acquired new allies quickly became a matter for debate. A certain amount of wagering on the question took place among the Massood, who were prone to that particular amusement. The Hivistahm considered gambling a waste of time, the Lepar did not understand it, and the Wais regarded it with tolerance. The S’van never participated because they might win. Additional observations resulted in another finding no one could have imagined. “It certainly is odd,” said T’var. All three Seconds were present at the staff-study meeting. The Hivistahm chief-of-study whistled into his translator while the others present adjusted their ear-mounted receivers. “S’van understatement. So far we have documented at least fifteen distinct patterns.”

Soliwik’s nose twitched rapidly. “I see nothing remarkable in that. There are a number of worlds on which that many dialects are spoken.”

“These are not dialects,” Chief-of-Study insisted. Light flashed off her metallic green skin. She wore no personal adornment to the meeting save the ubiquitous eyeshades favored by her kind, tinted to spare her sensitive pupils. “Each a distinct language is, as distinct in some cases as S’van from Hivistahm or Massood is.”

Caldaq had come to the meeting prepared to listen to the usual statistical recitation. Now, on top of the planet’s impossible geology, there was this. He found himself scratching nervously at his left flank as he straightened his tall frame in the high-backed chair. “You’re quite certain they are not dialects?”

“Absolutely,” said the S’van second-of-study. “Not only have we examined the relevant recordings thoroughly and repeated computer analysis of our findings run, we believe even more individual languages may be encountered as our observations continue.”

Caldaq swallowed. “Surely there could not be more than fifteen.”

“There should not that many be.” Chief-of-Study shifted in her seat. “The largest number of distinct languages developed by any known intelligent race is six, by the Wais. The idea of fifteen or more being spoken on one world is incomprehensible. Yet our observations to that conclusion inevitably lead.”

“Well, we are not here to study languages.” Caldaq regarded the crammed agenda screen in front of him. “The universe is a vast place where any number of sociological aberrations may be expected to be encountered eventually. Perhaps even a world where more than the usual number of languages are in use. “The Massood have always done nicely with one and its accompanying dialects. Possibly not all these you have recorded are used for general communication. Perhaps some are devoted to specialties. A language for science, another for commerce. Although I am no linguistic historian, I believe there is some precedence for that.” He looked up. “What say the Wais?”

“We are baffled.” Translator-Chief gazed superciliously back at her commander. Bracelets clinked melodiously on her wrists, and her flowing cape was decorated with innumerable personal insignia and designs. All of exquisite taste, of course. “Your notion, Captain, that certain languages may be used for specialized purposes may prove correct. But initial analysis by my colleagues and I seems to suggest otherwise.” Familiar with the unintentional air of superiority the Wais sometimes affected when imparting information, Caldaq was able to ignore it. “Admittedly, these are preliminary conclusions, but they are based on the many precedents present in our computer. At least five of the languages recorded thus far are utterly different in structure from the rest and from each other, yet sufficiently complex in content to constitute an efficient means of communication unto themselves. Among the remaining ten there are recognizable relational patterns and soundings, too many for each to constitute a separate language of specialization. In addition there are unexpected cross-references between otherwise utterly dissimilar tongues.”

“Despite which you think there may be even more?” murmured Caldaq. The Wais stared back at him. “Even as we sit here my colleagues are recording suggestions of such. The only way we will know for certain is to initiate a far more intense examination of the population.”

“There are clamorings in other departments,” said T’var, “for exactly that.”

“Each new world prompts a similar ritual.” Caldaq tried not to sound irritable. The whiskers on the right side of his snout flicked upward. “We will do only that which is necessary and we will follow procedure.” He scanned the Hivistahm present. “Enough of primitive babblings. Have we learned anything more about this world’s unusual appearance?”

Chief-of-Geophysics adjusted her eyeshades. “It is tectonically far more active than it ought to be. The extraordinary physical environment may to a nonstandard ecology rise have given.” She hesitated. “We have the presence of active volcanoes noted. There is also evidence of unpredictable violent movements within the crust and mantle.”

“On an inhabited world,” T’var murmured aloud. “Incredible!

How do they cope emotionally?”

Caldaq motioned for his Second to be silent, gestured for Chief-of-Geophysics to continue. “The single large landmass surrounded by water and small islands that is the norm elsewhere has been replaced on this world by something else, something very different. One can easily note this through a port, without special equipment. This world a treasure house of geologic abnormalities is, such as high mountains on the edges of landmasses instead of near the centers. “Initially it was thought that perhaps the central landmass had by cometary impact been shattered, but further study a tectonic explanation suggests. The proximity of a moon much too large to be orbiting so small a world another likely influence is.”

Chief-of-Study bobbed her head. “Of course, it is far too soon on a matter of such controversy final judgments to render. When contacted, it may be that the inhabitants themselves will some light on their unique environment be able to shed.”

Caldaq assented with both ears. “We’ll know more when the remote returns. I know we should complete all three observational passes first, but I think we can bend procedure that much.” He adopted a warning tone. “Staff will do the programming, as always, but according to prior preop. No department gets more space than normally allotted.” He noted the objection gesture from Chief-of-Geophysics and responded. “On later flights we can assign time according to need, but not on this first one. “I realize there is much knowledge to be gained here, but that cannot be allowed to obscure our objective. Our first task is to make contact with the inhabitants. It would be overwhelming to make contact with not one but two potential allies on a single expeditionary journey, even if neither has advanced far enough to have independently achieved Underspace capability. “I will not tolerate any interstaff squabbling over time assignments. Everyone has their job to do, myself included.” He eyed Chief-of-Study. “I am depending on the Hivistahm to follow procedure precisely, as always.” She blinked acknowledgment. Caldaq leaned back in his chair. “No matter what is suspected or theorized, I will not allow the linguists and geologists to assume preference over, say, the botanists or hydrologists or anyone else. We have just begun the study of this place and it is too soon to try and predict what discoveries may prove to be the ones of greatest importance. Am I understood?”

Everyone present touched a finger or claw to their translator receiver to indicate that he was. He gave the order primarily for the benefit of the Hivistahm, who tended to be argumentative. The Wais and the S’van would simply comply. The meeting was at an end. Fifteen languages, separate and distinct. His head twitched to the left as he tried to embrace the concept. What species needed fifteen languages in order to communicate effectively?

It made no more sense than this world’s shattered topography. Hopefully the first remote would return with an explanation. The ship carried several of the small, self-contained atmospheric vehicles, each capable of extended flight through calm or turbulent weather, each able to carry out detailed observations of a planetary surface. The presence of low-flying aircraft had been noted during the early orbits, but the remote would simply avoid them, going about its business without contact. It would scan one, perhaps two of the distinct landmasses and then return to the ship. After careful study of its recordings they could decide how, when, and where to send down a shuttle to initiate contact. With luck, the natives might even have more to contribute than an unnatural diversity of languages. VI

They woke him in the middle of his rest period. He had no answers for Jaruselka as he slid off the high sleeping platform and dressed rapidly below her. Not that he was especially alarmed or nervous. A Massood did everything hurriedly. He washed his eyes and groomed himself as best he could. T’var was waiting in the corridor. He apologized as soon as the captain emerged. Caldaq contained himself. The call had not interrupted anything since Jaruselka would not come into heat for another half time period, but he was still upset. Sleep was important to the Massood because they expended so much nervous energy simply by being awake. They could not go long without it. As they took the lift to Command Central he used his remote to order a meal. Food could temporarily substitute for lack of rest. Sensing his mood, off-shift personnel hastened out of his path. Running to keep up with his captain, T’var began to pant hard. Caldaq finally took notice and shortened his stride, shamed by the oversight. “This had better be important,” he muttered irritably. “Would I wake you if it wasn’t?” The S’van sounded hurt, a specialty of theirs. “You mean, if you did not think it was. That is not the same thing.” Caldaq was in no mood for S’van subterfuges, verbal or otherwise. “Explain.”

“It’s the survey remote.”

“Back already?” Caldaq’s lips drew away from his teeth. “Too soon. Did someone decide there was not as much to see as they thought?”

“No. It’s not that.”

They stepped off the lift at Command. Caldaq noted immediately the unusual agitation of the Hivistahm staff, an uneasiness mirrored by their S’van and Massood counterparts. O’o’yan line techs fluttered among their larger colleagues like so many arthropod nectarsippers. “What then?”

“It didn’t come back at all.”

Caldaq halted. So intent were the technicians and specialists on their conversation that they had yet to notice the approach of their captain and Second. “What do you mean, it did not come back?” Designed to function under difficult, unpredictable conditions on unexplored worlds, survey remotes contained inbuilt multiple backup systems and redundancies. They were supposed to be fail-proof. That, however, was a specification, not an immutable fact. “Is that what you woke me for?” Caldaq did not allow T’var time to reply. “This is a situation any Second should be able to deal with. Send another remote to see what happened to the first. Has anyone bothered to consider the possibility of mechanical failure?”

“Staff does not think this one failed, Captain. They aren’t sure, but … some disquieting final transmissions were received.”

“Disquieting?

How?”

“Visuals.” For the first time since he’d been awakened it struck Caldaq how much T’var was unlike his usual jovial self. “They are somewhat self-explanatory.”

Caldaq bared his teeth as he strode forward. Crew and officers made room for him as he stormed into their midst and demanded explanations. Meanwhile T’var was murmuring in rapid S’van to Z’mam. Caldaq did not admonish his Second for speaking so. He wanted this settled quickly so he could return to his mate and his bed. An officer beckoned him to a screen. “This is what the remote observed before contact was lost, Captain.” Caldaq leaned forward. He was traveling at high speed over mostly flat, forested terrain. The ground was only intermittently visible because of thick, scattered cloud cover. The view was peaceful, even normal. As the journey progressed the remote passed above several small urban centers. Unexceptional lines radiating outward from the alien communities suggested the presence of limited surface transport facilities. Without warning the image lurched wildly, then steadied again. Caldaq addressed the officer and the staff gathered close by without taking his eyes from the screen. “What was that?”

An O’o’yan tech squeezed between two Hivistahm, his translator humming. “At first we thought heavy local winds might be responsible, then equipment failure. As you can see, the remote righted itself and resumed course as plotted, though it gained altitude while so doing.”

“This is the awkward part,” murmured the officer. “Here …” The Hivistahm reached out and adjusted the instrumentation. The image slowed at the officer’s command. As it did so one of the other Hivistahm pointed to the screen with a clawed finger. “There, see …”

A small object came into view in the upper right corner of the screen. Soon after, the image rolled violently again, the land and the cloudscapes whirling wildly. Very little additional real time passed before the screen went black. Caldaq straightened. “I still see nothing to suggest other than mechanical failure.”

An impatient officer, momentarily forgetting that the captain was not S’van, spoke sharply in the negative. “If the remote had crashed it would have continued sending audiovisual information until the moment of impact. Detailed study of the last available data clearly indicates it was airborne when final failure occurred.”

“Some kind of lethal atmospheric phenomenon, then.”

“We have reason to think otherwise.” Z’mam stepped up to the console. Caldaq watched as the Second ran back the last images transmitted by the remote, finally seizing on one and enlarging it substantially. From the flat view thus selected he chose a small area and enhanced it to three dimensions. The alien object he’d isolated hovered motionless above the console: cylindrical, metallic, and winged. “This was traveling at high speed proximate to the remote,” he explained. “Immediately after it appeared, the probe commenced its gyrations. As you saw, total failure occurred shortly thereafter.”

A Massood off-shift officer spoke up. “All remotes are programmed to take evasive action if and when an airborne alien device should approach to within a prescribed distance.”

Caldaq looked at the soldier. “Surely you do not think the natives destroyed it?” No one said anything. “I have studied the preliminary reports. Even allowing for certain deviations, the perceived level of technology of this planet’s inhabitants is much too low to include the ability to down an advanced survey probe.”

T’var cleared his throat, brushed at his impenetrable black beard. “‘Perceived’ appears to be the operative word here, Captain. ‘Deviation’ may also enter into it. The evidence would seem to suggest …”

“None of this is conclusive,” Caldaq said impatiently. “Send down another remote, but with a different program. There may be something special or unique about the particular area the probe was observing. This time run the survey over a different landmass.”

Strange to be talking about multiple landmasses on the same world, he mused. A mystery for the geologists to solve. A sudden thought worried him. “Something not yet discussed. Could there be an Amplitur outpost here?”

One of the S’van spoke up. “That was one of the first things we checked. There’s no indication of it. Though somewhat sophisticated, the satellites in orbit around this world are of strictly alien design and execution, and insofar as we have been able to determine, utilized strictly for surface-to-surface communication. No information is being directed outward, and no interspatial transmissions have been detected save for occasional bursts being sent to and from tiny mechanical devices located elsewhere in the system, none of which resemble anything the Amplitur or their allies employ.”

“Does not make much sense, does it?” Caldaq asked rhetorically. “Be quick with that other remote.”

He did not return to the rest he so dearly desired. Instead he spent the following time periods in Command Central, watching and waiting as the second probe was ejected from the ship and sent on its long, curving course planetward. From the time it entered atmosphere the probe functioned according to its programming. Therefore, unless a better explanation came to the fore, the loss of the first remote would be recorded as an isolated incident of probable mechanical failure. The second survey probe went about its business without interruption, recording information day by day and sending it back out to the ship. It was about to be recalled when it vanished in a manner similar to its predecessor. Intensive analysis pointed inexorably to the same explanation: it had been destroyed by artificial means. It was a more solemn than usual Chief-of-Study who addressed the assemblage in the gathering room. “In the event local sentients attempt to contact a remote, the device is designed to respond to the inquiry. Yet there is no evidence of such an attempt in these two instances. Is that correct?”

“That is so,” said Third-of-Study, who supervised the remotes. His scales gleamed. “As near as we can determine, neither probe was contacted. Both were simply destroyed.”

“I feel we are missing something.” Caldaq studied the tense group of multiracial techs and officers. “I worry still about Amplitur influence.”

It was infuriating not to know anything for certain. He was so nervous he was unable to control his snout and had to turn away often to conceal the violent twitching from the others. In that he worried needlessly, since everyone was quite familiar with the by-products of the overactive Massood metabolism. The ship had gone to third-stage alert when contact with the second probe had been lost. They could not stay such forever. “Our options are limited. We can continue with our survey until we run out of remotes, we can return directly home to report all we have learned and let Weave Authority decide how to deal with this world, or we can fulfill our responsibilities here by whatever means necessary.” He regarded his advisors evenly. “I did not accept this command with the intention of failing in any aspect of our mission. We have accomplished great work. I will not allow it to be marred by incompleteness. “The remotes are good at observing and recording. They are not designed to react to circumstances for which they have not been programmed. That requires observational capability backed by greater flexibility. Since mechanicals have failed to provide us with understanding, we must seek it in person.”

Murmurings in several languages filled the room, whistles and words and demonstrative clicks careening off one another anxiously. One of the Hivistahm verbalized the obvious. “If both remotes were destroyed by artificial means, a crewed shuttle could face the same danger.”

“I have given the matter some thought.” The arguments ceased and he knew he had their attention. “Both probes kept to programmed courses and altitudes. We will go straight down, minimizing the opportunity for surface-based hostile observation or reaction. A shuttle can manage partial masking and once on the surface can be more completely concealed. “Assuming the inhabitants were responsible for the destruction of the two remotes, it remains that it took them some time to track the first and considerably longer to destroy the second. It may therefore reasonably be assumed that their detection capability or their response time or both is limited. “In addition, both remotes were programmed to fly over heavily populated regions. We will be more selective in choosing a place to touch down.”

Soliwik had no objections. T’var and Z’mam voiced cautious agreement. Chief-of-Study and Third-of-Study thought it a bad idea, but being Hivistahm their response was predictable and Caldaq had allowed for it without in any way attempting to minimize the danger. “I want a mixed landing party,” he declared. “S’van and Hivistahm to observe and record, a Massood squad in case of trouble on the surface, and Wais to translate. Appropriate arms and equipment. “Keep in mind we may be wrong in our conclusions. Meteorological interference or some other natural phenomenon unique to this world may still prove to be responsible for the failure of the remotes. The presence of a native aerial device in one of the recordings does not preclude those explanations. We may even be dealing with some kind of large, dangerous flying creature.”

Even the S’van were impressed with his thoroughness, which they would have expected from one of their own kind but not from a Massood. Caldaq had no time to bask in their unspoken approval. He wanted answers. “Soliwik, you and Z’mam will command in my absence.” He looked to Chief-of-Study. “We will want to set down near one of the urbanized landmasses the remotes were studying without duplicating their paths. Close enough to observe, but isolated from immediate detection. It must be a place where the shuttle can be effectively hidden without restricting the range of our instrumentation. One where there is hopefully a diversity of habitats we can study.”

Chief-of-Technicians objected. “It will be difficult to find a site meeting all your requirements from so far out. If we could approach the upper atmosphere …”

“Do the best you can,” Caldaq told him. “We remain ignorant of the natives’ capabilities. Until we know more I will not risk moving the ship closer. The techniques used in masking are imperfect and work best when well away from a surface.” He turned to T’var. “Assemble the landing group. Bear in mind we will be carrying a heavy load of instrumentation. I want techs who are not afraid to contemplate originalities.” He glanced over at Soliwik. “And fighters who will pause to think before shooting.”

Despite the necessary sense of assurance he was projecting, Caldaq was proceeding uncertainly at best in an unprecedented situation. He was simply giving orders fast enough to forestall serious dissension. Neither T’var nor Soliwik would have trouble finding crew eager to participate, regardless of potential dangers. After so long aboard ship, the chance to experience real gravity and breathe unrecycled atmosphere would be embraced enthusiastically. Another captain might elect to leave well enough alone and return home without determining what had happened to the two lost survey probes, but he could not. He explained as much to Jaruselka, who naturally requested to go along and who, just as naturally, he refused. There followed a barrage of traditional Massood verbal combat which resulted in her remaining on board to continue her own work and a strengthening of their mating bonds. He assured her he would take no unnecessary risks. He, too, wanted cubs. The selection of a landing site provoked intense discussion among the scientific staff. Each department had its own priorities, its own agenda. To make progress Caldaq had to remind them that until they better understood the nature of the world below, scientific concerns would have to be relegated to the background. Someone suggested that the planet might be home to several different intelligent species, which would go a long way toward accounting for the astonishing multiplicity of languages. This possibility was discarded as soon as native visual broadcasts could be analyzed. There was only a single dominant form, bipedal and apparently mammalian. Given the exceptions already noted, the very ordinariness of their appearance was remarkable. Caldaq was relieved. The natives were not monsters. They resembled the S’van in certain ways, the Massood less so, while clearly distinct from either. Selection of a landing site proceeded. The deep oceans would have been ideal for concealment, but too isolated for purposes of observation. Compromise among the members of the study and scientific staffs eventually produced a site. It was located south of the landmass where the first probe had disappeared, proximate to the heaviest concentration of electronic transmissions and aerial transport but well clear of their paths. Both could be studied from a safe distance. Caldaq declared himself pleased. It was unusual for the captain of a vessel to participate directly in such a sortie, but given the unprecedented nature of this world Caldaq felt strongly that his particular abilities might be of use. He was not leaving his command understaffed. Soliwik and Z’mam were more experienced and competent at shipboard administration than himself. If anything happened to the landing party, they would have no difficulty guiding the ship back home. Having three Seconds gave him considerable flexibility. Furthermore, if it became necessary to employ the talents of the Massood, he wanted to be there to direct his own people. There would be twelve fighters in the squad. That should be sufficient to deal with any minor problems on the ground. By avoiding urbanized regions where the two probes had vanished, they hopefully could avoid any such problems themselves. They went down at the height of the nighttime phase, dropping uncomfortably fast toward the designated site and slowing only as they approached the surface. Preliminary observations confirmed the accuracy of the painstaking work which had been done in haste on board ship. Below lay a multitude of shallow places surrounded by deeper water. All were uninhabited. Surface activity was nonexistent and communications transmissions feeble and infrequent. It was only a matter of choosing the site which best suited their requirements. Personally Caldaq would rather have set down on land. The Massood were not water-lovers, and there was entirely too much water on this world to suit him. Only the Lepar would be comfortable in this place, he decided. But shallow seas offered the best opportunity for quick and easy concealment of the shuttle. They entered the water as silently as possible, coming to rest on a firm bottom with sufficient clearance between the top of the ship and the surface. Since they had chosen an enclosed, protected area they would not have to worry about dangerous currents or wave action. The tiny islets that encircled the landing site boasted modest vegetation in the form of dense bushes and tall branchless trees. The biologists went to work immediately, and it wasn’t long before one discovered that the islets themselves were composed not of solid rock but rather of the decomposed skeletons of minute marine organisms. Their chemical composition was quickly analyzed. It proved to be a simple, straightforward series which the shuttle’s computer programmed into the onboard camouflage instrumentation. Working feverishly, Hivistahm and O’o’yan techs directed Lepar workers in the erection of an electrified grid around the shuttle. Thus stimulated, calcareous growth immediately began to form on the gridwork. In a few days the shuttle would be enclosed by a hard mantle indistinguishable from the reef surrounding it. New information enabled the technicians to accelerate the process. Lepar sculpted the blossoming camouflage to better mimic the original, and the brightly colored local aquatic life-forms which throve in the vicinity did their part by readily moving into the new rills and ridges materializing unexpectedly in their atoll home. From the site it was possible to monitor major transmissions in several of the major languages without having to utilize high-gain reception equipment. The Wais worked overtime breaking down structure and grammar, their computers churning with correlations and analysis. Theirs was a talent Caldaq did not have, and he was grateful for their ability and persistence. What a world this must be, he mused. Multiple languages, splintered lands, volcanic activity: the wonder was that any intelligence could triumph over such natural handicaps. But it was a beautiful world, both above and below the surface. The ambient temperature was pleasing, the winds light, the amount of ultraviolet reaching the surface tolerable. If only the oxygen content were higher. Breathing would require more effort than usual. Still, he was impatient for a chance to leave the shuttle and feel solid ground beneath his feet again. It would be difficult not to take off running, for all that the little islands did not provide much room. Given the opportunity he would have to restrain himself. The vegetation looked harmless enough, but no one could imagine what hungry or toxic creatures might lurk among the bushes. The same was true of the chromatically colored life-forms which swarmed in such profusion in the waters outside the ship. Eventually a camouflaged access tube was constructed to the nearest islet and members of the crew were allowed outside at night, for exercise and by way of reward. The Lepar had preceded them, luxuriating in the warm water as they worked. You could envy them in their ability to breathe both in and out of the water, but that was about all you could envy them for, Caldaq reflected. That first night he found himself gazing at the sky and its myriad unfamiliar stars. He did not worry about overflights by native aircraft. There had been none since they had landed. There was a sandy beach. He started running along it, in the opposite direction from his fellow Massood, several of whom had been allowed to accompany him. He would meet them shortly, he knew. The island was small. But for a time he could be truly alone. That was a luxury not to be imagined aboard ship. The objections of some squatty, hairy dwarfs were not about to keep him and his people from their first good run in months. Running was as vital to the Massood as sex. Besides, T’var would let him know if any native vehicles entered the area. That was unlikely, since research had confirmed the natives’ preference for diurnal travel. In any case there would be ample time to return to the shuttle. Vatoloi bobbed in the calm water nearby, his equipment belt secured around his waist, watching the Massood dash madly around the tiny island. Idly he plucked a strand of water growth from his external gills and flicked it aside. He did not understand what the Massood were doing. The activities of Massood ranked high on the list of things he did not understand. Their pace was impressive, one he knew none of his kind could come close to matching. They might continue for much of the night, he knew, running round and round in circles until they exhausted themselves, until their long tongues were hanging from the sides of their mouths. It was of great importance to them, but for the Life he couldn’t understand why. An immense amount of energy was being expended to no discernible purpose. Perhaps it was a kind of joke, a humor. The Massood were fond of such, though they were not so incomprehensible as the S’van. Humor was something else Vatoloi did not understand. Of course it was not necessary that he understand. Enough to do his work, sleep, eat, reproduce. As always there was the persistent feeling that he was missing something. It would help if he were as smart as the Massood, or the O’o’yan, or Life forbid, the S’van. While many races could make one feel inferior, only the S’van did it with empathy. That was a gift of the S’van. In a sense, Vatoloi thought, the structuring of an analogy giving him a headache as it always did, the S’van ran with words as the Massood did with their legs. The Lepar possessed no such gifts. Nor did they have the technical skills of the Hivistahm or the delicate touch of the O’o’yan. They simply had the ability to work, steady and uncomplaining, so long as the task at hand was not too complicated and required no original thinking. Ducking beneath the surface, Vatoloi’s body effortlessly made the transition from breathing air to extracting oxygen from the surrounding seawater. As always he marveled at the intense colors of the local marine forms, many of which generated their own light at nighttime. He had collected specimens for many of the scientists, bewildered by their comments. But they praised his efforts, and he felt warmth. No time to gawk now. He had to help Haoupi, who was checking the gridwork above the shuttle’s antennae. Other Lepar swam by, and he acknowledged them with appropriate gestures and grins, his tail pushing him effortlessly through the clear water. Haoupi was glad to see him. It was a great aid to one’s labors when a supervisor like Vatoloi was available to tell you what to do when you weren’t sure. The work was finished in good time. Because Vatoloi was so smart they did not even have to ask advice of the supervising Hivistahm. That pleased Haoupi because the Hivistahm were always impatient. They often said things that made you feel bad. Making decisions was the hardest part of being a supervisor, but Vatoloi had accepted it because it had been asked of him. At least when you were a supervisor no one laughed at you or complained too loudly. But there were always the looks, the looks every Lepar had to live with. You dealt with them, as you dealt with the rest of existence. This was a lovely place, he thought, the concept of beauty coming to him without struggle. And it was good to be able to go outside artificial walls. He preferred swimming to walking, no matter how many Hivistahm referred to it snidely as devolutionary. He dove deeper, examining something crawling slowly across the sandy bottom. The first few days his tail had ached from lack of use, but now it was strong again. They had heard the stories of the multiple languages and deformed geology of this world, but that did not mitigate its beauty for him. Of much more concern was the disappearance and possible destruction of the two survey remotes. Now crew had come to this place to try and find out what their machines had been unable to tell them. Like everyone else, he was afraid of what might be out there. The Lepar were afraid much of the time. It was not an emotion so much as an endemic condition. They had come to this world, as they had gone to many other new worlds, in hopes of finding more help against the Amplitur. The Lepar feared the Amplitur far more than any of their allies, far more than the dark, lightless waters of their own world. So they worked, kept working around the clock without complaint or objection or the quality of their work suffering, to help in their small way to defeat the Amplitur, who if not stopped would steal their selves. Smart the Lepar were not, but they were experts at enduring. VII

By the fifth day they were still on the floor of the lagoon, their craft now comfortably concealed by calcareous concretions. No native had come anywhere near. Viewed from above, the shuttle was merely an extension of the extensive reef system. The local marine life found it much to their liking. The Wais made progress in language analysis. They had identified and isolated three additional languages, bringing the total to eighteen. By this time Caldaq and his companions had passed beyond linguistic amazement. They had also decided they could progress no further without making one of two choices. They could raise the ship and move nearer an urbanized area. Or they could acquire a specimen. It was easy enough to choose the latter course. They needed to increase their store of knowledge about the inhabitants as rapidly as was feasible. Working with a live specimen instead of confusing visual recordings would aid them in doing so. Examination of those recordings confirmed initial impressions: the dominant race was mammalian and bipedal, surprisingly varied in size and coloring. As yet researchers were unable to tell if the latter reflected biological structuring into distinct categories such as workers and drones, for example. At least they were not utterly alien. The S’van and the Massood were mammalian bipeds. The Hivistahm, O’o’yan, and others were at least endothermic. But each spoke one language. Given the astonishing multiplicity of languages on this world it was remarkable that the natives could communicate effectively with one another at all. A S’van had spent some time with Pasiiakilion, who had spoken of “geosociology.” To the best of Caldaq’s knowledge that was not a recognized discipline. The Turlog was struggling to find a way of describing the unique world they were studying. They would try to isolate a healthy individual, a task which would require luck as much as care. If these people were as gregarious as the S’van, removal of an individual from its familiar social context could result in trauma or worse. Pity they weren’t like the Turlog, he mused. One Turlog cared not a whit if another of its kind lived nearer than a light-year away. It would not matter if the specimen chosen was male or female. The biologists would want to examine both, but any isolated couple might prove to be a mated pair. In that case the attempt to acquire could conceivably arouse mutually protective instincts, something which would be interesting to observe but contrary to the greater object of trying to secure a specimen’s cooperation. Four Massood would attempt the acquisition under cover of darkness, accompanied by a Wais to translate and a single Lepar to act as mechanic. The scientific staff protested at their exclusion, but not strongly. Memory of the disappearance of the remotes was still strong in everyone’s mind. The small submersible was silent and efficient. It was also virtually unsinkable. This was a great comfort to the Massood, who were not good swimmers. The thought of allowing Lepar to carry out the mission by themselves naturally occurred to no one. It was decided to try to acquire a specimen from one of the native boats which occasionally passed close by the concealed shuttle. Infrequently, they actually entered the lagoon. The problem was that the smaller the craft, the more likely its crew was to notice the disappearance of someone in their midst. It was decided first to try and find a vessel with three or fewer individuals aboard. To Caldaq the chances seemed slim. What fool would set him- or herself to sail a vast sea with so little companionship or assistance?

But perhaps this close to land, in a small craft … It was worth a hopeful wait. Days passed. A number of vessels entered and left the lagoon. All were crewed by a minimum of four beings. It was fascinating to observe their antics from the submersible instead of having to rely on recorded visual transmissions. The natives wore little clothing, which made it easy to distinguish males from females. Their bodies were largely devoid of fur, an omission Caldaq and his fellow Massood found distasteful. In some ways the natives more nearly resembled the Lepar, though they had no tails and their skin was not slick. But they boasted similarly flat faces. Of course, so did the S’van. There was no need to don heating packs since the temperature was quite warm even in the middle of the night. He lay prone atop the slightly curved surface of the submersible and studied the native vessel through a magnifier. There were six of them, all gyrating beneath the oversized moon. Raucous modulations burst rhythmically from the vessel’s central cabin. Caldaq gazed in fascination at the muscular but crude dances they were performing, wondering at the origin of the ritual which gave rise to such exertions. Males and females changed pairings frequently. It was all very impressive from a biosocial viewpoint. However, it did nothing to advance their aims. They had much better luck the following night. The vast lagoon was empty when the double-hulled craft entered and anchored, but what drew them to it initially was not its isolation so much as the music that began to emanate from it that first night. It but fitfully resembled the dissonant native sounds that had been previously recorded. The music emerged from the craft in irregular bursts and snatches that changed and shifted unpredictably. Barbaric and uncivilized, though somewhat less so than what they had heard before. Also, the volume fell within the tolerable range. The boat could be approached in safety. Since there were no other native craft present in the lagoon at the time, it was decided that a preliminary inspection might be efficacious. Visual scan showed an empty deck. The sail typically employed to propel native craft was fully reefed, and it was secured to the lagoon bottom. Artificial illumination brightened the large central cabin. Caldaq had Denlaca execute a tightening spiral around the craft. The deck remained empty, a hopeful sign suggesting a small crew at most. Nor were the internal lights regularly occluded by the movement of people within. Their pickups continued to record music. The sequence of harmonic variations was unlike anything previously noted in native transmissions. It was as if those on board knew what they wanted to hear, but not how. Caldaq was anxious to have a look at the inhabitants. Anxious enough to discuss the situation with his fellow Massood. “This is the first time in several time periods the lagoon has been occupied by only a single native craft. It presents us with an excellent opportunity, but first we must ascertain how many natives are on board. “If we wait until they show themselves, other craft may arrive and communicate with this one, thereby destroying its useful isolation. Given that the natives often appear only in daytime, that is a real risk. As we cannot observe during the day because our submersible would be easily visible in this water, I propose to board the alien craft now, in hopes of securing a count without exposing ourselves.”

One of the soldiers proposed an alternative. “The Lepar can swim close to the craft.”

Caldaq’s nose twitched. “The ports are too high. He would not be able to see inside.”

There were no other suggestions. Caldaq took upon himself the distasteful task of being the first to make the short swim from the submersible to the native vessel. Dropahc volunteered to accompany him. The natives tended to be at their most inert in the dark hours just prior to sunrise. The Massood waited on board the submersible, discussing alternatives that ranged from the benign to the disastrous. Then it was time to proceed. Caldaq and Dropahc removed their clothing. Each donned an expendable service belt that contained emergency supplies, communicator, translator pack including the new program for the dominant local language, and small sidearm. The latter was not for confronting natives. Large carnivores had often been observed feeding in the waters around the shuttle. Once outside the submersible, both Massood slipped into the warm water. Swimming was an unnatural activity. The Hivistahm and O’o’yan could not do it at all. Caldaq’s lips drew back at the uncomfortable sensation. The native craft lay close by, motionless in the protected waters of the lagoon. Muscles protested painfully but the distance involved was very short. Both soldiers soon found themselves clinging to the stern of one of the twin hulls, each of which had been fitted with horizontal slots to form a ladder. The vessel itself was of an interesting but not remarkable design, principles of primitive waterborne transportation being relatively universal. Dropahc insisted on going up first. Water pouring off his fur, he turned to whisper back down to his captain. “The back end is open and I can see into the central cabin. Nothing moves there. The music comes from the other hull.”

Fancying large meat-eaters swimming through the darkness beneath them, Caldaq hastened to join his companion on the deck. Between the two hulls lay a large, raised cabin. Behind it was an open compartment dominated by a wheel-like device and some simple instrumentation. Caldaq advanced until he was able to step down behind the wheel and peer into the cabin. The interior was well lit. An unseen device hummed softly, doubtless the machine which provided the craft with power. The door to the cabin was open, allowing the music emanating from within to assail his ears unobstructed. It was not as painful as he’d feared, but it was far from pleasant. Inside he saw another wheel and more instrumentation, along with furniture and decorations whose functions he could only guess at. Keeping low, he turned to his companion. “Come close. There is no one here. Only the music.”

Dropahc stepped down to join his captain. His ears lay flat against his head and his lips were drawn back, exposing his teeth. Whiskers quivered. “The noise hurts my head.”

“Mine as well, yet it is easier to bear than similar sounds we have recorded previously.” He hesitated, then gestured at the open doorway. “We have to look inside.”

“Exercise caution, Captain.”

Caldaq turned in the opening. “We know what they look like. They are not physically imposing.”

“Many toxic creatures have innocuous appearances,” Dropahc pointed out. “I will be careful.” Caldaq bent and entered the cabin. The low ceiling required him to bend slightly at the waist. His nose twitched at the end of his snout. The room was ripe with alien scent, strong and strangely sweetish. There were openings on both sides, leading down into the twin hulls. He turned toward the one from which the music came. Bending double, he looked warily to his left, then his right. At the far end of the long narrow chamber he saw the native. It was seated, its naked arms and hands working with multiple devices. The music emanated from twin boxes fastened to opposite walls. Its back was to the doorway and it was oblivious to Caldaq’s presence. Personal observation confirmed what they had learned from their study of native visual transmissions. They had five bare digits on each hand, one more than the Massood, two less than the O’o’yan, the same as the Hivistahm. Otherwise they resembled the Hivistahm not at all. Their skin was almost entirely hairless, soft-looking and fleshy, not hard-scaled like that of his best technicians. Up close the discordant sounds were almost more than Caldaq could bear. How the native stood them he could not imagine. It must possess hearing organs of remarkable tolerance, he decided. He retreated to the central cabin for relief. Dropahc emerged from the opening that led to the other hull. “Deserted,” he murmured softly. “I have found only one,” Caldaq replied. The painful chords lingering in the air served to mitigate his enthusiasm. A particularly dissonant eruption made Dropahc wince. “How can anything sentient stand such sounds?

No wonder it is alone.”

“It has kept its back to the opening, so I cannot tell the sex. Tell the others to come aboard, and bring the translator.”

Dropahc eyed him questioningly. “Is that necessary, Captain?

Surely the two of us …”

“I do not take chances with the unknown. I want everyone present.”

Still Dropahc hesitated. “What if the Wais will not come?

It cannot swim.”

“The others can carry it through the water. We may need its services. Vatoloi can help.”

Dropahc indicated acknowledgment and turned to go, hesitating in the doorway. “Who will watch the submersible?”

“Vatoloi.” In response to Dropahc’s questioning look he added, “The Lepar does not have to operate anything; just stay with it.”

Dropahc’s nose twitched and he vanished silently into the night. Caldaq did not even hear him slip back into the water. He returned to the opening and gingerly peered back inside. The native was still sitting before its devices, generating sounds no sane being in a civilized setting would have tolerated for more than a moment. Caldaq flattened his ears, hoping Dropahc and the others would be quick. An F-sharp gave Will Dulac pause. He leaned back in the chair and stared moodily at the array of instrumentation assembled before him. The quiet hum of the synthesizer was the only sound in the port fore-cabin. He ran the fingers of his left hand through his dark, wavy hair. It was shrinking yearly, retreating from his forehead and concealing itself somewhere down the back of his collar. That steady subsidence, like a glacier in retreat, was partly why he had chosen to grow the outrageously bushy sideburns. Also he wanted to do something distinctive and different with his appearance, just as he did with his music. The first half of Arcadia was done and the remainder sketched in. But the scherzo that led into the concussive concluding allegro energico was giving him nothing but trouble. Not the music itself: the notes were there, dark and immutable, within the laptop’s program. It was the orchestration that was driving him crazy. He’d planned from the outset to begin the scherzo with flutes counterpointed by a single bassoon. The result would be driving yet comical, a bit of musical black comedy Berlioz or Bartók would have appreciated. Then have the second violins and the basses pick it up before segueing into the neat little toccata for brass he’d put together. The toccata worked fine, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how to get from the end of the adagio to the scherzo. He was at an orchestral impasse. Nothing sounded right. The flutes seemed lost and the bassoon, instead of protruding mournfully, came across like a dyspeptic tuba, a refugee from the Saturn movement of Holst’s Planets. He stared angrily at the MIDI board and the tangle of cables on the desk. What if he went with a sax instead of the bassoon?

The orchestration was complicated enough already, getting real expensive. Adding a sax player wouldn’t encourage penurious small-town orchestras to play the finished work. Dammit, Ravel had found the effect he wanted!

So had Debussy, and Griffes. If a bunch of early-twentieth-century Frenchmen and a sickly American could create the sound he needed, why couldn’t an experienced academic from New Orleans?

Maybe he’d subconsciously avoided use of the saxophone all along because the last thing he wanted was any jazz overtones. Coming from that part of the country, it was something he’d had to fight in his work all his life. “Oh, yeah, you’re that composer from New Orleans. Your work must be, has to be, cannot be anything but jazz-oriented. Right?”

He shook his head even though there was no one present to observe the gesture. Amazing and disgusting how people could generalize. Just because he was from Louisiana, critics and public alike assumed. He had no intention of being the second coming of Louis Gottschalk. His work had nothing to do with jazz, everything to do with his Cajun heritage. It would have been much easier to do something simple for a first large-scale orchestral composition. A folk-song suite, perhaps, utilizing the tunes and fiddling he’d grown up listening to in the parish. Some simple orchestrating and he’d have a piece worthy of recording. But that wasn’t what had been swimming around inside his head for the past fifteen years. Oh, he’d make use of those tunes, you bet. But as bits and pieces, useful fragments and jumping-off points for the real composition. No, his intent, his aim was greater than that. He was striving for nothing less than a synthesis of Cajun folk music with contemporary symphonic tradition. There were minimalist overtones, sure, but plenty of echoes of modern American music in the tradition of everybody from Hanson to Glass. John Vincent’s wonderful symphony had been a particular inspiration to him, perhaps because Vincent had hailed from Alabama instead of Los Angeles or New York. He’d thought taking off in the boat for a few weeks would help to break the instrumental logjam in his brain. There were too many distractions in the city, or even out on the Lake or the Gulf. He knew that he needed to get farther away, much farther. Away from the casual camaraderie of the bookstores and the chatter of the University, away from the restaurants and lectures. Too simple to put computer aside and head to the Café du Monde for café au lait and beignets. Too easy to cut the power and spend the night hanging around the Quarter watching the tourists gawk at the locals and vice versa. If he was going to make any real progress, if he was going to finish this monster which had taken over his life, he knew he had to go somewhere devoid of entertainment or intellectual intercourse. Since he didn’t have much money, that meant taking the boat out. What kept him going was Dorbachevski’s interest in the project. The orchestra’s director had half promised to premiere the piece with the symphony as soon as its composer had it whipped into publishable shape. A performance by the Philharmonic would not only give the composition instant legitimacy, it would be a qualitative leap over what the University orchestra could do. Dearborn, the head of the department, had offered him a full professorship on more than one occasion. To the amazement of his colleagues he continued to turn it down, explaining that he preferred the independence conferred by part-time teaching and tutoring. Infrequent but well-paying guest conductorships and occasional TV work kept him afloat, if not in a position to begin collecting Fabergé eggs. It was not so much that he favored the life-style of a gypsy academic, he just wanted time to compose. Of course, if he couldn’t solve Arcadia, he would have to seriously consider giving Frank Dearborn a call. Not to think of that now. Better to remember Dorbachevski’s promise, to think of the completed tone poem filling Symphony Hall with sonorous prosody, its grand finale capped by a cacophonous coda of applause. If only the fucking flutes would cooperate. So far his tenuous claim to fame consisted of forty-five seconds of music he’d composed for the news department of the local NBC affiliate and the score to a documentary on Louisiana bird life for the Baton Rouge PBS station. If only the documentary had been on oil drilling or chemical refining, he might even have made some real money on it. Arcadia was going to be his breakthrough: a symphonic poem utilizing Cajun themes, full of richness and power and hope. He’d put everything from memories of his childhood to all his technical knowledge into it, resisting the temptation to engage in trendy minimalism or shocking atonality. The finished work would be modern yet approachable. It would not, however, be heard unless he could solve the bedeviling orchestration. It was as if someone had put a gris-gris on him, yes. So he’d stocked his catamaran, cranked up the winches, loosened up the roller furling, and set sail south. No sampling the tawdry temptations of Cozumel or Cancún this trip. They were too redolent of his hometown. He wanted, needed, to get away from such distractions. Only when he’d reached Lighthouse Reef did he select a mooring inside the lagoon and drop anchor. No one was likely to disturb him there for weeks. Only passing boats visited this place, sixty miles off the coast of sweltering, unglamorous Belize. Shoot, there were only a hundred and sixty thousand people in the whole country. More than half spoke English, which made it easy for him to replenish his supplies during his intermittent forays into Belize City or Monkey Town. He was able to anchor in one place, taking the occasional break from the burden of composing by snorkeling in the warm waters of the enormous lagoon. The nearby islets were blessedly free of mosquitoes, though small biting flies did their best to fill the ecological niche their slimmer cousins had abdicated. The weather remained good and as hoped, his work had taken a quantum leap forward. But now he was stuck, mired in the scherzo which should have been among the easiest parts to finish. He resisted the urge to skip ahead to the allegro by covering his uncertainty with timpani. Better to junk the whole ten pages, and that he refused to do. Why couldn’t he be like Strauss or Mozart, effortlessly cranking out masterwork after masterwork, the music already fully orchestrated in his head?

Why couldn’t counterpoint come naturally to him, instead of requiring such rigorous mental application?

If he was ever going to command more than a line in Baker’s or Grove, he was going to have to complete something really worthwhile. That he was in the books at all, right between Dukelsky and Dulcken, was a triumph of sorts. But he wanted more from the compilers. He wanted admiration, he wanted commentary. He wanted footnotes. DULAC, WILLIAM L.: born Slidell, Louisiana, 19 … well, not too many years ago. Marital status—single (but not forever, hopefully).

Major works —two string quartets, assorted songs, music for television, the overture Jambalaya. He smiled at that, memories of his first real success. Who but a Cajun would have had the audacity to compose a work of twelve minutes’ duration for full symphony orchestra inspired entirely by food?

He read on in his thoughts: various minor works …

Arcadia would change that. In its present form the symphonic poem was fifty minutes long. Let them try to ignore him after Arcadia … if he could ever finish the damn thing. Lips tight, he glared at the keyboard as his fingers manipulated the keys. The bassoon vanished, kicked aside by a newly installed saxophone. Go with your instincts, his teachers had always told him. Don’t let technical proficiency and expertise get in the way of what feels right. He leaned back and contemplated. By damn, it even looked better up there on the screen than that stupid bassoon. He hit ENTER, listened to the CD-ROM track, then ordered playback. Instant synthesized orchestra replied through the speakers. There it was, sensuous and mournful: daybreak fog the sun had yet to burn off the swamp. Spanish moss hung limp and damp from the arms of the cypress just as the sound of the sax clung to the trills of the flutes. Much better, he told himself. Much better. If he could just get through the scherzo, the allegro would be a breeze: all brass and bass and supple supportive strings. Smiling with satisfaction he swiveled in his chair to find himself staring at something that had to bend double to peer through the passageway leading to the main cabin. VIII

It was very tall and covered in short gray fur. Wide, dark eyes with vertical pupils stared back at him from either side of a triangular, protruding snout at the end of which whiskers and a black nose twitched ceaselessly. The one visible four-fingered hand was huge but small-boned. A small rectangular device hung from a necklace or strap, and a gold button was fitted inside one ear. Other equipment was attached to a thin belt above the hips. A gaping Will thought he could make out a second face crowding close behind the first, and beyond it a hint of a giant bird with a crest of brilliantly hued feathers. It gazed back at him with the same intelligent interest as its hairy companion. No one moved until the creature in the back squeezed through the opening and past the others. As it approached the composer its lips drew back, revealing grayish gums and rows of sharp, pointed teeth. It looked powerful and vicious and when it reached for him, Will instinctively knocked the menacing arm aside. He struck quickly and without thinking. To his surprise the creature let out an incongruously high-pitched yelp and stumbled backward, straightening convulsively and banging its head against the cabin ceiling. It clutched at the wrist Will had swatted. Though shocked, Caldaq reacted swiftly. He drew his sidearm and aimed it at the native. Behind him he heard the Wais gasp softly. He ignored it. Unexpected circumstances called for unprecedented reactions. The native’s response confirmed the correctness of the action. It looked first at him, then at the sidearm, and stopped moving, correctly interpreting the device’s function. Experience had demonstrated that even very primitive peoples understood that something pointed at their midsections should be regarded with caution. Dropahc retreated to the large central cabin and sat down on the floor, grimacing in pain and holding onto his right wrist. Caldaq motioned with his sidearm for the native to follow. It did so, noting as it complied the presence of the Wais and the two other Massood. There was ample room in the cabin between the two hulls for everyone. When standing, the native was slightly taller than the Wais, taller than any Weave sentients save the Massood and the Chirinaldo. Its face was even flatter than that of a S’van. “I think it is broken, Captain.” Dropahc looked up, mucus dripping from his snout. “Did you see how quickly it moved?”

“I saw.” Caldaq did not take his eyes from the native. He couldn’t conceive of killing it, but neither would he allow it to injure any more of his people. He could not understand the violence of its reaction to Dropahc’s friendly approach. “Perhaps this is an unnaturally belligerent individual,” the Wais suggested shakily, “and that is why it has been isolated from others of its kind.”

“The music itself is belligerent,” said Dropahc. Caldaq glanced briefly at the injured soldier. “Get outside. You cannot do any good in here and if there is further trouble you will only be in the way.”

Lips quivering, Dropahc signed affirmation and exited. The four remaining crewmembers confronted the native, which stared back. The Wais remained in the background. If it came to a fight, Caldaq knew she would be useless. “If it makes a move toward any of you,” he murmured, “shoot it.” He ignored the shocked looks of his subordinates. “We will search elsewhere for a more tractable specimen. We do not know what these things are capable of and I will not have anyone else hurt.”

The native had backed up against the large wheel device. It watched Caldaq as he spoke, understanding nothing of what was being said in its presence. “I did not see.” The Wais regarded the specimen out of soft, limpid eyes. “You say that Dropahc attempted to extend greetings and it simply struck and injured him without warning?”

“If it spoke first I did not hear,” said Caldaq. “Nor did I see its mouth move.”

“Surely it is not,” muttered one of the other Massood soldiers, “like the Amplitur?”

“It reacted physically, so I would think not. We have an aberration here and we must find a way of dealing with it.”

“To strike out like that without first attempting to ascertain what was wanted of it, to do actual physical damage …” Caldaq saw that the sensitive Wais was in danger of going into shock. To forestall that he spoke sharply to her. “Find out what it wants.”

The glaze vanished from the ornithorp’s eyes. She signed a response, once more a fully functioning member of his crew. As she stepped hesitantly forward, Caldaq made certain his own translator was functioning. The Wais found herself switching smoothly from fluent Massood to the chosen native language. It resembled Turlog and S’van as much as anything else. “Please relax. We mean you no harm.”

Will’s head jerked around and he gaped at the tall bird-thing. It had spoken to him in perfect, unaccented American English. Nevertheless, it was hard to concentrate on what it was saying due to the presence of the three tall, toothy monsters who had surrounded him. Each was pointing something short and machined in his direction. They might be wands of peace, or devices for sampling the atmosphere or measuring his body temperature, but he didn’t think so. Nor was he anxious to find out. He realized that the alien which had left holding its wrist had been injured and that he was responsible. But he hadn’t struck out that hard. It had only been his intention to brush the groping paw aside. Clearly he’d done more than that. What more natural, then, than for these creatures to treat him as hostile?

But he wasn’t, he wasn’t hostile at all. How else did they expect him to react, bursting in on him in the middle of the night?

Where had they come from?

His imagination was working overtime. They smelled of the lagoon but none of them looked built for an aquatic life-style. They were not a bunch of his students come all the way to Belize to play some incredibly elaborate practical joke on him. Even if they could be human beings inside gray fur suits, there was no room for anyone inside that bird body, not even a child. He wondered why it was the only one speaking. It was downright voluble, talking to calm and reassure him. All of which was dependent on him believing what was happening. Which he was starting to do. He just didn’t want to. He found himself edging back toward the doorway which led to the portside hull. “This is crazy,” he mumbled aloud. “Careful,” said Caldaq. “It is moving.” He raised his sidearm slightly, trying to decide which part of the native body would be most receptive to a nonlethal charge. Abruptly, the creature changed direction and dove through the passageway that led into the other hull. It executed the maneuver with incredible speed, too rapidly for any of the soldiers to react. “Watch out!” Wouldea shouted. “It is trying to get away!” Despite their concern, no one fired. Instead they attempted to follow, greatly encumbered by their height. The Wais glided along behind, frantically issuing a stream of what should have been reassuring words in the local tongue. When these had no effect it switched desperately to a second native language, then a third. “Why are you running?

There is nothing wrong. No problema aquí, señor. Was ist mit ihnen los?”

Will went up fast through the hatch, shutting it behind him and looking around wildly. The foredeck was deserted. He stepped out on the trampoline suspended between the twin bows. If he could make it to Goff Cay and hide out there till morning, he might be able to signal his distress to the single elderly government employee stationed at Half Moon Cay. Half Moon was a bird sanctuary, and tourist boats sometimes put in there. Not that anyone would believe his tale of being accosted in the middle of the night by four creatures with bodies like gibbons and faces like giant rats who let a glamorized emu do all their talking for them, but he didn’t much care about that. All he wanted was to put distance between himself and his nightmare. He was standing on the edge of the trampoline when they began to emerge from the hatch. Now he could see how tall they were, all except the bird-creature standing at least six-foot-six. “Wait, please wait!” The bird-thing sounded almost plaintive. He wondered how it could form English words so well given that encumbering heavy beak. The nearest alien was waving one of the pointy, lethal-looking devices in his direction. That settled it. Caldaq slowed in surprise as the native leaped into the water. Gingerly he and the others approached the front of the craft. A quick inspection showed no sign of the specimen. “Surely it is not amphibious. I saw no sign of gills.”

“No.” Wouldea pointed to the right of the boat as the native broke the surface. It was heading for an impossibly distant island. “Great Stride,” muttered the other soldier. “Look at it move!”

Caldaq raised his sidearm. They could try to stun it, but what if it wasn’t a water-breather?

It might sink and drown. The more unanticipated abilities it demonstrated, the more anxious Caldaq was to examine it. He pulled his communicator and gave the necessary orders. Will paused momentarily, breathing hard and treading water. Behind him his catamaran was an angular silhouette in the moonlight. He could see the three monsters lined up on the trampoline. They were staring at him but gave no sign of pursuing. The bird-creature stood nearby. Either they didn’t want to follow him or else they couldn’t. He relaxed a little. The water was warm and comfortable and he was already a third of the way to his destination. From previous snorkeling expeditions he knew there were coral heads in the vicinity, but only a few that scraped the surface. If he didn’t let his legs dangle he ought to be able to pass over the rest in safety. As he turned to resume his crawl a face emerged directly in front of his. Less than a foot away, it was bulbous and glistening, with a mouth that nearly split the skull in half. Something like pink seaweed clung to both sides of the neck, and a pair of small black eyes stared into his own. It had a tail and webbed hind feet and wore some kind of body suit and belt. The fact that it was smaller than him did nothing to minimize the shock of its appearance. Uttering an inarticulate cry, he tried to swim around it. Darting effortlessly in front of him, it blocked his path to the island. Despite the creature’s smaller stature, its mouth was wide enough to encompass Will’s entire head. That intimidating orifice gaped as it made burbling sounds at him. When a second attempt at slipping past proved equally futile, he swam in place and studied his opponent. Noting the webbed feet, gills, and tail, Will had no illusions about trying to outswim it. It didn’t seem hostile: just curious. The vast mouth was devoid of teeth. There was also something about the tiny dark eyes, about the whole aspect of the alien, which was reassuring. It burbled at him afresh. Not a pet or domesticated animal, he decided. The instrumentation it wore on the belt was proof enough of that. Its attitude was easygoing, but not indifferent. Turning in the water, Will pointed back to his boat, then looked questioningly at the creature. He was not surprised when it lifted a dripping hand and mimicked the gesture. “All right,” he said tiredly. “I get the idea. You could probably swim circles around me till I sank.” Reluctantly, he started swimming back toward the cat. As he swam it struck him that the aliens already on board could have shot him at their leisure. They hadn’t done so when he’d bolted from the cabin, when he’d jumped overboard, or while he’d been trying to swim to safety. Whatever their intentions were they apparently did not include immediate dismemberment and vivisection. If he needed additional proof, he got it when he swam around to the back of his boat. Long, slim fingers reached down for his. He found himself gazing up past whiskers and teeth into eerie catlike eyes. The water alien was right behind him. Will reached up and took the proffered hand. “I cannot do it.” The soldier spoke to Caldaq. “It is much heavier than it appears.”

Wouldea came over to aid his companion. It took their combined strength to help the native back aboard. Caldaq and Dropahc covered them as they retreated. At a sign from his captain, Vatoloi swam back to the unoccupied submersible. Will climbed down into the cockpit, stood there dripping as he studied his captors. They were spread out, no doubt to cover him more effectively should he try to flee a second time. “Take it easy.” He raised both hands. “It’s cold out here at night when you’re wet. I just want to get a towel.”

“Go right ahead.”

Will regarded the Wais admiringly. “Damn but your English is good. I’ve got students you could tutor.”

The Wais responded to the alien’s words with a cocky flip of its feathery plume before turning to Caldaq. “It does indeed speak the principal language. My earlier words were understood. I surmise it could think only of flight.”

“Why?” Caldaq was genuinely puzzled. “We made no hostile gestures.”

“I believe its reaction was based solely on our appearance.”

“That makes no sense. Why should the way we look frighten it so?”

“I am a translator, not a xenopsych.” The Wais spoke again in English. “Go and get your ‘towel.’ Believe me when I tell you that we mean you no harm. There was no reason for you to flee.”

“Say you, yeah. I maybe think otherwise, you bet.” Aware he’d momentarily slipped back to the patois of his childhood he added, “Just give me a minute to dry off. What is it you people want, anyway?” He entered the center cabin. His visitors (that was better than “captors,” he thought) followed. “Just to talk,” said the Wais. “Ah sure. Where are you from?”

In place of the nonexistent English equivalent, the translator substituted a descriptive term. “The Weave.”

“‘The Weave.’ As in someplace up there?” He gestured skyward with a thumb. The Wais flipped its plume again, curious to see if the native would interpret the gesture correctly. “And you just want to talk?”

Caldaq could stand it no longer. He stepped forward. The native flinched, then allowed the taller Massood to place the translator around its neck and a corresponding lightweight receiver atop its head. It tightened automatically. At first the native bared its teeth. Then it relaxed. “We have many things to tell you.” The native’s eyes widened, hopefully an indication it was receiving properly. It responded hesitantly, mimicking the captain by directing its voice to the translator now dangling from its neck. The machine responded by converting the grunting speech into intelligible Massood. “I don’t know what you have to tell me. I’m more interested in the fact that you don’t want to shoot me.”

“Why would we want to shoot you?” asked the Wais. Catching Caldaq’s expression, it hastened to add in Massood, “My apologies, Captain. I did not mean to …”

“Never mind. I am interested in results here, not protocol.” He turned to the native. “We have to tell you about the Weave. About the Amplitur, and about …” he paused, not wanting to panic the specimen unduly and giving the translator time to catch up. “About many things.”

“Fine.” Apparently the native was not given to lengthy replies. “So long as you’re not going to shoot me.”

“You persist with that,” said Dropahc. He held his sidearm in his undamaged hand. “Why would we want to shoot you?

You are an intelligent being, we are intelligent beings. We have only just met. Why would we respond with weapons?”

“What do you call what you’re doing right now?”

“You struck first, in anger.”

“I wasn’t angry: I was scared.”

“But why?”

Will sighed. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.” He indicated Dropahc’s weapon. “I’ll stay frightened as long as those things are pointed at me.”

Dropahc looked at his captain. With deliberate slowness, Caldaq resecured his weapon at his belt. His companions did likewise. “That’s better.” Will went over to a locker and found a clean towel, dried himself off. He was very close to the inside helm. Also the radio and cellular phone, but if he decided to make use of those it would be better to do so when they weren’t watching him so closely. He spoke while mopping his back. “Look, I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said to Dropahc. An apology for the violence committed, Caldaq thought. That was a hopeful sign, but far from conclusive. “Will he be okay?

By the way, my name is Will Dulac.”

“Two names?” said the Wais. “Yes.”

“Dropahc will heal. Our medical staff has means for speeding his recovery.”

The native was staring past him, astern. “Medical staff. You must have a pretty good-sized ship out there somewhere, right?”

“A shuttle. Our main vessel is presently situated between your world and your unusual moon.” Caldaq was puzzled. Just when he began thinking of the native as perceptive it would betray its ignorance with a stupid comment or question. It was a nest of contradictions. “Are you by any chance,” Wouldea asked, unable to restrain himself any longer, “a fighter?”

“A fighter?”

Wouldea asked again. The translator program obediently essayed alternative semantics. “A soldier.” The native sat down on a long, padded seat. “Hell, no. What makes you think I might be a soldier?”

“You struck. You caused injury.”

“I told you, I was scared. I wasn’t fighting. When your friend came toward me I tried to push his hand out of the way. That’s all. Maybe I was a little sharp, but I swear I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody.”

“Why should you want to push his hand out of the way if you are not a soldier?”

Will found the whole line of questioning exasperating. “Wouldn’t you?” was all he could think of to say. “Of course not.” Wouldea responded instantly, startled by the very notion. “I’m not a soldier,” Will informed them brusquely. “I’m a composer, a musician.”

“We heard your ‘music,’” Caldaq declared. “It is not to our tastes.”

“Sorry to hear it.” There was no reason for Will to be upset by the admission. What did these creatures from elsewhere know of symphonic music?

Wouldea pushed his translator aside and spoke to Caldaq. “I saw Dropahc’s hand, Captain. If this is a race of musicians and teachers, what might they be like if they chose to fight?”

“Think it through,” Caldaq warned him. “Remember that we are dealing with a single specimen in isolated circumstances.”

No, not quite, he reminded himself. There remained the matter of the two missing survey drones which had brought them to this place. “Merely because some of their music is violent does not mean they are suited to combat.”

“They are physically able,” Wouldea argued, unwilling to concede his optimism. “Dropahc can attest to that.”

As the tropical night warmed his body Will watched the two aliens converse. No question but that they were as interested in him as he was in them. He was still not convinced their intentions were altogether peaceful, but he felt he was in no immediate danger. Studying them, he was conscious of his naked flesh. The three tall ones with the ratlike skulls sported short gray fur, while the English-speaker’s feathers covered nearly all of its body, some of it garishly. It looked like a cross between a secretary bird and Einstein as it fiddled with the instruments suspended from its belt. The large soft eyes were peridot green. He didn’t consider it dangerous at all, as opposed to the other three. Not only were its mannerisms unthreatening, so was its strange, mellifluous voice. This despite its appearance, which was far more alien than that of its taller companions. He hung the towel around his neck. The two aliens, one of whom appeared to be in charge, continued to argue. Would they notice if he leaned casually against the helm and manipulated the radio sufficient to send out a general mayday?

The unit would report his position automatically, bringing any yacht or powerboat that picked up the signal to his side. It might frighten off his visitors. They might not want the attention. Or did they have the means to cope with that, too?

By now curiosity was starting to replace his initial terror. He peered through a port, wondering what had happened to the seallike creature which had intercepted him in the water. It had tried to talk to him without the benefit of a translating device. Now all three of the tall aliens were arguing while the bird-creature continued to fiddle intently with the instruments attached to its belt. Will had no doubt that he was the subject of the animated debate. Were the clever little language devices designed to respond only to directed input, or were they deliberately excluding him?

He used the time to examine the equipment they carried. Besides the maybe-weapons and the translators there were a number of other instruments, fashioned of shiny, opaque materials. Plastic, perhaps, or some dull metal. Maybe something more exotic like metallic glass. He could only recall what he’d read in the general press and try to imagine, his education in the hard sciences being woefully deficient. Simultaneously they ceased their high-pitched chatter and turned back to him. The hand which had been edging toward the radio froze. He smiled, wondering if it would mean anything to them. The one who was clearly in charge stepped forward. His whiskers quivered almost comically, but there was nothing funny about those teeth. “Tell me something,” he heard himself saying. The tall alien halted. Encouraged, Will continued. “Have you been here before this?

Visited our world previously without our knowing it?”

There was concern in the alien’s reply. It was not what Will had expected. “You have received previously extraplanetary visits?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. I mean, rumors about UFOs have been around for some time. Not that I believe in them myself, of course.” Until now, he added silently. “No one from the Weave,” the alien told him, “has been to this world before us. We have not been studying you.” It seemed to Will that the alien spoke slowly and with extreme earnestness. “You are saying you have had no confirmed encounters with any intelligence other than your own kind?”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Will wondered what all the concern was about. He did not need the services of a translating device to sense the tension in the cabin. It evaporated with his reply. “It is important to us to be sure that we are the first to visit your world,” the bird-thing said in English. Will wondered why it was so important but didn’t have the chance to ask because the one in charge was speaking again. “My name is Caldaq, of the Massood.” The name was not translated but instead came across as a short squirt of consonants interrupted by spit vowels. It was almost as much whistled as spoken, Will noted. The translator struggled with it. “I am in command of this visitation. I am a fighter by training, captain by avocation, runner by choice, male by gender. I am once-mated and have no cubs. My lineage is an important one. I am an ascetic omnivore. “Now I have told you about myself. Tell us of you.”

Why not?

Will mused as he sat down on the couch. His life wasn’t a state secret. “I’m thirty-eight, male, and single. I do some teaching, I’m trying to gain recognition as a serious composer, and this boat is my home, a choice of life-style which makes me suspect among my more conservative friends.” He was staring at the alien leader. “Are you always this nervous?”

“Nervous?” said Caldaq. “I’ve been watching you and your friends. Your faces are in constant motion: mouth, lips, ears, whiskers, nose. Don’t you ever stop twitching?”

“It is a natural function of our physiology,” Caldaq explained. “Does it trouble you?”

“No, it doesn’t trouble me. But we don’t do that and it’s kind of hard to get used to.”

“You are isolated.” The bird-thing was speaking. “I am Wais. Our faces are not capable of such a range of motion.” Will looked on with interest as one delicate hand wove an intricate pattern in the air. “Every species,” Caldaq went on, “has its own distinctive characteristics. Those which are natural and familiar to one may appear strange and even unpleasant to another.”

“Ah. Like me brushing your companion’s hand aside.”

Caldaq was willing to concede the point. The more they conversed with the native, the more genuinely apologetic it seemed. “What else can you tell us about yourself?”

Will spread his hands. “Not much. Once you get past my music, there’s not much else to talk about. I’m half Cajun, though I don’t guess that would mean anything to you. We call ourselves Humans.” He gestured toward the nearest port, at the calm water of the lagoon and the uninhabited islets that ringed it. “We call our world Earth. Right now we’re offshore from a small Central American country called Belize.” Pointing that out called a question to mind. “Why’d you land here, anyway?

Why didn’t you set down in Washington or Moscow or someplace important?”

Would this isolated native know anything about the missing remotes?

Caldaq doubted it, and decided not to bring up the matter just yet. “We have a procedure for exploring new worlds. We feel it is best to approach quietly, to study and learn certain basics before announcing our presence. Particularly when that world is home to a sentient species.”

“Of which there are more than a couple, right?” said Will. “I mean, there’s us, and you, and the Wais there, and then there was that thing that cut me off in the water. That’s four right there.” He shook his head. “We’ve always wondered if we were the only ones. The only intelligence around, I mean.”

What an extraordinary conceit, Caldaq thought. “There are dozens of intelligent races.”

“I see.” The native was very quiet for a long moment. Finally he asked, “With all those intelligences out there, how come it took until now for you or anybody else to make contact with us?”

“The majority of older, developed worlds lie nearer the galactic center, and not in a straight line from your system, either. Exploration has historically concentrated on systems that lie close to one another. Yours is situated in a different direction entirely.”

Caldaq did not mind answering questions. The native was acting sensibly and they were learning much simply by observing him. Curiosity was a hallmark of the higher intelligences. “May we have a look around your boat?

Your home?” the Wais inquired politely. “Sure, why not?

I can’t stop you anyway.”

Again!

Just when the native began behaving normally it would say or do something irrational. “Why would you want to stop us?” Caldaq asked him. “Well, I mean, it’s my boat, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But we would not harm it or take anything from it.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you would. It was just a natural reaction, a figure of speech, okay?

Don’t get uptight about it.” Will wondered how efficient the translator devices were. “But it is not a natural reaction,” Caldaq replied even as Dropahc and Wouldea disappeared into the starboard hull. He wished for the expertise of a xenopsych. The sooner the native was examined by a specialist the more real answers they would have. Until such time he would have to muddle along as best he could, utilizing the minimal training he had in such fields. “You assume the possibility that had you chosen to deny us permission to examine your craft we would have done so by force if necessary.”

“You mean you wouldn’t have?”

This automatic inclusion of the negative in the native’s reply struck Caldaq as most distressing. Were they really communicating?

He asked the question of his translator. The Wais checked her instrumentation. “All devices are functioning optimally, Captain.”

“What about misinterpreted colloquialisms?”

“I have detected none.”

“Then you confirm from your own knowledge what I am hearing?”

A hand fluttered in the humid air of the cabin. “My mastery of this language is not perfect and there are contradictions which my colleagues and I have yet to thoroughly resolve. For example, these people utilize an excessive number of verbs to convey very simple concepts. It is almost as if they luxuriate in an excess of action beyond what is necessary to communicate a concept. But while we may be missing certain subtle shadings of meaning I do not believe anything is being misconveyed by your unit.”

Caldaq’s upper lip rippled. “Very well. Unless you inform me otherwise we will proceed on that basis.”

There was a single chair in the cabin. Caldaq eyed it speculatively, chose instead to sit cross-legged on the floor, resting his long arms on his knees. As he did so the corners of the Human’s mouth twisted upward. It was very near a similar S’van expression, Caldaq thought. “When your lips arc like that does it mean something pleases or displeases you?”

“I’m smiling, if that’s what you mean,” Will replied. “The expression is one of amusement.”

Better to find something humorous than threatening, the captain mused. “What is it you find amusing?”

“The way you’re sitting. You look like you’re getting ready to start meditating or something.”

“No. I am simply sitting.” Actually there was more to it than that. It had been shown that certain peoples felt more comfortable when they were physically able to look down on someone they regarded as a potential threat. Lowering his height, Caldaq knew, might help to put the native more at ease. He decided that the action which had resulted in Dropahc’s broken hand had been an aberration sparked by their sudden appearance. Since then the native had been physically placid. In a way it was too bad. But then they hadn’t really expected anything else. Still, there was intelligence here, and technology of a level yet to be determined. A second potential ally for the Weave. Truly the expedition could be counted a great success. “Have you any objection to additional questions?”

Will leaned back against the couch. “If you’re after top-secret information I can’t help you. I know synthesizers and boating and that’s about it.”

“Answer what you can. We will not be displeased if you cannot.”

“Sure.” Will looked outside. Indifferent to what was happening on the cat, phosphorescent marine organisms were turning the water astern a pale lavender blue. The natural phenomenon was soothing and reassuring to mind as well as eye. Caldaq made certain the Wais and the one soldier who had not gone below were both alert before speaking anew. “Before we landed here, before this encounter, we sent down two small drone craft to execute preliminary surveys of your world. This is part of the procedure I spoke of earlier. Both of them vanished. We would like to know what happened.”

Will was thinking hard. “Where did they come down?

I mean, where were they surveying?

Over the U. S.?”

“I do not know what that signifies. They were programmed to study two of the most highly developed landmasses: one just north, of our present location, the other nearly on the opposite side of the planet.”

The native was bobbing its head, no doubt attempting to communicate something via the gesture. Fortunately he enhanced the unsuccessful attempt verbally. “If they couldn’t or didn’t identify themselves, then they were probably shot down.”

“‘Shot down.’” Will looked on as the alien conferred with the bird-creature, the Wais, in his own language. “You mean they were destroyed.”

“Yeah, sure. Both of them probably entered sensitive airspace. What else would you expect?”

“They were doing no harm. They were simply observing.”

“But there was no way for the people on the ground to know that. What else would you expect them to do?”

“Observe back. At least try to first ascertain if the drones had any hostile intention.”

“Just being there unannounced could be interpreted as hostile.”

“Why?” Caldaq leaned forward earnestly. “Why would their presence be so interpreted?

They were unarmed, could cause no damage.”

“I told you: There was no way the people on the ground could know that.”

Despite the Wais’s reassurance Caldaq still wondered if the translators were functioning properly. He was talking with the native, but not communicating. “That is precisely why there was no reason to assume the drone presence was hostile, and—” He stopped. Clearly there was nothing to be gained from this line of questioning. It was something for the xenopsychs and the linguists to hammer out. “Your best guess, as an inhabitant of this world, is that the drones were destroyed by artificial means?”

“Yes. Both of them probably went where they shouldn’t.” Will’s gaze shifted from the alien leader, Caldaq, to the Wais. “What is it you want here?

To study us?”

Caldaq shifted his legs slightly. The native had asked the question. He had only to explain. “I have told you that the galaxy is home to many intelligences. I am of the Massood. The Wais you know, and the Lepar you encountered in the water. Aboard our vessel there are also the Turlog, the Hivistahm, the O’o’yan, and the Chirinaldo. There are many others who together comprise the Weave. “Then there are those who are not of the Weave. Those who are independent, and those who align themselves with the Amplitur.” He waited. The native stared at him, finally asked. “From the way you’ve been talking I take it there’s something unpleasant about these Amplitur?”

Caldaq was pleased. Curiosity, technology, intelligence. All seemed present in this native. They would not leave here without making allies of these people. “To understand the Weave you must know about the Amplitur. And to understand the Amplitur you must know about the War.”

Caldaq studied the native carefully, watching for expressions and gestures. It did not move, did nothing to reveal what it might be thinking. At least it wasn’t smiling, the captain thought. IX

With the aid of the Wais, Caldaq proceeded to explain the history of the conflict between the Weave and the Amplitur, the war that had absorbed the attention of a hundred intelligences for more than a thousand years. He spoke of the all-consuming Purpose which drove and motivated the Amplitur, of the struggle to remain independent of their manipulations and demands despite their unique ability to project their thoughts and desires into the minds of other sentients. He told of how they imposed their will on other species, if necessary through mental control, later by means of skilled genetic engineering. He explained that both sides in the conflict were searching constantly for additional peoples: the Amplitur to incorporate them into their Purpose, the Weave seeking help to combat the Amplitur’s encroachment. “It is rare to find a new species capable of contributing significantly to the resistance,” he said. “Rarer still to encounter one able to participate in the actual fighting.”

“Why is that?” Will asked ingenuously. “The will to fight, to be able to take the life of another intelligent being however necessary it may be, to shed bodily fluids and cause physical harm is abhorrent to the majority of sentient races. It is regarded as anathema to the very idea of intelligence. I realize that you probably find the concept equally alien, but we search always in hope. “The Weave is very strong, very powerful in many ways, but there are never enough to do the actual fighting. It is the same with the Amplitur, but they have been able to alter the genetic code of certain subject peoples to make them more aggressive. It is not enough just to have better weapons. Computers and electronic predictors can accomplish much, but they cannot win a war. Individuals must do that. “My people, the Massood, are in the forefront of most combat. It has always been so. We are not fond of what we do, but we are very good at it. More so than any other Weave race. We have accepted this role because there are none who can replace us. The Wais, for example,” and he indicated the translator standing silently nearby, “are incapable of combat, as are the O’o’yan and the Yula and the Bir’rimor. The Hivistahm and the S’van can fight a little. The Turlog might but choose not to, and there are not enough of them to make a difference anyway. “Besides the Massood only the Chirinaldo are considered true fighters, and because of their physical stature they are not truly effective in the close-quarter combat that is so important.”

“Wait a minute.” Will sat up straight. “I wouldn’t think that in a conflict spanning millennia and whole areas of space there’d be much in the way of hand-to-hand fighting.”

“War is an extreme form of debate.” Caldaq hoped that his translator was conveying these concepts correctly. “If you kill someone they cannot join with you. “In this regard the Amplitur are even more restrained than the Weave. If they were to stand off a world and render its surface sterile, they would have defeated an enemy but sacrificed potential converts to their Purpose. They avoid wholesale loss of life whenever they can, though they have made at least two exceptions that I know of. Both times they perceived a greater threat than gain. “As to your comment, combat in space is an extraordinarily difficult proposition. Ships move in and out of Underspace at unpredictable intervals. You cannot linger long in real space because both sides possess weapons capable of quickly obliterating the largest vessels. It is simpler, safer, and more effective to fight on the surface.”

“It is a question of persuasion.” The Wais clacked its beak. “The Amplitur seek to integrate all intelligences into their Purpose, while we strive to convince their allies to rebel and join us in fighting against their former masters. “The problem is that in many instances these subject peoples do not see the Amplitur accurately. Some regard them as teachers without really understanding what it is they are being taught. Some of their oldest allies, like the Crigolit and the Molitar, have been so thoroughly biologically reengineered they are no longer capable of independent thought as we think of it.”

Will sat motionless for a long while before replying. “And that’s what you want here?

You want us to join your Weave?”

“That is what we hope for whenever we contact a new species,” Caldaq told him. “Your level of contribution would depend on your capabilities. These remain to be determined. For example, what we know of your technology thus far we find puzzling. Certain aspects seem unnaturally primitive while other obscure areas appear to have been highly developed. For example, you have many more orbital relay satellites than you must need, yet we detect no evidence of travel beyond your own world.”

“We’ve been to the moon,” Will said almost defensively. “Robot probes have visited all the planets.”

“We detected no evidence of this.”

“It’s been pretty intermittent. There’ll be a flurry of interest in the space program, ours or the Russians’, and then interest will flag for a while.”

“You do not advance steadily?

There is no constant progression?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Caldaq eyed his translator, confused. “What do you mean when you speak of ‘you,’ and then ‘the Russians’?”

“Well, we have our own space program here in the States. The Russians have theirs. So do the Europeans and the Japanese.”

“I still do not understand.” Caldaq’s lips drew back in confusion. “Who are these ‘Russians’ and ‘Europeans’?”

Will wondered what the problem was. “Different peoples.”

The Wais interjected gently in lucid Massood. “I believe that the native may be referring to local tribes.”

“Ah.” Caldaq’s heart sank. If despite their level of perceived technology these people were still living a tribal existence, they would be of absolutely no use to the Weave. “You speak of your tribes?”

“We call them countries.”

“Your various tribes … countries … each have their own programs of exploration and development and do not cooperate with one another?”

Will sighed. “As a general rule, no.”

More confusion. Caldaq looked yet again at the Wais. She responded with words and gestures. “This is a new species. Given their unique multiplicity of languages nothing in the way of communication can be guaranteed. However, I have observed nothing to suggest we are failing to make ourselves understood.”

Caldaq hissed softly. Another subject to be put aside for the specialists to ponder, another matter he would have to leave unresolved. “We seek you as allies. If you have indeed sent remote probes to the far reaches of your system, that would indicate you have capabilities we have as yet been unable to validate.”

“Just because you didn’t see them,” Will said; “doesn’t mean we didn’t do it.”

“Perhaps there may be other aspects of your technology we have yet to encounter,” Caldaq added hopefully. “The means by which the two drones were destroyed, for example. That would constitute an astonishing achievement for sentients not in conflict with the Amplitur or a neighboring species.”

The conversation was interrupted by the emergence of the two soldiers from below. Will could only sit and wonder what they were talking about as they chattered animatedly in their own language. Before long he was moved to ask, “What did they find?”

“More of the very sophisticated alongside the bafflingly primitive,” Caldaq informed him. “In that regard your craft appears typical of what we have observed elsewhere. “Everything suggests that your species is at a critical stage of technological transition: one where great achievements have been made in isolated fields while in others the mundane is the accepted norm. For example, the devices you utilize to produce music seem reasonably advanced, whereas those employed to generate light are extremely primitive metal filaments surrounded by glass.”

“I take it you use something more advanced than incandescent bulbs.”

“There are infinitely simpler and cleaner means of producing illumination.”

“I’m sure. There are also infinitely simpler and cleaner means of living. It’s been fascinating to meet you, to know that there are other intelligent races out there, that we’re not alone. But if you’re still fighting wars then you’re not so very advanced after all, and I can tell you right now we don’t want anything to do with it. “Like me, most of my friends abhor war. We’re more like the Wais over there than you. War’s an idea whose time has passed. Your allies are right: it’s not compatible with real intelligence. I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you. Certainly not against something like these Amplitur you describe. I don’t want anything messing with my head, and neither will anybody else with half a brain. “I mean, look at me. You don’t see fangs and claws. We’re soft-bodied and not very big. Not real good soldier material, you bet. After five thousand years or so we’re just starting to get our global shit together. The last thing we need is to take off on some kind of interstellar crusade. We’ve got plenty of problems to solve right here.” He leaned forward intently. “Look, you say no one’s made contact with us before this because we’re way out on the fringes of everything. Can’t you just sort of forget, maybe, that you found us?

Forget that you came here, and leave us alone?

We don’t need to be dragged into some crazy galactic conflict. We’ve got literature to write and art and music to perfect and we sure as hell don’t know anything about how to fight an interstellar war. Can’t you just back off and leave us alone?”

“There is no shame in being unable to fight,” Caldaq assured him. “As I have said, only we and the Chirinaldo are able to do so. But logistical support is vitally important. Without that the Massood could do little. “If you agreed to provide that kind of noncombat assistance the benefits that would accrue to you would be substantial: the sharing of Weave technology, the blessings of intercultural exchange …”

“And a piece of your war,” Will said, interrupting. “I can’t imagine what we could do for you. Seems to me our technology is pretty primitive compared to yours.”

“In certain areas. Perhaps not in all. This remains to be determined.”

“We can’t build ships for you.”

“The Hivistahm and Yula and O’o’yan build ships. Your own contribution to the war effort can lie elsewhere.”

“Dammit,” said Will, raising his voice, “we don’t want to contribute to any war effort!

Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

“We could do that.” Caldaq’s reply was solemn. “The Weave could ignore you. The Amplitur will not. They leave no intelligence alone. You are a part of their Purpose or you are opposed to it. Either you integrate into their greater society or you face the extinction that was the fate of the two exceptions I mentioned earlier.”

“What if we choose not to be integrated or eliminated?”

“You cannot resist the Amplitur alone. If they are allowed to land on your world they will put whatever they wish into your minds. Then their biorevisors will go to work on your genes.”

“You’re asking me to buy an argument that my own people have used on themselves for hundreds of years. All I know about these Amplitur is what you’re telling me. I have no way of verifying any of it.”

Caldaq saw he was not making adequate progress. “We must talk more. Tomorrow I would like to bring specialists aboard your craft, to examine it more thoroughly.”

“And me,” Will added. “One can learn only so much from impersonal transmissions. Do you object?”

“I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to, could I?”

Caldaq contained his exasperation. “You are an individual sentient. We would not do anything against your will. You do not make an ally of someone by forcing them to do something they do not wish to do.”

Will sat there wondering how much truth there was to what this rat-faced alien had been telling him. It was simultaneously frightening, fascinating, and hard to accept. Worst of all perhaps was the knowledge that if he got out of this intact no one would believe what had happened to him. His would be one more UFO fairy tale. If he was lucky he might get a thousand bucks for it from one of the tabloids. He wondered what their music was like. The thought perked him up. If he paid attention, this might provide the inspiration for an overture, or a symphonic suite. Maybe even another symphonic poem. Since he couldn’t run, he might as well open his mind and observe. The tall alien insisted all they wanted was to talk and examine. If it was vivisection they had in mind, why speak of coming back tomorrow?

Why not simply take him now?

“What the hell, the orchestration is driving me nuts anyway, you bet. Come back in the morning and bring whomever you want. I look forward to meeting some more interesting shapes.”

“Thank you,” said Caldaq simply. Will watched his visitors slip over the stern. There was no sign of the aquatic creature which had confronted him in the lagoon, but he did see a dark, streamlined shape advance to meet the hesitant swimmers. They disappeared within. Once again he was alone in the cat’s cockpit. A light Caribbean breeze cooled him and he tilted his head back to regard the universe, a tapestry of shattered magic. The aliens had not warned him against contacting others. There was nothing to prevent him from using his radio to call other boats, the big cruise ship anchored off the Turneffe Islands, or the Belizean coast guard. Nothing to prevent him from raising sail and silently departing. He wondered why the aliens had chosen him. Because he was alone?

Would they try to stop him if he started the engines and headed for Belize City?

There was no inspiration to be had in Belize City. A rare thing, inspiration. Impossible to buy, difficult to find. Why not go to bed and see what the morrow would bring?

The world would look different in the light. At first he feared that his boat had drifted onto the reef. Then his visitors began to emerge from an opening in its surface. He intended to ask Caldaq how they managed that trick but he didn’t have time. Moments later they were back on board, all of them talking at once. The Wais translator was present, and Caldaq, and another Massood, but this time they had company: supple reptilian beings called Hivistahm with bright green skins, large eyes, sharp teeth, and an insatiable curiosity, and a couple of short, swarthy individuals whose faces were almost hidden behind thick black hair. They scattered through the catamaran, prying and poking, paying particular attention to anything electronic. Closer inspection revealed that not all the reptilian visitors were of the same race. Besides the Hivistahm there were members of a still smaller species Caldaq identified as the O’o’yan. Will’s translator struggled with the sounds. Rather than search on their own, the O’o’yan seemed to follow the Hivistahm everywhere, assisting instead of initiating examinations. They did not render such assistances to the two squat, hairy individuals. Caldaq tried to divide his attention between the busy Hivistahm techs and the native who was watching them work. His communicator buzzed insistently. It was Soliwik, communicating via shuttle relay. “Good to talk to you,” he said. “How is Jaruselka?”

“Busy, like the rest of us,” replied his Second. “She says to tell you that the affection you share does not require confirmation in the form of trite words or spatial communication.” A warm sensation spread through Caldaq. “My captain, progress continues in the interpretation of the wealth of electronic transmissions emanating from this world. Seven new languages have been isolated.”

Another seven, Caldaq marveled. He was beyond astonishment. “In light of continuing discoveries, those responsible for making translation programs are concentrating their efforts on what appear to be the most important ones. “Progress in other areas has been slowed by the contradictions which are present in all transmissions. Some are quite disturbing. The xenopsychs regularly work through the night shift. They do not wish to leap to unfounded conclusions but …” She broke off, which was not like Soliwik at all. “But what?” Caldaq watched Hivistahm techs fiddle with their eyeshades as they conversed. His gaze lifted to the nearest island. The view set his legs to tingling in anticipation of a good run. “Does your specimen have a native visual receiver on board his craft?”

“I believe so.” Caldaq eyed a corner of the central cabin. “Yes. I can see it from here. It is fairly primitive.”

“Never mind the technology. You should have him activate it so you can view some of the transmissions.”

“Which ones?”

“Any of them. I will not prejudice your reactions by telling you what the xenopsychs are saying. Every independent evaluation is valuable.”

They talked about the situation on the ship, which was stable, and that on the surface, which was in hopeful flux. Then Caldaq closed his communicator and belted it before he walked over to stare at the visual receiver. “Television,” Will informed him. “Nice one, too.”

“Could you activate it?

I would like to see how it operates.”

“Give me a minute to raise the dish.”

Caldaq watched as the native adjusted a boxy instrument atop the receiver. Through a fore port he could see a small circular antenna raise and align itself. Lights on the box and the receiver glowed. “There we are. That’s Galaxy Six,” Will told him. “One of our satellites.” Caldaq gestured acknowledgment and then took a moment to explain the gesture. The native looked pleased. One of the Hivistahm techs drifted over to join them. So did the Wais, who was always close at hand. “What would you like to watch?” Will asked them. “Wait, I know. Let me find CNN.” He operated a remote-control device. The screen went black; then an image appeared of another native. Caldaq noted with interest that the male’s skin was much darker than that of their host. The images alternated between the man, who was seated at a desk surrounded by other natives, and diverse scenes from around the planet. Caldaq observed calmly until a sequence appeared that caused him to straighten involuntarily. “Wait, stop that, go back!”

The native was apologetic. “I can’t. I have no control over the broadcast. If you want we can record it for playback later.”

The shaken captain steadied himself, once again ducking to clear the ceiling. Avoiding the translator, he spoke haltingly to the Hivistahm in its own language. “You saw it, too?”

“Truly I did,” the tech replied. “Most strange it was.”

“I, too, saw it clearly,” said the Wais. Her voice was pure and steady as ever, but her beak was clicking. A pair of bluest feathers fell to the deck as she ran nervous fingers through her chest. “The reality must be other than as it appears.”

Will’s gaze flicked from one alien to the other. “I know how you feel. Sometimes the news makes me uncomfortable, too.” He returned his attention to the remote device. “Let’s find a movie or something.”

He jumped through several films, from an old John Wayne on TBS to more contemporary offerings on Showtime and Cinemax. The reactions of his guests were instructive. They varied from calm and composed to visibly agitated and anxious. “Anything in particular that intrigues you?” he finally asked, knowing that there was. When no reply was forthcoming he started to switch the receiver off. Caldaq had learned enough from watching him to realize what he intended and hurried to forestall him. “No, we would like to observe some more. Put it back on ‘news.’”

Will obediently switched back to CNN, which was currently reporting on the troubles in Libya. After several minutes the Hivistahm turned and left. Caldaq gestured at the screen. “This is not unusual?”

“What, the news?

Or the movies?

No, I’d say everything we’ve seen so far is fairly typical for a Tuesday morning. My reception isn’t as good as I’d like it to be, but that’s about as big a dish as you can put on a boat this size, you bet.”

“The subject matter is confusing.”

“I didn’t have any idea what you might want to see, so I just tried to run through as many channels as possible.”

“That was fine,” Caldaq assured him. “Thank you.” He understood now what Soliwik had meant. He bellowed an order. Moments later they were joined by one of the two short creatures who had come aboard with the Hivistahm. It might have been more humanoid than any of the aliens, but Will couldn’t tell for certain because you couldn’t see much behind the body suit and the incredibly dense blanket of curly hair. It was the same height as the very different O’o’yan; barely three feet tall, but much stockier of build. “What’s this?” he asked undiplomatically. “One of my Seconds. T’var is a S’van. They are mammalian, like myself and I believe like you.” He turned back to his assistant. “Have a look at this, T’var, and see what you think of it. I am still forming my own opinions.” He stepped aside so T’var could see the screen clearly. The S’van studied the colorful flat images. Will noted that he did not twist and fidget in the manner of the Massood, nor were his eyes in constant motion like those of the Hivistahm and O’o’yan. He stood without moving and stared at the screen as intently as a professional critic. Half an hour passed before he looked away. “It’s all very strange.”

“Mild, compared to some of what we saw earlier,” the Wais informed him. “My initial reaction,” said Caldaq, “is that if these transmissions are representative of the general population, then this species is beyond our comprehension.”

“Possibly he is attempting to deceive us with the abnormal,” the Wais suggested. “There is no reason for him to do so,” the captain responded, “nor do I think he is that clever.”

“I agree.” Caldaq was gratified by T’var’s concurrence. Will watched as they conversed without the use of the translator devices. “What’s going on?

Something the matter?”

The Wais stared at him. “The violence. There is violence in almost everything we saw.”

“I know, but except for the news it was all fiction. You know … make-believe?” He was somewhat taken aback. “Is that what’s upset you?

I don’t get it. First you tell me you’ve been fighting a war for a thousand years and now a little movie byplay has you all flustered. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“The quantity of the violence is surprising, but that is not what we find confusing.” The Wais preened uneasily. “We did not choose to have war; it was forced on us by the Amplitur. And the Massood and Chirinaldo do nearly all of the actual fighting. But even the fiercest among them would be appalled by what you have shown us. “Unless, of course,” it added hopefully in perfect English, “what we have witnessed just now is generated to serve some as yet unexplained philosophical purpose.”

“The news is the news. It’s reality, even if I don’t like most of it myself. As for the movies, they’re only intended as entertainment.” Will stared at the bird-thing. “It’s the violence that troubles you, but not the amount?

What then?”

“The direction it often took,” the Wais explained. “In both the documentary and entertainment sequences Humans were shown killing other Humans.”

Will frowned. “So?”

“You fight among yourselves,” Caldaq said, speaking slowly to insure that the translator conveyed his response accurately. “Yeah, we do that. We’re not proud of it.” He rested a hand on the humming TV. “I’m missing something here. You’ve been battling these Amplitur for hundreds of years. Why are you so upset to see that we do the same kind of thing?”

“You do not understand. It is conceivable that one species may come into conflict with another, but once it has achieved a certain minimal level of technology it is not possible for members of the same species to continue to war with each other. It is contraevolutionary.”

T’var spoke up. “Catastrophe theory proves that a species which fights among itself cannot long survive. It will quickly reduce its numbers below the level necessary to maintain a civilization. This is axiomatic.”

“All I can tell you,” said Will, “is that we’ve been fighting ourselves since the start of recorded history, and that unfortunately we’re still at it.”

“Impossible.” The Wais repeated the comment in a number of languages. “I’m afraid it isn’t. We’re still here, though whether we’ve reached your ‘minimal level of technology’ I don’t know.” He stood there, the warm sun heating the interior of the cabin, regarding these representatives of a vast civilization unimaginably far away, and wondering why the hell they couldn’t see the obvious. “You’re telling me that though you’ve been going at it with these Amplitur for hundreds of years, none of you has ever fought among yourselves?” In the subsequent silence he turned to Caldaq. “You told me that the Massood are your organization’s principal warriors. Are you saying that even early on in the history of your kind you never fought one another?”

“On an individual basis, yes. In small extended family groups, yes. But as soon as the first tribes grew large and settled they began to cooperate. That is a fact of nature obvious to the most primitive peoples. Cooperation is the only way for any race to advance out of barbarism. It is impossible to achieve a reasonable level of technology if energy is dissipated in internecine warfare.” Caldaq wondered why he was having to spend so much time explaining the self-evident. It was going to take strong minds to interpret this unusual world and its even more peculiar people. “The notion of a civilized race warring among itself is inherently contradictory. It is as bizarre as your geology.”

“Oh. Now there’s something wrong with our geology?” Will hardly knew what to say. The situation demanded the presence of experts. But they weren’t and he was. “A world is divided between land and water,” said T’var. “This is the accepted, the anticipated norm. Imagine our surprise when we began to examine your world and found its principal landmass broken into many pieces.”

“That’s because of something called plate tectonics.” Will strained to remember his college sciences. “I think the continents all used to be part of one big landmass, a long time ago, but internal forces drove it apart and set the pieces drifting.”

“Land is not ‘driven.’” T’var glanced at Caldaq, then back at the native. “Land remains where it’s formed. It doesn’t move around.”

“It does here,” declared Will confidently. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.” T’var muttered in uneven Massood. “Do you think,” Caldaq said abruptly, “that the unnatural hostility these people bear toward each other could in some way be related to their remarkable geology?

The development of a multiplicity of languages suggests that their society has fractured. Might this not be the consequence of a fractured geology?”

“I know of no instance where the culture of a species has been heavily influenced by geologic forces. It’s not my area of expertise.” T’var found the notion unsettling. What might the effect be of a perpetually unstable world on the people maturing there?

Would the society that eventually emerged somehow mirror that instability?

“It is no one’s area of expertise,” Caldaq pointed out. “There is no precedence for it. We must inform the staff on board ship. It will be interesting to see if the native’s explanation solves any of the topographic puzzles that have been bedeviling them.”

Will was speaking again. “So on your worlds you don’t have separate continents?” The translators struggled with the concepts. “Each planet has the land, where life evolves and develops, and there are usually some islands,” T’var told him. “The land accretes into one large mass. It does not fragment. Your world is unprecedented.”

“Mayhap it has something to do with the moon.”

“What?” Caldaq and T’var both turned to look at the translator. One did not expect scientific speculation from a Wais. She gazed back at them. “Its mass has been remarked upon. It is much too large for a planet of this size. More appropriate to describe them as twin worlds. I was simply thinking that its size and proximity may have in the past had something to do with the fracturing of the land.”

“A worthy hypothesis which we must leave to the geophysicists to explore.” Once again Caldaq experienced a need to trade the incomprehensible for that which might be understood. He studied the native thoughtfully. Since its initial violent reaction to their arrival it had been calm, even cooperative. Still, he readied himself in the event his next question provoked another unpredictable reaction. “Will you consent to a physical examination?”

“Of what?

Me?” Will switched off the satellite receiver and the television. His mouth was dry. The fridge held a six-pack of pineapple juice. He inserted the accompanying straw into one and sucked, conscious of the fact that he was alone on his boat with a dozen or more aliens. Maybe Caldaq had told the truth and the majority of them weren’t fighters, but that still left him badly outnumbered. He was no fighter himself. And he’d already found out that he couldn’t swim to freedom. “What if I say no?”

The alien captain managed to convey the feeling that he’d just been insulted. “Then nothing will happen.”

“You’re not planning anything like exploratory surgery, are you?”

“No. You are an individual sentient. Why would we want to do anything to harm you?”

Will slugged down the last of the pineapple juice. “Then I guess it can’t hurt. Where do you want to do this?”

“If you would not mind, we have facilities on our shuttle.”

“The ship you landed in?

I think I’d enjoy seeing that.”

“Everything can be arranged.”

X

Will was fascinated by the shuttle, which was much larger than what he’d expected. A fair amount of the interior was comprehensible. A chair, for example, was a chair regardless of how outrageous its size and shape. But other constructs left him puzzled. “I see what you mean about our lighting.” He extended a finger toward one of the illumination bands that ran across a wall like so much electrical tape. It was cool to the touch. “Please feel free to ask questions about anything that interests you,” said T’var, who together with the female Wais constituted his escort. They ended up in a small chamber crammed with instrumentation and devices Will could not identify. A number of Hivistahm and O’o’yan techs were present, along with a couple of S’van. There was a small oval platform fastened to the center of the floor. Will knew that had his visitors been so inclined they could easily have brought him to this place by force, but he was still apprehensive. “You’re sure this isn’t going to be painful?”

“No.” T’var wondered at the question. “Why should it?”

“Clearly you’ve never visited my doctor.” The joke did little to ease his nerves. “There aren’t any straps or anything?”

“Restraints?

Why would we need to restrain you?”

“Exactly my point.” He inhaled deeply. “Where do you want me?

Up there?” He gestured at the table. “If you would be so kind,” said the Wais. Will gingerly lay down on the smooth, slightly warm platform. The overhead light was bright but not intolerably so. Several Hivistahm came over and looked down at him. It was impossible to tell from looking up at their toothy faces what they were thinking. The eyeshades of this group were not decorated. O’o’yan skittered about adjusting controls. None of them wore translators, so they spoke through the Wais, who requested that he remove his swimsuit. He did so, wondering if any of his examiners were female and then realizing it didn’t matter. A thorough inspection followed. He was prodded with devices he didn’t recognize, scanned by instruments whose function he could not imagine, poked with digits that were not human. None of it was painful or discomforting. They gazed into every part of him, asked him to manipulate his eyes and mouth, to flex and stretch. He obliged, asking more and more questions of his own as the examination proceeded. Caldaq came in and stood silently next to T’var, watching. A senior tech broke away from the examiners to join them. As the only Wais present was otherwise engaged, they were forced to rely on their translators. “Truly a strange structure. An unremarkable appearance conceals numerous surprises.”

“For example?” Caldaq inquired curiously. The Hivistahm tech regarded the platform somberly as his colleagues continued with the examination. He murmured to a nearby O’o’yan, who gestured deferentially and rushed to comply with the order. On the table Will whistled and twisted, breathed deeply and rolled his eyes in response to a steady stream of requests. “Cranial peculiarities there are. Beyond that we cannot say. Results are limited by our instrumentation and the fact that we have no other specimens available for comparison. We could do better on board ship.”

“Perhaps you will have such an opportunity soon. What else?”

“Again, assuming that the specimen representative of its kind is, it would appear that for their size extremely strong bones and a very dense musculature they have. Neural response time is exceptional. It is possible these developments may constitute an evolutionary response to their abnormal history. This is a preliminary hypothesis only. We can only begin to guess how fighting constantly with members of one’s own kind has affected their physical development. “Excellent day vision across the normal spectra and quite serviceable night vision they have, depending on the standard one judges it against. The daytime vision of the Hivistahm, for example, is slightly sharper, but little at night can we see. This is true of most other races. Human night vision may be another defensive response to an inimical evolution.”

Massood night vision was considered excellent. “Would you say that their nocturnal visual acuity was greater than my own?” Caldaq asked the tech. “Yes. It may also exceed that of the Massood in daytime.” In response to Caldaq’s reaction the tech added, “There is something more remarkable still. Examination suggests and the native confirms verbally that they are capable of limited distances underwater seeing, on the clarity of the liquid environment depending.”

That gave T’var a start. “Without artificial lenses?” The tech indicated assent. “Surely they are not like the Lepar?”

“No. They are not amphibious in any way. While comfortable and agile in water they are, also strictly air-breathers are they. Furthermore, the native indicates that his people spending time in the water enjoy.”

“We have recorded proof of that.” Caldaq’s snout quivered at the unnatural thought. The tech wasn’t finished. “Whether such activity is an evolutionary or social development we cannot as yet say.”

“Then what we have here,” said Caldaq as he gazed at the occupied medical platform, “is a sentient who can see better than a Massood, is stronger than a Hivistahm or Bir’rimor, and can swim better than any known sentient species save for the Lepar, who are slow and clumsy when out of water.”

“Physically they would appear to be extremely versatile and adaptable, yes,” agreed the tech. “You spoke of exceptional neural response time.”

“The specimen’s reactions to certain stimuli are superb. When something is thrust toward it, for example.”

“We have witnessed that, too,” said the captain. “Reasonable digital dexterity they possess, but in this area they are not remarkable. I would rate their manipulative abilities the same as the Massood or S’van, considerably below that of Hivistahm or O’o’yan. While superb is hand-to-eye coordination, other movements are quite clumsy, a possible consequence of the development of exceptional strength in nontraditional areas of the body. “Also the ability to adapt well to climatic extremes they have. I venture to say cold that would be fatal to a Hivistahm or heat that would fell a Massood they could survive. Their lungs process oxygen with great efficiency. Coupled with the structure of their bones and muscles and a redundant mass of ligaments and tendons, I see them as capable of great feats of endurance compared to, say, one of my own kind.”

“Or to a Crigolit?” Caldaq asked quietly. The tech’s reply was deferential. “Possibly.”

T’var spoke up. “This Will insists he is a musician, an artist who has no interest in fighting. He says that his friends feel similarly. This is contradicted by the evidence of their visual transmissions. Their daily activities, their forms of art and entertainment are all suffused with violence unimaginable in our respective societies.”

“Only to our results so far with this single specimen can I speak,” said the technician. “I cannot vouch for the truth of what it says, but I attest to its physical versatility. That is what is intriguing to me. The Chirinaldo are stronger, the Hivistahm see slightly better, the O’o’yan are far more dexterous, the Lepar better swimmers.”

“And the Massood?” Caldaq asked slowly. The tech hesitated, glanced back at the platform. Three Hivistahm and an O’o’yan were recording and observing as the naked specimen did sit-ups, performing the remarkable feat of touching its elbows to its knees. It was something only a Massood could have duplicated, or perhaps an Ashregan. The native executed the maneuver repeatedly. The tech’s teeth clicked. “The Massood run faster.”

Caldaq felt relieved without knowing why. It was absurd to compare racial attributes. One could only make honest comparisons among members of the same species. “Without better instrumentation and more elaborate tests involving multiple specimens impossible it is to verify these preliminary conclusions.” The tech adjusted an eyeshade. T’var asked the big question. “What of their battlefield potential?”

“Physically it is considerable, as just indicated have I. Mentally I cannot say. You report that the native decries combat. It therefore to the accepted norm among intelligent species conforms. Yet the visual transmissions viewed thus far would appear the native’s claims to contradict. “The fact that they have evolved fighting each other may have engendered in them an abhorrence or fear of doing battle with representatives of any species other than their own. May be self-confining their madness. I do not know. Not a xenopsych am I. And other problems there may be.” He picked at his teeth. “While judgment on a species based on observations of a single individual we cannot render, I must confess I and my group in this one a wealth of contradictions find, both physical and mental. Contradictions imply unpredictability, and the Hivistahm find unpredictability unnerving. To be a life-musician dedicated to peace and his art the specimen claims, but even his music full of violence is.”

“I wonder,” T’var murmured, “what he would think of some of our music?”

“Truly an interesting thought.” The tech pushed his eye-shades back on his head and rubbed gently at his wide eyes. “I will propose the experiment, though I do not expect it to resolve anything.”

“If analysis proves difficult we will proceed a little at a time,” said T’var, “but proceed we must.” The tired Hivistahm indicated agreement. Will declared much of what they played for him lovely and charming. When the last strains from the alien device had dissipated in the cat’s main cabin he sat up on the couch and smiled at his visitors. “Delightful, but pretty simple rhythmically.”

“Appreciation of music is wholly subjective.” T’var did not waste time on tact likely to go undetected. “We find yours … rough.”

“My stuff’s pretty mild compared to what some of the so-called popular groups put out. You should hear an outfit called Cadmium. I have to admit I like strong rhythms and lots of percussion, but I’m by no means considered dissonant. Your music, though, it’s like Bulgarian folk chant or Palestrina. None of which means anything to you, of course. Why are you playing it for me?”

“You are a musician,” said the Wais. “We thought you would find it of interest.”

“I do. Very much so.” He leaned back on the couch, hands behind his head. “Play that first part for me again, the piece that sounded like electric bells.”

Aboard the shuttle, as Will submitted to more testing, Caldaq greeted the chiefs of his scientific staff. T’var was also present, along with the omnipresent Wais. “Time runs. We have a decision to make, one of vital importance. I must know if these people are potential allies and if so, to what degree. Might they be trained to participate in the actual fighting, even a little, or are there other functions they could perform?

Or does this perceived instability of theirs render them useless to us?

Naturally we welcome assistance of any kind.”

“We’ll find out what we need to know only by acquiring and studying additional specimens,” T’var said, “or by probing this one more deeply.”

Second-of-Medicine protested. “Too soon it is to subject a native to advanced procedures.”

“I disagree.” T’var objected with un-S’vanlike pugnacity. “Look how cooperative he’s been so far.”

“Some of you have alluded to potentially useful aggressiveness. I see no evidence for that,” Caldaq commented. “Truly it broke Dropahc’s wrist.”

“The creature claims it was an accident. The incident proves only that it is strong and clumsy, not necessarily feral.”

Second-of-Medicine was still troubled. “A cooperative, helpful specimen we have. Dare we risk that cooperation by performing risky procedures whose results we cannot with any accuracy predict?”

“In case anyone’s forgotten,” T’var pointed out, “there’s a war to be fought, a war that has been going on for longer than any of us can imagine and which will doubtless continue following our deaths. Shortening that is worth the loss of a single native’s cooperation. All precautions will be taken, but we must be willing to take certain risks. “As you say, he has cooperated well. Until he demonstrates otherwise I believe we must rely on him to continue to do so.”

With its clever words and ingratiating manner, Caldaq knew that a S’van could secure a commitment to cooperate from a rock. If anyone could persuade the Human to participate in a difficult procedure, it would be T’var. “Examinations of further complexity would require the consent of the native.”

“Naturally.” T’var looked up at his captain. “We have done all that can be done with our limited facilities here. We must be allowed to continue them aboard ship.”

Will Dulac sat up and swung his legs over the side of the platform as the floor shuddered slightly. His busy entourage did not pause in its work. “What’s going on?

It feels like we’re moving.”

Second-of-Medicine addressed the native via her translator. “Truly it is deemed necessary that to our ship we return.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An alarmed Will slid off the platform, scattering a pair of O’o’yan as he grabbed for his swimsuit. “I said I’d try to help you out here. Nothing was said about going to another ship.”

The Wais smoothly interposed itself between the native and the agitated Hivistahm physician. “A semantic discrepancy. To us ‘the ship’ means all of its individual components, of which this shuttle is but one.”

“Then I agreed to visit this component.” Will struggled with his suit. “That’s all.”

T’var joined the conversation, all energy and shared enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t you like to see our ship?

To be able to look back and view the whole of your own world?”

Will looked down at the squat speaker. Beneath the profusion of hair it was more humanoid than any of the other aliens, including the tall, shrewish Massood. “Sure, all this is fascinating, and I’d like to help you out, you bet. It’s just that nobody said anything about any long-distance commuting. You’re not kidnapping me or anything, are you?”

“Kidnapping?” The translator struggled with the term. T’var glanced up at the Wais but it clacked its beak to indicate it, too, was confused. “Taking me somewhere against my will.”

“This obsession with compulsion by force.” T’var stroked his beard in exasperation. “It is as characteristic of you as your hairlessness. Why would we do that?”

“To get what you want from me.”

“We want your cooperation, which we already have. Therefore the use of force would be redundant as well as repugnant. Have you learned nothing of our society?” He spoke in Hivistahm to the group of attendant technicians. “I begin to despair of these creatures. It may be they are not civilized.”

“Truly truly of such possible contradictions I warned.” Second-of-Medicine hissed softly. “Their behavior remains utterly unpredictable.”

T’var indicated acknowledgment, turned back to the native. “I assure you we will do nothing against your will. If you wish to leave now, you are welcome to do so.”

Will looked at him. The unblinking stare made the S’van far more uncomfortable than he would have thought possible. You could stare back at a Lepar, an O’o’yan, even a Massood without experiencing the same sense of unease. Yet this native had repeatedly emphasized its commitment to nonviolence. Why, therefore, T’var wondered, do I feel so uneasy in its presence?

“I can leave?

Right now, and go back to my boat?”

“Certainly,” said T’var. “By doing so you will deny yourself an experience beyond your imagining, but that’s your choice. I’m sure we can find another of your kind willing, even eager, to accompany us.” He hoped the translator would make it sound intriguing and not patronizing. The native appeared to hesitate. Then its lips curled upward slightly. It really did possess a remarkably flexible face for a vertebrate, T’var mused. “Hell, I’ve come this far. One of my old composition teachers used to say inspiration is where you find it. Okay, I’ll go with you. If you promise to bring me back to my boat when I’m ready to return.”

“We promise,” said T’var. As if anyone in the room except the native could conceive of doing anything else, he thought. Was it individuality they were dealing with here, or species insanity?

More than ever he felt the need to subject the specimen to a proper examination. The native was visibly awed by the interior of the ship, though less so than might have been expected from a member of a non-space-traversing species. It was as if it was impressed by the ship itself but not its existence. Caldaq included the observation under the burgeoning file labeled “Human.”

Members of the crew invariably paused to gawk at the strange creature as it was escorted through their midst. When they finally reached the heart of the ship’s research facilities, Will found himself directed to a low but comfortable lounge. He’d been anticipating another platform. The plush informality of the lounge was greatly reassuring. “More examinations?” He reached for the waistband of his trunks. “Want me to get undressed again?”

“Not necessary will that be.” For a Hivistahm, Chief-of-Medicine had a commanding tone. Will smiled. There was a dreamlike quality to the chamber in which he found himself, soft and reassuring compared to the improvised examination room on board the shuttle. He climbed onto the lounge, which was large enough to hold two people, put his hands behind his head, and let himself relax. Caldaq, Soliwik, and T’var were among those looking on as the examination proceeded, while Z’mam tended to routine ship operations. They stood in the observation room which overlooked the chamber. Soliwik was outspoken in her comments. “What ridiculous-looking creatures they are. Though no more so than a S’van.”

“Thank you,” said T’var dryly. “Look at it!

That absurd little clump of fur atop the skull and practically none anywhere else. The tiny eyes, hardly bigger than a Lepar’s. The flat face and useless teeth. I grant the defined musculature, but otherwise it strikes me as very poor design.” She turned to Caldaq. “How do you think it will react to the scan?”

“I do not know.” Caldaq stood very close to the glass. “It does not know about that. Chief-of-Medicine thought more uncontaminated results could be obtained if the subject was kept ignorant as to its purpose. I am not certain I agree, but I am not prepared to overrule him. I try to avoid making decisions outside my field. However, Second-of-Medicine expressed similar reservations, which she felt she was not yet ready to explain. I find her hesitancy more interesting than the reservations themselves.”

The cerebral scan was a technique that allowed Weave technicians to simulate the projective abilities of the Amplitur. Its development was a triumph of Weave technology, complicated by the fact that in the entire history of contact only a few Amplitur had been captured alive. Study of such captives was an extremely dangerous and difficult proposition which had to be carried out sufficiently outside the Amplitur’s projective range to insure the safety of the examiners. Much of what the Weave knew of the Amplitur and their peculiar abilities came from those who had been captured by the enemy and subjected to their control. Or to communication, as the Amplitur preferred to call it. Hundreds of years of intense study of the matter had failed to produce the hoped-for artificial means of shielding a mind against an Amplitur probe. But work went on, driven more by hope than expectation. If such a device could be constructed, it could significantly affect the course of the conflict. Soliwik gestured toward the room. “They are starting. The native appears uneasy.”

Indeed, they could hear and see the specimen protesting as two of the technicians attempted to slip the mesh over its head. “I’d better get down there.” T’var excused himself. Moments later they saw him enter the room and hurry to loungeside. Edging aside the Wais, he began talking to the Human. The native promptly lowered his arms, his head nodding slowly, and eventually allowed the technicians to proceed with their work. “I also wonder at Second-of-Medicine’s inability to elaborate.” Soliwik stood watching. “The Hivistahm are rarely reluctant to express themselves.”

“I believe she is worried about proceeding too rapidly. We have no choice, of course. The Amplitur will not slow their advance to accommodate our studies.”

“I see no danger. From what I have seen and heard, this species is barely civilized.”

“They are difficult to categorize. Just like their planet. It is premature to say if that will render them unsuitable as allies. Second-of-Medicine may think so, but I am convinced that among the staff her opinion is in the minority.”

“Do you believe that, or is it wishful thinking?”

Caldaq eyed his Second sharply. “You know me better than that.”

Soliwik stared through the transparency. “It looks like they are ready to proceed.”

The operators were at their stations. One sat in a chair to the left of the lounge, close to a monitoring console. Her head was covered with a mesh pickup very similar to the one the native now wore. An O’o’yan bustled about her legs, busying itself with redundant checks of readouts and instrumentation. Both the interfacer and the native closed their eyes as the scanner eased them into respective sleep states. A pale nimbus appeared around each mesh as the scan commenced. Off to one side, T’var chatted idly with the Wais. Technicians sat at their stations, seeking the memorable while recording the mundane, striving to learn through intense application and imperfect machinery what a single Amplitur could accomplish effortlessly in a few moments. As time passed uneventfully Caldaq let his mind drift to other matters. He was startled when Soliwik nudged his leg with hers, a traditional Massood means of gaining another’s attention. She was pointing into the room. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” He blinked. “Watch the scanner interfacer. There.”

Caldaq saw the mesh-capped technician twitch slightly. Had she been Massood Soliwik would have ignored the reaction. But she was Hivistahm. The Hivistahm might shake, but they did not twitch. Concern on its reptilian face, the attending O’o’yan reached out with his free hand to adjust one corner of the mesh. Caldaq jumped as the interfacer lashed out with her left arm, sending teeth and blood spraying from the technician’s face. You could hear the sickening contact through the transparency. The technician landed on his back, his hand console flying across the room as the interfacer went berserk, legs kicking convulsively, arms flailing. Beneath darkened shades, eyelids twitched and fluttered. Nearby the sleeping Human turned onto its side, then rolled the opposite way on the lounge. One leg kicked out repeatedly, striking air. The terror and fury it was experiencing was wholly and unashamedly delineated in its twisted expression. XI

Emerging from the momentary paralysis brought on by what they’d seen, several physician-seconds rushed to the aid of the bleeding, sputtering O’o’yan. Others attempted to restrain the interfacer, who was hissing violently as she continued to strike out in all directions. The bravest rushed the lounge. One O’o’yan threw himself on the native’s left arm. The specimen reacted with a loud moan and threw the technician aside. A Hivistahm caught a foot that sent her tumbling. Swearing, Caldaq and Soliwik abandoned the observation chamber and rushed to help. By the time they arrived the technicians had the mesh off the interfacer and were gently lowering her motionless form onto a medical pallet. Chief-of-Medicine himself was squatting over her, carefully running a diagnost around her head. Blood trickled from one nostril, running the length of her snout. “What happened here?” Caldaq’s tone was short, clipped. “Truly truly most truly we do not know.” Second-of-Medicine looked stricken. A technician arrived with a small readout. Caldaq grabbed the device, called up a preliminary interpretation in Massood as someone placed a funnel-shaped respirator over the interfacer’s snout. Gas hissed. “I cannot make sense of this.”

Second-of-Medicine took the readout and peered through his eyeshades at scrolling information. Delicate fingers made demands of fine switches. “Look here,” she said, speaking through her translator. “Everything normal at the beginning. Nothing out of the ordinary. Alien but not abnormal sleep pattern.” Nervously she looked over her shoulder at the examination lounge. The Human was still asleep, no longer kicking but still wearing a strange expression. The technicians had managed to remove the mesh from its head. “Through the usual prescribed stimuli we ran, starting slow and imprecise at first, analyzing and recording as we proceeded. Different species react to different stimuli and in differing fashion. “As study proceeded and stimuli grew more actively intrusive more atypical reactions we began to note.”

“A difficult observation to argue with,” Soliwik muttered. “Besides the physical, I mean. Buildups far out of the ordinary. For example, an astonishing increase in cortical electrical activity there was. Right off the chart.”

“What type of stimuli?” Caldaq asked. How abrupt, how terse. How like the Massood, Second-of-Medicine thought. With a long, slim finger she traced patterns on the readout’s screen. “A mildly threatening episode, here. See the parallel lines used for comparison purposes?

This one would be expected of a Hivistahm, this nearly straight line for a Lepar. This is what we got from the native.”

Caldaq leaned over to examine the jagged scribblings. It was the kind of recording one might expect to take from the mind of an insane sentient. The native Will Dulac was many things, but he was not insane. Yet the readout was real, not an invention. It had monitored something. “What happened to her?” Soliwik gestured toward the inter-facer, now resting quietly on the medical pallet. “Truly we do not know yet.” Second-of-Medicine regarded her unconscious colleague with concern. “Preliminary diagnosis is cataleptic shock.”

Caldaq’s nose and ears were twitching sharply. “From what?”

The Hivistahm craned her neck to look up at the towering Massood. “In the absence of alternative explanations, one must assume it involves the feedback she received from the native. Still checking we are, but thus far nothing to indicate mechanical failure was involved is there. “Whatever the actual cause, the result was an incredibly violent episode. Chief-of-Medicine says she has never witnessed the like.”

“Neither have I, but then I do not spend much time in labs.” Caldaq tapped the readout’s screen. “The native insists it and its kind are peaceful creatures. Can it have been lying to us outright?”

“Possibly, but if it had something it wished to hide from us I do not see why to these tests it agreed to submit.”

“I see no explanation for the contradiction,” Caldaq muttered. The Hivistahm looked thoughtful. “At the time of the episode in deep sleep was the native. It remains so. Therefore we must conclude that what occurred was not the result of conscious effort but was instead an instinctive reaction by its mind and body to the intrusive stimuli.” She dug at an ear opening with a finely manicured claw, scales glistening in the bright examination lights. “I am by this more troubled than if the native of its own conscious volition had reacted. It suggests there is a portion of its nervous system over which it has no control.”

“I am glad to hear that,” declared Caldaq. “It indicates to me that the native did not intend to harm the interfacer.”

“Yet she has truly been harmed.”

“But you cannot yet say exactly what happened?”

“A lot of data there is to be analyzed. Most importantly, the corroboration of her own testimony we need. I look forward to her recovery.”

“Surely,” Soliwik commented, “the shock cannot be so severe?”

“Treating her now they are.” The Hivistahm looked on worriedly as her colleagues worked on the unconscious interfacer. “I hope you are right, Second-of-Command.”

The interfacer came out of it a little while later. Came out screaming and whistling shrilly as if being pursued by one of the great carnivores of the homeworld. Attending physicians and techs quieted her with medication and reassuring words, manually darkening her eyeshades. At her insistence they also removed her from the examination chamber to another part of the ship. Two hours later Will Dulac rolled over, yawned, and opened his eyes. The nap had left him refreshed, relaxed, and wondering why he’d made such a fuss over the harmless probe. In response to questions from the Hivistahm and S’van he replied that he had felt nothing, remembered nothing. No nightmares, no unease. His neck was a little stiff, but otherwise he had slept comfortably. The intensity of their queries puzzled him. In response to his request they provided him with food. Some of it was Massood, the rest S’van. Studies indicated with a good degree of certainty that his body would find all of it nourishing. Taste, however, was much more difficult to quantify. Some of what they were certain he would enjoy he set aside in disgust while dishes Caldaq would not have touched the native appeared to find quite palatable. It was a good deal later when Chief-of-Medicine reluctantly allowed the injured interfacer to be interviewed. She lay on her side on a clean medical pallet, a thermoletic sheet covering her body. Both Chief- and Second-of-Medicine were present along with several specialists, Caldaq, and all three Seconds-of-Command. Caldaq would have liked to have had Jaruselka present as well, but it would not have been proper. Anyway, he could discuss the findings with her later. “What can you tell us about what happened?” he inquired as gently as possible. The interfacer’s shades had been blacked out and he could not see her eyes. Her voice was wispier than normal, her breathing terse. “Truly truly I do not know. The probe commenced without incident or abnormality. I encountered no resistance. There was the expected strangeness at first but otherwise nothing remarkable. The mind of the native open and clear remained. Particularly unsophisticated I thought it.” She hesitated and sipped liquid from a tube before continuing. “With the prescribed sequence of stimuli I proceeded. Then chaos without warning. It was as if into the nether pit of the universe I had been plunged. I … I do not think at this time an adequate description of the experience I can render.” She looked up at Chief-of-Medicine. “Please do not ask me too much to remember. Not now, not yet.”

“It will not be required.” The older Hivistahm bent over the interfacer and murmured something too low for the translators to pick up. As he spoke he repeatedly ran an index finger from between the patient’s eyes up over her head and down the back of her neck. She relaxed visibly. Her voice grew softer still. “As if my brain was on fire it was,” she mumbled finally. “The horror, the sheer hatefulness.” Unexpectedly she sat up and pushed back the darkened eyeshades. “Instinctively homicidal are these creatures. They hide their natural selves beneath a veneer of civilization. Inside as bloodthirsty and primitive as a Stachc they are.”

“We still do not know for certain during the scan what happened,” said one of the specialists. “On personal experience only is based your interpretation. This species is manifestly not primitive.”

“Technologically no,” argued one of his colleagues, “but sociologically it is a different matter. They fight among themselves, which for a species that has achieved their level of technological sophistication is unprecedented.”

“There’s also the testimony of the specimen itself.” All eyes turned to T’var. “It cooperates with the scan and any other examination we wish to perform. It speaks only of peace and friendship and insists that’s the ultimate goal of its people. It alludes to the astonishing infighting of its kind by insisting the activity is in rapid decline.”

“Species infighting has been recorded elsewhere,” a tech pointed out, “but only in societies that in a pretechnologic stage of development are.”

“Yet the implications of our studies thus far in light of what has happened today are profound,” argued a colleague. Another captain might have injected his own opinions by now. Not Caldaq. Very early in life he had realized that it is difficult to learn anything with one’s mouth open. On the other hand he knew that if left to run unchecked the debate could continue well into the night shift. “Something important has taken place here. I am not as interested in why or how as much as I am in whether or not it can be used against the Amplitur.”

“No!” Startled, he turned along with everyone else to the medical pallet. As if stunned by her own outburst, the interfacer put her head down against the backrest and repeated more softly, “No. This species as an ally we do not want. Anything to do with them we do not want!” Her eyes flicked wildly from one astonished onlooker to the next. “Dispose of this one and depart before we are detected. My recommendation that is. I am not in command, but that is what I would do.”

“Calm yourself you must,” Chief-of-Medicine urged her. “Still subject to the aftereffects of the shock you suffered are you. Do not try to analyze. Dream instead of home.”

“Truly do not patronize me.” The interfacer added something in rapid-fire Hivistahm. What little of it the translator could cope with shocked Caldaq. The response was extreme and unnatural for a Hivistahm, much less for a trained technician. As if conscious of his reaction and knowing that the final decision was his to make, she looked straight at her captain. “Kill it,” she said bluntly, “and this system leave alone.”

“Dream and recover.” Chief-of-Medicine muttered orders to a specialist, then led the group out of the room. Like everyone else, Caldaq carried his own confusing thoughts away with him. In the examination chamber Will Dulac was doing his best to participate in a kind of signaling game with a pair of intent technicians. They chatted back and forth, the techs having to wait for their translators to deal with the guttural alien tongue. Though Caldaq could not interpret the native’s expressions, it seemed to him that it was relaxed and at ease, perhaps even enjoying itself. “On one hand we have the testimony of the interfacer,” he said to his Seconds, “and on the other this reality.” He gestured at the scene on the other side of the transparent wall where Will was doing whatever the pair of techs asked of him. Elsewhere a S’van was taking readings and two O’o’yan were checking instrumentation. At the rear of the chamber a Lepar was doing some routine cleaning. The scene verged on the bucolic. “It is impossible for me to shake off the feeling that we stand on the brink of some great revelation. I cannot, I will not abandon that to the frenzied recommendation of a single injured specialist.”

Soliwik observed the examination in progress. “The native insists its people are inherently pacifistic and will have no part in resisting the inroads of the Amplitur. Yet despite repeated declarations of its own peaceful nature it has shown the ability to react to specific stimuli with both physical and mental violence. “Perhaps that is a key. It does not act; it reacts. If we could somehow convey the extent and depth of the Amplitur threat, perhaps it would react usefully to that.”

“Usefully to what degree?” Caldaq wondered. “I do not know,” Soliwik hesitated, turned to look at him. “My captain, I have been in service all my life. I have witnessed much and heard more. But I have never in all my experience seen anything akin to what occurred earlier today in this chamber. “I am no scientist, no technician. I am a fighter and a leader of fighters. But I know the interfacer suffered something. Whatever it was shocked her values as well as her mind. Did you hear how readily and insistently she said to kill the specimen?

That is unlike a Hivistahm. Truly,” she added in a slight attempt at levity. Caldaq indicated acknowledgment, looked down to his left. “T’var?

You have been unnaturally subdued through all this.”

The S’van spoke carefully. “At present I find myself ambivalent on the matter, but I’d tend to side with you, Captain. Aside from the morality of ‘disposing’ of an intelligent specimen, I still feel we have much to learn from it. There’s value in all knowledge, and where this species is concerned we still have a dearth of it. We can’t simply depart and leave our work here unfinished, even if these people prove ultimately to be useless to the Weave. I could not be party to ambiguous flight. “Clearly Soliwik is right when she says there’s a capacity for violence here. The Hivistahm do not have it. The Lepar do not have it. My people do not have it. That is a resource as much to be desired in a new species as rare metals or great ships. What we have to ascertain is how much of what the native says is contradicted by its reactions and whether or not there’s anything in that apparent contradiction which we can usefully exploit. “We need to find out if there’s a way to induce these creatures to fight on behalf of the Weave instead of among themselves. The potential for combat is certainly present; if not in this specimen, then possibly in others.” He eyed Caldaq speculatively. “I should even venture to say that this potential matches or exceeds anything the Massood are capable of.”

Caldaq did not bristle at his Second’s observation. Some of his troops might have reacted more strongly, but he did not. Perhaps it was a consequence of his unique temperament. “Second-of-Medicine’s comments pose a problem. She suggests that if this capability is indeed present, it may not be consciously controllable by the native individual. If it cannot be controlled, I do not see how effective use cannot be made of it.”

“Her observations may be clouded by personal experience,” T’var responded. “Indeed, it would be unnatural if they were not.”

“If this potential can only be unleashed when the native is surprised or asleep, then it is useless.” Soliwik rested a hand on the transparent wall. “Most of you were focused on the interfacer’s reactions when the episode occurred. I kept my attention on the native. I saw no overt signs of violence, nothing to suggest it was defending itself in its sleep. A few slight twitches and a jerking of one leg. There was nothing to suggest, from a physical standpoint at least, that it was aware of what it was doing. As you know, the native confirmed all this upon awakening.”

Caldaq considered. “We must find out what it is capable of when awake. Defensive mechanisms and reactions that engage only when it is unconscious are clearly of no use to us.” He sniffed, sucking air and uttering a whistling exclamation. “We are not leaving this place until we know if there is anything of use here or not. Studies will continue. We must summarize and analyze what we have learned about his species and proceed accordingly. It is self-evident they are capable of violence against themselves. That does not concern me. It is an aberration for others to dissect. “In contrast our mission is entirely practical, and it is to practical ends we must be devoted.” He reached down to put a hand on T’var’s shoulder. The S’van was surprised by the physical contact. “I leave it to you, Second, to see to it that the scientific staff concentrates on practical matters and does not drift into the Underspace of pure research. We need results I can act upon, not more theory.” He straightened and stared into the chamber, regarding the native thoughtfully. “We have debated this matter among ourselves. Let us discuss it with the specimen.”

T’var was uncertain. “It may find the subject provocative.”

“That is what I am hoping.”

Caldaq’s hopes were not fulfilled. Not only was the native not provoked, it demonstrated a distinct reluctance to discuss the matter at all. It showed more interest in the plants which brightened the relaxation lounge to which they had all moved. Passing crew glanced only occasionally in the direction of the little group. A pair of Lepar ignored them as they cleaned the bubble that protruded into another part of the ship. The benches on which they sat were made of curving plastic. Different heights accommodated the backsides and legs of different species so that a S’van might sit comfortably in the company of a Massood. T’var was remonstrating with the indifferent native. “We’ve explained that few Weave races are suited to combat, the Massood and Chirinaldo foremost among these. Our efforts against the Amplitur are severely restricted by this limitation. Neither the Massood nor the Chirinaldo have high rates of reproduction. Efforts have been made to increase these but …”

“If you’re looking for someone to breed soldiers for you then you’d better look elsewhere,” Will told him. T’var’s expression was submerged in the depths of that great black beard. “I offer apologies if I’ve offended.”

Will sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just that in spite of what you think we’re not suited for what you want. I realize that our history might suggest otherwise, but we’re getting better at peace. We’ve been working toward it for thousands of years and we’re almost there. People have started to realize it’s simply not practical, in an age of weapons of mass destruction, to go on fighting one another. There can’t be any victors.” He smiled, without considering the effect it might have on his audience. “The last thing we need, the last thing we’d want to do, is export our failures. I don’t know why we’ve fought throughout our history. You’ve said it’s not normal, and if it was up to me I’d agree with you. I can’t give you any explanations. It’s just the way we developed.”

“As a species matures toward civilization the normal sequence of events requires that individuals band together to cooperate against natural forces.” T’var ran thick, stubby fingers down the weft of a nearby broadleaf plant. “Your people seem to have done exactly the opposite. We would like to know why.”

“So would we,” said Will feelingly. “Some of our specialists have suggested that your abnormal development may be related to your extraordinarily active geology. On all other sentient-inhabited worlds the species has evolved on a single large landmass. This is conducive to cooperation and joint development. We find your planet as fractured as your society.”

“You may be right about that,” said Will. “You may be right about everything … except us being ready to participate in your war. Besides, didn’t you tell me that the hallmark of a truly advanced, mature civilization is one that has given up large-scale conflict?”

“And so we all had, until the advent of the Amplitur.” Soliwik leaned forward earnestly. “Don’t you think we tried talk and intelligent debate before taking up arms against them?

You must realize that neutrality is a concept alien to the Amplitur. You are a part of their Purpose, living and developing under their suzerainty, or you are opposed to them. “You must believe this.” Cat eyes burned into his. “You will not be given the luxury of avoiding a choice. If you decline to join with us, the Amplitur will eventually find your world. They will not permit you to decline.”

Will was quiet for a long moment. “Why us?

Why are we suddenly so damn important to you?

We have so many problems of our own, we’re so different, as you’ve repeatedly pointed out. We don’t know anything about starships or interstellar drives. Of what use could we possibly be to you in a galaxy-wide conflict?”

“Allow me an apparent misconception to correct,” said Second-of-Medicine. “You apparently believe that interstellar conflict consists of great armadas of heavily armed vessels dueling in deep space. A physical impossibility this is. Ships traveling in Underspace cannot be tracked. Ships moving in normal space are separated by vast distances and unless locked in near atmospheric orbits are too far apart from one another to engage with on-board weaponry. “Nor is there by destroying a ship much to be gained, even if a target could from fleeing into Underspace be prevented.”

“The war is to convince and persuade, not destroy,” said Soliwik. “Most fighting takes place on the surfaces of contested worlds. Care is taken to spare the local ecology and civilization insofar as is possible. The objective is to destroy the Amplitur, not the worlds on which they hold dominion.”

Will leaned back against the sculpted foam of the bench. “You’re still trying to tell me that after a thousand years of combat and the development of advanced weapons and ships capable of traveling between star systems, both sides do most of their fighting hand to hand?”

“It’s not practical to fight in space,” said T’var. “There’s nothing in space to fight for. Do you begin to see why species with a proclivity or at least tolerance for combat are so sought after by both sides?

Of course, the Amplitur have an advantage we can’t match, both for reasons of morality and science. They can modify certain species the better to fulfill their requirements.”

Will frowned. “Modify?”

“Biologically alter.” T’var gazed hard at the native. “Naturally each species is convinced everything they do is of their own free will and volition. Despite continuing efforts we have been unable to convince any of them otherwise. How do you convince a sentient that it has been genetically reengineered if it has been reengineered to believe otherwise?

“The Amplitur themselves do not participate in combat. If not for their allied races, some of whom, it must be admitted, joined them voluntarily, we could end this war in a few years.”

Will was shaken by the images thus called up, but not sufficiently to alter his convictions. “I sympathize with your situation. I really do. I just don’t know how else to put this except to say it. “Humans don’t like to fight. We’ve been forced into it, whether because of stupidity or history or geology or whatever, but we don’t like it. We now realize how wrong it is and we’ve been trying hard not to do it anymore. You’ve said that it’s aberrant, uncivilized behavior. We’re coming to realize that, starting to mature, as you put it. I don’t think anything you can say is going to change people’s minds.”

“There must be a way to test this.” Soliwik turned away from her translator so that her thoughts would not be conveyed to the native. Caldaq indicated agreement, looked at Will. “You may be right. Please be patient with us if we strike you as overly insistent. Remember that we have come a long way and it will be difficult for us if we have to return disappointed.” He did not mention the other intelligence they had previously encountered, which had enthusiastically agreed to ally itself with the Weave. “If the truth of what you claim can be proven, then we will depart unobtrusively. However, you must understand that, given our position, we cannot leave until what you say has been verified beyond a doubt.”

“That seems fair enough.” Will eyed the alien commander. “What kind of proof would be sufficient for you?”

“I am sure that as an intelligent individual it is clear to you that it is impossible to pass judgment on an entire species based on the actions of a single specimen. We must acquire a larger, representative sampling of the population and put the same questions and tests to them that we have put to you. We need to see how they will react, speak, perform in specified situations.”

Will considered. This was becoming as complicated as one of his Uncle Dan’s bourrées. “I take it you’d like me to help you find some people?”

T’var nodded. “I think it’s self-evident that we can get this over with a lot faster if you’d agree to serve as intermediary for us.”

“Why should I help you?”

“Because,” said T’var, “the sooner we’ve obtained and tested our sample, the sooner we’ll depart forever if your analysis of your kind’s reactions proves correct.”

“All right. I’ll do what I can. It’s going to sound crazy to most people but I’ll try. One thing, though: no professional soldiers, no military personnel. No people who have been trained to fight other people. You want a representative sample of the general population; that’s what I’ll try and get for you.”

“Agreed.” Caldaq’s ears bent forward and his upper lip curled back. “There’s just one problem,” Will told them. “I have no idea how I’m going to get anybody to cooperate.”

“You have,” Soliwik pointed out. Will looked at her. “Not enthusiastically, if you’ll remember. And you found me alone and isolated.”

“You mean,” said a puzzled Second-of-Medicine, “you will have difficulty finding people who will agree to help?

On a mature world individuals would naturally wish to cooperate.”

“I told you: this isn’t a mature world. But you won’t take my word for it, you want to test other people. Fine. I just have to figure out how to convince some of them to go along.”

“Based on what we have learned of your civilization,” said Caldaq, “it clearly would not be effective for us to appear in a town and make the request ourselves.”

“No. That’s why you need me.” Will looked thoughtful. “I might be able to find a few people willing to meet aliens, talk with aliens. The possibility of contact has been in the news for so long that some people are probably ready for it. But locating people willing to come to your ship and submit themselves to a battery of tests, that’s another matter entirely. I don’t know how to start finding people like that.”

“If it is a true test of your people’s potential to be,” said Second-of-Medicine, “you should adequate specimens everywhere be able to find.”

“Easy for you to say. You have your own definition of civilization. I don’t think it fits ours. If you’re right, though, I suppose I should be able to sail my boat inshore right here and find the people you need. What if I can’t?”

“Then we will have to find another way of running the necessary tests,” said Soliwik. Will chose not to ask what the alternatives might be. Instead he muttered aloud, “If I had some way of convincing people instead of just asking them to trust me …” He looked at his audience. “You don’t just ask Humans to do something extraordinary for you. It’s customary to offer something in return for services rendered.”

“That is an operative part of most civilizations. The idea of ‘paying’ a sentient to serve as a test subject is not.” Caldaq turned to his colleagues. “That is not to say that under the present circumstances it is unworkable. The transfer of Weave technology is not an option. What else might be acceptable?”

“I’d like to keep away from counterfeiting. If the work wasn’t perfect it could lead to trouble. Precious stones would be acceptable but most people would think they were fakes.” Will looked at the captain. “How about gold?

It doesn’t matter what shape it takes. Just so long as it’s the real thing.”

After brief discussion the request was put to the scientific staff. Initial dismay gave way to relief when it was found that the necessary element was present in extractable quantities in the planet’s seawater; The same method which had been used to camouflage the shuttle could be modified to extract gold instead of calcium. This will all find its way into a grand symphony some day, Will kept telling himself. He would title it “Contact.” Now if they would only continue to provide him with samples of their own music …

He was surprised and disappointed to learn that what music the Massood possessed was simple and straightforward. In contrast, the Hivistahm and particularly the S’van utilized highly developed musical languages and were delighted to supply him with examples. Listening to a S’van contrapuntal song cycle through an expandable playback device as the shuttle dropped away from the ship helped him to forget that he was traveling through empty space. The music was soothing, relaxing, like listening to a brace of waterfalls engaged in friendly debate. Easy to see why his own music had shocked them. It wasn’t the dissonance. There was plenty of that in the recordings they gave him. It was the rhythmic progressions that made them uneasy. What am I doing here?

he thought abruptly as the shuttle bumped through cloying atmosphere on its plunge toward a looming Caribbean. I should be composing, not recruiting the unsuspecting for a visit to an alien lab. If not him, he knew, they would find someone else. Someone who might have a less sophisticated view of the world than himself, who might unconsciously perpetuate a false impression. It was incumbent on him to see this through. It shouldn’t take much to convince Caldaq and his people that they were wasting their time here. He would simply pass over anyone in uniform, anyone who even looked like a soldier. Ordinary people, that was the ticket. Not that Belize was a hotbed of military tradition anyway. People would disbelieve him, might even laugh at him outright. More than one would assume he was some kind of smuggler. But he had been supplied with enough gold to overcome the reluctance of a few. These would follow him out of greed if not curiosity. If they bolted at the sight of Caldaq’s people, so much the better. It would only serve to reinforce his thesis that a parochial humanity would be useless in any interstellar conflict. Whereupon the representatives of the mysterious Weave would depart, leaving him to get on with his composing and his world to practice its increasingly peaceful ways. As for the driven Amplitur and their unfathomable Purpose, it was not unreasonable to assume they might be defeated by the resolute forces of the Weave long before they ever encountered mankind. Hadn’t Caldaq admitted that Earth lay far off the beaten interstellar track?

No, they would be shown conclusively what Will had been trying to tell them all along and then they would go, leaving him with a little gold of his own and, if he was lucky, recordings of their music to inspire and infuse his work with the exotic for the next twenty years. He felt no compunctions at keeping both. Teaching paid next to nothing, while the history of musical patronage was old and respected. Wagner had his Ludwig of Bavaria. Will Dulac had the Massood. XII

It took the shuttle crew several weeks to reestablish themselves in the protective lagoon and extract from its warm waters a toolbox full of yellow persuasion. The gold was produced in the form of thick-walled straws. Will assumed it had been condensed around some kind of tube or wire. The toolbox was sturdy enough to hold it all, but he worried about the handle breaking. It was heavy enough that he had to shift the load repeatedly from one hand to the other. “You’re sure you trust me with this?” he asked T’var. “I’ve got a small fortune here. I could go ashore and disappear and you’d have to start all over again.”

“Why would you do that?” wondered the short Second-of-Command. “You’re right: I wouldn’t. You have your cause and I have mine. I’m going to use what’s in here to prove to you that you’re wasting your time on my world.”

The Human was very confident, T’var mused. His words repeatedly contradicted the claims of the xenopsychs. Claims were not proof, however, of either thesis. That would come only with additional study. This world, he realized, represented a great gamble. Too great, if an injured interfacer was to be believed. Second-of-Medicine was of similar mind, but the concerns of two members of the medical staff counted for very little in conference. For now T’var found himself agreeing with the majority. This world offered confusion, but not danger. If its mysteries could be unraveled then its promise might be fulfilled. The shuttle carried a tender, an air-repulsion craft designed to give a survey crew the ability to explore the surface of new worlds. It was not large, but it would serve to transport Will to the mainland under cover of darkness. He’d never been farther inland than the port of Belize City, but he knew that the country was mostly undeveloped rain forest and swamp, a steamy refugee from a Somerset Maugham novel brought forward from the 1920s and set down whole and intact in the present day. Air traffic was sparse and the main roads little traveled. They should have no difficulty crossing the coastline unobserved. They set him down near the main highway, promising to meet him at the same spot in a week’s time. Will was not sanguine about his chances. “You may find me waiting for you by myself,” he told T’var, “the gold notwithstanding. But I’ll do my best.”

“You will choose a representative sample of your people.” The Wais was speaking to insure that at this critical moment there were no misunderstandings. The bird-thing looked more comfortable than the S’van. “Of course,” Will lied. He had no intention of being so imprecise. There might be a number of soldiers on leave in the city. The British maintained a substantial garrison in their ex-colony, to keep chauvinistic Guatemalans at bay, and the Americans used the country as a base for training their own soldiers in tropical warfare. The last thing Will wanted was to recruit a mob of poorly paid would-be soldiers of fortune. No, the people he picked up would be much more selectively “representative” than that. Soldiers and even ex-soldiers he would avoid like the archaic attitudes they represented. The ship’s techs wanted several dozen specimens. Will patiently explained that a group that large would invariably attract unwanted attention, even in laid-back Belize. He did not add that the greater the number of people he brought back, the more likely it was to include one or two individuals of the aberrant type the scientists were looking for. So he had several reasons for wanting to keep the group small. If he could convince enough people, the Weave would have its representative sampling of Humanity … only it would be a sample acquired and filtered through William Dulac’s convictions and beliefs. He could not recruit outright pacifists. If he was that obvious then his alien patrons might abandon him and begin again elsewhere. He had to satisfy them that the people he brought back were truly representative of their species. The absence of nocturnal traffic which had allowed the shuttle’s tender to set him down unobserved meant that he would have to lug the toolbox and its heavy contents all the way into the city. His legs were threatening to give out when a white-bearded farmer driving a pickup truck nearly as old as himself offered a ride the rest of the way in. So grateful was Will for the lift that he readily climbed in back with the load of bananas, heedless of the large tarantulas that often traveled with them. The ride into town was hard on his spine but mercifully devoid of arthropod companionship. He hopped off, gave the old man a U. S. dollar, shouldered his backpack, and hefted the toolbox as he headed up a narrow dirt street flanked by multistory buildings of stucco and clapboard. Belize was a backwater country full of poor but charming people whose hopes throughout history had been repeatedly devastated by hurricanes and indifference. The city was crowded with citizens unable to find work on the plantations, fishing boats, or in the nascent tourist industry. A few Victorian structures and stolid churches which had somehow survived the city’s repeated inundations were bright spots among the otherwise ramshackle architecture. A small but clean hotel offered temporary refuge from the tropical night. Hiding the toolbox as well as possible he collapsed on the bed and slept till late morning. After a meal of broiled fish and bottled water he was ready to go to work. Streets which had been deserted the previous evening were full of people going nowhere in a great hurry. Clumps of vacant-eyed men accreted on street corners, waiting for destiny to tap them on the shoulder. Women chattered and popped in and out of tiny storefront markets, juggling groceries and babies with equal agility. Children skipped like water bugs around and through the surging mass of adults, laughing because they could not comprehend the poverty in which they dwelt, finding joy in a muddy puddle or an empty liter bottle of 7-Up. Lebanese immigrants with S’van-black mustaches hammered and sawed on a new store in the shape of a mosque. A dread-locked Rastafarian stumbled up the street, unable to surmount the half-foot-high curb. No one spared him a glance. A little man who looked like a Mayan bas-relief sprung to life sat on a corner of cracked concrete, arms crossed atop his knees as he uncomprehendingly observed the bustle of a mobile civilization. The faces of Belize City were a microcosm of Humanity, stained with an abnormal amount of sweat. The country was a dumping ground, the depression at the bottom of the Caribbean funnel where the adventurous and disaffected ended up when there was nowhere else to go, no more islands to hop. Representative of Humanity, yes. The lower end. It owed this legacy as well as the prevalence of the English language to the British colonial government from which the present independent administration was not far removed. The country was full of British and other expatriates who had found in this corner of Central America their place in the sun. American and German tourists lingered in the few souvenir shops, in a hurry to purchase something, anything of local manufacture so they could get back to the contemporary beach resorts and air-conditioning of Ambergris Cay. Sunburned, healthy young Scandinavians in lederhosen and too-heavy hiking boots smiled painfully at everything as they marched energetically up and down the streets. There were Hindus; descendants of small brown men who had been imported to the Caribbean to work the sugar plantations; Meskito Indians fleeing insurrection in Nicaragua; even blue-eyed natives who were the descendants of Confederate settlers arrived here on the heels of the Civil War. They had come hoping to reestablish the grandeur that had been the Old South. But there was no grandeur to be found in Belize, unless it was in its mountains and jungles, rivers and reefs. Certainly there was no grandeur in Belize City, a community built on land so low that high tides periodically washed the raw sewage which flowed down the river right back up the main streets. He avoided the two stores where he occasionally purchased supplies for his boat, concentrating instead on what passed for the touristy end of town. Broken gold straws crammed into the deep pockets of his pants rested heavily against his legs as he ate lunch in a bad Chinese restaurant and studied the crowd. How to approach someone, and who to pick?

People shambled and shuffled past his table, alternately staring at the ground or conversing with companions. It was too crowded here, in the center of town. Paying for lunch and praying for his digestion, he decided to try the insipid waterfront, soon found himself strolling along the unimpressive breakfront which held back the sloshing, garbage-laden ocean. He sat down on a smooth-topped stone and stared out to sea, wishing he was back on his boat working with his MIDI and keyboard, wondering how to proceed, wishing he’d never heard of Massood and S’van, O’o’yan and Lepar, the Weave and the Amplitur and their eon-old conflict. But heard he had, and it was up to him to keep not only himself but the entire Human race out of it. That’s not for us, he knew. We still have plenty of our own problems to sort out. We haven’t time to deal with someone else’s troubles. “Mister, you got a dime?”

Turning atop the rock, Will found himself face-to-face with a boy who looked to be about twelve but was probably closer to fifteen. Skinny and malnourished, he wore a torn short-sleeve shirt and frayed shorts. No shoes. A second boy, aged too soon, stood nearby. He might have been sixteen, or twenty-five. Both looked hungry, and not just for food. “Sure.” Will smiled and dug into a pocket. His fingers encountered a four-inch length of gold pipe. “That your friend over there?”

The boy gestured with his head. “That my bro, mon. Got a dime for him, too?”

“Your parents know you two are out begging?”

The boy smiled ingenuously. “Of course, mon. You think we orphans or som’ting?”

“You kids going to school?”

“Hey look, mon.” The youth retreated a step. “You got some money, we thank you. Don’t give us no lectures.”

“Take it easy.” Will smiled back. “I’m no preacher.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “You kids ever get to the movies?

You know, cinema?”

“Movies?” The boy regarded him warily. “Sure, mon.”

“Who do you like?”

“Who you think, mon?” Skinny arms and legs wildly assaulted the air. “Chuck Norris, mon. Bruce Lee. All those guys.”

“You like to fight, huh?”

The boy hesitated. “Sometime, maybe. What you want, mon?

My bro and me don’ do no weird stuff.”

“How’d you two like to make some real money?

How’d you like to meet some … aliens. Like in the movies. You know … people from another world?”

“Hey, we seen stuff like that. Our friend, he’s got a VCR. You crazy, mon.”

“Am I?” Will drew one of the gold straws from his pocket, showed it to the boy. In the dim tropical light it shone like the sun. His eyes grew wide. “Hey mon, that ain’t real, is it?”

“Call your brother over. I have a business proposition for the two of you.”

By the end of the third day he had recruited not only the two orphaned brothers but a friend of theirs, a powerfully built fisherman who sometimes gave them shelter. He was also the blackest black man Will had ever seen, as black as the water beneath a Mississippi pier on a moonless night. There was no color in him whatsoever, not a smidgen of beige or chocolate brown. There was also the middle-aged expatriate he had encountered in his own hotel, originally from the southeast of England but lately of many local bars. He’d been elegantly drunk, though not so drunk that he failed to identify the gold Will showed him as the real article. Whimsically he agreed to participate. “It will be a real lark,” he laughingly insisted. Will wondered what his reaction would be when he found himself confronted by Caldaq. The man had come to Central America on sabbatical and had chosen to stay, held by cheap liquor and the certain knowledge that he was accomplishing absolutely nothing with his life back home in Surrey. So there was plenty of time to indulge in whatever diversion a crazy American could concoct, right?

When sober enough he could identify every country together with its major cities, principal exports, important topographic features, and fifty-four different local brands of beer. A useful addition to Will’s group, yes?

He was ready for whatever adventure happened to come his way so long as adequately noncorrosive booze was made available in modest quantity. There was the young man with the dreadlocks, a Rastafarian—like the one Will had seen stumbling down the city’s main thoroughfare, a cannabis smoker for sure, yes mon, but not stoned when Will talked to him—who readily embraced the opportunity to meet some real as opposed to smoke-induced aliens. Will smiled to himself as he contemplated what Caldaq’s reaction might be to this particular specimen of Humanity. It would be interesting to watch the Wais attempt to translate when the man’s every alternate word was well nigh incomprehensible. Will only hoped he would remember to show up at the hotel at the appointed time. Another pair of candidates materialized in the form of a pair of students from Sydney, would-be intellectuals out to experience the world before returning home to make as much money as possible while vegetating on the beaches of the Gold Coast pretending they were doing something for the future of mankind. Will ignored their pretensions as readily as he welcomed their presence. Seven was a good number, but Will wished for a few more and he was running out of time. Tomorrow night the shuttle’s tender would return to the place where he had been dropped off, eighty miles up the central highway. He and his flock would be expected to be there to meet it. His recruits seemed to arrive in pairs, like Ken Woods and Tamy Markowitz. They were a painfully earnest young couple who were, in Markowitz’s words, “scouting out potential honeymoon sites.”

“So we won’t waste our time and money on a place where we don’t think we’ll have a good time,” Woods added. Their particular jejune brand of insensible preyuppie reasoning was precisely what Will was looking for, but he had a hard time convincing them to come along. Eventually they agreed. Not to meet aliens, which they didn’t believe for a second, nor for the gold. They agreed because they found, fascinating the people Will had already recruited and Markowitz turned out to be a would-be professional photographer. It would be a wonderful opportunity for her to observe and photograph a diverse collection of people in a restricted setting. Will wasn’t even sure what she looked like because he rarely saw her face. It seemed as if a single-lens reflex was all that existed above her neck. They would probably bolt when the tender arrived, he thought, and certainly when Caldaq or T’var put in an appearance. He kept them anyway because that reaction in itself would be instructive. Nine, then, as motley and unlikely a group as one could imagine even in Belize, assembled outside the hotel the following night. He’d rented a full-size van from a local car-hire, though for the amount of gold he’d slipped the attendant on duty at the time he could probably just as easily have bought the vehicle outright. After seeing to the stowing of luggage on the van’s roof rack he put the mumbling Rastafarian in the front seat next to his own, the two local youths immediately behind with their fisherman friend next to the door, where he would have a little extra legroom. The two Australians struggled into the back, where they could chat with the expatriate teacher. Woods and Markowitz obligingly split up. He was climbing into the driver’s seat when an old woman confronted him. “Excuse me, sir.” Her voice was soft, her English good, and she was overdressed in broad-beamed hat and clean white dress, as if for church. Beneath one arm she carried a large wicker basket. “Can I help you, granny?”

She smiled, a gentle upcurving of the corners of her mouth. “There are stories in the city of a white stranger who carries gold.”

Will looked around, suddenly wary. It was dark out and even here, in front of the hotel, sufficiently desperate men would not hesitate if they thought the prize commensurate with the risk. “Belize City is full of stories.” Even in the poor light he could see that she was missing all four front teeth. “It’s not drug money, is it?

That would be an offense against God.”

“I’ve nothing to do with drugs.”

“Good,” she said firmly, hefting her basket. “I hear also that this stranger wants people to go with him for some mysterious purpose, and that for this he pays handsomely.” She indicated the van and its noisy inhabitants. He did not wonder where or how she had heard. The Human telephone in Belize City was far more reliable and accurate than its electronic counterpart. “I already have enough people.”

“I don’t take up much space,” she said, a plaintive note in her voice. “I want to go, too, if there is any chance to make some money.”

What would the Hivistahm scientists make of this one?

Will mused. Still he hesitated, studying her carefully. He didn’t want anyone to die on him. “Excuse me for saying so, but you don’t look very—” He hunted for a polite word. “—strong.” He checked his watch. Still ample time to make the rendezvous. “I’m stronger than I look, sir. I’ve worked all my life. Just because I’m small and old don’t think I’m not strong. I do not know what it is you have in mind for your people, but I can tell you that I am a widow. My husband passed away two years ago. I have a son who works in San Pedro and he has a wife. By them I have, God be praised, two grandchildren, a boy and a girl. A third died last year. “They cannot visit me because they have no money. I have no one in this city. I want to go with you, sir.”

Will softened. “Do you understand what we’re going to do?

We’re going to meet people from another world and travel on their ship to a much bigger ship that waits in space halfway between here and the moon, where they will look at you and ask you questions.”

“Sir, I do not care what it is you want of me, if there is some money involved. I have never been out of Belize City in all my life, save for two trips to the capital. I want to make enough money to live close to my son and my grandchildren. I will do whatever you ask.”

Some good was going to come of this after all, he thought. “See if you can find room in back.” He looked into the night. “What about your luggage?”

She held up the basket. “I have everything I own in here. What else would I need?”

What else indeed, Will thought. She started around to the other side, paused to look back at him. “Bless you, sir.”

Feeling better, he climbed in and shut the door behind him. “Don’t say that until you see what you’re getting yourself into.” In her own way, he knew, she was as blind to the reality of what was happening as the Rastafarian and the teenagers. Gunning the engine, he turned around and abandoned the waterfront for a main road, trying to find his way to the central highway in the dark. Behind him his charges nattered away meaninglessly, ten Human beings chosen at random who would unwittingly do their part to convince Caldaq and his Hivistahm xenopsychs of mankind’s unsuitability as potential allies. The half-drunk teacher expounded on irrelevancies to the Australian students while Markowitz snapped meaningless pictures like mad. The Rastafarian mumbled to himself, oblivious to the jokes the two teenagers made at his expense, while the dark fisherman stared silently out a side window. It was late and they encountered very few oncoming lights. There had been none at all for more than half an hour by the time Will spotted the big tamarind tree he’d chosen for a landmark and pulled off the highway onto a dirt road. A bumpy mile beyond, the track ended in a shallow swamp. Of the tender’s previous touchdown there was no sign, the resurgent muck and resilient water plants having obliterated all evidence of its earlier visitation. Will killed the engine and stepped out. “This is it.”

The eldest of the two teenage boys confronted him. “This isn’t it, mon. Where’s the gold you promised us?”

“Don’t you want to see the aliens first?”

The younger boy walked to the water’s edge, his tone more credulous than his brother’s. “Where are they?”

Will tilted his head back, scanning the dark cloud-filled sky. “They’ll be here. So will the gold.” He looked over at the older boy, whose expression eloquently declaimed that the whole world had conspired against him since the day of his birth. “Why don’t you give me a hand with the luggage?”

“Hey, mon, do it yourself, you heah?

My bro and I, we already got ours.” He held up a package secured with twine. Ken Woods gave Will a hand. So did the silent fisherman, whose body seemed fashioned of black rebars welded together. When the pile of luggage had been unloaded Will checked his watch again. Things could get interesting if the tender failed to materialize. He didn’t look forward to spending the night at the edge of the swamp, fielding accusations and indignant inquiries while watching nervously for patrolling fer-de-lance. As time passed complaints filled the air with increasing frequency. He knew he couldn’t hold them much longer. Eventually he would have to pass out the gold in the toolbox, turn the van over to his disgruntled recruits, and remain behind to greet his alien acquaintances with confessions of failure instead of the promised specimens. Then suddenly, without any warning, there it was: a massive dark outline suspended in sky, slowly lowering toward them. It sang like a troll humming its babe to sleep, a deep-throated mechanical counterpoint to the oohs and aahs that now began to rise from his companions. XIII

The expatriate stumbled and lost his Panama hat, while the old woman from Belize City crossed herself. Elevating his mumbling to a higher level, the Rastafarian gaped at the silently descending tender. The fisherman stood nearby, staring, silent as when Will had first set eyes on him. The suddenly sobered British schoolmaster staggered over to stand next to Will. He held his recovered chapeau tightly in one hand, running the other through what remained of his graying hair. “I … I thought it was a joke, what you said. You know, an evening’s entertainment. Something to tell the friends back in Tunbridge Wells someday.”

“I think you’ll find it entertaining enough,” Will told him, “but it will involve more than an evening. As I said.” He eyed the older man thoughtfully. “You can run if you want to. No one will try to stop you.”

The expatriate did not take his eyes from the descending vessel. “No. No, I think I will stick around for a while yet.”

A slight puddling of water marked the tender’s touchdown. A ramp extended from its flank to dry land, and the door above retracted. Figures appeared in the opening. Will overheard the Australian girl questioning her male companion. The tall, freckled redhead had a voice like a Dickensian waif. “How come they’re different sizes?”

“They’re not just different sizes, luv. They’ve got to be different species. Say, have a look at that tall one in the back. That’s a sheila for sure, even if she is hairy as a possum.” He pointed to the advancing Wais. “I don’t know what that is.”

Caldaq and the S’van assistant captain Will knew as T’var were accompanied by three Massood soldiers and a Wais translator. As greetings were exchanged Will saw that Caldaq’s attention was not on him but on his recruits. The latter stared and mumbled among themselves as the realization that this was not a joke, not a set piece being staged for unseen television cameras, began to take hold. None of them broke and ran. Somehow Will wasn’t surprised when the old lady, the one he’d allowed to come along as an afterthought, was the first to walk up to the towering Massood and extend a wrinkled black hand. “I am pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Annalinda Mason.” She whispered to Will, “He is a ‘sir,’ is he not?”

“He is,” said Will, simultaneously realizing that despite all he’d been through he had yet to explain the meaning of a handshake to the aliens. He proceeded to rectify that omission, watching as the captain’s long, slim fingers enveloped those of the elderly woman. At the same time, Caldaq’s gaze roved over the edgy onlookers. “This is the best you could do?”

Will had determined to stick to his guns. “You wanted a representative sample, remember?

No professional soldiers, not even any soldier-types. Just plain folks, so you could determine what kind of people Humans are. Well, I’ve brought you ten representative Human beings.”

The irrepressible T’var did not sound half as discouraged as his captain. Come to think of it, Will had yet to encounter a depressed S’van. “That is what we wanted and that’s what you have brought us. We must learn from what is made available to us.”

The group watched his approach with interest. As he was nearly two feet shorter than the shortest of them, in addition to being the most nearly humanoid of all the aliens, no one was intimidated by his inspection. “The variance in coloration is interesting. It is more substantial than your visual transmissions suggest.”

“Our visual transmissions,” Will told him, “very rarely reflect the true nature of our society. That’s what I’ve been trying to get across to you all along.”

“This is for real, isn’t it?” Ken Woods was muttering. “As real as the gold.” Will kept expecting someone to break and run, but their fascination with the aliens continued to exceed their concern. Perhaps, he thought, society had been so conditioned by now by the deluge of speculative fiction and films to the possibility of intelligent visitors from other worlds that the reality no longer had the power to shock. Certainly the tall, polite Massood and the feathery, supremely elegant Wais were far less intimidating figures than some of the ravening creatures which had appeared in popular movies. T’var was peering up at the Australian couple. They in turn gazed down at him, intrigued by his bright eyes and bear fur. The young man looked over at Will. “What’s with the goofy-looking midget, mate?”

Will winced. “That’s T’var, one of the assistant captains.”

He needn’t have worried. If anything, T’var was equally amused by the confrontation. “I am not offended,” he said through his translator. “S’van are not easily insulted. We have made not being offended a survival trait. Others are envious enough of us as it is.”

“Yeah?” said the youth challengingly. “Why would anyone be envious of you?”

“See,” murmured one of the escorting soldiers behind Caldaq, “the staff rumors are true. Even in manners and speech they are belligerent.”

Will’s earplug conveyed the soldier’s words and he hastened to correct her. “No, no. They’re just curious, is all.”

“I am called Caldaq.” The captain stepped forward. “I command a vessel that is presently located halfway between here and your moon. If you agree, all of you will soon have the opportunity to see it for yourselves.” He went on to deliver a capsule explanation of everything Will had been told about the Weave, the Amplitur, and the great war, concluding with an explanation of why they were on Earth and what they hoped to gain from their visit. “For us to properly determine if you can be of real assistance to us will involve a journey outside your own solar system. You will be well treated, properly cared for, and amply supplied upon your safe return home with the gold you value so highly. No harm will come to you, and you will have experienced things your kind has not yet imagined.” Showing how much he had learned, he added with visible effort, “We would not force any of you to do this against your will. If you choose not to accompany us, you may depart whenever you wish.”

The fisherman picked up his simple pack and strode wordlessly forward, followed by the Australian students and the old woman. The others followed en masse. Will inhaled deeply, took a last look at the familiar night sky, put the keys to the van on the driver’s seat, and strode up the ramp into the hovering transport. The tender returned to the reef and was secured aboard the shuttle. As preparations were being made to depart, Caldaq confronted Will. “You are not going with them, Will Dulac.”

Will nodded knowingly. “I hadn’t planned on it.”

“And neither am I,” the Massood continued, surprising him. “What do you mean, you’re not going?”

“I sense your confusion. The speci … the people you have brought to us will be taken to the nearest Weave world equipped with appropriate study facilities. That work must be complemented by continued research here. “Because of your world’s extreme contradictions and unusual potential it has been decided to expand our present base here. It will be small but well equipped and will consist of a shuttle and whatever facilities we can build around it. It is my option to go with the ship or continue work here. I have chosen to remain. It is my personal request that you continue to help us with our observations.”

Will was shaking his head slowly. “You can’t just throw up some big complex and expect the locals not to notice it.”

“Everything will be concealed as effectively as our shuttle was when first you encountered us.”

“You’re going to stay here in the lagoon?

This strikes me as a pretty isolated place from which to begin a study of all mankind.”

“Our instrumentation is sophisticated. We will manage. The isolation will allow us to make occasional onshore forays when required. We will have the use of the tender, which as you have seen can travel partially masked.” Cat eyes stared hard at Will. “Your continued assistance and cooperation, of course, would be of inestimable value to our labors.”

Will considered. He’d had it all worked out. As soon as the aliens had departed with the recruits he was going to put on sail and start back to New Orleans, washing his hands of the whole business and resuming work on Arcadia. The remaining gold in his toolbox would allow him to take a nice, long sabbatical from teaching, something he’d dreamed of for years. He’d be able to finish the tone poem, do some short stuff, maybe try a couple of chamber pieces, and get a start on the cantata. If he stayed to help Caldaq, there might not be much time for composing. Contrariwise, he would be able to study and absorb a wealth of alien musical influences. “The composition of the study team has yet to be finalized,” Caldaq told him in reply to his next question. “There will be Massood additional to myself, Hivistahm and S’van technicians, probably a few Lepar. No Chirinaldo.”

“I’ve noticed that your people aren’t as technically oriented as, say, the Hivistahm.”

“It is not that so much as the fact that the Weave includes many skilled sentients but few fighters. The Massood fight because they can, not because they want to. We do this for the good of the Weave. Until the Amplitur forced combat upon us, Massood society was as sedate as that of the S’van.”

Will felt a tug at his waist. “I’ve requested to stay also,” T’var told him. “Captain and assistant captain?

Who’ll run your ship?”

“Two other assistant captains,” Caldaq explained. “Soliwik, who is actually more experienced than I, and Z’mam. Except in matters of actual combat, the Weave possesses great flexibility in matters of organization.”

“How long do you expect them to be gone?”

“As long as it takes to learn what must be learned. I am not concerned. My mate will return with them. Meanwhile there is much to be done on your world.” Something on his instrument belt beeped softly. “We have to go now. As soon as you have returned to your boat we will ascend. In several days time we will be back to begin our work here.” He hesitated. “You may not be a fighter, Will Dulac, but you are strong of opinion. The Massood respect that. I hope you will be here when I return. We could continue our research without you, but you know something of us and our aims. It would be far easier to work with you than to begin anew with another of your kind, who might not be as intelligent or understanding.”

But I’m against everything you’re after here, Will thought. Aloud he said, “I’ll think about it.”

Just before departure the teacher handed him a hastily scribbled letter to friends back in England. The couple from Connecticut passed along a similar message. Will promised to mail both at the first opportunity. From the cockpit of his cat he watched the darkened shuttle rise above the mirrored sea, turn slightly, and begin its silent climb heavenward. Caldaq stared out one of the shuttle’s ports until the view of the Human’s watercraft was obscured by dark clouds. In another part of the shuttle, he knew, ten Humans were doing likewise, chattering excitedly as they clustered together to get a glimpse of their world receding beneath them. “Who do you think is right?” he asked T’var. “The Human Will Dulac or the xenopsychs?”

“If I could answer that there would be no need for extended study. Personally, I don’t think these people understand themselves.”

“How can a race not understand itself?” Caldaq straightened. “That is a contradiction in terms.”

“Which is just what we have on this world: a biological contradiction in terms. Are these people civilized or not?

We may have to invent new terms to describe them. Our studies here must proceed on the assumption that the abnormal is the norm and that we’ll encounter only the unexpected.”

Not for the first time Caldaq wished he could borrow the mind of a S’van. A Massood proceeded directly from point A to point B. It was usually left to the S’van to explain what was happening at point C. T’var’s words troubled him all the way back to the ship. They worried him as he watched the Human guests being made comfortable, worried him as preparations were made for Underspace entry while the shuttle, which was going to remain behind, was loaded with equipment for the incipient base. It even troubled him on the return journey to the surface of the bright blue-and-white planet, until he made himself put it out of mind. There was too much to do now to waste time on worry. He was more relieved than he cared to admit when they found Will Dulac’s boat anchored where they’d left it. The Human was waiting to greet the shuttle as it descended. Perhaps he’d been working on his strange music, Caldaq mused. Will was standing in the cockpit when Caldaq stepped out of the shuttle’s submersible onto the cat’s deck. The moon was bright, allowing him to see the bubbles that emerged from where the vast dark shape was settling into the lagoon. Caldaq remembered the Human hand-shaking gesture of greeting in time to extend his fingers. “I saw the shuttle,” Will said, “but where’s all the material for constructing your base?”

“It is begun even as we speak.”

Will looked over the side, wondering if his big spotlight was strong enough to illuminate anything beneath the clear surface. Not that he intended to try. The intense beam might draw the attention of a passing fishing boat or yacht. “You saw how we camouflaged our craft previously,” Caldaq reminded him, fingering the translator unit hanging from his neck and hoping it could command the necessary terminology. “It is called electrophosphoresus. Lepar are already erecting the framing. Chemicals will be extracted from the water to create structures which will be attached to our vessel. The gold you value so highly was obtained through the same process. With Lepar setting the frames the work will go quickly.”

“Yeah, the Lepar. That’s the thing that intercepted me when I was trying to swim away.”

“Yes. Your agility in the water was quite a surprise to us. Few Weave species do well in water. Our biologists were startled to see an air-breathing bipedal mammal swim so efficiently.”

Will nodded, even though he was at best an average swimmer. “But the Lepar?”

“The Lepar are amphibious. In fact, they are unique in being the only known amphibious species to have developed true intelligence, though they are still—” He hesitated. “—slow in many ways. But they are very dedicated and work very hard. Being so different from the rest of us, they tend to keep to themselves. Even the Chirinaldo, who breathe supplemented heliox and are too massive to move around much on the ship, are more sociable. “In a situation such as we face here, the ability of the Lepar to work underwater is of obvious value.”

“What a coincidence that there happened to be some in your crew.”

“Our ship was commissioned for exploring. To cope with unforeseeable contingencies, as diverse a crew as possible was assembled. The Lepar do certain things better than any Massood, the Massood have their advantages over the S’van, and so on.”

“And you think we might do something better than anyone else?”

“Or hopefully at least as well. That is what our studies are intended to reveal.”

Will spent plenty of time in the water watching the base take shape. He didn’t relax until the shuttle once more resembled part of the reef. His only concern was that the work might be noticed by a low-flying plane, though the likelihood of that was small. What air traffic there was in this part of the world ran north-south along the coast of the Yucatán down to Honduras. Lighthouse Reef was sufficiently far out not to be overflown by commercial traffic. Once the basic structure was complete the base began to sprout imitation coral heads and shelves, branches and caves. Even the colors matched those of the surrounding living reef. Lobsters and urchins began to move in, making new homes in the artificial coral’s inviting nooks and crannies. Will came and went as he pleased, utilizing the same airlock employed by the Lepar. Some nights he used the cat’s dinghy to ferry anxious, quivering Massood to the nearby islands, where they spent hours running off accumulated nervous energy. They seemed to flow across the sand, their long legs scissoring effortlessly as they completed endless circuits of the palms and ironwood bushes. It was Caldaq who explained to Will the sheer joy the Massood took in running and jumping, in competing against gravity. It was their heritage, their tradition. Will was therefore somewhat surprised to note that while they could run forever, none of them seemed particularly fast or able to jump especially high. Though he was in his thirties and only in fair shape, he thought of matching his speed against theirs, then decided it would be tactless if he happened to win. Nor did he mention that any competent Human sprinter could run circles around the fastest of them. The Hivistahm and O’o’yan, the S’van and the Wais did not seem at all athletic. It made him wonder. He worked hard at convincing the techs who had been assigned to the base that mankind was hopelessly far down the road to peace and contentment. His words were contradicted by much of what they recorded from standard television broadcasts, so that he often found himself explaining the differences between reality and fiction. Even if Humans bizarrely fought among themselves that did not mean they were ready to go to war against an alliance of aliens they did not even know existed and who had never done anything to them. No, all mankind wished was to develop the kind of advanced civilization the S’van and Hivistahm took for granted. They listened with interest to everything he said, noting with approval and occasionally admiration Human accomplishments in art and music, literature and theater. Examples of Human efforts at working together to achieve harmony and understanding were everywhere. Yet contradictions also abounded. Much of mankind’s music was as acrimonious as it was affecting. The same could be said for his art and theater. Certain aspects of Human sport were as violent as the war between the Weave and the Amplitur, make-believe or not. Even Human humor seemed as mordant as it was amusing. Patiently Will explained, interpreted, elaborated upon. The idea was not to laugh at someone but with them. Not to injure on the playing field but to compete, just as the Massood competed at running and jumping. There was much in what they heard and observed that severely troubled Third-of-Study, who had been placed in charge of the xenopsych section. “Are you saying,” said Caldaq in the privacy of his tiny cabin, “that you agree with the Human Will’s assessment of his kind, or disagree with him?”

“Both.”

It was difficult for Caldaq to envision the technician’s true thoughts. The Hivistahm relied far more on gestures than on their limited range of facial expression. He stood there, eyeshades down, delicate fingers locked together. A Hivistahm could stand motionless like that long enough to drive a Massood crazy. “Everything the native says is true, and everything he says is a lie.”

“Well, that will make a fine definitive report,” said Caldaq sarcastically. The technician unlocked his fingers. “Truly I do not know how else to put it. Sometimes my people and I feel that the dumping ground for every contradiction in the universe this world is. Even their weather a study in extremes is.”

“So I have heard.” Will had tried to explain what they might face come hurricane season, though Caldaq had difficulty fully grasping the enormity of his description. Hurricanes, as Will called them, were a feature of uninhabitable gas giants, not civilized worlds. Abruptly Third-of-Study began to pace. Caldaq sat a little straighter. The Hivistahm did not pace. That was a Massood characteristic. “Do you the reaction of the technician who was damaged by the cerebral scan remember?”

“I do,” said Caldaq. “Less certain am I with every passing day that her reaction, while extreme, was unjustified.”

Caldaq indicated displeasure. “That is not a scientific attitude.”

“Truly this world renders mental detachment difficult. It is the unpredictability of these people that troubles me, and I am not alone in this opinion. To utilize the unpredictable in warfare, whether being or machine, to court disaster is.”

“You may see them as unpredictable because we do not yet understand them.”

“That may be so.” Third-of-Study halted. “But even those species capable of fighting, such as the Massood, can in predictable fashion to a known set of circumstances be expected to react. That cannot be said of these Humans. They cannot say it of themselves, as our prime specimen repeatedly pointed out has. That is a dangerous quality to have to deal with in a time of battle. If these people do not know how they might react, what they might do, how can they within the existing command structure be accommodated?

“This is true even of our first contact and erstwhile native friend, Will Dulac, who never tires of violently reminding us how peaceful his people are. His voice grows loud and his gestures swift.” Behind the lime-tinted shades the eyelids of the Hivistahm blinked nervously. “Truly I find it impossible to believe that these contradictions have entirely your notice escaped, Captain.”

Caldaq put aside the lightscribe he’d been working with. While capable of irony, the Hivistahm were not spendthrift in its use. “They have not.”

“Even assuming that the native Will is wrong and that his people serviceable fighters prove to be, do we really want such creatures as allies?

Might not their mental instability as much a liability as benefit render them?”

“The fact they do not know themselves is one of the characteristics that makes them unique. Let us first find out if and how they can be useful to the Weave. Then we will deal with any related problems. It may be possible to structure their integration in such a way as to minimize their awkward unpredictability.” When the Hivistahm showed signs of pursuing his objections, Caldaq irritably waved him off. “It is for you and the S’van to decide if these Humans can be helpful and for the Chirinaldo and Massood to determine whether and how. Confine your determinations to your specific discipline and leave tactics to me.”

The technician seemed about to say something more, abruptly decided not to. He pivoted on wide sandals and headed for the doorway. Weeks passed before Third-of-Study felt confident enough to confront his captain again. “Truly something else concerns me.”

Caldaq was not in the mood. He hated administrative work and there was much to deal with. “What is that?”

“It may be as Will Dulac says, that if presented with the choice his people would choose not in the great conflict to participate. But what if they are not given that choice?”

Caldaq’s whiskers twitched as he regarded the technician. “What do you say?”

“We could what the native says accept, that his people inherently peaceful and unwarlike are but have acted otherwise because of historical circumstances they are to learn how to control just beginning. We could depart, all evidence of our visit obliterating, preserving the ignorance of this world. Left to develop by themselves these people progress toward true civilization might well make.”

“They might also destroy themselves utterly,” said Caldaq. “There are indications they may yet do that.”

The Hivistahm gestured elaborately. “Truly. And if we intercede, if they come to know the Weave and share all that it stands for, that will not be permitted to come to pass. They to destroy themselves will not be allowed.”

“Make your point, supervisor.”

“If we leave they will either achieve civilization or destroy themselves. If we stay they will not destroy themselves but truly civilized may never become. The native Will speaks of the inexorable progress of his people toward peaceful coexistence. Our presence here disrupts that. Do our needs, the needs of the Weave, give us the right that to interfere with, with perhaps permanent effects?

Do we the right have to deny these people the peace they have sought for so long simply because we feel are more important our needs?

Do we the right have to interfere on such a scale with the development of a potentially civilized race?” The technician paused. “It is such matters that glad make me.”

“Glad of what?” Caldaq asked softly. “That I am not the one who such decisions must make.” Whereupon Third-of-Study departed, leaving Caldaq to silent contemplation of his glowing, waiting lightscribe. XIV

Will sat in the cockpit listening to T’var as the S’van assistant captain toweled himself dry. Of all the Weave peoples he felt most comfortable around the S’van. Because of their intelligent rodentlike visages and continual twitching he often found the Massood intimidating in spite of themselves, while the Hivistahm and O’o’yan who comprised the bulk of the staff at the burgeoning base were too reptilian in appearance to warm up to. In addition to being mammalian, the S’van were gregarious and talkative. They also possessed a highly developed sense of humor which transcended species, adroitly juggling inference and innuendo with a skill Will could only admire. There were also several Lepar at the base, but they were so quiet and reserved he doubted he’d know how to initiate a conversation even if he encountered one of them in a hall or in the water. Also, it was difficult to fear someone barely three feet tall. Sometimes he wondered what S’van faces looked like behind the thick black beards common to both sexes. The same dense curls covered head and arms, hugging the barely visible coffee-colored skin. Leaning against the back of the cockpit, T’var looked like a dark-eyed kitchen scouring pad. Will turned down the volume on George Lloyd’s Twelfth Symphony, grateful for the company. Unlike Caldaq and the Hivistahm, who came solely to ask questions and make recordings, the S’van actually seemed to enjoy his company. “You’re excited by something,” the S’van commented. Will nodded. “I’ve come to an important realization, T’var. See, I’ve been trying everything I can think of to convince your commander and his staff that my people simply aren’t suited to participation in this war of yours. But it’s not because I’m right and their observations are wrong. We’re both right. “One of your Hivistahm technicians spent hours yesterday discussing Human unpredictability with me. He thinks it makes us more unsuitable for participation than if we were a planet of congenital pacifists. I hadn’t looked at it like that before, but I think he has a point. I’m going to raise it with Caldaq.”

“The topic is already under discussion,” T’var informed him. “It may make no difference. You are still likely to be deemed useful.”

“Damn!

What’s it going to take to convince them to leave us alone?

We’re trying to put thousands of years of insensate primate violence behind us. How can I make Caldaq realize that?” He looked so sharply at T’var that the second-of-command jumped slightly. “How about you, T’var?

What do the S’van believe?”

T’var studiously examined the short stubby fingers of his right hand. “The S’van find it judicious not to offer up too many judgments.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” Will squatted next to the wheel, lowering himself so that he was eye to eye with his visitor. “What is it with you people anyway?

You seem willing to let the Massood and the Hivistahm and the O’o’yan make all the decisions while you hover in the background with your mouths shut.”

Had there been a smile behind the black forest Will would not have been able to see it. “You are perceptive. But then, you’ve made use of your own opportunities for study these past months. “I’ll tell you something, Will Dulac. It is something I can say more freely in your company than in that of my crewmates. The simple fact of the universe is that the S’van are smarter than the Massood and the Hivistahm, the Wais or the O’o’yan.”

“Then how come you don’t make the decisions?

Why do you leave them to others?”

“We do not simply stand back and let events progress. We suggest. We influence. We make our opinions known. You should understand that even in a great civilization it is not always beneficial to be perceived as the smartest, particularly when one is small in stature and numbers. “Because of our abilities we occupy a disproportionate number of important positions in the hierarchy of the Weave, though we constitute a very small percentage of the total population. This gives us great influence while also exposing us to remnant primitive emotions. So we’re careful to minimize our exposure. For example, we keep to our homeworld and do not choose to colonize in the manner of the Hivistahm or the Bir’rimor.”

Will frowned. “You feel threatened by your own allies?”

“The Weave is not the monolithic front you perceive. Within its structure there is more conflict and dissension than you would believe. It’s grown so large that without the universal threat posed by the Amplitur I for one am convinced it would disintegrate of its own unwieldiness. This is our greatest danger. “There’s no internal fighting as you think of it, but there are other means of expressing dissatisfaction with one’s neighbors. Civilized means. Because of our vulnerability we’re very careful to let the Hivistahm, the O’o’yan, and the Wais make the decisions. To let the Chirinaldo and the Massood do the fighting while we offer advice. It’s not important to us who receives credit for making the right decisions; only that they get made.” Heretofore he had been speaking rough English. Now he resorted to his translator. “There are emotions which are common to many peoples. Jealousy is not unknown among the peoples of the Weave.”

Will was nodding to himself. “I appreciate the confidence you’re showing me. But that doesn’t tell me what the S’van believe.”

“Persistent as well as perceptive.” Will didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or criticism. “I will not speak for other S’van, but as for myself I tend to agree with Third-of-Study. Your unpredictability renders you unreliable in a combat situation. Whether that makes you useless is another matter.”

“Why not come,” Will said abruptly, “and see for yourself what we’re like, instead of asking me the same questions over and over and relying solely on television broadcasts?

Come to the mainland with me.”

Unpredictable, yes, T’var thought. “I?”

“Why not?

Let me show some of you what our everyday life is really like. Television dotes on and magnifies the violence in our society. It doesn’t show the joy we take in just living, the love we have for the world that surrounds us. You can’t feel that, can’t experience it from broadcasts.” He straightened and stretched. “This is something I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I can’t take Caldaq. Even if I could rig some kind of disguise for him, the Massood are just too big and conspicuous. The O’o’yan and Hivistahm are too lizardlike in appearance. A Wais would be able to converse with anyone we encountered, but their body shape is impossible. Whereas a S’van just might be able to bring off an impersonation. You wouldn’t draw much attention, being …”

“Short,” T’var finished for him. “I do not consider myself short. The description applies only when compared to a Massood or a Human. We do not think of it in the pejorative, as you seem to.”

“I could shave you some,” Will said thoughtfully, “although it’s probably not necessary. Not here. And the hair is something of a disguise in itself. With the right clothes you’d look a lot like a short Human. You might be noticed, even remarked upon, but not followed.”

“You realize that the local climate is not to our liking,” T’var reminded him. “Who else could I take?

A Lepar?”

“Your idea has merit, despite the risk.”

“We can go ashore in the dinghy,” Will told him, planning. “At night. Nobody’ll spare us a second glance. You’ll have a chance to experience Humanity in person instead of relying on broadcasts and me.”

“I am an administrator, not an observer. Such an expedition should include trained observers.”

“I don’t think that would work. You, maybe one other, but no more. Two midgets walking with a man will attract some comment. Half a dozen would draw a crowd.”

“Very well. Despite the potential discomfort I will come, together with a companion. If I can convince the captain.”

Will toyed idly with the wheel. The cat’s twin rudders creaked slightly. “From what I’ve seen the S’van can convince anyone of anything.”

“Ah, if that were only true.” T’var ran thick fingers through his beard, stroking the black ringlets. “Then we would convince the Amplitur to leave us alone, there would be no war, and we could depart and leave you to the peace that you insist you are working toward.”

When presented with the notion Caldaq was understandably reluctant, but as Will surmised T’var eventually succeeded in persuading him of its value. The two S’van would trail Will and try not to draw attention to themselves. Special shoes were fabricated which added inches to their height without impairing their mobility. Loose, floppy hats covered the dense hair while adding to the illusion of greater stature. When all was ready Will inspected his charges and pronounced himself satisfied. Imitation reefwalkers covered alien feet, while gloves masked their hands. “This is Belize,” he told them. “People wash up here from all over. One of the first things they learn is to mind their own business. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble.”

The rechargeable electric motor powered the dinghy inshore beneath a sliver of silver moon like a pared fingernail. Will tied up at a commercial wharf, there being no marina facilities in Belize City. This was not a favored anchorage of the yachting set. They did indeed attract some stares on the busy wharf front, but no questions. The drunks did not panhandle them, and the dopers shied clear. Further inland they encountered people interested only in each other: couples strolling arm in arm, young people laughing and dancing, tourists watching Miami at Pittsburgh via pirated satellite signal. Children sought diversion in muddy streets while dogs yapped at indifferent alley cats of adamantine expression. Music blared from crowded bars. There were no guns in evidence, a fact of Belize which Will was counting on to impress his companions and contradict much of what they had seen on the evening news broadcasts. It would have been harder to make his point in Mexico, or Guatemala, but here there was a pervasive feeling that life however poverty-stricken was at least decent and might improve. He could see that T’var and E’wit were impressed by what they were seeing, E’wit’s fingers busied with his concealed instruments as he recorded and noted everything they saw for in-depth study back at the base. Their path eventually brought them back to the waterfront. Will pointed out two couples seated on separate benches. They ignored everything as they cuddled, staring out to sea. “What are they doing?” E’wit kept his recorder humming. “Just being together.” Will’s chest hurt. There were women in his own life, and he’d been spending a lot of time alone on the catamaran or in the company of aliens. “They might be married, or just friends. Humans need each other’s company.”

“Not so much unlike us,” murmured T’var. He turned to his left. “What is that?”

Will stared in the same direction, along the narrow roadway that separated buildings from the seawall. “Music. Let’s go see.”

A crowd had gathered to listen to a local band serenade the tourists staying in a waterfront hotel. The three men calypsoed harmoniously, one singing while his companions hammered on steel drums slung from their necks. Tourists and locals alike clapped appreciatively after each song. The security guard stationed at the hotel door grinned and tapped his left foot in time to the music. Despite his circumstances, a part of Will listened and absorbed, filing away the rhythms for possible future use. Music had been his personal salvation. Perhaps it would contribute to that of the Human race as well. They stayed till the band left and the crowd dispersed. Only when the sun threatened to put in an appearance did they return to the dinghy for the long ride back out to the reef. Will was trying hard to expand upon a melody derived from an O’o’yan seduction theme when the tiny communicator the visitors had installed in the cat buzzed for attention. Irritated by the interruption, he put instrumentation and the creative process on hold while he answered. He recognized T’var’s uncertain English. “Interesting news, Will Dulac. Our ship has returned.”

“I’m happy for you.” The ship was overdue, Will knew, and there were those among the aliens who had begun to worry. Interception by a hostile vessel in Underspace was a practical impossibility, but accidents were not. As for himself, he had settled into a daily regimen he was in no hurry to see disturbed. As the visitors felt increasingly secure in their base they had less need of him. This allowed more time for composition. He’d long since finished Arcadia and faxed it home. Response from fellow faculty members had been enthusiastic. More importantly, the conductor of the symphony had read the score and scheduled it for performance in the fall season. His success was assured. When informed that he was hard at work on a new project, the tone poem Othervisions, the head of the department insisted he extend his sabbatical for as long as was necessary. After all, the creative process was a fragile thing, and having a published composer on the faculty was a coup for any southern university. Did he require a stipend?

No, Will had assured him. His own resources were sufficient. More than sufficient, thanks to the visitors and their ability to accrete twenty-four-karat gold straws out of seawater. Not only was he living better than ever, he’d been able to equip the cat with the kind of equipment he’d only dreamed of when he’d bought her. Satnav and twin sonic drives, full scuba gear, everything he’d ever wanted. All in return for answering a few questions each day. Now that comfortable routine was about to come to an end. The ship had returned, bringing to those who had been left behind fresh supplies, news, familiar faces, and just possibly, some answers. He stepped outside, into the familiar damp heat, and stretched. Daylight enough remaining for a swim, he slipped on his fins, mask, and snorkel, made certain the translator was secure in his ear, and climbed down the portable steps into the water. A school of yellowjacks darted over, looking for a handout. He waved at them and they scattered lazily, unafraid. Several minutes later he became aware he was not alone, and swam over to watch the Lepar at work. It noted his presence immediately but did not acknowledge it. He had been told that while the Lepar were willing to talk they preferred to keep to themselves. Their vocabulary was limited. This was generally not a problem since they rarely had anything to say. This one kept eying him as he floated above the base, outlined by the evening sun, breathing through his snorkel and watching. Finally it stopped and with a flick of its hind legs and tail shot upward to join him, the wide-mouthed face breaking the water next to his. Will pushed his mask back on his forehead, wiped saltwater from his eyes. “You’re not Vataloi, are you?

I know a Lepar named Vataloi.”

“No. Vataloi is a supervisor. I am Otheleea.” The translator made English of the impenetrable gurgle. “What do you do, Otheleea?” Will kicked his fins, treading water. “Fix things. Mostly underwater. No other people can work in water and air.”

“We can. Maybe I can give you a hand.”

“I have heard that you swim well. But you are an air-breather only.” The Lepar’s tiny black eyes flickered. “That doesn’t mean I can’t work underwater.”

Otheleea reached out to finger Will’s snorkel. “You are carrying no air supply, and this is not a rebreathing device.”

“No, just a tube. But I can hold my breath. Please. I’d like to try and help.”

“If you injure yourself blame will come to me.”

“Nonsense. It’ll be my own responsibility. And I’m not going to injure myself.”

“A Massood could not do this.”

Will smiled. “I’m not Massood.”

The Lepar regarded him, its expression unreadable. “No, you are not,” it finally declared before sinking beneath the surface. Will pulled down his mask, cleared it, then arched his back and straightened his legs, doing a porpoise dive straight down. He couldn’t use his translator while holding his breath, but the Lepar’s gestures were easy enough to understand. He was able to assist a little in between trips to the surface for air, holding tools and in one instance helping to support a large piece of plastic glass that Otheleea was welding in place. When the work was done they surfaced simultaneously. The Lepar stared. “You were right. You did help. No other sentient could have done even that much.”

“We just like to swim, that’s all.”

“It did not trouble you to work with me?”

“No. I enjoyed it. Needed the exercise. Composing is a pretty sedentary activity.”

“You helped not because you had to but because you wanted to.”

“That’s right, I—hey!” All Will saw was a flash of flattened tail and webbed feet as the Lepar vanished beneath the surface. He ducked in time to catch a glimpse of the torpedolike shape disappearing around a corallike corner of the base. He shrugged mentally and headed back to the cat. T’var was right: the Lepar were hard to figure. He brought out a set of clean clothes, wanting to look his best for whoever stepped off the shuttle that was due down later that night. In many ways he would be sorry to see the base shut down and its inhabitants gone, now that their tests had doubtless shown them what unsuitable allies Humans would make. He’d made friends among the visitors: Caldaq and T’var and others. He’d even managed to establish a casual relationship with several of the perpetually grumbling Hivistahm. Life would go on. He had his music, the Massood and the S’van and the rest had their war. He would immortalize their visit to the best of his abilities, and perhaps someday in the far future when the war had ended their descendants would return to this world, startled to find themselves hailed by music imbued with themes taken from their own past and reworked for Human instruments. That would be the finest memorial of their brief stay on Earth anyone could ask for. XV

Caldaq could not stop pacing. His nose was twitching so rapidly, Will thought as he watched the Commander, it must surely snap off the end of his snout. Pointed ears flicked rapidly, like tiny hirsute semaphores. T’var stood nearby, scanning the night sky along with Chief-of-Study, another Hivistahm Will did not recognize, an O’o’yan attendant, and the ever-present Wais. A Lepar technician waited patiently in the base submersible just offshore. After a while T’var strode over to stand next to Will, and the two of them studied the stars together. “There’s something you must know,” the S’van said through his translator. “It involves what occurred on the world Vasarih a number of months ago.”

Nearly a year had passed, Will reflected, since Caldaq’s ship had departed the solar system. It did not seem so very long. They had learned a great deal in that time, with Will assisting them in their work as best he could. Yes, he would be sad to see them go. His had been an experience unlike any other save perhaps that of the ten Humans now returning. He had been informed that all ten were coming back. Whatever tests and examinations the Weave had subjected them to could not have been very harsh. “Vasarih is a contested world,” T’var was saying. “Your fellow Humans participated in that conflict.”

“What?” Will’s contemplation of the Caribbean sky was shattered. “They accepted training and used it.”

Will stared down at the S’van. “How could your people do something like that?

How could you put a bunch of unprofessional strangers, kids and old people, into a combat situation?

I know the whole purpose of this was to test Human fighting potential, but …”

“Apparently,” T’var said calmly, “when the situation was explained to them they all volunteered to help. No one was ‘forced.’ Do you still understand us so little?”

“Volunteered?” Will was taken aback. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

It was instructive to observe the Human’s reaction. T’var knew well where Will Dulac stood on the matter of his people’s cooperation with the Weave. He was sympathetic. The S’van would have liked nothing better than to have been left out of the war effort, to continue their own lives in peace. But if the Amplitur were going to be pushed back, everyone was going to have to assist in the pushing, including the less than enthusiastic. That included the S’van. Did it also include Humankind?

That had yet to be determined. The masked shuttle was revealed when it had drawn near enough to occlude a number of stars. It settled gently into the shallow water of the lagoon alongside the submerged base and Will’s dimly lit catamaran. Light appeared in its flank above an extruded ramp. Figures began to emerge, walking toward the little island on which the greeting party waited anxiously. Caldaq stopped pacing and waited at the base of the ramp. It was difficult to discern individuals in the dim moonlight, but at least two were Massood. One was Jaruselka. Their intense reunion was marked by intriguing digital and verbal byplay, but Will hardly noticed. Likewise he paid no attention to the greetings exchanged by Chief-of-Study’s companion and one of the Hivistahm from the ship. Any other time he would have watched raptly, making mental notes and seeking sources of inspiration. Not now. His attention was on the column of Humans who stepped off the ramp onto the dry white sand of the beach. All were similarly clad. It took him a moment to realize that their clothing was a modification of what the Massood normally wore: a dark brown jumpsuit sort of arrangement crossed with bright slashes of yellow. Leading them was the young trio from New England. Trio because Tamy Markowitz carried a child in her arms. Will stared as she carefully placed the swathed infant on the sand. As her husband knelt next to her he noticed the staring musician. “Dulac, wasn’t it?

William Dulac?”

“Dulac, yeah, that’s right.”

Ken Woods looked down at his son. “This is Robert. Beautiful, isn’t he?

First Human being born off the planet.” He grinned. “If we’d known Tamy was pregnant we might not have gone. Turns out it didn’t matter. The Hivistahm technicians studying us were ecstatic. We got better care than we would’ve had at Mt. Sinai General.”

Tamy Markowitz had found a periwinkle in the sand and was pressing it into the child’s palm. Tiny fingers curled around the shell. “Yes, darling, you’re home. This is your home, this is Earth.”

Will watched them coo over the infant a while longer before turning his attention to the others, who had gathered in a group nearby. The change in the teenage brothers he’d recruited from the slums of Belize City was astonishing. Not only were they a year older, they had definitely matured in other ways. Young physiques had filled out with muscle. Gone was the hesitancy and fear he remembered. Their movements were assured, confident. As he stared they broke away from the rest and headed up the beach, accompanied by a slightly older man. Recognizing one of the Australian students, Will began searching for his companion. He found her standing, not by herself, but close to the dark fisherman. When they saw Will approaching the man extended a hand and smiled electrically. There was none of the sullen anger Will recalled so well. “Hello, mon. I remember you. I can’ thank you enough what you did for me.” Slightly dazed, Will shook the gnarled, powerful fingers. “I didn’ talk much that time back ago, but that was before. Before the big sky trip; before Lea.” The woman smiled and put her arm through his. “We married, mon. This whole business”—and his arm described an arc against the night sky—“change my life.”

“Too right. Changed everybody’s life,” the young woman added. Will looked up the beach. She noted the direction of his gaze. “Steven?

I’ve never seen him happier. You know we weren’t in love or engaged or anything like that. We were just traveling around together, seeing some of the world. It was convenient. But after I got to know Matthias here, well, Steven didn’t mind. He got involved in the training and the studies to the exclusion of just about everything else.”

“It’s none of my business anyway,” Will muttered. “Hey, mon.” Matthias clapped him on the back. “How been the old world while we gone?

It miss us?” He laughed heartily. “What about you?

You have a good year?”

Will was more than a little taken aback by the formerly silent fisherman’s effusiveness. “Okay, I suppose. You … all of you seem so happy.”

“Mon, you just don’ know.” He beckoned. “Hey, Eleroy, you come talk to this mon, you heah?”

The Rastafarian stepped out of the darkness. Gone was the glazed stare, the slight jerkiness of movement, the raging dreadlocks. His hair was cut short and close and he stood straight as any of the palms on the little islet. He studied Will’s face carefully, as if trying to decide whether it was real or counterfeit. “I know you, mon. I owe you my life.”

Questions overwhelmed Will’s ability to ask them. So many, he had so many. This was not what he’d been expecting, not what he’d been expecting at all. “You’ve changed.”

“Everybody changed, mon.” Eleroy nudged the fisherman in the ribs. Lea laughed and clutched his arm tightly. “All my life I was nothing, mon. Nothing. I go with you because I don’ know what happening to me any of the time. These people, they fix me right, you see?

They make me feel important, give me something to do. They say I helping them a lot and that make me feel real good, real good. “First thing, I ask them for ganja. They don’ understand but we talk. Then they ask questions, especially those big lizards. They take my blood and break it apart and they give me something else in return. Made me feel good, mon. Then we talk some more, and I learn things, and what they give me make me proud to be a man. Now I don’ have to get high all the time to feel good. I got something lot better.”

“Like what?” Will asked him. The Rastafarian gave him a tight-lipped grin and clapped a hand to the device secured at his waist. “A purpose, mon. To fight for the Weave. To protect this place, my home. Your home, too.” He indicated the island, the ramrod palms, the calm waters of the lagoon. “I never had anything to fight for before. I don’ even like to fight. But it all explained to us, mon. These Amplitur things out there, they want to take away everything that makes a man, everything that makes you real.”

The woman spoke up. “We have no choice, really. We have to fight, or we’ll end up sacrificing our Humanity. The Amplitur will come and take it away from us. Fair dinkum.”

“But we do have a choice,” Will insisted. “We can stay out of it. We can …”

The Rastafarian exchanged a sad look with his friend the fisherman. “He don’ know. He don’ understand because he ain’t been Out There.”

“No,” Matthias agreed, “but he will.” He looked past the nearly submerged shuttle which had brought them down and inhaled deeply. “I missed this. I missed the smell. Not just of the sea.” He gazed back down at Will. “It this whole place, mon. This planet, this Earth, this our home. I been other places this year gone and no other of them smell like this.” He smiled at his companion. “Come on, sweet woman. Let’s take a walk.” Hand in hand they headed inland. Will was shaking his head. “What did they do, brainwash the lot of you?”

“No, mon,” said the Rastafarian. “They just show us the truth. Somebody they smack you in the face with it time after time, pretty soon it impossible to ignore, you know?

They show us the truth about everything, including ourselves. Matthias, he find his truth. I find my truth. Sooner or later you gonna find your truth.” He gazed out across the water, toward the mainland. “I got some sisters somewhere. Not here, down in Monkey Town on the coast. I got to find them and share the truth with them. The Massood boss say I can’ do that just yet, but maybe soon. Maybe.”

He started to walk away. Will reached out for him, was stopped by a new voice and a hand on his arm. “Let him go.”

It was the expatriate teacher, and he was not alone. Next to him stood the old woman who’d been the last to join the group. Their brown-and-yellow uniforms fit surprisingly well. Will had to smile at the sight of the battered Panama hat perched incongruously on the man’s head. Like its owner, it looked none the worse for wear. “Come on, old chap. Let’s find a place to have a sit and we’ll explain the lot of it to you.”

“The young ones.” The old lady was nodding to herself as they walked. “They all impatient, and they have reason to be.”

“You see, William … that is your name, isn’t it?

I’ve seen so much this past year that this old head is quite crammed with detail. It’s the way we’re made, how we’re fashioned. At first it was all a big joke to us. Then when we saw how serious things were we found ourselves turning serious as well. After that we found things out without having to go searching for them.”

Will listened to him but his eyes were on the old lady. She looked ten years younger. No longer the shriveled, worn-out woman who’d begged to go along, she stood straight and proud. Age lines in her face had been replaced with others suggestive of hidden strength brought unexpectedly to the surface. “We each of us had our own reasons for agreeing to your peculiar request,” the teacher was saying. “We all thought we knew what life was about, oh, yes. Then we were forced to confront new things, both within ourselves and without.”

“Such new things.” The woman rested a hand on the expatriate’s shoulder. “You see, old chap, when you spend a lot of time talking to things that don’t breathe as you do, or even what you do, and you start learning the true universal constants, why then your own little personal problems start to acquire this rank air of the petty about them. You find out what really matters instead of what you thought mattered and see some significant differences. All my life I’d been told that travel was broadening. What they don’t tell you, can’t tell you, is that the farther you travel the more broadening it becomes.”

“I heard that you were involved in some fighting. How did they get you into that?”

“Why, they didn’t get us into anything, young man.” The old lady eyed him reprovingly. “Once we learned about reality, saw how things were, naturally we wanted to help,” the teacher told him. “Your clothes.” Will gestured weakly. “Ah, yes.” The man looked pleased. “We sort of put them together ourselves, based on what those Massood chaps wear and what I remembered from my days in the service. That young lass from down under is something of a designer. Working with her, our hosts had no trouble running these off for us. They were most accommodating when they saw that we wanted to help.” Will said nothing and the man continued. “You know, I never had much of anything. I was a poor teacher at best, bleating away back in Surrey at indifferent young sods who were much more interested in the latest football scores or music vids than in anything I might have to tell them. That’s why I left England. There was also a small matter involving some funds in a school account. “I thought I might salvage what little remained of my self-respect. Instead I left all that behind, along with my wife, a bland but decent woman far better off without me. No children, thank God. Haven’t communicated with her in twelve years. “I drifted, and like many of my countrymen I ended up here, in Belize. They need teachers badly, so obscure portions of my résumé were not brought into question. Not that I was a better teacher here than I’d been Surrey. Liquor has this way of complicating one’s classroom manner. “I was drinking rather more than I was teaching when you materialized with your offer of an evening’s entertainment. What I did not expect to receive was higher education, which I was firmly convinced I had put far behind me. I acquired fresh knowledge, and something rather more than that. I acquired a cause. Because, you see, these Amplitur really are the cold soul of evil. “I also regained my self-respect because I found something that I was good at.”

Will eyed him guardedly. “Like what?”

“Why combat, of course. Oh, yes. That girl Lea, for example, is quite the Amazon, as tough as her paramour and those boys you found in Belize City. The couple from Connecticut are not bad and the young Australian fellow, Steven, is something of a born strategist. I don’t know if you’ve had occasion to notice, but most of these alien chaps aren’t any good for fighting at all. Only the Massood, and some other fellows called Chirinaldo. They’re big, but middling slow afoot. The Massood have a lot of endurance, but they’ve little natural quickness and despite their size they are not very strong. “The S’van and Hivistahm who studied us kept talking about our neuromuscular structure and how it was tied into our peculiar endocrine system.” He waved a hand. “Don’t ask me to explain. It was quite technical.” He reached into a breast pocket and withdrew the familiar shape of a translator. “These gadgets don’t function as effectively when scientific terminology is involved.”

“I don’t understand any of it at all,” said the old woman. “I only know that these are good people, despite what they look like. They need our help. It made me feel good to be able to help them, even a little.”

“You see, old chap, I spent some time in the military. I’m good at planning things. Annalinda and I have a lot of experience that the young people need. Their initial successes tended to make them impulsive. Steven understands that. It’s why they put him in command.”

“I’ve seen fighting all my life,” the old woman said. “I’m no good at it myself. I have a lot of control but no ability. But I can tell others of what I’ve seen. Those two poor boys you brought along are like my own grandchildren. They need good advice.”

“Do you know what it’s like,” the teacher was saying, “to have a great lot of important individuals tell you how wonderful you are, how important you can be, how much they need your help?

It does something to you, makes you feel good inside. Just like these uniforms.”

“That’s enough for now, Edward.” The old woman took his arm and started up the beach. “We’d better go find the boys before they get into some kind of trouble.”

“Quite right there, Anna. After all, this isn’t Vasarih.” He winked at Will, cocked the tired Panama tight on his head. “Think about what I’ve said, will you, old chap?”

Numb and confused, Will watched them hike up the beach in search of the three young men. “I’m pleased, of course.” Caldaq sat on the sand, legs crossed, arms resting on knees, inhaling the now familiar aromas of this world as he watched the prodigal Humans chatter and cavort. They were so childlike in their enthusiasm, so easily pleased, and these few, at least, a little less ignorant of the state of reality. In their jumpsuits they looked very much alike despite the usual variations in individual coloration. Jaruselka sat close, ignoring the sand in her fur. Chief-of-Project stood nearby. She was an elderly Hivistahm entitled to much respect. At night she was able to dispense with the dark shades which during the day were necessary to protect eyes grown sensitive with age. “Truly we all are. These people the potential to be of use beyond our wildest dreams have. Weave Command is ecstatic over what little they have been told.”

Caldaq’s gaze roved the palms, the odiferous sea beyond. “Then the isolation of this world is to be ended?”

“No. Is that not a strange decision?”

“I do not understand.”

“You were not there. You did not see.” Jaruselka shifted on the sand. “Because of what has been learned the evaluators are torn between caution and hope. “Individually and as a group, these creatures graded out more suitable for combat than any people of the Weave, including the Massood.”

This revelation inspired no jealousy or envy in Caldaq. A considerable part of being civilized involved the ability simply to see truth. “This is difficult for me to accept, my mate. While I have not seen what you have seen, I have spent a lot of time on this world, observing, studying, learning. It leads me to believe that much of what our friend Will Dulac says about his people is true. They do love music and peace and very much aspire to the Weave definition of civilization.”

“Truly they may aspire, but it is not what they are best suited to doing.” Chief-of-Project was remorseless. “It has been postulated,” Caldaq argued, “that if left to develop by themselves they might be able to overcome that fact.”

“Quite likely.” Chief-of-Project took several steps toward the water, her sandals leaving broad triangular impressions in the sand. Sharp nails flicked against one another as she spoke. “Undisturbed they might achieve the same level of civilization as the O’o’yan, or the S’van, or the Wais.” She did not mention the Massood. Caldaq chose to regard it as an oversight. “Truly it is conceivable that they could overcome the instinctive combative tendencies which they now so ingenuously display to become as peaceful as, say, the Hivistahm.” She turned back to the two Massood, slitted eyes bright in the moonlight. “However, a certainty that is not. There is equal evidence to suggest that such inclinations will continue to manifest themselves even as their technology advances. It is intriguing to postulate what direction their society might take if such tendencies are encouraged instead of decried.”

An angry Caldaq rose. Jaruselka stood beside him. “I will not be a party to such a thing. It reeks of the immoral. These people must be allowed to find their way to civilization.”

“Even if that way to mutual self-destruction leads them?”

“Do not try to hide what you want beneath a layer of fatuous altruism.”

To her credit, the elderly Hivistahm was obviously uncomfortable. “Truly I am not unaware of the contradictions posed by this dilemma. “If we allow these creatures to achieve the kind of civilization which would permit them entry into the Weave, then sacrificing a great weapon we may be. Of what use would such a civilization be to them if subsumed into the Amplitur Purpose it is eventually?

“If we instead allow, even encourage them to vent their natural combative tendencies not against each other but against the Amplitur, then great things accomplished may be. Do not forget, Captain, that the future of many races and not just that of Humans is in the great contest at stake. The Weave survives because the good of all it considers. “Adjustments to Human inclinations in the future can be made, after the Amplitur we have defeated. Time enough then to embrace these creatures and to the heart of Weave civilization clasp them. Truly first everything possible we must do to insure a civilization there is for them to join.”

Caldaq’s anger at an immutable injustice was already fading. “It has already been decided, hasn’t it?”

Jaruselka eyed him sympathetically. “It was not our decision to make. I am told that the Council agonized long over it.”

“The full Science Council,” Chief-of-Project elaborated. “The General Council of this world’s existence is not yet aware.”

Caldaq gestured tiredly, resumed his seat on the sand. “And they have already participated in actual combat?”

Chief-of-Project’s claws dug at an itch. “On Vasarih. A cautious test in hope executed of confirming results otherwise difficult to believe. Only those who volunteered were involved, the youngest and strongest, though they received advice from their seniors as well as from our own people in the field. “The Amplitur force on Vasarih consists mainly of Crigolit with a smattering of T’returi largely providing logistical support. Truly also there are the divided Vasarih themselves.”

“And what happened?” Caldaq pressed her. Chief-of-Project hesitated briefly. “Conflict these creatures transforms in ways they themselves are unaware of. They take to combat as to a narcotic. Their endocrine and nervous systems function differently. The fact that for the first time in their racial history they were fighting creatures other than their own kind seemed only further to energize them. “Vasarih a minor theater of conflict is, but in the sector where they were introduced their impact immediate and devastating was. Not only did they wreak havoc themselves, their attitude and presence inspired the Massood who were present safely through any trouble to shepherd them.”

“They fought alongside Massood?” Caldaq said. “Yes.” Jaruselka put a hand on his shoulder. “I witnessed this myself.”

He eyed her sharply. “You participated?

You did not say …”

“It would only have worried you. Should I have not?

I am trained as any Massood, and I was one who had dealt with the first specimen, Will Dulac. I understood more than those Massood who had never encountered a Human before. “Chief-of-Project speaks endless uncomfortable truths.” The Hivistahm was gratified by the support of the Commander’s mate. “When these creatures are thrust into combat they seem to enter a different state of consciousness. They are transformed.”

“They fight like machines.” The elderly Hivistahm searched for the best way to convey her feelings. “Not out of control but not as we would fight, either. This is not a conscious choice they make but something with them instinctive, something in their racial psyche deeply ingrained. Out of the other mature species civilization has bred it. Even the Massood must make themselves fight. “These people do not have to force themselves. They enter into combat with positive delight.” Her reptilian visage seemed almost to contort into a true expression of amazement. “Do you know that we actually had to employ force to extricate them from the field?

They wanted to remain and fight on.”

“That is absurd,” Caldaq insisted. “No one wishes to fight when one can withdraw without sacrifice.”

“Truly you have not observed these creatures in combat. More astonishing it was than you can imagine. The unobtrusive administration of medication was required several of the younger specimens to calm.”

“And this is what the Weave wants to encourage?” Caldaq threw a shell into the water. “Does everything we have learned here carry no weight?

What of our studies that show Humans as serene and peaceable, on the verge of true civilization?”

“Our own civilization we must preserve before we can theirs assist. Remember that none of the specimens were compelled to fight. All volunteered willingly: indeed, enthusiastically.”

“Because they were not made aware of alternatives, of the duality of their nature which they do not yet fully understand themselves,” Caldaq argued. Chief-of-Project’s voice turned cool, as though she was tired of debating the matter. “A duty we have here, Captain. Curious I am to know how this Dulac has influenced you.”

“He has not influenced me.” Not for the first time Caldaq felt the urge to strike a Hivistahm. A S’van could argue with humor and disarming wit whereas a somber, remorseless Hivistahm speaking to the same point usually came off as insufferable. He forced himself to relax clenched fingers. “I am a captain of the Massood, commander of a Weave vessel. We fight a common enemy, but they have yet to make enemies of these people. That is an issue not easily to be dismissed.”

“Truly ten of them they now have as enemies,” Chief-of-Project pointed out. “Ten individuals do not constitute a representative sample.”

The elder gestured agreeably. “This is why we have with the supplies and equipment necessary to expand your base here returned.”

“Expand?

But if the Council has already made its decision …”

“The Science Council only,” Chief-of-Project reminded him. “You are not the only one of the moral ambiguities of the situation aware, Captain. Or of the dangers. The Council desires more information, additional studies. “For reasons of which I was not completely informed they do not feel the time is right to make a wholesale appeal for assistance to the people of this world. Partly it is felt that their uniquely suspicious nature against their cooperation might mitigate.”

“Then what is to be done?” Commander or not, Caldaq was confused. He had landed on this world thinking one way, only to find himself convinced otherwise by Will Dulac and by what he had seen and learned this past year. Now other studies contradicted what he had come to believe, yet this caution on the part of the Council seemed to contradict its own findings. What did they want of this world?

And of him?

Jaruselka was comfortingly close. “I know it is difficult, life-mate. We must trust in the wisdom of those more highly trained than ourselves.”

“They have not seen these creatures, as I have, in their natural environment.”

“Who is to say what constitutes their ‘natural environment’?” Chief-of-Study was remorselessly self-assured. “There is nothing natural about this bizarre world of theirs. Perhaps their proper environment lies elsewhere.”

“Do we have the right,” Caldaq reiterated intently, “to influence these people in such a fashion?”

“That is a question to philosophers best left.” The elder Hivistahm was relaxed now. “It need not those most involved in military matters concern.”

The Military High Council was composed largely of Massood and S’van. Caldaq gazed at his mate. “What do our immediate superiors think of all this?”

She responded without hesitation, her whiskers all but motionless. “They are aware of the possible moral contradictions but believe it to be in the best interests of the Weave as well as these people that they be engaged as allies in order to alleviate some of the burden of actual fighting that at present rests almost exclusively on the shoulders of the Massood and the Chirinaldo.”

“The Chirinaldo do not have shoulders.” Caldaq’s ears were in rapid motion. “Whatever personal reservations I hold, as the commander on site I must carry out the orders of the Council.”

Chief-of-Project tried to ease his anxiety. “Truly you will have much to say as to the manner of their actual execution.”

“I will not,” the captain added, more for his own benefit than that of his mate or the Hivistahm, “employ any orders as cover for the abrogation of my own moral principles.”

“Truly no one is expecting that you would.”

“Then what does the Council wish here?

How can we make allies of these people without requesting their help?”

“Impossible that is not.” Chief-of-Project deferred to the captain’s mate. “The ten specimens,” she explained, “often exhibited those inexplicable contradictions that were noted here during our initial studies. Their enthusiasm for combat may yet prove transitory. If they were committed in large numbers to an important battle and suddenly lost their taste for conflict it could prove disastrous. “Therefore studies are to continue while we expand recruitment.” She nibbled the side of his snout in an effort to relax him. He snapped at her, but affectionately. “Not by the usual means of announcing ourselves to the world at large. That cannot be done here anyway because these people have no one capital, no center of power. “Since Humans exist in a fragmented society, we are to deal with those fragments on an individual basis without alarming or involving the populace as a whole. This has never been done before, but if one disregards the inherent inefficiencies there is no reason why it cannot be pursued adequately.”

Caldaq regarded her narrowly. “So we are to continue to study and analyze and observe while simultaneously attempting to integrate them into the war effort on an individual basis?

What is there to motivate individuals to fight?”

Chief-of-Study spoke up. “Some seem to find worthwhile the cause itself, belying their apparent immaturity. Others on the excitement of combat appear to thrive.”

“That is sick,” Caldaq murmured. “Then truly it is a useful sickness. If you think that alien, consider that there are also those willing to fight in return for mere medium of exchange.”

It was almost too much to accept. Yet his mate was beside him, confirming everything the Hivistahm said. “You mean they are willing to degrade themselves as sentients, to risk their actual existence for something as insignificant as—”

“I know incredible it is, but do not forget that they are uncivilized in the Weave sense, that not only their personalities and biology but their environment and geology is skewed. If you promise them enough metallic gold it seems they will almost anything do. “How widespread this unbelievable phenomenon may be is for additional study another matter. From our observation of the selected specimens it appears widespread to be but not all-inclusive. As you have so deftly pointed out, the sample too small to be representative is.”

Suddenly the moist night air struck Caldaq as foul. “If they fight for something other than the cause how can we be sure of them?”

“We cannot.” Chief-of-Study was full Hivistahm somber as she scratched behind an ear opening. “All we can do is make the best use of them that we can while we their activities and reactions closely monitor. To gain the aid of instinctive fighters to take certain risks we must be prepared. Truly.”

“I am still not convinced they are that.”

“Believe it, lifemate,” said Jaruselka. “Because the high command does. We are to recruit even as we seek answers, something that has never been done before. But then, there has never been a world like this, sentients like this.” When her mate did not comment she continued. “There was a report.” She nipped lightly at his cheek. “Three of the specimens—two of the dark ones and one of the light—took sidearms and without waiting for orders or directive entered an area that the Crigolit had been monitoring. Against all common sense they rushed from behind totally inadequate armor to obliterate an entire enemy squad. Believing themselves safe, the Crigolit hardly had a chance to respond. By civilized standards they were safe. But not against Humans. “That is not the most amazing thing. What is most astonishing is that the report claims the Humans involved enjoyed the experience.”

“These creatures,” said Chief-of-Project, “have less regard for personal safety than any sentients known.”

“Surely,” Caldaq mumbled, overwhelmed by repeated revelations, “their lives are important to them?”

“Truly. But when they in the grip of this fever are, this endocrine imbalance which makes them such superb fighters, they lose control completely. It is as if in their brains is suddenly thrown a switch which turns off logic, reason, and common sense except insofar as those values relate to combat. It is regrettable they were not fitted with instrumentation able to fully monitor the neurochemical changes that within their systems took place while under fire they were. That oversight will with future specimens be corrected.”

“Bravery,” Caldaq said weakly, “is a useful trait.”

“It is more than bravery, lifemate,” Jaruselka told him. “More akin to controlled insanity. The Amplitur can override the instinct for self-preservation in their clients by means of mental projection. These creatures do it instinctively, as part of their physiochemical makeup.”

“Is needed more study.” Chief-of-Project turned to face the sea. “I need to know if you feel that your personal reservations your ability to carry out council directives here will compromise.” It was a typical Hivistahm inquiry: straightforward and tactless. “No. Our friend Will Dulac will disagree with the study group’s conclusions. He will continue trying to convince us otherwise.”

“Let him. His objections as well as his cooperation instructive are, and it is very useful the assistance of a native to have who is familiar with us. Keep him comfortable, Captain.”

“I am a ship Commander.”

“The Council requires that you operations here continue to supervise.”

Caldaq’s lips curled back. “Which I will do, under protest.” He shook off Jaruselka’s attempt to mollify him. He was angry as well as confused and wanted to be certain Chief-of-Project understood. The elder Hivistahm regarded him thoughtfully out of bright, bulbous eyes. “I presume you have noted that in one area Human technological achievement has far surpassed itself?”

“In the development of arms. Do not worry. Our presence here remains secure. I am more concerned about my ship.”

“We have brought advanced masking instrumentation back with us. It will your security here enhance and that of the ship insure.”

“Then my professional concerns are satisfactorily addressed,” Caldaq conceded stiffly. Decisions had been made without him. Even though he knew it would have taken too long to consult with him, the oversight still rankled. He could not let it trouble him, however, and the council could hardly be blamed. Not if half of what his lifemate and Chief-of-Project had told him was true. Will Dulac reacted to the same information much as Caldaq expected. As he listened to the Human protest, the captain found himself noting the violence of the man’s words and gestures. They were in one of the new assembly chambers which had been added to the base. Construction was proceeding energetically in four directions, spreading out beneath the floor of the lagoon as well as into surrounding islands. Multiple levels were being added with large areas earmarked for research, for communications, for training. Above it all fish swam and crustaceans crawled, blissfully unaware. Work halted only when the occasional yacht or fishing boat entered the lagoon. None possessed even the simplest detection equipment. When they moved on, work resumed. At night shuttles ferried equipment and personnel from the great ship floating in space down to the languid reef. Caldaq let T’var do most of the talking, a talent the captain envied no less than any Massood. “These things are true,” T’var was saying. “You must accept them.”

“I can’t. I won’t.” Will popped one of the decorative rosehued bubbles rising from a floor spigot. It burst, leaving a tremulous E-flat lingering in the air. “I don’t know what happened to those ten people out there. Maybe it had to do with the fact that they were far away from Earth, isolated among aliens. Maybe they felt they had no choice but to try and please their hosts by showing that they could fight if they had to.”

Z’mam had returned with the ship. He’d been on Vasarih. “There was no coercion, Will Dulac. When reality was explained to them, they saw the universe in its true light and were eager to help.”

“Then I chose the wrong bunch.” At his touch burst bubbles burbled a rising cadenza. “I tried to choose people who had little to lose by going, people who seemed to be drifting through life. I guess you gave them something, though I don’t understand the completeness of the transformation. In any case, they weren’t as average as I thought. Those were the kind of people I tried to recruit for you, but I guess the very fact that they went along stamps them as atypical. “If you study happier people, prosperous citizens, people with an appreciation for the finer things of civilization like art and music, people in love with their work and their lives, you’re going to find that they’re much more interested in peace and contentment than in taking off to fight a bunch of aliens they don’t know exist and could care less about.”

“All that you say may be true,” T’var responded soothingly, “which is a major reason for the expansion of our facilities here.”

“I thought you were expanding to make room for more Human recruits,” Will said bitterly. He slashed a whole column of bubbles with the edge of his hand, releasing perfumed discord. “We hope for some response,” T’var admitted, “but study will also intensify. It may be that your thesis will be proven and that Humans as a species are unsuited to wider participation in the conflict. This is after all the main reason why we are here. Should it be determined that you are correct, then our facilities here both new and old will be obliterated or, returned to the ship and we will depart in silence, leaving you to the isolation you desire.” The two S’van exchanged a glance, eyes flashing beneath dense black brows. “Your personal presence can only accelerate our learning curve.”

Will turned away from the decorative bubble generators. “I won’t have anything to do with the recruitment of mercenaries.”

“No one is asking you to,” said Z’mam cheerfully. Will’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t tell me the S’van are going to go ashore and set up an enlistment booth?”

“Not at all. Several members of the group we have already trained are more than anxious to assist us in this.”

Will shook his head. “Won’t work. They’re not sophisticated enough.”

“I think you underestimate your own people. The older Human of the peculiar headgear, the couple of contrasting color, and our three Vasarih heroes strike me as sufficiently intelligent for the task.”

“Maybe.” Will saw clearly now that if he was going to stop this he was going to have to convince the Weave scientists and not its administrators. He couldn’t do that by running away. “All right. I’ll continue to help you with your research. But only because I still have to convince you how futile it all is. “I’ve no doubt you’ll find some people you can use, but there are always exceptions. Individuals and couples. You can buy people who have nothing, but there’s a world of difference between that and recruiting all of mankind to your cause.”

They expressed their gratitude, then left him to the bubbles. He toyed with them absently, the sounds they generated as they burst washing over him as he sat by himself and pondered. He would continue to work on his music. Anything to relieve the increased pressure brought about by their revelations. He had no choice but to stay on. The more he cooperated, the more frequent the opportunity to persuade. Had he refused to help they would simply have gone on without him. Somehow notifying the authorities did not seem the best way to convince them of mankind’s peaceful nature. He would have to rely on example. The task ahead was not impossible. After all, he was a professor, an educated, sophisticated man. The so-called recruiters the aliens intended to use consisted of an old drunk, an ignorant fisherman, and some poor boys taken literally off the streets. The rest were little better. Whose influence was most likely to persuade: theirs or his?

And this was Belize, Central America. Hardly the most efficacious recruiting ground for imaginative individuals. Yes, the aliens would find a few Humans willing to fight for them, to do anything for a little gold. But their commitment would be shallow, temporal. They would soon tire of the exoticism of travel to another world, of the need to actually participate in combat. The ingrained Human wish for peace and tranquillity would soon lead them to demand they be returned home, thus conclusively demonstrating mankind’s unreliability to the dedicated peoples of the Weave. He felt much better after he’d convinced himself. XVI

A distressingly steady stream of recruits poured into the base: poor cane cutters from Guatemala, surplus oil-field roughnecks from the Yucatán, subsistence farmers out of Honduras and El Salvador spiced with the occasional tourist couple or trekking European. It did not matter. Before long they would start quitting, demanding to return with their gold to the world of their birth, to live out their lives in peace and harmony far from inexplicable alien altercations. Wait until they began refusing combat, he told himself. Until they started acting like the obstreperous polyglot bunch they were. The aliens would rapidly grow tired of Human eccentricities, as they would of Earth. That they could recruit the poor no longer surprised him, but he was startled by the number of middle-class and wealthy individuals who agreed to participate. These were the people who came to this part of the world to fish or dive or sit on the white sands of Ambergris Cay. People who had no need of gold. Yet in fancy hotel bars and on the beaches they listened. Despite their money, their lives must be empty indeed, Will reflected. Not everyone was ready to go. Even when confronted with alien technology and the aliens themselves there were some who still thought it all a trick, a complex promotion for a film or television show. When they realized it was quite real, some panicked and wanted out. While the people of the Weave did not have the Amplitur ability to influence minds, they did possess a command of chemistry which enabled them to synthesize a drug that induced a selective amnesia. Reluctant recruits could be returned to their hotels or jobs dazed and confused but otherwise unharmed, and unable to reveal what they had seen. Their memories would be hazy and jumbled, full of colorful images of strange shapes and sand and clear water lush with bright tropicals. They would remember spending time in an attractive place of indefinite location. Lingering unease would vanish in the press to return to jobs, or farming, or vacation. Uncertainties of a different kind continued to plague Third-of-Study as recruiting proceeded hand in hand with research. For the most part he kept quiet and did his job. He knew his was an overly cautious nature, a fact which his colleagues had remarked on more than once. Undoubtedly it had restrained his advancement. Besides, the Hivistahm were not questioners. Argument and debate were usually left to the irrepressible S’van or temperamental Massood. Even the diminutive O’o’yan tended to participate in debate more often than the Hivistahm, who had not successfully settled thirty-five worlds by favoring dissension. To avoid derision Third-of-Study preferred to voice his concerns during communal prayer sessions, sitting in the holy circle with his back to his fellows, all of them facing outward while looking inward. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke. “Truly you worry needlessly,” said a colleague. “Does not the performance of the second group of Human trainees only confirm that of the first?”

Third-of-Study had no reply. He had seen the same reports as everyone else. Another technician continued. “Already these creatures have helped several significant victories to achieve, not only on Vasarih but on Sh’haroon as well. They have done everything asked of them and more. Indeed, restraining them is perhaps the most difficult task their Massood commanders have had to face so far.”

“Truly astonishing,” another admitted. “The more casualties they sustain, the more they wish to fight, which contradicts logic.”

“In the face of which,” murmured a senior researcher from the opposite side of the circle as she contemplated the shifting images on the encircling wall and compared them to those within her mind, “you persist in envisioning problems which Massood Technical has already branded inapplicable at best, frivolous at worst. How often do you have to be reminded that the need to defeat the Amplitur overrides even substantiated concerns?”

Third-of-Study persisted. “I worry that on a species we do not sufficiently understand we are relying.”

“More important to be able to make use of them than understand them.”

“Truly,” whispered a technician, “will follow understanding as research and contact deepen.”

“What matters to me,” said the senior researcher present, in her ethereal elder voice, “is that the enlistment of individuals of this species in our cause means that fewer Hivistahm into combat need be pressed, or O’o’yan, or Lepar or Yula. Someday our discovery here may even ease the heavy burden borne so long by our beloved friends the Massood. “I do not argue that represent these Humans a paradox, but it is a paradox of unending usefulness to the Weave.”

Silence in the chamber as each Hivistahm considered itself in relation to the universe beyond. “A race that wears civilization like fair-weather clothing could to the Weave itself eventually present a threat.” There, Third-of-Study thought. I have finally stated it without qualifications. A technician riposted tiredly. “Again to remind you: hundreds of years of effort have been spent confronting the Amplitur. Once that threat removed has been there will be ample time and resources available for dealing with lesser problems. Unless of course you mean to suggest that this uncivilized species a greater threat to the Weave presents than the Amplitur?”

The deliberate silence that ensued allowed the sarcasm to linger in the air. “We know these creatures hardly at all.” Third-of-Study was angry now but, being Hivistahm, did not show it. “They with Weave forces integrate quickly. Some Massood commanders are already important battlefield decisions allowing them to make. They even empathize with the Chirinaldo.”

“Glad of that I am,” said a technician. “If they can with the Chirinaldo interact, it means we do not have to.”

Third-of-Study continued. “Some fight only for material recompense. Uncivilized that is.”

“Also immaterial it is.” The senior researcher shifted slightly in her crouch. “Truly it matters not what motivates the Humans to fight, only that they do.”

“They are not for Weave membership ready.”

“In that you are not disputed.” She allowed her drifting thoughts to caress an image of pure effulgence. It warmed and relaxed her. “I would no more wish to see a Human visitation group on my homeworld placed than you on yours would. Though unconventional, our present arrangement ideal is because it allows us to make use of these creatures while the awkward question of actual membership and concurrent social interaction avoiding.”

Third-of-Study nearly committed the unpardonable sin of looking at the speaker but caught himself just in time. “Then you do with my thesis agree, at least in part.”

“Not at all. Our course of action here by abnormal local conditions is dictated. We improvise out of necessity, not choice.”

“But as you say, you are not displeased by it.” When no reply was forthcoming, Third-of-Study continued. “Assuming continues to expand their commitment, what will happen when the Humans discover that being denied the membership in the Weave they are that is automatically extended to all other civilizations?”

“You assume they will want membership. Given the depth of contradiction we have observed thus far in their racial psyche that is not inevitable. They may content be in the conflict to assist while remaining outside the pale of Weave civilization. In such an instance I believe the Council would remonstrate with them but not, I think, too strenuously.”

“That,” said Third-of-Study tersely, “suggests a deliberate attempt a primitive people to delude.”

“Do you as close friends and companions want them or are you fearful of them?

Which is it to be?

With yourself you argue, Third-of-Study. I prescribe less work and additional meditation.” She rose, stretching. The prayer session was at an end. There was one individual at the base who wholly shared Third-of-Study’s concerns, though for different reasons. The two walked together down a corridor the next day, each occasionally checking to make certain his translator unit was functioning properly. “They have decided,” said Third-of-Study, “not to offer your people membership in the Weave.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Will Dulac replied, “but does that mean they’re not going to expand their efforts here beyond this one base?”

“Truly that is so.”

“Then if we’re excluded from your civilization, the Amplitur shouldn’t be able to find us.”

Third-of-Study rubbed at the bony ridge above his left eye. “We will of course try to keep the location of your world secret from our enemies, but we do that with every world. It is difficult from the Amplitur to hide things. Since field troops have no inkling of your world’s location give it away they cannot. It is inevitable, however, that some of your own people will eventually be captured and interrogated by the Amplitur. At that time learn about you they will.”

“I thought you said they couldn’t read minds?”

“They cannot. However, they might, for example, make the mental suggestion that it would be useful for you your extremities to immerse in a caustic solution. You would find your own body disobeying you. This they would do regretfully, with genuine sorrow, but would do nonetheless. Few such episodes required are to convince a prisoner to cooperate.” They turned a bend in the corridor. A couple of O’o’yan scurried past, glancing briefly at the towering Human. “You do have general ignorance in your favor. Few of the individuals recruited thus far display even the most rudimentary knowledge of astronomy and none whatsoever of the mechanics in celestial navigation involved. Of your world’s spatial relationship to the Weave they know nothing. Even if any of them wanted to they could not for the Amplitur your world locate.”

“How are your studies coming?”

“General research proceeds normally.”

“Not that. Your own studies. You, personally. I know you’ve been saying to any of your kind who would listen that we’re too potentially destabilizing to be trusted.”

The Hivistahm’s teeth clicked together several times in rapid succession, a sure sign he was startled. “You are not supposed to know of such things.”

Will grinned. “I have more freedom here than most of your colleagues and everyone’s eager to talk to me. It aids their research. I also have this.” He tapped the translator hanging from his neck and indicated the matching plug in his ear. “I listen, I hear things.”

Third-of-Study craned his neck to regard the Human. “My theories do not you trouble?”

“Shoo, we’re on the same side, you bet. You think we’re dangerous, I think we’re on our way to becoming harmless. You want us left alone, I badly want you to leave. Maybe we can help each other out.”

“I see.” Third-of-Study relaxed. “How do you feel events will progress?”

“According to what I’ve been saying all along, natch. Your people don’t know our history, our psychology. Your military techs see only the short-term help a few Human soldiers can give them. The people they’re recruiting are either dirt-poor, bored, or iconoclasts. They might be useful for a little while but soon the novelty of what they’re doing is going to wear thin. Then they’ll want to come home. When that happens they’ll say to hell with your silly antediluvian conflict. They’ll have had it with war and bloodshed. “Your military personnel, people like Caldaq and Soliwik, won’t know how to handle that lack of commitment. That’s when they and their superiors will decide that unreliable Earth isn’t worth the effort. You’ll abandon us and we’ll be able to get on with our efforts at making peace among ourselves.”

“What about the returnees?”

“Any who talk or try to sell the story of their experience will be treated as nuts. They can’t prove anything anyway. In a few years they’ll be forgotten. Life will go on as before, without outside interference.” He stopped. “Tell me something, Third-of-Study. I’m Human. I’m a composer, an artist. I’ve spent a lot of time among your people. All I want is for you to go away and leave me and my kind in peace. You want exactly the same thing. But there’s something I want to know. “You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

Third-of-Study reached out to gently clasp the incredibly soft, flexible Human hand. “Truly I am not,” he lied. XVII

Eventually Will sailed back to New Orleans. After so long in backwater Belize, life in the bustling, steamy, cosmopolitan city hit him like an ice-cold rag. He visited friends and colleagues, attended the triumphal symphony premiere of Arcadia, promised the anxious director that yes, another major work was forthcoming, made the acquaintance of a discreet and eager dealer in precious metals, and paid the anticipated pile of overdue bills. There were CDs to buy, films to catch up on, books to acquire. He dated but made no promises. It was flattering to be desired, but for a little while longer yet, he told more than one disappointed paramour, he had other priorities to attend to. Many months later he tied up his affairs, restocked the cat, and fled the delta with his autopilot locked on a southerly heading. It was impossible to imagine, he thought as he steered carefully back into the lagoon of Lighthouse Reef, that anyone was living there—much less hundreds of aliens and Human beings working together below the tranquil surface. He made contact with a Lepar sent to check out the intruder and soon found himself strolling the familiar corridors of the base. Caldaq was genuinely pleased to see him again. The Hivistahm, O’o’yan, Wais, and the rest were more formal, more restrained in their greetings. Third-of-Study was the exception. He was as demonstrative as it was possible for a Hivistahm to be with one not of its own kind. Attitudes, he explained, had not changed. Will was disappointed but not really surprised. It was too soon for boredom and dissension to have set in among the first recruits, he explained. Give them another year. Then things would begin to happen. He was curious to see how their integration, though doomed to inevitable failure, was proceeding, much as one might approach a heavyweight boxing match with a mixture of fascination and abhorrence. The idea of paying to see two grown men, usually poor, usually black, beating themselves to bloody pulps for the delectation of the masses filled him with disgust, yet there was something about such contests that gripped people and made them reluctant to look away. In the same way, he needed to see how his fellow misguided Humans were doing in the service of the Weave. Though Humans were being sent to several worlds it was on Vasarih where they were actively committed, Vasarih where they were seeing real combat. Will had been told it was not an important place. Despite the rhetoric of those doing the recruiting it was clear that the officers of the Weave were far from confident of their new soldiers. Caldaq perfectly exemplified his superiors’ uncertainty. While preliminary results and hopeful tests seemed to point toward Human effectiveness in battle, Will Dulac was ever present to energetically contradict every new finding by pointing out the flaws in S’van reasoning, by demonstrating what peace-loving Humans could accomplish in the arts, in music, in literature and drama. Humanity was a mirror for the captain’s ambivalence. There was no questioning the epic qualities of Human literature, for example, yet much of it turned on violent acts. Yet did not Massood storytelling utilize conflict as motivation and plot device?

Will argued after studying numerous examples. Indeed it did, Caldaq had to admit. What he could not get across to the Human Will was that the Massood did not enjoy fighting. It fell to them as members of the Weave because alone among Weave races they were capable of it. As for the Chirinaldo, one could never be certain what the massive heliox-breathers were thinking, except that their easygoing society was anything but combative in nature. In contrast to the cultures of both Massood and Chirinaldo was the still unconfirmed possibility that many Humans derived positive enjoyment from combat. At his most persuasive, Will Dulac could not dislodge this option from the Commander’s mind. So radical, so alien was the notion that the xenopsychs assigned to study the phenomenon went so far as to postulate the existence of two separate Human species differentiated only by a genetic proclivity for violence yet to be isolated. Humankind was the embodiment of contrasting attitudes. At once peace-loving and warlike, civilized and barbaric, it confronted the Weave with an entirely new kind of intelligence the parameters of which the Hivistahm and S’van were struggling to define. It did not help that Humanity had spent much of its own existence trying and failing to accomplish the same goal. “I keep trying to tell you,” Will said, “that only a few aberrant individuals enjoy fighting. Most people despise war.”

“Perhaps that is because heretofore they have only had their own kind to fight,” Caldaq responded. “For the first time in your history that is no longer the case.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Are you so sure of your own kind?

It is claimed that any being which enjoys combat is by definition not only uncivilized but unintelligent. Yet your people are demonstrably intelligent.”

“I know you find us confusing. We find ourselves confusing. Not long ago it was an admirable thing to be a soldier, to wear a uniform and die in battle.”

Caldaq’s nose twitched. “How can one be admired for volunteering for personal extinction?”

“Hey, I said it was history. My life is music.”

“Which I would enjoy listening to.” Caldaq was eager to change the subject. “I know you have been working hard on your latest composition.”

“It’s not ready yet. I’m still searching for a few basic themes for the last movement. When it’s finished you’ll be the first to hear the complete work, I promise.”

“I look forward to it.”

Caldaq watched the Human depart, wondering anew at the variation in size among individuals. Some stood taller than the Massood while others were as short as the average Hivistahm. Among the Weave only the Lepar exhibited as extreme a variation in adult stature. Another bizarre byproduct of Human evolution, he mused. Absurd to think there might be any kind of biologic relationship between the soft-voiced amphibians and the loquacious land-dwelling Humans. But then, to whom were the inhabitants of this peculiar world most nearly related?

The Massood?

The S’van?

Or perhaps some species not represented at the base?

Second-of-Medicine and Third-of-Study had their own reasons for siding with Will Dulac. They thought Earth a dead end, a place for the Weave to leave and leave alone. Their arguments and occasional impassioned pleas were offset by the reports that filtered halfway back across the galaxy. So far three groups of Humans had received Weave combat training. By now the third and largest was starting to make a real impact on the Vasarihan conflict. Massood troops clamored to fight alongside their new allies, believing that with their help breakthroughs might be made in sectors which had been stalemated for years. Human soldiers insisted on leading assaults on enemy positions. If the reports were to be believed, they truly liked their Massood comrades. The Massood responded with admiration if not genuine camaraderie. As for the other races, they had little reason to interact with these new fighters. Nor did Humans evince any particular affection for the Hivistahm, or the O’o’yan, or any of the other Weave species they came in contact with. They joked and chatted with the S’van, but the S’van got along with everyone. They had to. For their part the S’van were careful to keep their distance. It would not do for other members of the Weave to perceive an intimate relationship between the S’van and these rabid Humans, especially when none such existed. Such suspicions and fears only emphasized what a miracle it was that the Weave had survived for as long as it had, Caldaq mused as he turned down a corridor. Will was trying to teach Third-of-Study how to swim, a task more difficult than he’d imagined. For one thing, the Hivistahm’s lungs were small in proportion to its physique, resulting in poor buoyancy and a concurrent tendency to sink rapidly as he exhaled. This made the Hivistahm’s dislike of the water immediately understandable. Third-of-Study was game to try, however, confident that the more he knew about Humankind the better the arguments he could make for leaving the species alone. Will Dulac he did not fear, having already decided that Humans acted like utterly different creatures when alone than when assembled in groups. The actual equation was simple enough: 5h(u) = v?, wherein five or more Humans acting in concert in the presence of uncertainty resulted in violence of unpredictable dimensions, the degree of violence being a function of the number of Humans. Third-of-Study had to work much harder than a Human in order to stay afloat. Since the delicate front arms and fingers provided little in the way of motive power he had to kick constantly to keep his narrow skull above water. He was doing his best close inshore when a slick, bulbous face appeared nearby. The Lepar expressed its concern via the omnipresent translator. Third-of-Study explained that he was in the water by choice and that everything was well under control. Bulging eyes regarded Human and Hivistahm solemnly for a moment before the Lepar disappeared with a quick twist of its torso and a flick of its tail. Will watched it go, then lay down in the shallows, resting his back against the warm wet sand. “Tell me about the Lepar,” he said. “Truly I suspect there is little you do not know.” Third-of-Study joined him, delighting in the sunshine and glad of the chance to relax. His legs ached badly. “You have among us a great deal of time spent.”

“That’s so, but you hardly ever see a Lepar,” he said into his translator. He had acquired a knowledge of Massood, and some select phrases in S’van, but Hivistahm with its whistles and clicks utterly defeated him. It did not make him feel incompetent. The only other aliens he saw speaking Hivistahm were the Wais, who seemed able to master any tongue. Someone had said something about dual sets of vocal cords. “They prefer to themselves to keep, to out of the way of others stay.” Third-of-Study’s eyeshades darkened to maximum to shield the sensitive organs from the tropical sun. “Not only are they the only truly amphibious sentients, they are also among the least intelligent. That is not a criticism, merely part of my answer to your query. Certain things extremely well they do.”

“That one was Vatoloi, wasn’t it?”

The Hivistahm looked at him. “You can recognize individuals?”

“He was the first Lepar I ever saw, years ago. The one who intercepted me in the water when I was trying to swim away from Caldaq and his escort.”

“Vatoloi a ranking Lepar is, if truly it were he,” said Third-of-Study. “We do not much contemplate the Lepar. There is little to learn from them. They do not try to beyond their abilities extend themselves and attempt nothing unless they are confident of accomplishing what they set out to do.”

“I never learned how many are working here at the base.”

“I cannot a number give you.” Third-of-Study was irritated at what he perceived to be a waste of valuable time. It wasn’t often he was able to isolate the Human for moments of personal study. “Truly I apologize for my feeble attempts at swimming. We Hivistahm are for the activity ill constructed. There is also the problem of buoyancy. Your bones are very light for their strength, more like those of the Wais than myself or a Massood.”

“Shoo, I think you’re doing pretty good.”

“Thanks be to you.”

“Why’d you want to learn to swim, anyway?”

Third-of-Study shifted onto his haunches. “To better understand your kind.”

“The enemy?”

The Hivistahm clicked teeth. “I regard you as dangerous, not as an enemy. ‘Enemy’ implies directed hostility. I prefer to think of your kind as clumsy rather than inimical.”

“Think of us any way you want. Just help me convince Caldaq and his superiors that it will be best for everyone if we’re left alone.”

“Such our common goal is, Will Dulac.”

They contemplated the lagoon, the palms and bushes. Will’s cat rode at anchor nearby, motionless atop the silver sea. Sergeant majors fluttered in the shallows, and Will thought he glimpsed the flash of a trio of squid, hunting chromatic prey. Beneath the sand on which they lay, the steadily expanding Weave base pulsed with activity. “Are we really so full of contradictions?” Will asked quietly. “Consider the manner in which you react to the combat you insist your people truly abhor. Massood advance or retreat but do not long the consequences of individual battles bemoan. Humans seem incapable of putting a past over which they no longer have any control behind them. They will about those they have slain become emotional, generating water from eyeducts and clashing sounds making. Then they will rise the next day to kill again. Only one other species reacts thus to the death of enemy: the Amplitur.”

“What’s that?” A surprised Will turned away from the lagoon. “They do not become emotional in the fashion of Humans, or for that matter, Massood. At least, not insofar as we can detect. But the passing of their enemies they likewise lament because it signifies a reduction in the number of individuals available for incorporation into their Purpose.” Sunlight glinted off emerald green scales. “Perhaps you may somewhat the source of my personal concern understand, which I thus far have failed to my colleagues convey. We speak of Human contradictions. They are vaster than I think you yourself can imagine. The Weave a conservative organization is. It is uncomfortable with that which it does not understand. You say that your unpredictability ultimately renders you useless to the resistance. I say that dangerous it makes you. Truly it is much the same thing. On that I found my hopes. “There are many in the study group who think you mad. That still in dispute is. What the honored Commander’s superiors continue to debate is whether your madness is more useful than dangerous.”

“So you think we’re crazy?” Will picked up a small piece of bleached coral and chucked it into the water, heard the soft bloop as it sank to merge with thousands of dead cousins that littered the floor of the lagoon. “Perhaps not in a conventional sense. Evaluating new definitions tailored specifically to the Human condition an ongoing team activity is. Too simple to call you mad, your society mad, your world itself mad. “Take the matter of your multiplicity of languages. You must know that the development of a common language is considered a prerequisite for the maturation of any advanced civilization. Yet you advanced technology have achieved in spite of your linguistic fragmentation. To us this is astonishing and unprecedented. The evolution of your civilization has in every particular from the norm differed. It is what makes you so valuable to the military. It is also what makes some among them nervous.”

“Nervous?

Why should they be nervous if Human soldiers are winning battles for them?”

“Because a soldier always uncomfortable is when dealing with a weapon whose workings he does not fully understand.”

“I see.” Will rolled onto his side. “What about me?” He tried to peer through the dark eyeshades. “You’ve said that you’re not afraid of me. Do I make you nervous?” He was hurt but not really surprised when the Hivistahm hesitated. “You personally?

No. You made us of your own position aware from the very beginning, and I have seen nothing to suggest deviation.”

Will knew he’d been the subject of study from day one, but to hear it stated so bluntly was still disconcerting. A S’van, he thought, would have put it more tactfully. “Truly you are what you claim to be,” Third-of-Study continued. “Nor are you an isolated example. Others of your kind have for a variety of reasons recruitment refused. Among them are some who have stated that they find war repugnant. More contradictions. The Massood abhor conflict yet all are willing to fight because they see the necessity. It is with the Chirinaldo the same. An individual Human can be as civilized as a Wais or primitive as a Vasarih. This unsettling dichotomy is present in you individually as well as racially. “Psychologically you drift free. You have no mental anchors. An individual who refuses recruitment will later another of our people encounter and ask to join. Another who eagerly volunteered will its mind change and demand to be demobilized.” Sharp teeth scraped against one another. “The latter will noisily proclaim its pacificism, utterly ignorant of its contradictory behavior.” Third-of-Study leaned forward so suddenly that Will was startled. He’d discovered that the Hivistahm preferred to keep as far away from Humans as possible. “Truly, Will Dulac, your kind does not know itself. You do not know what you want, what you are about, who you are. Your destiny an enigma shrouded in pain and confusion is.”

Will stared at the tinted eyeshields. “That’s my worry.”

“No longer. It is ours as well. There is so much about you we do not understand. This obsession with gold as a medium of exchange, for example. Clearly it is to the inequitable distribution of resources among your kind related and is by your regressive tribal society exacerbated. People in one sector go hungry while food rots elsewhere. A few large, powerful tribes the consumption of energy dominate while others cannot light their cities. “One of the basic hallmarks of true civilization is the reasoned distribution of elementary planetary resources. Individual wealth is among Weave species existing, but only after everyone has been minimally provided for. Like everything else we feel this aberration is to your proclivity for combat somehow related. It is not flattering to you. “You must realize that many of my colleagues do not consider your kind civilized.”

“I know that. I’m not blind.”

“It is this constant preoccupation with conflict which concerns me and which simultaneously makes your kind in the fight against the Amplitur so valuable. Truly it every aspect of your society permeates, irrespective of tribe. It is present even in ordinary, daily conversation, in your mating rituals, in the way you apportion food and your offspring raise. It should have out of your species long ago evolved. “Despite this you have a high level of technology achieved. Terms are to describe you being invented.”

“I think you’re overreacting, you and all your associates,” Will replied. “If you took the weapons away from us we’d stop fighting.”

“Are you so certain?

I think not. I have some of your weapons seen. The small ones have what you call ‘safeties’ into them built, to from discharging accidentally prevent them. My colleagues anxiously for the safety inside the Human system search. They feel one exists. Less sure am I.”

“You talk a lot about your fellow researchers. How does Caldaq feel about us?”

One eye swiveled to regard the lagoon while the other remained fixed on the Human. “Caldaq an honored commander is, captain of ship and expedition, and unusually thoughtful for a Massood. Very much a remarkable example of his kind. I believe he on the question ambivalent remains. As a Massood relieved he is when it is only required that he follow orders. “That is not to say averse he is to venturing suggestions, which are highly valued. But he is not a philosopher. You must understand that unusual it is for a Massood a nonmilitary command to be given. Normally an expedition such as ours by a Hivistahm, Yula, S’van, or Wais is directed.”

Will nodded at the lagoon. “How long do they think things can go on like this?

Admittedly we’re isolated here, but operations have to shut down when the occasional fishing boat or diving groups shows up. One of these days someone’s going to give you away.”

“Our ships effectively masked are and our transmissions here still unnoticed. Those who are recruited and their minds change respond appropriately to treatment and to their lives return forgetful of what they have seen and heard here.”

“Sooner or later,” Will argued, “some of those people are going to get together and compare notes.”

“By that time I am certain will have been made a decision on whether to abandon Weave efforts here or to reveal ourselves formally to your people. Myself, I truly for the former pray.”

“I’m glad we’re working for the same end, even if it’s for different reasons,” Will told him. “When you leave, I’m going to miss some of you.”

“I will miss some of you also,” the Hivistahm replied, lying like a skilled S’van. XVIII

Will had made friends with an O’o’yan willing to whistle traditional melodies for him. He was memorializing them on his pocket recorder when Caldaq and Jaruselka interrupted the session. Though mated, it was unusual to encounter them together outside their quarters, since their specialities required their presence in different parts of the base. He shut off the recorder while the O’o’yan saluted in the manner of its kind and scampered nimbly out into the corridor. “Something wrong?” he inquired curiously. Caldaq took the seat next to the Human, his knees reaching toward his chin. Both ears twitched in unison. “Three weapons are astray.”

Will put his recorder aside. “What do you mean ‘astray’?”

“Periodic inventory is made of all military equipment,” Jaruselka told him. Not for the first time Will mused on the peculiar physiology of the Massood larynx. It was impossible to tell male from female by listening to them. “Each unit is electronically coded so that it may be counted remotely. When a unit’s power source weakens, it notifies inventory so that immediate replacement may be made. When the Lepar assigned to the task went to do so, she found the weapons missing. “Follow-up revealed that the units read weak not because they are powered down but because of distance. They are on the mainland.”

Will considered. “What of the S’van and Hivistahm who are conducting nocturnal field studies ashore?”

“None carry weapons. The power packs in communications devices are differently coded. No Massood would take a weapon off the ship and anyway, all Weave personnel have been accounted for.”

Caldaq’s tone was solemn. “That leaves your people.”

“I suppose it does.” Will put his recorder aside. “Am I supposed to be surprised?”

“I do not understand what you are inferring,” Caldaq replied. “I know only that these weapons must be recovered. Humans have been trained in the use of Weave technology so that they may fight the Amplitur. This knowledge was not imparted for other purposes.” Gray eyes came close. “You will come with us to help resolve the anomaly.”

“Go with you?” Will glanced at the silent Jaruselka, back to Caldaq. “You’re not going ashore?

Remember, we already decided that the only ones who can remotely pass for Human, even at night, are the S’van.”

“When there are weapons involved, the Massood must be involved. None of my people are as experienced in dealing with Humans as I, so it falls to me to go. If it were possible I would take a Chirinaldo with me.”

“Easier to camouflage an elephant,” Will muttered. “I would be grateful for any suggestions.”

The musician considered. Viewed from behind on a dark night a single Massood might temporarily pass for a tall Human, but a cluster of them would be as conspicuous as a professional basketball team in Bangkok. Unlike the S’van, their furry, shrewlike faces could not be disguised. They would have to keep under cover as much as possible. Certainly they needed his help. Besides which Caldaq had not offered him the option of refusing. He was surprised when the fully masked shuttle came onshore south of Belize City and instead of setting down, continued inland. The missing weaponry had been traced to a point near the country’s capital of Belmopan. It did not take long to get there, the entire country being small enough to cross by car in a single day. Homing in on the weapons’ power units, they tried to set down as close as possible to their location without revealing themselves to the citizenry. A vast auto-wrecking yard on the city’s industrial outskirts offered a good landing site. The shuttle was able to touch down unobserved among the saurian skeletons of demolished buses and exterminated taxis. As soon as it neared the ground, half a dozen towering Massood soldiers leaped from the interior to take up defensive positions behind a burned-out truck. Will followed more cautiously. Had they landed in the States there would have been dogs or watchmen to deal with. In Belize barbed wire was sufficient to deter would-be thieves. He found a place where the branch of a tree had pushed down the single strand of barbs atop the chicken-wire enclosure. After checking as best he knew how to ensure it wasn’t electrified he scrambled to the top and straddled the limb. The Massood had followed. Now they milled about beneath him, murmuring among themselves. Anxiously Will scanned the yard. “C’mon. What’s the holdup?”

“We cannot do that,” Jaruselka hissed up at him. “Can’t do what?”

“Climb as you have.”

Will gaped down at her. The fence was maybe ten feet high, stout and easy to get a grip on. She held up her right hand. “Our fingers are not strong enough to support our upper-body weight in such a position.”

“The devil you say.” The yard was still empty and silent. If there was a watchman, he might be asleep or drunk. “Burn the fence.” He knew that the weapons they carried could easily make a hole in the chicken wire. They would just have to hope it wasn’t noticed before morning. Once through they advanced fast and quiet, the Massood hurrying along hunched over to minimize their great height. While Jaruselka operated the tracking device that was leading them to their quarry, Will mentally composed and hummed music appropriate to the moment. They avoided detection by keeping to dark alleys and dirt paths, save for a terse encounter with a single tottering local who, upon encountering a group of giants in the middle of the night, thoughtfully turned and hurried away without uttering a sound. Jaruselka paused alongside a wild hedge and gestured with the tracker. “They are in there.”

The narrow alley served as backyard to a rambling two-story wooden structure. Water trickled from a PVC pipe that protruded from the underside of the building, which was raised off the ground on two-foot-high concrete stilts. Mud and garbage glinted beneath. Mist coagulated on the corrugated roof and trickled earthward, collecting in rivulets that pooled up in the nearby drainage ditch. Eight or nine wooden stairs led to a tiny covered porch and screen door through which a dingy hall was visible. “Let me have the tracker,” Will told Jaruselka. She hesitated, then handed it over. “There’s a light in the hall. If anyone’s moving around, you’ll be seen. I’ll go in and try to find out what the story is.”

“They have the weapons,” she reminded him. “That doesn’t mean they know how to use them. My bet is that they’re thinking about selling the technology.”

“I am coming with you,” Caldaq whispered decisively. “You can’t. What if somebody sees you?”

“This is my responsibility. Remember who is in charge here.”

“All right, it’s your party.”

Caldaq murmured to his people. One soldier stepped forward to join him. The rest concealed themselves behind and within the hedge. The screen door was not locked. This was Belize, Will reminded himself. Not Chicago. Following the tracker, they entered and turned up a flight of stairs. “What are you going to say?” Caldaq whispered from behind. “How do you intend to approach them?”

“Depends on their reaction. I’m not a Wais.”

A naked low-watt bulb feebly illuminated the second-floor landing. The walls were shedding huge strips of cheap brown wallpaper that reminded Will of chocolate shavings on the side of a yellow cake. The tracker led them to the rearmost room. After motioning for Caldaq and the other soldier to wait in the shadows, Will rapped on the door loud enough to wake but not alarm. When no response was forthcoming he tried again, louder. The voice that replied from within was tentative and none too friendly. “You know what time it is?

Already we pay for the goddamn room.”

“My name’s William Dulac. I’m not with the hotel, I’m from the base.”

A pause, then, “What base?”

“It’s too late for games.”

The door clicked as it was opened. Will took a wary step backward. The heavyset, unshaven man who looked him up and down did not glance up the hallway. “How did you find us?” Will sensed movement in the room behind the speaker. He didn’t recognize the man. Not one of the original ten recruits then. For some unknown reason this discovery pleased him. “You’ve got weapons from the base. Don’t you know that no Weave technology is allowed to be brought ashore?”

“I hear something like that.” He opened the door wider. “Look, mes amis, why don’ you come in and we discuss it?” A smile parted the stubble. “You alone?”

“No.” Will glanced up the hall. Caldaq and the soldier stepped out of the shadows. The man slumped when he saw them. “Should’ve guessed. Hans think you might have way of finding us. All right, entrez, the lot of you.”

The two Massood had to duck to clear the doorway. It was not much of a room. Sink, cracked mirror, a pair of rumpled beds. “That’s Hans,” said the man who’d opened the door, indicating the lanky individual lying on the far bed. “Miyoshi’s in the john. I’m Jean-Pierre. Have a seat and I explain.” Will took a chair. The Massood remained standing. “I ask again. How you find us?”

“All weapons from the base can be traced. You don’t need to know how.”

“You don’ trust me, eh?

Well, I suppose I can’ blame you.”

A toilet gargled behind a door, which opened to reveal a short, unattractive Oriental woman. She held a pistol in each hand. Caldaq’s fingers eased toward his own sidearm, froze when she aimed one of the weapons at him. The taller man slid to the floor and removed a pair of rifles from beneath his bed, tossing one to his companion while focusing the other on the Massood. “We can’t kill them here,” the woman was saying. “If the bodies were found it would attract too much attention.”

“They’ll cooperate.” Jean-Pierre eyed the aliens. “You don’ want to give away your presence any more than do we.”

“I do not understand,” said Caldaq. “Why would you want to kill us?

We do not wish you harm. Only to bring back the weapons.”

“But you can’ have them back.” The man did not smile. “We took them because we need them, ne c’est pas?” He looked over at the woman. “As long as we have these they can track us.”

“Let them try it in New York, or Nagoya.” She gestured toward the door. Will instinctively raised his hands and started for the exit. “I don’t get it. What’s the idea?”

The one called Jean-Pierre checked the hall before leading the way. Hans and the woman followed behind, their weapons trained on the three prisoners. “We hear about you. You that musician fellow who been helping the rats and the lizards from the beginning. For a supposed smart guy you pretty slow. It never occur to you what somebody could do with a couple energy rifles and a field masking suit?

Take out an armor car without breathing hard, my friend.”

So there were no complex plans afoot here, Will thought. It was all very primitive, very basic. Very Human. “These people are common thieves,” he said in Massood. “They’ve taken the weapons so that they can steal money.”

“Your obsession with artificial means of exchange again.” Caldaq started down the stairway. “Do they want more gold?

We can give them more gold.”

“You don’t understand. Some people can never get enough. Besides, I don’t think they’d trust you.”

“Why not?

It would be a fair exchange from our point of view.”

“They simply wouldn’t believe anything you’d say, Caldaq. Or me, or anyone else. They’d be afraid of being tricked, having their memories adjusted like those recruits who change their minds and are returned to normal life. They’re in control right now and people like this don’t exchange control for promises.”

“But I would keep the promise. It would be worth it to us.”

“They can’t understand that. People like this don’t think like that.”

Jean-Pierre paused at the bottom of the stairs, muttering. “Let’s take them out the back. We can get a car, a truck, take them out and dump them in a swamp somewhere.” He glanced at Will. “Good of you to come in to talk to us. We don’ want any shooting in here. People might see things.”

“Why not just give it up?” Will was trying to control his emotions as they approached the screen door. “Turn the weapons back in and rejoin your recruitment group. The Massood will forgive you. No harm done.”

“Non. I think we stick with our original plan.”

“Then let us go. We’re not going to come after you. This isn’t as important as what we’re doing at the base. Surely you realize that much.”

“We were told about the war,” said the woman behind him. “We have our own scores to settle.”

The only thing that surprised Will was that something like this hadn’t happened sooner. Not all those recruited for training were altruistic or even merely greedy. There were malcontents and iconoclasts with shady histories. Unhappy folk, individuals trying to avoid the light of society, couples on the run from their pasts. Thus far all had found a new direction, a new life in the service of the Weave. These three seemed suited to that task. Instead they had chosen, at the risk of their lives, to make war on their own kind. For money. He sympathized with Caldaq’s confusion. Jean-Pierre opened the screen door and stepped out onto the porch, checking the alley in both directions. Will held his breath. He beckoned for them to follow. It was excruciatingly difficult to avoid looking toward the hedge. “Shoot them here,” the woman said. “I’ll roll them into the ditch and cover them up while you and Hans go look for a truck.”

Jean-Pierre nodded, led them toward the bushes. “Nothing personal, mes amis, but we don’ really have a choice.”

“We’ll be missed,” said Will. “This is Caldaq, the base commander.”

Jean-Pierre eyed the tall Massood sharply. “Commandant, eh?

Too bad.”

“They’ll come looking for us,” Will went on. “They’ll find you no matter what you do.”

“Better find us quick. We got a morning TACA plane to Mexico City. I got a feeling they can’t trace these toys across the whole world. That wouldn’ make no sense.”

“You think you can smuggle guns like these through customs?”

“Why not?

They don’ look like real guns. We tell everybody they’re movie props. Bet you it work swell.” They were almost to the hedge. “I say we got nothing to declare, they don’ even open our …”

He never finished the sentence. Massood materialized on all sides. Something made a noise like a giant electric spark. The humid night air was filled with the odor of burned flesh. Never having had any military training, Will did the most helpful thing he could by dropping to the ground. Rifles and pistols had been knocked or pried loose, leaving Humans and Massood rolling together in the mud. One soldier went flying through the air. Someone yelped as bones broke. To his horror Will saw that the three renegades were winning. The Massood had never faced their own allies before. They might be faster over a distance, but running counted for naught in hand-to-hand combat. The compact, heavily built Humans were not only stronger but quicker. Caldaq and two colleagues managed to wrestle Jean-Pierre into restraints. The rest were having a difficult time with the woman. One Massood lay holding her broken leg while another lay unconscious in the drainage ditch. This left the one called Hans free to make a dash for his rifle. Looking around wildly, Will spotted the pistols, which had been knocked out of the woman’s hands. Instinctively he picked one up and pointed it at the tall German. It felt like a toy in his hand, light and featureless. “Don’t do it!” he shouted. “It’s over!”

The younger man either didn’t hear the warning or chose to ignore it. He picked up the rifle and started to turn. Looking back on it later Will found he could not recall the exact sequence of events. He remembered the man aiming the heavy weapon at the three Massood clustered around the cursing JeanPierre. His finger rested in the notch on the side which served as a trigger. Both his posture and expression revealed his intent. So Will fired first. A Cajun boy learns how to use a gun early. There was no recoil. A thin purple line struck Hans as he was sighting the rifle. A sound like a fat man’s suspenders snapping accompanied the burst. Hans twitched violently, once, and crumpled to his knees. The muzzle of the peculiar rifle dug into the ground, supporting him briefly, before he tumbled onto his side, knees drawing into his chest as his muscles contracted. Will rose, staring dumbly at the recumbent shape. It seemed that Caldaq was yelling at him. Then the tall, slim alien was alongside, his musk pungent in the moist air. “Thank you, Will.” Gray cat eyes and toothy snout were in constant motion, black nose twitching. “Are you all right, my friend?”

A stunned Will struggled to make sense of Massood words. “Yes. Here, you take this.” He handed over the pistol. A steady stream of curses in at least three languages issued from the two uninjured thieves as their restraints were secured. Caldaq barked an order and two soldiers hefted the body of the man Will had shot. Even though the coroner’s department of the city of Belmopan might not be blessed with an extensive imagination, it was better not to leave anything that might inspire awkward questions. On their way back to the wrecking yard the woman made an attempt to break free, kicking the soldier immediately in front of her behind the knee and hurdling his crumpling form before anyone could grab her. But she could not outrun a Massood, and with her arms bound behind her, her options were limited. She was hauled back, swearing in disgruntled Japanese, while a temporary crutch was rigged for the unfortunate soldier she’d injured. After that, the Massood watched their two captives more carefully. It was a tired, hurting group that finally reboarded the tender with its prisoners. The pilot eyed the returnees nervously, anxious to be away. Masking was not half as effective in broad daylight. The Massood were as exhausted emotionally as physically. They knew that if Will hadn’t brought down the third Human they might have been overwhelmed despite their numerical superiority. Until now they had been the best, the Weave’s frontline troops, the people the Wais and Hivistahm and S’van had relied upon to drive back the Amplitur hordes. Less than half their number of Humans had nearly wiped them out: Humans with preliminary training and no combat experience. What if the renegades had been experienced veterans of the fight for Vasarih?

It had been a numbing, humbling experience. But there had been only one death: a Human. Slain by another Human. This realization was not lost on anyone. Will brooded all the way back to the base. As a child he had hunted in the back bayous, had killed for food, had watched his grandfather gut and flay critters for their skin and meat. He had intervened to save his friends as much as himself. Quickly. Instinctively. It bothered him a great deal. Several armed Humans were among those waiting to greet the tender upon its return to the base at Lighthouse Reef. They angrily took charge of their wayward brethren. Those few Massood who did not require medical attention followed behind. They strode slowly up the corridor, the familiar jauntiness absent from their step. The experience had cost them more than just energy and sleep. It would be important to keep the incident as quiet as possible, Will reflected. Not to prevent a recurrence—a tighter watch had already been put on all sidearms—but to prevent a collapse of confidence among the Massood. The bench he slumped onto hummed as it adjusted itself to his height. He’d stopped hyperventilating but was still sick at his stomach. The image of the man falling, curling into a fetal position on the ground, becoming motionless, replayed itself endlessly in his mind. “You had no choice.” Caldaq stood over him. “Had they succeeded in escaping to a large urban area it might well have proven impossible for us to go in after them. Everything we are doing here would have been jeopardized.”

“I know that.” Will’s voice was barely a whisper. The Commander sat down next to him and the bench obediently knotted in the middle to accommodate the second, larger frame. “Where did you learn to shoot?

Since first we met you have done little save tell me how much you abhor violence of any kind.” Absently he felt of the large welt on his right thigh, where he’d been struck. Will sighed heavily. “Where I grew up every kid learns how to hunt as soon as they can walk.”

“I see.” Caldaq looked up the corridor. The prisoners and their escort had vanished around a distant corner. “If you had not killed the man all might have been lost. Three against eight, and we would have lost. You did what was necessary.” He paused. “None of my people here have been on Vasarih. They have never seen a Human in combat. They were not prepared for—” He hunted for the right words, switched to the translator. “—for the ferocity of the resistance. “Someday I hope to see what a fully trained Human soldier can do. Humans who have made a profession of soldiering against their own kind, who enjoy what they do and strive to be the best at it. It is a thought I find simultaneously exhilarating and frightening.” The lips on the right side of his snout drew back to indicate humor. “The Crigolit do the majority of fighting for the Amplitur cause. I think they are due a great surprise. I am not even sure I would take odds against an exceptional Human fighter in single combat against a Molitar.” He looked evenly at Will. “Perhaps this was a possibility from the beginning. You might have warned us.”

“I didn’t want to consider it. I thought all your recruits would be content with the gold. We’re not all like those three,” he said earnestly. “Yes, so you have insisted all along.”

“A small percentage. There’s always an antisocial minority to deal with.”

“Not among the other races.”

All the long months of striving to convince Caldaq and the rest that man was an inherently peaceable creature were in danger of being wasted as the result of a single night of stupid, insensate tragedy. Will was heartsick. “They were borderline insane to think they could get away with this,” he muttered. “Their behavior did not suggest insanity.” Caldaq looked thoughtful. “I thought their actions quite rational.”

He was going to have to work harder, Will told himself. Tonight was a setback, not a defeat. The images of violence and death could be overcome. Not for the first time he found himself wishing that he’d studied psychology instead of music. He wondered what Caldaq was really thinking. So he asked. “I am trained to captain a ship. That is what I would wish to be doing.”

“And I’d much rather be spending my days composing. Circumstances have forced both of us out of our chosen professions.”

Caldaq was quiet for a while. Then, “It is interesting to observe the change in the attitudes of primitive peoples when they are finally exposed to the immensity of the galaxy and the issues that rend civilizations. Perhaps it would be helpful for you to see what is happening firsthand.”

Will was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

The Commander eyed him intently, his nose nearly motionless. “How would you like to go to Vasarih?”

Leave Earth?

Watch the homeworld fall behind, lost in the immensity of space?

Hundreds of recruits had done it. Could he not do as well?

It would mean leaving his music behind, too, if only temporarily. And what inspiration, what cosmic themes might he encounter on such a journey?

“Your point is well taken.”

“You can go out with the next group of recruits.” Caldaq looked pleased. XIX

He closed up the catamaran as best he could; disconnecting the solar chargers and batteries, reefing the sails tight, making certain both anchors were secure and leaving a note for the persistently inquisitive: “Gone ashore for a few days. Back soon.” Hopefully that would convince any passersby that the boat had not been abandoned and that its owner was nearby and in good health. In any event, the cat would not be subject to the attention here it would have received up at Cancún or over in the BVIs. Vatoloi came to assure him that he would monitor the craft personally. The shuttle trip out was unexceptional, akin to riding a large plane in mildly turbulent weather. A sense of steady acceleration was accompanied by occasional slips and bumps. In contrast, the journey through what the S’van captain referred to as Underspace was actually boring. There was no sense of movement or motion, no feeling of speed. There were several hundred recruits on board, all babbling and chatting excitedly. They had already seen enough at the base to make the journey itself seem anticlimactic. Though they hailed from dozens of different countries they had no difficulty making themselves understood, since the translators each had been issued had much less trouble with Spanish and English than they did with high Hivistahm or S’van. Wais circulated smoothly among them, answering questions and reassuring the suddenly uncertain. Poor farmers from Guatemala, teachers and students, European tourists conversed eagerly, excitedly, discussing a future none could have conceived of months earlier. Training sessions and orientation meetings were conducted at regular intervals. Will attended a few, came away discouraged by the military emphasis even though he knew full well that was the sole reason for the presence of Humans on board the vessel. They paused first at a world called Motar. It was a measure of the respect his friends had for him that they had assigned to him a S’van aide, instead of the usual Hivistahm or O’o’yan. J’hai cheerfully explained the reason for the stop. “This is where your people are receiving their primary battlefield training. The Motarians are extremely intelligent but their rate of reproduction is quite low. It’s a wonder, actually, that they’ve been able to sustain their species at all. They’re mammalian but resemble the S’van more than your kind, except that they’re quite hairless and extremely corpulent.” He barked amusedly. “Though small in numbers they are supportive members of the Weave. They offer us their world, which boasts a great variety of terrain. It makes an excellent training ground. Nor are Humans the only peoples who receive instruction here.” He glanced out a port. “It won’t take long to offload your people.”

Once again the huge vessel fell into Underspace. It took considerably less time to make the journey to Vasarih. For Will it hammered home how far Earth was from the body of galactic civilization. Approaching Vasarih, however, was a far more serious matter than entering orbit around Motar. “I’m told you have some familiarity with combat tactics?” J’hai murmured to him. Will indicated that he did. “Then you’ll understand our caution. We must plan according to what we know of Amplitur assault patterns. The captain must select a section of space not frequented by enemy vessels lest one lock on as we emerge and fire upon us. By the same token the Amplitur can’t gamble on challenging a superior force. It’s all very much a matter of supposition and chance. Guesswork must be precise. Jumping in and out of Underspace is more than a matter of pushing a button. It takes time for drives and engineering to accommodate the requisite mathematics.”

“It’s been explained to me,” Will told him. “Though I’m still not clear on why ships don’t spend time in normal space destroying targets on the ground.”

“All important bases on the surface are hardened. Nuclear devices destroy that which both sides seek to preserve, and surface-based weaponry can find and destroy a ship before the ship can locate the mobile base. Starships are too valuable to expend attacking ground targets. They’re needed to move troops and supplies between worlds. Even for an advanced civilization a ship such as this one is a complex and expensive undertaking, not to be risked lightly. “Remember also that the Amplitur seek to convert people, not exterminate them. A world won through the use of nuclear devices is usually not a world worth absorbing. Better to beat your enemy off with as few casualties as possible.”

“Has the Weave ever done that?” Will asked him. “Pushed the Amplitur and their allies off a world they controlled?”

“We’ve had our victories. Why, we inflicted a major defeat on them only two hundred years ago.”

The confession failed to startle Will. He’d heard enough about the ancient conflict to grasp its vast dimensions. “Subsequently the Amplitur regrouped and reorganized. Neither side has made a real gain since then. Each of us periodically acquires new allies, develops new weapons systems, but the balance of power is not significantly altered.” J’hai glanced up at him. “We’re hoping that your kind might make an impact.”

Sorry to disappoint you, Will thought as he settled himself into the shuttle seat. J’hai ensconced himself in the one opposite. “Which side are the native Vasarih on?”

“Ours.” J’hai swiveled his seat to face the Human. “A few have gone over to the Amplitur side, though most want nothing to do with them. It’s not always a matter of free choice on their part. You know that the Amplitur are capable of influencing thoughts?”

“I’ve been told.” A cold chill tickled Will’s spine. He wondered what it would be like to experience an Amplitur mind probe, to feel his own thoughts twisted like putty, bending to Amplitur suggestion. “Then there are Amplitur on Vasarih?”

“Wherever there’s conflict with the Weave there are Amplitur observing, directing, controlling. Never in great numbers. But there are always a few around to offer ‘advice’ to their minions.”

“As the Turlog advise the Weave?”

“It’s nothing like that. The Turlog are allies. They provide suggestions and analysis. They wouldn’t have anything to do with mind control even if they were capable of it, which they’re not.”

Control takes many forms, Will mused. Aloud he asked, “Who’s doing the fighting here for the Amplitur?”

“Mostly Crigolit. There’s also a Molitar contingent. You may see one or two among the prisoners. Big, impressive fighters though not the most intelligent. Ideal for Amplitur purposes. Both species have been allied with the Amplitur for so long no one knows if they were manipulated into the alliance or if they joined voluntarily. Not that it matters. Once allied, a race cannot break free. “There may also be some Ashregan serving as point fighters.” He looked sideways at Will as the shuttle disengaged from the mother ship. “Have you ever seen an Ashregan?”

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Warning sirens sounded. “We’re preparing to drop. We may go straight in, or there may be an enemy warship in the vicinity and we’ll have to duck back into Underspace. If you feel a surge in the engines, you’ll know.”

It seemed to Will that they hung there forever, suspended in the big ship’s gravity field like shrimp in a gumbo. Then the darkness outside the ports gave way to dazzling light as the shuttle plunged like a stone toward the surface. Reflections from clouds, sea, and land created a pinwheel of color outside. Just above a moderate storm the shuttle slowed and leveled off. A straining Will could see little but cloud; dense, impenetrable cumulus formed fairy towers that framed their descent. As the shuttle continued to drop, land began to show through breaks in the cloud cover. Land and sea. Nothing to suggest that this world was a center of violent conflict between two great civilizations. J’hai was talking to him. “The level of Vasarih technology is several orders below that of your own people. Contacts between urban areas are still infrequent. Since the major cities are all situated on the coastline most of the fighting has been conducted in a region known locally as the southern plains. The Amplitur wish the destruction of population centers no more than do we. “The Weave discovered this world slightly before the Amplitur, therefore the majority of Vasarih are allied with us. They assist in the conflict to the best of their limited abilities, mostly with simple ground support such as food and the like. “We’ll be setting down close to the northwestern section of the contested area, in mountainous terrain. Local Vasarih fortunate enough not to have been caught in the cross fire have long since moved away. We have a major base there, dug into the foothills. That’s where you’ll have the chance to talk with your own kind.”

“Fine,” Will replied in S’van, startled to realize that circumstances were making him into something of a linguist. J’hai glanced forward. “We monitor constantly during descent. You’d be surprised how much simpler it is to shoot down a vessel from the ground than from out in space. The vessel which brought us here has long since returned to the safety of Underspace. “War is much more of a mental than a physical contest. In that we can be a help to the Massood. It’s participation in actual combat that we and the Hivistahm and the rest cannot stomach.” Behind the dense black beard the S’van’s expression was unreadable. “I’m personally glad I don’t have to get any closer to the fighting than this.”

“What are you?” Will realized he’d simply accepted J’hai’s presence without ever inquiring about his companion’s profession. “Military intelligence, if that’s not a contradiction in terms. I thought you knew.”

“No. They just told me I’d have a guide.”

They came in low over mountains so rugged that Will’s breath twice caught in his throat. The strip of land on which they touched down terminated in a sheer granite cliff which unexpectedly parted to admit the compact craft. Once inside the immense excavated cavern the warning lights dimmed, and Will was able to release himself from his seat. A dull thump echoed through the vessel. “Attack.” J’hai eyed the ceiling. “I expect we had a seeker on our tail. Must’ve blown up outside. Someone will be spending the afternoon cleaning up gravel.”

A perspiring Will followed the S’van outside and into a bustling underground world. Aliens and vehicles were moving in all directions, intent upon unknown tasks. Their individualized attire was spotted and slashed with colorful insignia, some of which Will recognized, much of which he did not. Massood and Hivistahm, O’o’yan and Lepar were familiar to him, but there were also several physical types he had never encountered before. J’hai provided names and translator settings. Will fingered the unit that dangled from his neck. As they made their way through the complex he searched anxiously for a recognizable Human face, saw none. “Not many are assigned here,” J’hai explained. “Most are out in the field, where their unique talents can best be utilized.”

“But there are plenty of Massood here.” Will pointed out a trio of the tall fighters. “Their presence is a function of numbers. The Massood populate a dozen worlds. Only a very few of your kind have been trained.”

“I was told I’d see Humans here.”

“So you will, and soon,” J’hai assured him. “I said they’re out in the field. That’s where we’re going.”

“Into combat?”

J’hai looked up at him. “Isn’t that what you wanted?

To see how your people were reacting to actual fighting?

If that’s what you wish then you’ll have to take the risk of being shot at. I have no sympathy for your reluctance. Only my specialized psychological training allows me to accompany you beyond this point. Consider my situation for a moment. I am neither Human nor Massood. “We won’t be going to the front lines. Training or no, I couldn’t handle that. If you want to change your mind we can depart on the next shuttle.” J’hai sounded hopeful. “No,” said Will, dashing the S’van’s hopes. “I hate war also, but I came here to see how the people who were recruited are doing. I’m not leaving until I’ve done that.”

“Very well.” J’hai made a disconsolate joke in his own language which had Will grinning. You could always depend on the S’van to leaven a tense situation with humor. “Your people operate from a forward base which is not far from here. It’s located astride the route the Crigolit are using to advance westward toward an important Vasarih town. Humans were pressed into the fighting there to see how their presence might affect the outcome.”

“How are they doing?”

“I don’t know, having been away from here for some time myself. We’ll find out when we get there.” He was subdued. “Hopefully we’ll arrive during a quiet period.”

Will found himself envying the S’van and Hivistahm and all the other peace-loving races of the Weave. All he had to do was convince them to see Humans in the same civilized light. They left the base via a smaller exit, traveling in an armored ground-repulsion vehicle that skimmed along several meters above the rocky ground. The mountains shrank behind them. Soon they were traveling down a winding gully through semi-desert terrain. A Chirinaldo weapons master bulked large in the weapons emplacement atop the machine, which in addition to its two passengers was ferrying medical supplies to the combat zone. “The gully offers cover against long-range Crigolit detectors,” J’hai explained. “This vehicle is too small to carry masking equipment. Aerial surveillance is limited to what both sides can keep in the air. Both sides put up orbiting observation satellites which are destroyed with great regularity.”

The gully was beginning to narrow uncomfortably when they entered a smaller version of the main base. Weaponry was much in evidence and the proportion of Massood among the inhabitants considerably higher. But there was still no sign of fellow Humans. One made her presence known soon after they disembarked, pausing only long enough to exchange a few words with the massive Chirinaldo as it was recharging its heliox-breather. Two silver stripes crossed her uniform, running from the top of her left shoulder across her chest to disappear beneath her right arm. Her skin was dark brown, her eyes and hair jet black. Will had expected someone tough, not beautiful. On reflection he conceded that the two were not necessarily mutually exclusive. “I was told you were bringing an important visitor.” She stared at Will while addressing the S’van. “This is William Dulac.”

Her eyebrows rose. “So you the legendary Dulac.” Legendary, Will thought bemusedly. I write music. I’m a composer, not a legend. She compounded his initial surprise by simultaneously shaking his hand and leaning forward to kiss him hard and strong full on the lips. Though he’d been anticipating a more formal greeting he professed no objections. “I’m Captain Echevarria, Maria Echevarria.” Her English was as heavily accented as her enthusiasm and energy were contagious. “Muy good to meet you, Señor Dulac. Everyone in this place know your name.”

He felt a sudden overpowering urge to climb back into the vehicle and demand to be returned to the main base, thence to the ship and to Earth. This was what he had come for, and now that he’d found it, it wasn’t at all what he’d expected or hoped for. His confidence level underwent a sudden drop, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to probe further. “You’re a captain?” he found himself mumbling, unable to take his eyes from her. “Sí.

Isn’t that amazing?”

“Where do you come from?”

“Mexico City. I originally went to the Coast to try and make some dinero, you know?

My English pretty good, verdad?” Before he could reply she snapped something in S’van to his guide, who replied in kind and gratefully excused himself. Will looked after him as she slid an arm into his and dragged him away. “It good to be able to do this once in a while. Can’ do it in the ranks and still maintain order.”

“So you’re a captain.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. Not with her pressed tightly against him. She was warm, but not soft. “Sort of. We hav’ to make up our own ranks. They not much on rank here. Suppervis … supervisorial positions, they call ’em. So I’m a supervisor-captain. Done pretty good for myself.”

The corridor was busy with Hivistahm and O’o’yan and Massood. He even saw a solitary Bir’rimor, but no Humans. “Where’s everybody else?

And please don’t call me a legend.”

“You keedding?” She slid her arm free and lengthened her stride. “You start all of this, you give those of us who are here this chance. If not for you, none of us would be here. We’d be back on Earth, doin’ whatever we’d been doin’ when the recruiters found us.” She startled him by spitting derisively into a corner. “You were in the Mexican army?” he ventured, utterly overwhelmed by her ebullience. She laughed, a rich, knowing sound that echoed down the corridor. “Who, me?

You keedding?

A woman in the Mexican army?

Don’ tell me you never hear of machismo, man. Where you from, anyway?”

“New Orleans.”

“I hear that’s a great town. Someday maybe I geet there. But I got a job to do here first. It not so bad, you know?

They keep track of the gold you earn. At first everybody kind of suspicious about that, but here nobody seem to try and cheat anybody else. They not innocent, just different morals. I think, maybe better than ours.”

“They’re willing to let you do their fighting for them. I’m not sure yet how moral that is.”

“Yeah, well, everybody got to believe the way they want, right?

Hey, don’ get me wrong. We not just fighting for the money. From everything I hear, these Amplitur are a bunch of pendejos grandes, you know?

Me, I never seen one yet. None of us have. Mostly just damn Crigolit. They not so tough. They think they are, but that before they run into us. These Massood, they do pretty good, but they wouldn’t last a week where I grew up. They too careful. “I mean, when you out there, and you got two bugs with guns comin’ at you, there no time to do strategic analysis. You just got to react. That not how the Massood like to fight. The Chirinaldo, those big guys are a little better, but they so big they make easy targets. So they operate a lot of the heavy stuff, like the e’ways and flaggers. “The Crigolit guns are good stuff, though. If Pancho Villa had got some maybe we could’ve taken back California.” She laughed again. Will struggled to get a word in edgewise. “Are you alone here?”

“Mostly everybody is out killing bugs, but there a few of the gang around. I was ask to meet you. You goin’ to come out there?

We take good care of you, man. No worries. Like I say, you responsible for us bein’ here.”

“No!” Seeing her reaction he softened his tone. “I’m not responsible. I got involved to try and keep people from being sent here. This isn’t our business, isn’t our fight. We shouldn’t be involved. We need to get out before …”

“Before what, man?

What you talkin’?

The pay she’s fine. Maybe these folk all look funny but they damn good to us. Hey, they love us. Nobody here give a damn what you be on Earth, what kind of person you were. Everybody here gettin’ a fresh start, a new life. To the Massood, to the Hivisties and the S’van, we all just Humans. We fight for them and we do good. That all they care about.” She gestured up the corridor. “Most of these people here, at least the ones I command, they never had much. Not in their whole lives. Either they did shit work or got trapped doin’ something they grew to hate. They came here lookin’ to find themselves as much as for the dinero. “I got three lieutenants under me.” She giggled. “Not all at the same time, comprende?

One sell insurance in Germany, another work for the IRS out of New York. His woman, she didn’t do nothing there. She was bored pissless. She do something now, though. You ought to see her cut those bugs down with what we call here a cassion rifle. The last guy, he was turning into an old man chopping cane on Dominica. “All of ’em are happy doin’ the work here. The Hivistahm figure how to fake some of our food pretty good. I don’ know what more anybody could want.” Black eyes bored unforgivingly into his. “So why you say we should get out of this place?”

Her response had come hard and fast and it took him a moment to collect his thoughts and respond. “Maybe a few people are suited for this, but we can’t let the whole Human race get involved or …”

“Or what?” She wouldn’t let him finish a sentence. They turned a corner. “Didn’t anybody tell you nada?

These Amplitur don’ back out. You give ’em a meter, they suck you into this crazy damn Purpose of theirs.” She illustrated by interlocking her fingers. He noted that the nails were painted bright red. “That might be nothing more than Weave propaganda. We don’t know that the Amplitur wouldn’t leave us alone.”

“Well, I know, mister. Because I seen the people they got fighting for them, the Crigolit and the Molitar. The Molitar are tough but they not real bright. “I don’ know how to say it in science words but it like they all got their brains scrubbed clean from the inside out. Right down to their genes. Me, I don’ want my genes washed, comprende?

“I’d like to see an Amplitur, though. I understand they got pretty eyes and four feet and two big tentacle things comin’ out of their faces. I’d like to see if I could squeeze one into another shape. You can’ break their necks ’cause they ain’t got no necks to break. They’re invit … invertebrates. Hey, I can’ even say that in Spanish.” She laughed. “I still don’t understand why there aren’t more of our people here. Are all Humans kept out on the front lines?”

“No, but I tell you something. Except for the Massood I think maybe we frighten these people a little bit. Or maybe they don’ like us a whole lot personally.” She shrugged. “It don’ matter. Nobody give a damn if the Hivisties or the O’o’yan or those stuck-up Wais don’ want to socialize with us. The S’van are better, but you can’ really tell what a S’van is thinking, you know?

“I ask about it one time an’ a S’van he tell me the other Weave peoples got ‘delicate sensibilities.’ I sort of understand. I mean, sometimes we’re kind of loud, but hell, what do they expect?

This ain’t no fancy hotel lobby ball out here, it war. You can’ blame somebody if it not in their blood.”

“It’s not in our blood, either,” Will said angrily. “The danger of all this is that it’s reinforcing a regressive tendency that mankind is just learning how to suppress.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, man. Me, I been fighting all my life.”

“Then you have done some soldiering.” Now maybe her misplaced passion for fighting would be explained. “Not what you’d call it, though I’ve spent some time with soldiers. I’m a professional puta, man. A whore, a prostitute. I leave Mexico City because my pimp was gonna kill me. All the time I hear about the rich tourists in Cancún, so I go there. One day this funny English guy come up to me and ask me some weird questions. Then he show me more gold than I ever see even in a jewelry store and he tell me I can get some for myself. “For that much gold I do the stirrups from the ceiling, you know?

But he say it nothing like that, and he talk a lot of crazy talk, and says why don’ I give it a try?

Well it not like I got much to lose, you know?

So I say, why the hell not?

I want to get as far away from Mexico City and the guy who’s after me as possible, and Belize is farther than Cancún.” She chuckled. “Hombre, I had no idea how far away I was gonna get.” She slapped him on the back. “Hokay, that’s Maria. Now you tell me about you.”

“I’m a musician, a composer,” he replied without enthusiasm. Her expression brightened. “Hey, no keedding, really?

I used to sing a little. I was gonna be a singer, you know?

Got any idea how many poor girls there are in Mexico City?

Sixteen million, man. And I think maybe half of them want to be singers. So hey, I was a lousy singer but a good whore. Now I find something better. And they make me a captain, maybe because I shoot straight, talk straight, and ain’t afraid of nothing. What you think?

“Ranks-wise we got ourselves one colonel and a few majors, but that all so far. Maybe when more people get here we get some higher-ups. ‘Major Echevarria.’ I like that. What you think?

Hey, you want to kill some Crigolit?

We get you a weapon.”

“I don’t want to kill anything,” Will mumbled glumly. “I just wanted to see how things were going.”

“Well they goin’ pretty good, man, pretty good.” She frowned. “Hey, you want to meet some other soldiers now?

I think maybe you don’ like me.”

“It’s not that.” He looked over at her. “It’s just that …”

“Hokay, no problem, I understand. You just get here and this all a bit much. Tell you what. There’s a squad due in pretty quick for some R\&R. Maybe they here already. I introduce you to them.”

“How have they done?” It was a question he didn’t really want to ask anymore but couldn’t avoid. Perverse curiosity, like the prizefight spectator. “In the field, I mean?”

“Well, I tell you. The Amplitur forces were right on the outskirts of this big local city near here when the local command dump us in alongside the Massood. Since then we’ve push them back, oh, maybe a thousand kilometers. Soon we gonna push them right off this planet. That pretty easy to do here, you know?

They got no Europe, no Africa. Just all the land in one place and water everywhere else. “We gonna flank their whole forces and hit their main base of supply from behind, and if they try to come back on us we’ll just slice them up into leetle pieces. Nobody thought like that before we got here. I mean, the Massood are good fighters but they too direct. They don’ see things the way we do, and they stop to talk things over too much. By the time they finished talking, our people are wavin’ back at them to hurry up and come on. “I think maybe we too fast for them, you know?

But they like us. Us being here and helping means not so many dead Massood. We could use a couple thousand more troops. How are things back on Earth?”

“The same,” Will told her, not knowing what else to say. “Be better if we could get more real soldiers here. We got a few. Recruited from vacations. One of our majors is a Russian. When they found out about us, he and his woman and kids all jump ship in Jamaica. He’s a good guy. Speaks better Massood than I do.”

“You speak Massood?” Will gaped at her. “Sure.” She rattled off a guttural stream for him. “Not so hard, though they don’ swear enough. We teaching them some.”

Will nodded to himself. The dissemination of Human culture had begun. “Here’s the lounge.”

They entered a room in the shape of a half-moon. He remarked on the incongruity of the expansive window only to have her explain that it could withstand a tactical nuclear explosion and was polarized to dissipate any type of energy weapon. The furniture was clean and flexible while the room itself took the form of a series of descending concentric levels, like an intimate theater. Massood and Hivistahm sat and chatted and sipped liquids from exotic containers. The lowermost level was full of chairs and couches. The Humans gathered there scrutinized flat screens the size of hand mirrors and laughed at what they saw. Echevarria led him down. “What kind of casualties have you suffered?” Will inquired as they descended. “We’ve had some people killed, some hurt. This is a war, man. You see your friend killed, it just make you want to fight harder. That something else I don’ think the Massood understand. When they lose people they want to pull back. The more of us go down, the harder the rest want to fight. So maybe we do things a little backward, you know?” She raised her voice as they approached the bottom. “Hey, Joh, Chang!

I got somebody I want you to meet. Come all the way out from Earth.”

For the second time Will was stunned at the reaction mention of his name produced. It seemed everyone wanted to shake his hand or kiss him. It was the last thing he could have anticipated, having come all this way expecting to encounter rampant homesickness and disillusionment. He wanted no part of their adulation. Nor was any of it faked for his benefit in the manner of some of the music-ignorant matrons who supported the symphony because it was the sophisticated thing to do. This jumbled assortment of Humanity gathered on a far distant world meant every word they said. A stockbroker named Davis had already made one recruiting trip of his own to enlist several of his friends. All had given up six-figure incomes to fight for the Weave. “Making money is exciting at first,” the man explained as he inhaled gas from a sealed flask, “but you reach a point in time where you realize it doesn’t have much to do with real life. It just doesn’t feel right. It becomes nothing more than dull routine to be followed mindlessly and unquestioningly.” He gestured at the window. “There’s nothing dull about what we’re doing here. “So you make a lot of money, so what?

You buy a fancier car, a bigger co-op, you fly first class instead of coach, you stare dumbly at a bigger TV with a few extra buttons and knobs. What does that have to do with the meaning of existence?

Not a damn thing. “So you run for Congress or hope for an appointment to the Federal Reserve Board so you can lose yourself among thousands of other bureaucrats who can’t accomplish anything worthwhile either. Is that a life’s work?

“This—I mean, this conflict is about the structure of civilization. That’s something worth devoting your life to.”

“That’s what the aliens say,” Will responded. Some of the smiles disappeared. “You really don’t know what’s going on out here, do you?” the ex-broker said pityingly. “You’re the one responsible for us being here and you don’t know what’s going on.” He turned to Echevarria. “Maria, has Will seen any of the prisoners?”

“No. He just get here.”

Davis nodded understandingly. “Why don’t you see if you can get him into Interrogation?” He turned back to the visitor. “Everyone here believes in what they’re doing, regardless of where they come from or what they did back on Earth. We’re all respected and appreciated in a way no Human beings have been respected and appreciated before, not in the whole history of our world. Have you heard about how the Amplitur treat those who do their fighting for them?”

“I’ve been told that they can exercise some kind of thought control.”

“Thought control, yeah. Only it’s more subtle than that, much more subtle. You won’t meet any Crigolit zombies on the battlefield. The Amplitur aren’t that blatant. This is much scarier. You know that they alter the DNA of subject peoples, insert traits that are passed on to all their offspring?” He glanced back at Echevarria. “You need to show him some of the prisoners.”

“Yeah, show him,” said an Oriental woman reclined on a maroon couch. “Show him,” suggested a dark man in the back, “those two Ashregan cavalry techs they brought in last week.”

“Cavalry?” Will said. “They use something like an airborne scooter,” Davis elaborated. “Don’t ask me to explain how they work. All I know is that they shoot along about two feet off the ground and can go over anything; water, mud, rock. Each one carries a driver and weapons specialist. They’re real fast and they give us a lot of trouble, but when they take a hit everything pretty much disintegrates. On rare occasions we’ll take one out and it’ll come down soft. “Usually they carry Crigolit, but sometimes something else will be aboard.” He looked at Echevarria. “Introduce him to the enemy, Maria.” The broker clasped Will’s shoulder. “Come back afterward and we’ll talk some more.” His smile returned. “You’re something of a legend here, you know?

Not just among us. The Massood, the S’van, everybody knows your story.”

“I don’t want any part of anything like that,” Will insisted. “It’s all wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can protest all you want to, but once a myth’s emplaced it’s tough to dislodge. I think you’re stuck with what others perceive you to be.” He sucked on his flask. “Try and relax. Nobody’s uptight here. The food’s great and they keep inventing new kinds of entertainment for us. Got to keep the crazy Humans content.” The glass flask he’d been sucking on slipped out of his mouth. Will could see where the tip had been chewed down, therefore it couldn’t be glass … could it?

Davis noted his stare. “Some kind of perfumed inhalant. Gives a real nice buzz and it’s nonaddictive. Imagine breathing strawberry sundae.”

“Nostril nosh,” one of the others quipped. Everyone laughed. Maria took Will’s arm, leading him upward. “See you later, people,” she said over her shoulder. “Yeah, take it easy, Maria.” Similar salutations in half a dozen languages saw them off. As they left the relaxation chamber behind, Will struggled to make sense of what he’d heard and seen. XX

At a place where the corridor widened a line of oval, open-topped carts sat waiting. Inside was a control panel and two opposing flat benches. Echevarria touched several switches and the cart started down a side tunnel. Despite their speed no wind ruffled Will’s hair. They were encased in some kind of invisible protective bubble. “You look troubled,” she said, searching his face. “What gets me is that everyone looks so damn happy.”

“They are happy, compadre. The people here, they come from all walks of life; different countries, different cultures, but here everyone is the same. We all foreigners in this place. They doing something worthwhile and meanwhile piling up gold like crazy. Who wouldn’t be happy?”

“I wouldn’t. How many do you think would keep fighting if not for the gold?”

“I don’ know. Some yes, some no. Don’ matter, because there is gold.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to anyone that the S’van and Hivistahm and the rest might not want to associate with you because you’re all fighting for money?”

“Don’ matter. They think we pretty strange anyway.”

“When people start retiring back to Earth others are going to ask where all this gold is coming from. The secret will get out.”

She shrugged. “Fine with me. You know, some of these people brought their kids.”

“You mentioned the Russian.”

“An’ some have had kids since they been here. We got our own nurseries.”

“Don’t the parents care about schooling?”

“We got a couple of teachers taking care of that. Kids learn other stuff here, too. Take the Saki sisters. They speak Massood better than the Massood themselves.”

“It’s not fair to bring kids into something like this. They haven’t the foggiest notion of the issues at stake. How old are they?”

“Nine and twelve, I think.”

“They’ll forget about Earth.”

“Don’ matter. They happy, too. Make good soldiers someday.”

Will shuddered. There had to be a way to put an end to the nightmare. The cart deposited them onto a moving sidewalk deep inside the mountain. Massood here wore sidearms and glanced questioningly at the Humans. There was considerably less of the casual conversation he had noted on his arrival. This was a place of business. As they walked Echevarria would occasionally address one of the soldiers, sometimes utilizing her translator, other times speaking directly in crude Massood. They passed Hivistahm and O’o’yan as well. A Wais flowed past, impeccable of attire, graceful of stride. “How do you communicate out in the field?” he asked her. “We start using English by default. It’s easier than the translators.”

“Nobody tries to push their own language?”

“Hell, everybody too busy trying to learn some Massood or S’van. Easier back here. Always a few Wais around to help out. They pretty nice folk. Me, I like ’em even better than the S’van. With the S’van you never know for sure if they laughing ’cause they like you or not. You get a reaction out of a Wais, you know it for real.” She paused outside a doorway. Will was startled to see two Hivistahm guards bearing weapons. “Those guns don’ kill, only paralyze,” she told him. “Can’t spare Massood from real fighting for this kind of work.” She grinned. “Course, they’d never waste a Human on guard duty. These lizards never have to shoot at anybody anyway. Nobody ever escape from this place.”

She murmured into a wall pickup, waited until they were passed through to another gate. Behind the second checkpoint lay a high-ceilinged room full of unadorned furnishings. Echevarria put up an arm to restrain Will, ran her other hand along an invisible barrier. The two prisoners had ample room in which to move about. “This place will hold four,” Echevarria explained. “They don’ like to put more than four in any one cell.”

Will blinked. The plainly attired captives gazed back at him with equal interest. Small eyes peered out from beneath protruding brows. An odd ridge of bone framed each recessed ear. The nose was flat, with twin openings. Though not large, the mouth appeared capable of opening wide. Perhaps the deep jaw was loosely hinged. The arms were long, the legs too short. Those differences aside, both prisoners looked very, very Human. “Ashregan,” said Echevarria grimly. “Funny faces and squatty builds, but otherwise they don’ look so different from us, eh?

You never mistake one for a Massood or S’van, but they could pass for you. Not me. I was never that ugly.”

One of the aliens approached the barrier and spoke softly. “He want to know who you are,” Echevarria said. “How … how do you know?” Will remembered the translators. Echevarria helped him adjust the setting on his own. “You not wearing a uniform, so he’s confused.”

“These are allies of the Amplitur?”

“For about six hundred years. Long enough for the Amplitur to mess their genetic material around real good. Now all they can think of is serving their damn Purpose.”

Will fingered his translator as he stepped up to the barrier. “You look very much like us.”

“We have also remarked upon the similarities.” The male had a thick, sweet voice. “I am only a simple soldier of the cause, and not very familiar with such concepts as parallel evolution. I would not presume to comment further.” Shockingly, he smiled. Will forced himself to reply. “Why do you and the Amplitur seek to conquer all other peoples?

Why do you allow them to be your masters?”

The Ashregan exchanged an astonished look with its female companion. “There are no masters within the Purpose. We are all its servants. Each species serves to the best of its particular abilities. The Ashregan fight. The Amplitur advise.”

Echevarria leaned close. Her perfume was strong. “Señor Davis, he told you they were subtle, eh?

The Amplitur don’ give orders. Only ‘suggestions.’”

The Ashregan overheard. “We could argue semantics for days, months. Are Humans not receptive to the advice of the S’van?

That does not make them your masters.”

“In the field we do what we think best,” Echevarria shot back. “In the heat of battle everyone improvises,” the Ashregan responded. “If you want to live for this Purpose of yours,” Will put in hastily, “that’s fine, but why this compulsion to drag everyone else along with you?”

“Don’t you think we know that it would be easier to ignore you?

Would it not spare us much suffering and pain?

But we who have experienced the Purpose could not think of ourselves as civilized if we failed to extend its beauty and benefits to the uninitiated.”

“Even so,” Will insisted, “what if the uninitiated don’t want any part of it, don’t have any need of its ‘benefits’?”

The Ashregan smiled afresh. “Look around you. What do you see?

Humans and Massood, Hivistahm and S’van unnaturally allied in an effort to resist unity and peace. The Weave is a wholly artificial organism, held together only by a misplaced desire to forestall the inevitable advance of the Purpose. Without it the many species would quickly fall to fighting and bickering among themselves. Where such conflict and dissension exists there can never be real harmony, true contentment. I ask you, Human: On which side lies logic and truth?

“As for the Ashregan, we are content.”

“That because the Ashregan are brain-dead,” Echevarria said with a derisive snort. The male looked over at her. “You confuse unhappiness with lack of choice.” Small dark eyes turned back to Will. The voice was earnest, pleading. “Your people are great fighters, of unique and astonishing ability. Certainly you are the most unusual opponents the Ashregan have ever encountered. Why perish on behalf of Weave folly when you could be enjoying all the peaceful delights of the Purpose?

You deny yourself true peace because you have been seduced by the lies of the S’van and others. The S’van are the most accomplished liars in existence. The manipulation of words is their art, the seduction of meaning their music. They are as accomplished at prevarication as you Humans are at warfare. “Try to convince your brethren. The Amplitur cannot be defeated, the Purpose never dissolved. Thousands of years of history cannot be reversed. The destiny of your kind is the same as that of every other intelligence: to join in the Purpose and not in fractious, primitive alliances such as that of the Weave. “The Amplitur will welcome you joyfully, all the more so because it will avoid the needless death of many. The death of a single sentient diminishes the Purpose.”

Will was silent for a long moment—dissecting, considering, mulling over a simple soldier’s eloquence … or programming. “As I understand it,” he said finally, “the end of this Purpose is to be the integration of every intelligent species into a single all-encompassing organization?”

“That’s so.” The Ashregan was pleased. “To what final end?” Will asked sharply. “The Amplitur surmise that when this integration has been completed, all unified intelligent life will make the jump to the next stage of evolution. Whether that is to be joint participation in some kind of universal overmind or something else no one, not even the Amplitur, know for certain.”

“How many intelligences have to participate to produce this critical mass?

How big does it have to be?”

“That the Amplitur do not know. They have been trying to quantify the necessary volume for thousands of years.”

“But what if there’s nothing at the end of all this?

No next stage of evolution, no melting pot of a supermind?

What if the Amplitur just go on absorbing one species after another to no eventual end?”

“But the end exists.”

The female spoke up from her place on a bed. “What is your notion of the be-all and end-all of intelligence, Human?

Does your kind have a better theory?”

Will was taken aback. He’d come here to rail against war, not discuss philosophy and metaphysics. “No. We just feel that it’s better to be left alone to find our own destiny than to sacrifice our individuality to some kind of compulsive herd mentality.”

The female sat up, imploring with both hands. Five fingers on each, Will noted, but no nails. Just smooth and rounded at the tips. “There is a sweetness, a joy of completeness within the Purpose that one who is not part of it cannot imagine.”

“All that notwithstanding, some people might prefer independence of thought and action.”

“It is illogical and uncivilized,” the male insisted, “to favor dissension above cooperation.”

“Then it’s our decision to remain uncivilized. It’s the way we are.”

“Only because you’ve known nothing better,” said the male calmly. “I fear my arguments are failing to reach you. If there were an Amplitur present …”

“If there were an Amplitur here you’d see the Purpose soon enough.” Echevarria had been leaning against the wall, listening. Now she straightened, gazing narrowly at Will. “It’d reach out and lovingly embrace you with its tentacles and look deep into your eyes with those beautiful ones of theirs. Then you’d feel a little tickling, you know?

Right here.” She tapped the side of her head. “Pretty soon you see the light. You understand. That what they say the Amplitur can do to you. They done it to some poor S’van and Massood. Some got cured by treatment and others just died twisting in their beds.” She gestured derisively at the prisoners. “These things are the product of eight or nine hundred years of genetic manipulation. They wouldn’t know an independent thought if it bit them on the ass.”

“We do not expect to convince you.” The Ashregan was not in the least upset. “We are only simple soldiers. All we can offer are our honest sentiments and the example of personal contentment. “We have heard some things about your kind, Human. The Ashregan, too, used to fight among themselves, long ago. Now such unsupportable conflicts are a matter of history. We work together to serve the Purpose, and we are happy.”

“Sure you are,” Echevarria responded. “You better be happy, or the Amplitur will come and work on you some more.”

“You wouldn’t know happiness if confronted with it,” the female commented. “You refuse to acknowledge the possibility. You have not yet matured sufficiently to deal with the concept.”

“Oh, I can deal with the idea of happiness,” the captain told her. “What I have trouble dealing with is the notion of racial lobotomy. Come on.” She took Will’s arm and he allowed himself to be led away. “Remember!” the Ashregan shouted after him. “There is independence within service and there is the independence that allows you to kill on behalf of meaningless abstraction.” The alien voice faded from translator range as they reached the first checkpoint. “It is uncivilized!”

Out in the corridor Echevarria eyed Will questioningly. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” he replied slowly. “They were more thoughtful than I expected, and they look so much like us.”

“Yeah, they do, don’ they?

Parallel evolution. Except they all brain-dead.”

Will was shaking his head uncertainly. “They didn’t act like zombies, or robots.”

“Oh, they as independent as you and I,” she agreed, “except when it comes to this Purpose business. Then it like their brains, their ability to think, goes flat like the line on a dead man’s heart monitor. It only start up again when you change the subject. “Speaking to which, you want to go out on a foray?

I can get you a weapon issued. You can watch us push the Ashregan and the Crigolit back over the cordillera toward the sea. Soon as the next load of troops arrive we gonna make our big push.” She whispered conspiratorially. “The Massood are still hesitating, but we’re tired of sitting around. The major say it time to kick some butt. You know how to say that in Russian?

And if there are any Amplitur around we gonna kick them, too. Course, they ain’t got no butts.” A wolfish grin creased her beautiful if slightly worn face. “After we finish with this world we gonna go on to the next one. I don’ know which, the S’van haven’t told us. But we sure not gonna sit around here for a hundred years like the Massood been doing.” Her open hand palmed his backside and he jumped slightly. “You know, for a composer you got a cute behind. I never know a composer. Maybe if you get bored later, you want some company … comprende?

It’s nice when you don’ have to do it for money.”

“I’ll think about it” was all he could find to say, caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject. “I’ve got a lot to think about, and J’hai wants me to see more of the base, and …”

“Yeah, sure.” She gave him a friendly whack. “You want to know where I am, you just ask around, hokay?”

“Okay.”

“Want to see something interesting?”

“Sure,” he said warily. She showed him her hand. It was slim, feminine. “Take a close look.” She straightened her fingers. “I don’t see anything,” he told her, feeling stupid. “Don’ you see?

There’s no lines.” It was true: her palm was perfectly smooth. “These S’van are pretty smart, but for practicals you gimme a Hivistahm every time. If they weren’t such pansies they’d make good fighters. “Had that taken off by a zeit shell. Right here.” With a finger she traced a line on her wrist two inches below the hand. “The lizards do real good regeneration. But you lose the lines. Fingerprints, too. The Amplitur now, they say the Amplitur can even grow your fingerprints back. They say the Amplitur can grow anything.” She gestured toward the east. “You get shot up out there, if they can find enough pieces, the Hivisties can put you back together pretty much the way you look before, even if you do end up with plastic guts. They take real good care of us here, you know?

Maybe they don’ like us a whole lot, but they take care of us.”

They climbed into the little transport vehicle. “What about the S’van?

I thought the S’van liked everybody.”

“That what they say. Me, I never seen one be anything other than friendly. But it hard to tell about them. Sometimes I think maybe they joke around ’cause they got no choice. It hard to get mad at somebody who joking all the time. I hear there’s not a lot of them. Hell, even the Lepar could chop them up pretty easy.” She grinned. “Hey, you know how many Lepar it takes to load a photic charge?”

“No,” Will mumbled as the vehicle sped along. “One to hold the tube, one to load the charge, and a third to keep the first two from trying to eat the parts.” She cackled uproariously. “I kind of like the Lepar.” The tension in his voice surprised him. Her laughter faded. “Hey, don’ get me wrong, man. I do, too. Everybody like them. They work their tails off to help everybody else. They so slow and dopey-looking, how could anybody get mad at one?” The vehicle began to decelerate. “I’ll take you back to J’hai. Sure you don’ want me to have a sidearm issued to you?”

“No,” Will said firmly. “There are too many guns around here as it is.”

XXI

Thoughtful-quick-Probing had work to do and was irritated by the timing. It glanced up and around, the right eye swiveling independently on its short stalk to peer two-thirds of the way down the mottled orange back, where an irregular protrusion erupted from the smooth skin. “Awaken, Thoughtful-new-Prober,” the Amplitur insisted. Miniature eyestalks uncoiled from within the fleshy eruption, tiny eyes shining wetly at the tips. The bud leaned slightly forward, attentive and expectant. Another two time periods and it would be fully formed, at which point it would separate from its parent to embark upon existence as an independent entity, already well educated and mature. A successful budding was much to be praised, the complex process always to be coddled. But such was the skill of Thoughtful-quick-Probing that despite its delicate condition its presence at the upcoming interrogation session had been requested by Command. It was awkward. A maturing bud ought not to be disturbed while its body was embarked on the sensitive process of taking over its respiratory and circulatory functions from the parent. The blood vessels and nerves of parent and offspring would be linked a while longer. Thoughtful-quick-Probing tried to be optimistic. The encounter would be educational for the new individual. The bud responded to the thought by waving its miniature tentacles, exercising evolving limbs already capable of grasping small objects. The four legs moved only slightly within their encasing skin. They would be the last part of the new individual to separate from the parenting body. The room was crowded. Thoughtful-quick-Probing noted the presence of most of the Command staff together with a number of Ashregan, Molitar, and Crigolit officers. Assuming position to one side, it exchanged silent greetings with the others of its own kind while Bent-high-Commanding shifted forward. Immediately all Amplitur thoughts were stilled in deference to the presence of their mentally mute allies. Bent-high-Commanding spoke aloud, struggling to convey its thoughts by means of the crude, wispy vocalizations that were utilized by all other sentient races. “You all know that we have lost Vasarih. We are in danger of losing Aurun. Vasarih was always in question. Aurun we thought we had won. The Aurunians had forgone the deviancy of the Weave in favor of furthering the Purpose. Recent developments have adversely affected their outlook.” The Crigolit set to muttering among themselves. Evidently this last information was new to them. “The Weave has engaged a new ally, an extraordinarily effective fighting species which appears to embody a heretofore unencountered combination of high technology and primitive ferocity. They were first detected in small numbers on Vasarih and it was thought initially they might be native to that world. The presence of two intelligent species on the same world is not without precedent. “Further encounters and new information have revealed that these beings are in fact native to a world of their own. The number participating in Weave actions is still small but increasing. Their modest presence on Vasarih has rapidly made our presence there untenable. There have also been deleterious side effects.”

“Examples?” mused Thoughtful-quick-Probing, admonishing its bud to pay close attention. “The Massood seem to fight better when placed alongside these creatures, who have the ability to make those in their company function more efficiently. It may be that their influence will extend to and include such as the S’van and Hivistahm, though there is as yet no evidence to support such a hypothesis. “The threat they pose is therefore manyfold and complex. Those cadavers which have been dissected have not been especaily informative, though I am told preliminary examinations suggest that their neuromuscular systemology is unusually dense for a mammalian life-form. “As would be anticipated, the Weave has been extremely protective of them, doing its utmost to shield them from our observation. However, that has not prevented us from securing several live specimens. It is to these few that we owe what real information we have.” Bent-high-Commanding deferred to Solution-pale-Overseer, who assumed the former’s speaking position. “The specimens have revealed exceptional physical abilities, but no daunting devices. Their weaponry is standard Weave issue. They bring with them no new superweapons, nothing we have not dealt with previously.”

A Crigolit officer spoke up, not in the least deferential. “Well on our way to winning Vasarih we were, until these creatures arrived. Unorthodox methods of fighting they employ. The Massood we can predict and strategy devise to counteract, but not these. Unreasoning and illogic are their allies. One would think them not sane. Sacrifice themselves they will, and unpredictably.”

Solution-pale-Overseer waited until the Crigolit’s mind had cleared. “We have yet to formulate standards by which to judge these creatures. Each unit appears capable of functioning independently of higher supervision. This makes them extremely difficult to clear from a contested region. “Physically they are remarkably powerful, yet agile. They have mastered Weave weaponry with impressive speed.”

Another Crigolit stepped forward. “Aurun lost now as well. All but secure was that world. Guidance in this matter we must have, Learned Ones. Tactical decisions we must make.”

“They will be forthcoming,” murmured several of the Amplitur simultaneously. “Time now for enlightenment,” said Bent-high-Commanding. A door opened at the back of the room and many eyes of differing focus turned. Two enormous Molitar entered, escorting between them something only slightly shorter but far less massive. The Massood officer halted when his guards did, blinking at the lights and the encircling aliens. She was surprised to see the Amplitur. One of them was about to bud. She wished fervently for the simplest of weapons even though she could not immediately have made use of it. Her arms were bound to her sides by restraining foam. They had provided her with a translator. “Why have you brought me here?

What do you want?” She glared at the half-dozen Amplitur who were silently inspecting her. “I did not think you exposed your precious skins to the possibility of physical harm.”

“You understand our abhorrence of violence,” said Solution-pale-Overseer. “You mean your desire to have others do your fighting for you.”

“We serve as it is most efficacious for us to serve.” Solution-pale-Overseer approached the captive. “Should I desire to do so I would not require the assistance of another life-form to aid in dismembering you.” The Massood tried to shrink away from the dark, brilliant eyes. “You have not been brought here to die,” Bent-high-Commanding assured her in its strange sucking whisper of a voice, “but rather to provide information.” The Massood steadied herself. “We have had some difficulty on Vasarih.”

“You have lost Vasarih,” countered the prisoner, nose twitching violently as her fur bristled. Gray eyes met those of slitted gold. “A not unreasonable assessment of the situation,” the Amplitur admitted. “We have lost much not because of you but because of these peculiar Human creatures. You have found others to do your fighting for you, therefore pause before judging us.”

The officer struggled against her restraints. “Massood fight alongside Humans. We do our own fighting.”

Bent-high-Commanding gestured fluidly with a tentacle. “This cannot be permitted to continue. These Humans are disruptive. We can be patient and contain them, as we have contained others. But we do not like to step backward when we can advance. We would like for you to tell us what you know of them.”

“I am sure you would,” she responded, but with less bravado than previously. Her eyes kept darting from the one addressing her to the other silent, unblinking Amplitur standing silently behind it. Bent-high-Commanding retreated, relinquishing its place to Thoughtful-quick-Probing. At its approach the Massood tried to retreat only to find her path blocked by the Molitar. Thoughtful-quick-Probing sighed inwardly and concentrated, eyes retracting on their stalks. A moment passed. The Massood seemed to slump slightly. Her eyes gazed straight ahead, motionless in their sockets. Nose, ears, lips had ceased their normal twitching. A mind was a void to be filled, Thoughtful-quick-Probing mused. Information inserted, suggestions made. No locks, no barriers. The officer responded to the gentle but irresistible probing of the six as directed by the one. In a sense this was simpler than verbal questioning. No time was wasted dealing with objections or the identifying of subterfuges. No foolish curses or loud objections interrupted the steady flow of information. They inserted the queries and recorded the verbal responses. The Massood’s mind responded as straightforwardly and efficiently as any instrument. When it was done, Thoughtful-quick-Probing eased out. The Massood shivered and started to collapse, to be caught by the Molitar on her right. Thoughtful-quick-Probing discussed the completed procedure with its bud as it backed away. “Take her back, treat her gently,” said Bent-high-Commanding. “She has a good mind which someday may serve the Purpose.”

“There are fewer than we thought,” ventured another of the six. “Which renders their accomplishments that much more impressive,” said Thoughtful-quick-Probing. “This danger cannot be underestimated.” Bent-high-Commanding projected impatience combined with anxiety. “The Weave will take all steps to keep secret the homeworld of such a valuable new ally. This Massood does not know but suspects that they come from a remote region.”

The eldest of the six spoke up. “Acquiring the necessary information will be costly.”

“That is so, but the infection is virulent,” said Bent-high-Commanding. “It must at all costs be contained before it can spread. I await advisement.”

The Crigolit, the Ashregan, and the Molitar stood quietly as the Amplitur communicated among themselves. Tentacles wove abstract patterns in the air, eyestalks coiled protectively inward. In its silence the sight was impressive, even awe-inspiring. Not for what was visible, but for what was not. Not for that which was revealed but for that which was implied. Eyes uncurled to regard the room. Bent-high-Commanding spoke. “This species is new to Weave technology. On a world called Motar the enemy maintains a major training facility. We have minimal surveillance there. This will be increased. Energy must be expended to learn all that can be learned about these beings: whence they arise and how they come to fight alongside the deviant Massood.”

“All setbacks are temporary. No defeats are final.” Thoughtful-quick-Probing offered its opinion. “We will deal with this as we have throughout all history: by redoubling our efforts to eliminate the problem.”

The Amplitur mutually concurred, signaling politely to their allies in the room that the conference had come to an end. The Crigolit and Molitar and Ashregan acknowledged, began to file out discussing what they had seen. Enthusiasm and energy had replaced their initial uncertainties. Some of it was genuine, some thoughtfully implanted by the tentacled quadrupeds they were leaving behind. The Amplitur could not bear to see their allies unhappy. XXII

Will was putting the finishing touches on the cantata. It was better than Arcadia, better than anything he’d ever done. Someday soon when the Weave had taken its misplaced leave of Earth he hoped to hear it performed. Arcadia had brought him recognition. The cantata would secure his reputation. No more teaching, no more tutoring of tone-deaf young women from wealthy Southern families. The commissions would arrive en masse, hopeful and pleading. An opera next, or another symphonic poem. Life was good. Footsteps on the aft deck drew him out into the bright Caribbean sun where Caldaq stood, awaiting permission to enter. T’var followed, hidden by the Massood’s bulk. After admitting them Will went to the secure locker, popped the combination, and withdrew the translator they had given him. “Kind of unusual for you to be out in broad daylight.” He directed his words to the base commander. “I will not waste time,” Caldaq replied somberly as he sat down on the floor, crossing his legs and leaning back against the navigation table. “We think that the Amplitur may have found Earth.”

“Oh.” All thoughts of opera and music fled as Will sat down heavily on the couch opposite the Massood. T’var had struggled up into a chair. “How?”

“We are not sure, but that does not matter. For some time they have been unusually active in the region around Motar. You will recall that that is the world where Human recruits receive their initial training. Now the Amplitur are assembling a considerable force near P’hoh. That is an uncontested outpost world, not worth a Weave attack, not worth defending heavily. The rationale for a gathering of such force there has been the subject of much recent speculation and study. “P’hoh is the nearest Amplitur-visited world to your system.”

“I see,” said Will slowly. “What happens now?”

“The Military Council has been discussing the matter with the General Council. It has been decided to inform your multiple governments. The responsibility for deciding how to proceed must in this instance rest with them. It is a decision the Weave cannot take unto itself.”

Will blinked. “I thought the idea was to keep everything a secret until I had a chance to convince you that my people are better off not knowing about your war, much less participating in it.”

T’var gave a slight sideways twist of his head and beard. “That’s no longer possible, Will Dulac. If the Amplitur come here, the Weave can help defend your world, but not if it is kept ignorant of what is happening. Being familiar with principles of contemporary warfare you know that we probably cannot prevent the Amplitur from landing at least some troops. As elsewhere, any decisive battles here will be fought on the ground.” Will had no reply. “Several thousand of your people have had Weave instruction, are familiar with Weave weaponry and tactics. We are prepared to bring them back from Vasarih, even Aurun, to help train more of your kind. We are confident that your professional military will make the necessary adjustments far more quickly than the novices we have already successfully trained. “The degree of readiness your world can achieve depends on how rapidly it can prepare and how long the Amplitur delay.”

“But they may not even be coming here,” Will argued. “They may not know about Earth.”

“They’ve encountered your kind on Vasarih and Aurun,” said T’var. “The Amplitur wouldn’t commence this kind of buildup near a useless world like P’hoh without”—and the humor was successfully filtered through the translator—“a purpose.”

Caldaq was watching Will closely. “There is an attendant possibility. Everyone up to and including the Council places great value on your personal opinion. If you choose to make a decision on this matter and let it be known …”

“No,” Will stammered as the import of the Massood’s statement struck home. “I can’t make this kind of decision.”

“Then we have no choice but to inform those of your people who do, which is to say, your governments. I know your feelings on this, Will Dulac. You can still make your presence felt. Your governments may feel as you do and choose not to prepare, to elect instead to try and reason with the Amplitur. Perhaps you will be successful where every other species has failed.”

Will’s mind reeled with the possibilities. At last the thief was abroad in the interstellar night. Should mankind talk, or take up arms?

His own instinct was still to talk, though if Caldaq was to be believed, the precedents were less than sanguine. T’var felt similarly. “The Amplitur know of your kind from Aurun and Vasarih. They see you as a serious threat. I don’t think they are coming to talk.”

Will bent forward, supporting his head in his hands. Memory of the soothing, uplifting music he’d been working with earlier had been shunted aside by dread and uncertainty. “All right. I guess something has to be done. God knows I didn’t want this.”

“You were warned.” Unblinking cat eyes regarded him coolly. “Years ago I told you that contact between your kind and the Amplitur was inevitable. We have delayed formal contact here largely because of you and your convictions. I must tell you now that you have yet to convince me that your kind is inherently peaceful. Not that it would matter to the Amplitur, though I cannot seem to make you see that. “At the same time I am not as convinced as are some others of your people’s usefulness as fighters. You have spoken of their unpredictability, and in this you have yet to be proven wrong. I remember clearly the incident involving the stolen weapons. Such a thing would never happen with Massood, or any other Weave peoples. “It may be that your opinion will eventually win out. It is not for me to say. I am only an administrator. But any people facing the likelihood of Amplitur attack deserve to be informed of the possibility so that they may take such steps as they see fit.”

“When?” a disconsolate Will mumbled. “As soon as possible. It was hoped that you could advise us on procedure. We have no precedent for dealing with such an aberrant sociopolitical structure.”

A pained expression crossed Will’s face. “You’re an administrator. I’m just a musician. I don’t know how to deal with politicians. Give me some time to think.”

Caldaq rose fluidly from the floor, automatically bending so as not to bump the ceiling. “Remember that every day, every minute may be bringing Amplitur assault forces nearer your system.”

“And it may not. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Caldaq and T’var left the Human to his thoughts. Back at the base S’van regarded much taller Massood. “It would be useful to convince the Human. You know what will happen. The Amplitur will arrive with sufficient force to impress the natives, but they won’t attack. First they’ll offer the philosophy of the Purpose. If Will Dulac is right about his kind, there’ll be some who will listen. “This cannot be permitted. If the Amplitur are allowed access to Human leaders, those individuals will soon find themselves uncritically espousing the Purpose. It’s happened too often before, on other worlds. Our studies here have shown that Humans rely extensively on their chosen leaders to make decisions for them, often to the exclusion of individual thought.”

“I know, Second.” The Massood commander was uncharacteristically contemplative. “It is only that what is proposed will be a difficult thing to sleep with.”

“I don’t see it that way. We’re doing what is necessary to save lives: S’van, Massood, Hivistahm, and in the long term, Human.”

“I see that. It is only that I would prefer to do so honestly.”

“We’re being truthful in all things,” T’var insisted. “This world would have been drawn into the conflict eventually.”

“I suppose so.”

“And consider this, tall Captain: Suppose the Amplitur had discovered this world before us?

Imagine Humans as allies of the Amplitur, fighting alongside the Molitar.”

“No one fights alongside the Amplitur. They only fight for them. But you are right, my hirsute advisor. The notion is unpleasant.” They parted, each to his station, each to his thoughts. “I’m afraid I don’t have any brilliant suggestions on how to proceed with this. What have you come up with?” Will sat in the chamber with Caldaq and Soliwik, T’var and Z’mam. He’d slept very little the previous night. “Do you want to make a show of force, or set shuttles down in the major capitals, or what?”

“Our studies suggest that your people are easily traumatized,” said Soliwik. “We would prefer that you make the initial contact by way of a personal presentation.” Both ears bent forward intently. “You must understand that the concept of multiple governments on a single planet, among a single species, is still new and alien to us.”

“To alleviate local concerns insofar as that is possible,” Caldaq added, “we will conduct simultaneous presentations for the two most powerful tribes.”

“I heard about the Russian officer on Vasarih,” Will informed them. “He’ll probably do a better job of it than I will. I wish my Uncle Emile was here. He was an alderman, knew how to talk to politicians.”

“You’ve known us longer than any of your kind.” T’var’s tone was soothing, reassuring. “You’ll do just as well.”

Thus committed, Will leaned forward, folding his hands on his lap. The back of his seat obediently flexed to accommodate him. “How am I supposed to persuade people?

They’re not going to believe this no matter what kind of pictures or tapes I take with me.”

“I will travel with you,” Caldaq replied, surprising him. “T’var will come also, together with a Hivistahm recorder and a Wais in the event of translator failure. I think the four of us in person should be sufficiently convincing, don’t you?”

“Not at first,” Will said dryly. “At first they’ll think you’re refugees from a movie. But you’re right: in the end they’re going to have to accept the evidence. “Accepting you won’t mean acceptance of your agenda, however. You’ll see. Once people realize there’s fighting involved, a major conflict, they’ll back off and demand that you leave.” He was feeling more confident. Revelation, he’d decided, did not necessarily mean involvement. Considering how far things had gone, it might even be for the best. “Oh, you might get some countries to mobilize defenses, but no one will rush to send troops offplanet to help fight your war. You’ll see.”

Caldaq was about to reply when he was interrupted by Z’mam. Only the extraordinary circumstances allowed the commander to ignore the breach of protocol. “That will be sufficient for now,” the S’van murmured. Caldaq eyed the squat being but kept silent. “If we could get on television somehow …” Will was murmuring. “No.” Soliwik was insistent. “In order to be convincing this must be done in person. Your primitive visual transmissions allow for considerable electronic trickery.”

“Be prepared for whomever we meet to be terrified of you,” Will warned them. “Humans can be very paranoid.”

“Your point is noted,” she replied. Will sighed deeply. “Can one of your atmospheric shuttles make it as far as Washington?

I’ll show you where that is on a globe.”

“We know where Washington is,” said T’var confidently. “While you’ve been busy with your music we’ve done our own work.” He gestured with short, stubby fingers. “I personally could find my way to the Lincoln Memorial, the Smithsonian, and the White House.”

“You know the city better than I, then,” Will told him. “If I’m wrong about this and you people are right, then it means the end of everything. Art, music, culture, a unified, peaceful world. Everything.”

“You sell yourself short,” T’var retorted. “If anyone should sell themselves short it ought to be the S’van, and we do not.”

Will had to grin at the diminutive alien. “Your kind would joke at the Apocalypse.”

“It is our way.” T’var was apologetic. “As you are well aware.”

Will turned thoughtful. “I don’t think we should set down on the White House lawn. We don’t want to cause a panic. It has to be some place where the government can’t lock us all up and study us at its leisure, either, or manage the news for their own purposes.”

“Where then?” T’var inquired. “I think I know.”

XXIII

“Mr. Benjamin, sir?”

C. R. Benjamin looked up from his desk at the junior editorial assistant. Her face was flushed and her eyes wide. He leaned back in the recliner and put his hands behind his head. “Let me guess. It’s Cambodia again, isn’t it?

What is it this time?”

“It’s not Cambodia, sir.”

“Well, it better be something at least as important. I’m doing the final corrections for the Sunday. I can’t be bothered every time somebody stumbles across a minor crisis they’re convinced is worth an editorial. How the hell do they expect me to put out a paper?

I don’t spend all my time at parties and fund-raisers like some people. Unlike them I actually involve myself in publishing.”

“I know that, sir.” She hesitated. “There’s a flying saucer on the roof.”

He leaned forward, glanced absently at his computer screen. “That’s not bad. Tell whoever’s responsible that they’ve brightened my day. See, I’m smiling.” His lips twitched infinitesimally at the corners. “Tell them also that what’s funny once isn’t funny twice, and if anybody bothers me again this morning they’ll find themselves spending the rest of their career composing obits. I take it you’re not responsible?”

“No, Mr. Benjamin, sir.”

He returned to his work, but only for a moment. “You still here?”

“S-sir?

There really is a flying saucer on the roof. There’s a man in it. He says his name is William Dulac, and that he’s from Louisiana.”

C. R. Benjamin made a face. “Well. That explains everything, doesn’t it?”

“That’s not all, sir. There are four aliens with him. He says there are lots more of them waiting down in the Caribbean.”

“Really?

What would they be doing there now when the season doesn’t start till November?”

A large bald man in his fifties appeared in the doorway, and the assistant gratefully made way for him. Benjamin squinted at the new arrival. “Marcus?

Don’t tell me they suckered you into this, too?”

The city editor had a deep, bemused voice. “It’s for real, C. R. I mean, it’s not huge, but you couldn’t helicopter it onto the roof.”

“What is all this?” Benjamin rose sourly from his recliner. “Can’t I get any work done around here?

If you people want to play jokes, fine, but have the decency and common sense to wait until lunchtime!”

The city editor edged into the room while the editorial assistant uttered a strangled sound and ducked into a corner. Something tall entered, ducking to clear the doorjamb. Its angular form was covered with fine gray fur and a tight-fighting jumpsuit cut off at knees and elbows. Additionally it wore a belt studded with strange devices. Long arms hung toward the floor. A toothy elongated muzzle sniffed constantly at the air. It was followed by something resembling a small tailless dinosaur, differently clad and equipped, which advanced with the stride of a nervous ballet dancer. In succession appeared an extremely hairy, muscular dwarf, an ostrich clad in haute couture, and a man. “Should I call Security?” The city editor hovered near a wall panel. Silently C. R. Benjamin regarded his visitors, ignoring the rising clamor in the hallway beyond. Eventually his gaze settled on the sole Human among them. “Tell me one thing, young man. Do you really have a flying saucer on the roof of my building?”

“It’s only an atmospheric shuttle,” Will told him. “It’s not even saucer-shaped.”

“I see. You know how people are. Always reaching for the easy description. That’s why it’s so hard to find good writers anymore. They all seem to use the same words.” He glanced at his city editor. “No Security, Marcus. But do close the door.”

The city editor nodded, did as he was told despite the crowd that was now pressing tight around the portal. C. R. Benjamin slowly took his seat. “We’re not going to have any trouble here, are we, Mister … what was your name, son?”

“Dulac. William Dulac.”

“If you were in Nawlins right now, what would you likely be having for lunch?”

Will frowned but replied. “Oyster po’boy.”

The editor nodded approvingly. “Then you are from Louisiana. If you’re a fraud, you’re a Southern fraud, and at least they’re more interesting than most.” The noise in the hall was growing louder. “Marcus, tell those people to get back to their desks and that everything in here is under control.” The city editor complied. Gratefully, Will thought. The pretty editorial assistant accompanied him without having to be told. C. R. Benjamin rubbed his hands together theatrically. “I like stories that walk into my office. It’s cheaper than paying correspondents. Now then, if this is some kind of elaborate gag or stunt now’s the time to enlighten me, son. You’re not from the Fox network, are you?

I know our reviewers been giving their new shows hell.”

“We’re not from Fox, sir, and this is no gag. I sincerely wish it was. These people,” and he indicated his silent companions, “really are from other worlds. Each represents a different species. They’re united in an organization they call the Weave.”

Benjamin waved a hand. “I suppose you’ll allow me time and means to confirm what you’re saying?

Right now I’m only operating on what I can see and hear, which is no way for a journalist to act.”

“My friends are amenable to physical examinations,” Will assured him. “They understand your caution because they’ve encountered it before, on other worlds that they’ve visited.”

Benjamin grunted slightly. “Let’s just for the moment proceed on the assumption that you all are what you claim to be. This Weave of yours, it’s kind of like the EEC?”

“Sovereign and independent worlds united for reasons of trade, commerce, and mutual defense,” replied the Wais in accentless English, startling the editor. Will thought that under the circumstances the old man was exercising remarkable self-control. Of course it was unlikely that anyone would become editor in chief of one of the most important newspapers in the United States without it. “So this is the long-anticipated First Contact.” Benjamin thought to turn off his computer screen and activate the recorder on his desk. “With not just one alien race but four. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be four.”

“Sir, there are hundreds,” Will informed him quietly. “Hundreds.” Benjamin considered. “And they decide to make contact here in my office. Excepting you, of course, young man. They obviously contacted you a day or two earlier.”

“I’m afraid not, sir. Actually they’ve been here for a number of years now, observing us, learning, working with some of us in secret.”

“I see. I presume you will in due course enlighten me as to the reason for this secrecy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Benjamin indicated the Wais. “The one with the feathers speaks better English than my sportswriters.”

“Linguistics is a Wais specialty, sir. However, all of these here speak some Earth languages to some extent. I speak some of theirs. And we have these translators.” He held up the device hanging from his neck, touched his earpiece. “Well, if it’s not the first contact it’s still quite a scoop. Biggest of the past thousand years or so. And you’re presenting it to me. I’m very grateful to you, Mr. Dulac. How does a young man from Louisiana come to …?”

“Everything will be explained, sir,” Will said, interrupting. “Right now we have to deal with more important matters. And you’re not quite getting an exclusive here.”

“Oh. New York Times?”

“No, sir. The other major tribe.”

“Tribe?” Benjamin frowned. “Izvestia, sir.”

“I see. Well, I don’t think that’s going to cut into my circulation much. I’m sure you have reasons for proceeding as you are, which you no doubt will disclose in due course.”

“Yes, sir. We’re here because there’s information that needs to be disseminated, and fast. If it was up to me it would stay a secret, but that’s no longer possible.”

“Very well. My organization will be more than happy to assist. But if I may inquire, why here, and why in this manner?

It’s not what I would have envisioned.”

“We need to get the word out uncensored as well as quickly, sir, devoid of possible government spin.”

“Then you chose well, son. If this is all for real you won’t have to twist my arm to clear tomorrow morning’s front page for you. Will tomorrow morning be all right for your purposes?

That’ll give us some time to work up articles, get some expert opinions, and take some pictures. You don’t mind pictures?”

“Not at all,” said the Wais. “We will be accommodating. It serves our needs,” added Caldaq in rougher but still comprehensible English. “Excellent. Of course, if this turns out to be some kind of elaborate prank, I’m going to make everyone involved wish they’d never been born.”

“I wish it was just a prank, sir,” said Will somberly. “The reason for our presence …” Caldaq said to Will. “Not yet. He needs reassurance first.”

“Excuse me?” Benjamin’s gaze shifted from alien to man. “Sorry,” said Will, aware he’d been speaking in Massood. “You spoke of hundreds of intelligent species. That’s a pretty daunting revelation, son.”

“What’s even more daunting is the fact that not all of them may be friendly.”

At that Benjamin’s gaze grew narrow. Believing it would have more impact, Will allowed the Wais to explain the history of the Weave-Amplitur conflict, concluding with a summation of the current situation. When the ornithorp had finished, the editor sat silently in his recliner, trying to absorb the import of what he’d heard. Every light on his desk console was flashing for attention. Irritably he turned them off. “We don’t have to get involved,” Will said carefully into the silence. “It’s not our fight. We’re not members of this Weave.”

“That’s true.” Benjamin noted the expectant stares of the four aliens. He could not read any of their faces, knew nothing of their expressions, but there was no mistaking the intensity of their gazes. “The bird-thing said these Amplitur, the creatures who lead the opposition, want every other kind of creature to believe exactly as they do. The people in this Weave feel otherwise. They’ve quietly recruited some Humans to help in the fight and that’s why the Amplitur are coming here. To keep any more of our people from joining up.”

“Something like that,” Will admitted. “The question is, are they coming to fight or are they coming to talk?

Or are they even coming this way at all?”

“No, son, those aren’t the questions. The question is can we afford to sit around on our duffs and wait to find out without making any preparations?

Now don’t get me wrong: I’m as peace-loving a man as you’d ever want to meet. If you’ve ever read my paper you know I don’t even approve of these little so-called ‘surgical strikes’ where we go in and clean out a drug lord or two. “On the other hand, I don’t much like the sound of these Amplitur, and I’m not sure I want them having anything to say about the way my grandkids believe when they grow up.”

“You must join with us.” Not trusting his command of the language, Caldaq relied on his translator. “If only to protect yourselves.”

C. R. Benjamin’s gaze shifted shrewdly back and forth between Will Dulac and the alien commander. “Do I detect a slight divergence of opinion here?

No matter. Whatever final decisions are made I think it behooves us to at least look to our own protection. You see anything wrong with that, Mr. Dulac?”

Suddenly Will felt that all the years of work with the Massood and their allies meant little. That in a couple of moments his importance to them had been superseded by the old man behind the big desk. It had taken place so quickly that realization of the fact was only now beginning to set in. “It is not required.”

A startled Will turned on Caldaq. “Wait a minute. You said that …”

“What we said,” replied Caldaq, speaking slowly to insure that his translator would have ample time to choose the best words, “was that the Amplitur may be coming this way and that given that possibility your world should be prepared to defend itself. We did not say that you would have to participate in that defense. It was recommended, not demanded. If necessary, the Weave alone will see to the defense of your world.”

“We’re not members of your organization,” said Benjamin. “Why should you stick your necks out for us?

Those of you who have necks.”

“For years now several thousand of your people have been fighting on our behalf. Not a great number, but not an insignificant one, either. Some have died in Weave service, if not for Weave ends. It would not be civilized to abandon their home-world to the Amplitur.”

“That’s very altruistic of you.”

“It is not in any way altruistic.” Caldaq had to wait on the translation. “We would do this because some of your kind have rendered us service and more may do so in the future. And because we see danger in allowing the Amplitur to have their way here.”

“What if this Cajun’s right?” The editor pointed at Will. “Suppose when the people hear about your conflict they don’t want any part of it?

Suppose they just want you and your friends to take off and leave them alone?”

“What is your opinion?” The Hivistahm recorder spoke for the first time. “What do you think the majority of your population will do?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we hire pollsters. And I can only speak for this country, not any others. What do you think these Amplitur will do if they come here?”

“First they will try and talk,” Caldaq told him. “Then they will attempt to have close contact with your leaders, in order to adjust their minds. If they are prevented from doing these things, they will try to control you by force. Finally, if they consider you more dangerous than potentially useful, they do their best to exterminate you.”

“The bird-thing said that in these cases most fighting takes place on the ground, and that it’s virtually impossible to prevent forces from being landed.”

“That is correct,” said the Wais. “Captain Commander Caldaq can provide a more thorough explication. I am a translator. I have little knowledge of military matters.” The Wais shuddered visibly. “How would you defend us?” Benjamin asked. “We would bring back the several thousand of your kind who have learned how to make use of Weave technology,” Caldaq explained. “The remainder of the defense force would be composed of Massood, with appropriate support from the rest of the Weave. The Amplitur forces will not land in your urbanized areas, whose populations they will wish to preserve intact. They will fight to take control of your defense installations, power facilities, and food supplies to compel capitulation.”

“It’s your individuality they wish to destroy, not your lives or prosperity,” T’var added. “Whenever possible they will contest resistance in open country or small towns, until they have defeated all forces sent against them.”

“Seems very civilized,” said Benjamin. “There, you see!” exclaimed Will excitedly. “So who’s to say we can’t talk them into leaving us alone?”

C. R. Benjamin scratched his forehead. “If any of what I’ve been hearing is true, they don’t seem much on leaving anyone alone.”

“Precisely.” Caldaq took a step forward, unable to remain in one place any longer. A Massood with less self-control would long since have been pacing the room. “You are for their Purpose or against it.”

“The Amplitur have their own art, their own aesthetics,” Will found himself arguing. “Why can’t we try sharing with them instead of fighting them?”

“But it’s all directed toward honoring this Purpose of theirs, right?” Benjamin asked. “Seems pretty restrictive to me. I like editors and writers who disagree with me. Keeps things lively. I don’t know that I’d care for a homogenized world, however peaceful.”

“We don’t know that they’d restrict diversity,” Will insisted. “For years these people have been telling me that our society’s unique among the inhabited worlds. If we can convince the Amplitur of that, I think there’s a good chance they’ll leave us alone.”

“Maybe. Maybe. But I don’t see how we can ask a bunch of folks from somewhere far away who don’t even know us to do our fighting for us … assuming there’s any fighting to be done,” he added to forestall Will’s protest. “In any event, that’s not a decision to be made by me, or you, or anyone in this room.”

“You’ve heard our history. How do you intend to proceed?” asked T’var. “I’ll see that you’re given a forum. That’s my job.” Leaning forward, he activated an intercom on his desk. An agitated voice quickly responded. Will could overhear other voices talking in the background. “Mr. Benjamin, are you all right?”

“Calm down, Mattie. Everything’s under control.”

“What are those …?”

“Questions later. We’ve got a paper to get out. Tell Elena I want the front page wiped.”

“Mr. Benjamin, the whole front …?”

“All of it, right up to the damn masthead. And I want plenty of space inside. No, forget that, leave it as set. We’re going to do a special insert. Gives us more flexibility. When you’re through ring Prestwick at CBS: I owe him one. After that get me the president’s press secretary. Then see if you can put me through to General Maxwell over at the Pentagon.” He grinned up at his visitors. “Joint Chiefs of Staff. We’ll see if we can’t pull a quick session together, either here or there. They don’t usually let visitors sit in on their meetings, but I think in your case they’ll make an exception.” He redirected his voice to the intercom. “Tell Maxwell it’s C. R. at the Post, and call my wife and tell her I’ll be working late tonight.”

“Yes sir, but …”

“That’s all for now, Mattie. More later.” He clicked off, leaned back in his chair, and folded his hands across his belly. “We have a few minutes. Maybe we’d better go over what you’re going to say to the power brokers. “You know how to talk to these visitors, Mr. Dulac, but I know how to talk politics. Different languages. We don’t want anybody thinking yes when somebody means no.”

“Do you think they will listen to us?” Will asked him, suddenly tired. “Do you think they’ll believe any of it?”

“They will when the biologists I’m going to call in a minute from now reveal the results of their examinations. You’ve seen too many old movies from the forties and fifties. Watch how closely they pay attention after you tell them that an identical encounter is taking place in the Kremlin.”

Despite the old man’s confidence Will wasn’t sure what to expect. Discord certainly, then debate, resistance. There was all that and much more. Humanity had to accept not only first contact with an intelligent alien race, but with hundreds. Immediately thereafter man was confronted with the intimidating revelation that he was about to be plunged headlong into a millennia-long conflict the existence of which he had evolved in ignorance of. As argument raged across the face of the planet as to how mankind should react, hundreds of Weave-trained Humans began returning from Vasarih and Aurun. They were not politicians, or professional soldiers, but ordinary souls recruited off the streets of Central America. They scattered to their countries of origin, where each had his or her moment in front of the camera. Expressions of dissatisfaction were few. Among the exuberant majority the rationale for their contentment varied considerably. Or as a cane cutter from Trinidad put it, “It not like shooting other people, mon. Dee Crigolit dey ugly things. So are dee Molitar and dee Acaria. Dee Ashregan got funny faces and dee all been brainwashed. That what dee Amplitur do to you if deh get you. Wash out your brain till dere nothing left except dere crazy Purpose. And dee pay, she’s damn sight better dan for cutting cane.”

Will and others of like mind looked on helplessly as public opinion shifted with astonishing speed from paranoia to combat fever and the world began to mobilize to meet the perceived threat. Weave specialists patiently explained why they could not predict when and where the enemy would arrive, and why they could not prevent it from landing troops. They might set down outside Manhattan or in the heart of Africa. There was no way of telling. At least Earth would not suffer the fate of those primitive worlds which had been forced to face bombardment from orbit. Within months several dozen Weave warships had taken up stations around the blue planet. The Amplitur would be forced to attack Earth in the same fashion as they might assault any developed Weave world: by winking into normal space, offloading troops as fast as possible, and fleeing back to the safety of Underspace before their ships could be targeted and destroyed. They would also have to deal unprepared with Earth’s unique and confusing geology. It developed that because of intense fighting elsewhere, Massood troops could be spared only to assist in training the natives and not for actual combat. But the Hivistahm and Yula made certain that Weave weaponry in abundance was made available to the multiple Human armies. Huge transports materialized in orbit to offload vast quantities of material and supplies. For the first time in mankind’s acrimonious history, all the armies of the Earth were united against a common foe. Together with their intent, fast-learning Human counterparts, Massood professionals devised multiple strategies designed to contest any enemy landing. Coordination of worldwide defenses proceeded at a most satisfactory pace. Will was in the expanded communications and study center at the base, watching as Weave technicians simultaneously monitored dozens of domestic television broadcasts. They recorded everything for in-depth offworld dissection, from the sublime to the absurd. “The Amplitur will be at a considerable disadvantage when they arrive.” Caldaq was leaning against a rail, observing the busy technicians below. “The distance they have to travel is extreme, and they can know but little of your world’s peculiarities.”

“We can’t count on that,” Will pointed out. “That is true. But it is one thing to hear that a world’s land-mass has disintegrated into many sections, another to cope with the tactical problems it poses. The Amplitur will be forced to learn as they fight.” He turned from the rail. “Friend Will, I read disappointment in your expression.”

“I thought there’d be more debate. I thought more people would be reluctant to make preparations for war.” He laughed bitterly. “I thought that the Soviets and Americans would at least hesitate before trusting each other. The two armed forces practically fell into one another’s arms. After so many years of spying on each other they knew exactly how best to integrate their units.” He looked up at Caldaq. “I heard that the president was miffed over how you deployed your ships.”

“He was not alone,” Caldaq admitted. “Many of your tribal chiefs were upset that we did not first discuss the matter with them. At the time we did not realize it was a question of social propriety, thinking it purely a military matter. Command did not wish to waste time.” He hesitated. “Often I find myself believing that your people need to be protected against themselves. “The Amplitur will find their work here difficult. Consider the business of trying to secure planetary power sources. Normally a landing force will seek out and attempt to take control of the few important fusion facilities. But you have no such centralized power sources. Your energy grid is as fragmented as your society. Power is derived from a few nuclear plants and a multitude of small, inefficient facilities that burn fossil fuels.” His lips curled behind the twitching black nose. “Your society is founded upon confusion. If an artist were to propose it, it would not be believed. Imagine a species achieving your level of technology and still burning irreplaceable hydrocarbon deposits simply to generate energy!

The illogic of it numbs the mind. Fortunately it will confuse the Amplitur as well. I am told there is not a single fusion plant on the entire planet.”

“We’ve had trouble cracking the problem.” Will was apologetic without knowing why. “Astonishing. Had you matured normally you would of course have acquired the technique long ago. Instead you have dissipated your energies in endless petty tribal quarrels. “That may now turn to your advantage. The Amplitur will find you as puzzling as did we when first we began to study your society. I would very much like to be in their command center when they burst out of Underspace preparatory to landing troops only to find that your population is scattered across six land-masses instead of the familiar one. There is also the matter of your extreme, unpredictable weather. “No, they are going to have a very difficult time. Which is not to say,” he added darkly, “that their failure is guaranteed. Fighting may continue for some time. But have no fear. The Weave stands beside you, even as some of your people have stood by the Weave.”

For gold, Will thought. Most of the recruits who’d returned from Vasarih and Aurun could care less about the Weave, their rarefied pronouncements on television notwithstanding. He knew it would be useless to point that out. People girding for possible battle would always prefer an encouraging fiction to an uncomfortable truth. “So you have no way of knowing when they’re likely to arrive here?”

“Not at your world, no. A ship traveling through Underspace generates an immensely diffuse distortion wave around itself. In interstellar space this is not detectable. But when it encounters something as dense as a solar magnetosphere the disruption can be detected. It is akin to an object traveling underwater. In deep water it is not noticeable, but as the water becomes shallower waves may be produced on the surface. “Many vessels entering your sun’s magnetosphere will produce considerable distortion. With luck we may have one or two weeks’ notice of the enemy’s arrival.”

“A couple of weeks,” Will murmured. “That’s not much time to get used to an idea.”

“The majority of your species appears to be coping with the possibility quite well.”

Will shrugged. “I suppose. A lot of the world’s been waiting quite a while for the bug-eyed blood-sucking monsters from space to show up.”

Caldaq’s puzzlement was evident. “The Amplitur are not bug-eyed. Nor do they suck blood. If one discounts the fact that they are invertebrates they are physically quite attractive. It is their philosophy that is repugnant.” He turned thoughtful. “But I believe I understand the reference. It is as if your entire species has been waiting thousands of years for a conflict of this nature. I have heard individuals speak of preparing to fight the armies of the ‘Devil.’”

Will shrugged. “People employ whatever metaphors reassure them. When they think they’re going to war, they need something to hate.”

“But we of the Weave do not hate the Amplitur. Hate is an unnecessarily excessive emotion. Disagree yes, envy yes, dislike surely, but not hate. Hate wastes protein. Even primitive predators kill without hating their prey. Hate is … immature.”

“What did you expect from us?

We’re not a mature species. Your own specialists have pointed that out repeatedly. Speaking of which, I’ve a question for you. “It looks like that in spite of everything I and those who think like me can do, we may end up fighting for the Weave’s cause. We’re receiving Weave protection and assistance. But no one’s discussed our actually joining the Weave yet.” He eyed the tall Massood sharply. “Why is that, Caldaq?”

“The General Council believes,” the commander replied smoothly, “that the task at hand is to prevent your world from falling under the sway of the enemy. Matters of social integration must wait until that is assured.”

“I suppose so,” Will agreed. But the evasiveness of his friend’s reply troubled him. He peered over the railing. Hivistahm and O’o’yan bustled between stations, impacting on clusters of S’van. Lepar delivered messages or scoured one corner of the expansive chamber. A single Wais swept grandly through an exit, trailing feathers and perfume. “Do you think they’ll attack here?

After all, this is still the center of Weave operations on Earth.”

“I think we are reasonably safe here. They must first secure a landhold before they can think of fighting on the water, and your world generates sufficient electronic background noise to make things difficult for their detectors. But I cannot promise that they will overlook this place. Their instrumentation is very good. I wish I could convince you to accept a sidearm.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I told a woman on Vasarih: I’m not into guns. I don’t like guns. Plenty of other Humans feel the same way, despite what you’ve been seeing on the national broadcasts these past months. Driving off an invasion is one thing, but once that’s over and done with you’ll see how fast they choose to put their weapons aside. People are like that after every war. They throw themselves mindlessly and wholeheartedly into battle, only to experience mass revulsion near the end. It wasn’t always like that, but we’ve matured a lot during the last half century. “If you think you’re going to get a united planetary government to permanently mobilize against the Amplitur on the Weave’s behalf then I think you’re in for an unpleasant shock.”

“You are so certain of your species, Will Dulac. Have you forgotten that not long ago you yourself used a gun, and against your own kind?

You killed.”

Will shivered slightly at the memory. “I did it to save the lives of my friends. I’d do it to protect my family, if I had any family. That’s a helluva lot different from taking up arms against someone whose philosophy you happen to disagree with.”

“The Amplitur Purpose is more dangerous to you than any weapon.”

Will turned toward the doorway. “Let’s not get started on that again. I’m not carrying a sidearm, and that’s final!”

Caldaq did not smile. Instead, his upper lip rippled rhythmically. “No need to get violent about it.”

“I’m not getting violent.” He spoke sardonically to his friend. “Sometimes I think you people are just as tricky as the S’van. You just hide it better.”

“No one is as tricky as a S’van,” Caldaq corrected him. “I was merely pointing out the obvious.”

“Yelling because you’re upset about something and picking up a gun with the deliberate intention of shooting another intelligent being can’t be equated. They’re not the same thing.”

“Aren’t they?”

“I don’t want to argue about it.”

“Naturally not. Since we first met you have made noble claims for your species, but I fear they reflect more of your personal philosophy than Human reality.”

“We’ll see.” The doors parted to allow Will egress. “When this is all over, maybe even before it’s over, we’ll see.”

XXIV

Weave ships monitoring the solar magnetosphere recorded the approach of the Amplitur fleet a little more than two weeks in advance of its projected arrival in Earth orbit. Despite the extensive preparations mankind had made, the announcement was still greeted with shock around the world. The Weave warships in orbit went on heightened alert. As for the natives, there was little they could do except continue their preparations, wait, and watch the sky. When the enemy armada finally materialized above the central Atlantic it was to disgorge a fusillade of troop shuttles surfaceward, not to talk. There followed a frantic, amazingly brief exchange of projectiles and high-energy-beam weapons at the outer fringe of the ionosphere which reminded farmers in the Azores, who were directly below, of the occasional rare wintertime visit of the aurora borealis. The massive mutual discharge of energy produced very little destruction. One of the defending warships was damaged. One of the attacking vessels was totally destroyed. Ground-based forces obliterated several of the rapidly descending shuttles, overwhelming their defensive capabilities. The rest achieved touchdown, landing on four of the six populated continents. From then on victory or defeat was a matter of hourly reports. Despite his newly bestowed official appointment as a high-ranking liaison-at-large, Will felt eerily divorced from the conflict. There was little for him to do except answer the questions of the occasional reporter visiting the base looking for an angle. Will knew little of combat, communications, or international relations, and right then the services of a composer were not much in demand. He took to wandering aimlessly through the greatly enlarged base, whose functions had in many ways been superseded by outposts in Washington, Moscow, Brussels, Tokyo, Rio, Nairobi, and Sydney as Humanity sought to coordinate the defense of its world. International communications were regularly disrupted by the invading forces. The battle quickly became fragmented as central control was lost. This did not quite result in the demoralizing disruption the Amplitur had anticipated. The Crigolit unifer slowed her floater and waited for the rest of her unit to catch up. One by one they cut their drives to study the terrain ahead. Individual scanners showed nothing but sandy yellowish hills devoid of all but rudimentary vegetation. It was an unpleasant place for a fight but an important one, for not far ahead lay an important hydroelectric installation. This entire miserable planet was an impossible place to fight, she reflected. No landmass as she knew it, no unified power grid, and dozens of tribes to contend with instead of a central government that the Amplitur could bloodlessly take control of. Why, you couldn’t even speak properly to the enemy, who spoke hundreds of languages. It was civilization as asylum. Other units were supposed to be swinging down from the north to prevent native reinforcements from arriving. Of course, the installation could have been destroyed by long-range fire, but then it would someday have to be replaced. Much more practical to capture it intact. They had encountered no opposition since leaving the base. Hopefully any local defenders had been shipped north to contend with the descending force. Local farmers hid when the unit shot past, except for the grubs who threw rocks and sticks which invariably missed their intended targets. The Amplitur would change that, the unifer knew. The assault would have been easier from the air, she reflected, but native technology included a bewildering and surprisingly effective plethora of surface-to-air projectiles. In fact, the immense store of native as opposed to imported Weave military weaponry had been a disconcerting surprise. As yet no one had been able to supply a rationale for the existence of so many native weapons. The planet showed no signs of conflict. It was almost as if the natives found something aesthetically appealing in the design and construction of mass weapons of destruction, which were far more sophisticated and deadly than their overall level of technology seemed capable of producing. Their architecture was primitive, as were their agriculture and art. Only in the manufacture of weapons did they excel. While this aberration was intriguing, it posed unexpected problems for those charged with local pacification. She pushed the scanner up on her head, to the base of her antennae. Hardly surprising that their tactics should be as unconventional as their civilization. One never knew what they might try next. A unit in the field had to be prepared for anything. She was just issuing the order to advance when the Tuaregs erupted from their self-contained foxholes to obliterate ninety percent of the invaders. The rest were caught as they attempted to retreat. Distribution of the recently developed air-conditioned foxholes by a Japanese-American consortium had begun only a few weeks earlier. They were impervious to enemy scanners and completely portable. The Tuaregs collapsed them and radioed for pickup while floaters exploded on the surrounding sands and immolated Crigolit popped and crackled. A couple of the robed fighters scavenged among the alien corpses, much as their ancestors had done a thousand years earlier in the wake of ambushed caravans. It was time to return to base, the subjoiner decided, no matter what the damned command group said. Her troops could not advance through soggy ground that threatened to swallow them in their field armor. They needed aerial transport. The trees around her were so close together and the vegetation so dense that floaters could not maneuver through it. Perhaps the natives could walk on mud, but her fighters could not. They had been told that this would be an excellent location for a forward base from which to infiltrate nearby urban concentrations, one that could easily be concealed from the air and expanded at leisure. Resistance in the region was spotty and poorly organized. With good reason, the subjoiner thought. No one voluntarily makes their home in hell. Their landing had gone unopposed. They had encountered none of the screaming, madly gyrating native aircraft that had so devastated other landing parties, nor any of the heavily armored ground vehicles with their projectile weapons and big guns. Who could have imagined that a world not part of the Weave or the Purpose would wait groaning beneath the weight of unused war material?

It defied reason as well as experience. Behind the scout team, engineers were already digging in, or trying to. Solid ground was a scarce commodity hereabouts. But with time they would overcome the initial difficulties, providing a base from which attacks could be launched on the major urban centers to the east. Then control of at least one portion of this world’s shattered landmass would be assured. A call sounded from up ahead. The subjoiner strode forward, made her way slowly and cautiously between the huge trees and their buttressing roots. A procession of fallen forest giants blocked the way. It would be simpler to go around than take the time and energy to cut a path, she decided. Flipping her visor back down she examined the surrounding jungle, eyescanners searching for any large infrared splotches that might signify the presence of a sniper or enemy scout. Something made a wet splatting noise against the side of the subjoiner’s armor. She looked down to see liquid spreading where a pellet of some kind had burst. As she drew her sidearm her squad hunkered down in the muck. A simple gesture of defiance in the absence of effective opposition, she decided. Common enough among disorganized primitives. Suddenly she dropped her weapon and began dancing on all four legs, screeching madly and slapping at her side. The pale liquid was dissolving her body armor, hissing its way through the flexible shielding. She fought to free herself before it ate completely through. Instead of rendering assistance, her subordinate joined the rest of the squad in racing for the nearest armored transport. Once inside and safe from anything up to and including a tactical nuclear strike, she made her way grimly to the operations center of the huge vehicle. “How many of them are there?” she asked the technician in charge. “We cannot say. This region is alive with life, much of it Human-sized. The readout is confusing. Certainly there are some out there. I …” She stopped, began to wheeze loudly. The subordinate turned nervously. “What is it, what’s going on?”

“Air’s failing!” yelled another tech. “Right on top of us they are, plugging the ventilation system.”

This is ridiculous, the subordinate thought wildly. This one transport boasted enough weaponry to level a small city. But there was no small city to level outside, no concentrations of enemy troops or vehicles, no low-flying aircraft. Only a few natives. Hisses of frustration filled Operations as Ordnance let loose with a variety of weapons. None of which were of much use when those responsible for aiming them couldn’t breathe. The recycling system kept the air inside the transport clean and pure in the presence of radiation, biologic agents, or toxic gas, but the external vents had to be clear. Coughing and choking, she tried to give orders. “Use the armatures!” Those mechanical limbs were designed to clear just such blockages, but something had jammed them as well. The subordinate realized they had no choice but to go outside to clear the obstructions. As hatches popped and the Crigolit began to emerge, the Bantu fighters were waiting for them. The Ashregan officer in charge of the expedition hated fighting in the mountains as fervently as did his troops. It was cold, and while one’s body armor maintained a respectable internal temperature the terrain and climate combined to make the going difficult. Some of the canyons where they were operating were narrow and winding enough to intimidate the most experienced floater pilot. The leader buzzed for attention as he activated his rapid-fire cannon. “Only a few of them,” he reported as he checked his visor scan. “Off to the right twenty degrees.”

“We’d better have a look.” The officer angled his floater and his squad followed. There were four of the natives, living in what had to be a temporary abode: a small domed structure fashioned of some thin, light material. Stakes secured it to the ground in the middle of the meadow. Though only one native was visible, the scanners had no trouble sensing the others through the thin fabric walls. As soon as the floaters swung into view, the juvenile made a noise and ducked inside. The officer was the only one equipped with a translator programmed to interpret the local language. As his squad set down near the shelter, he activated the unit and waited for the natives to emerge. There were two adults and two juveniles. They huddled together as the officer and two flankers cautiously approached. The rest of his squad waited on their floaters, nervously scanning the surrounding terrain. The adults were taller than Ashregan or Crigolit. With the exception of the Molitar they were taller than any of the civilized races. Their size did not intimidate the officer. They were not armed. The adult male had his arm protectively around the female. “What is it?” the native asked uneasily. “What do you want with us?”

“We know that an important military installation is located in this vicinity,” the officer declared through his translator, “deep within one of these mountains. Scattering devices have prevented us from pinpointing it.” The juvenile male favored the Ashregan with a succession of contorted expressions. The officer ignored him. “Do you know where this facility is?”

“I’m just a fireman,” the native replied. “We’re just up here camping out. I had three days’ vacation coming. You gotta have some time off, time to get away from things. Especially with the invasion.” He looked past the officer, at the hovering floaters. “Where’d you guys come from?

There aren’t supposed to be any of you around here.”

“Why don’t you go back where you came from?” the female said before her mate could silence her. “Why don’t you leave us alone?”

The officer decided that this was neither the time nor the place to explain the beauty and nature of the Purpose to her. When the Amplitur arrived they would do it more efficiently. Dissemination of the Purpose was not his assignment. He told them as much, hoping they might understand. They were intelligent, even if their society was hopelessly primitive. But not their military organizations, he reminded himself. This world was a study in bewildering contrasts. “We don’t know what you’re talking about,” the man muttered. “I’m just a fireman. We’re just camping out.”

The officer raised his sidearm and aimed it at the juvenile female, who clung to her mother’s leg. “If you do not tell me what you know of this installation’s location I will kill your youngest offspring.” The Amplitur would have disapproved, he knew, but there were no Amplitur in this forlorn place; only him and his troops. The adult female gasped and clasped both arms around the juvenile, who began to make loud wailing sounds while generating moisture from her eyes. Native fear reaction, the officer surmised. The adult male took a step forward, halted when the two flankers pointed their weapons at him. “Listen to me. This won’t gain you anything. Do you know what a fireman does?

When things burn I put them out. I’m not a military man, I’m not even in the Reserves. I don’t know anything.”

“You are lying. All of you people are familiar with your local military facilities. Your entire society has organized for this conflict.”

“Not us,” the native insisted. “Is there any fighting in this area?

Do you see any guns?

You can check our tent if you want.”

“We are interested in information, not weapons.” The officer gestured and one of his flankers went to check the shelter. He was back in a minute. “No weapons or communications devices, sir.”

The officer indicated acknowledgment, again directed his attention to the natives. “I see that you are afoot. That tells me that you live in the immediate area. Difficult to believe therefore that you would be unaware of a major military installation.”

“Why?

The army doesn’t publicize the location of its bases. Why the hell should I know anything about it?”

The officer fired once, scorching a black line on the ground close to the feet of the juvenile female. The older one screamed, looked frantically at her mate. “Tell them!

Go on, Jeff, tell them. They’ll find out anyway, sooner or later. It’s not our job to shield the installation. They’re the ones with the weapons. Let them do the fighting.”

“I can’t do that, Trace.” The man was obviously wrestling with conflicting emotions. The officer aimed the muzzle of his gun at the juvenile female’s forehead, whereupon the adult female began remonstrating with her mate even more violently. The man hesitated, dropping his head along with his voice. “It’s in the south flank of Mt. Harrison.” His eyes came up, burning. “It won’t do you any good. It’s heavily defended. There are Massood in there, too. And they put in some new stuff a few weeks ago that you bastards don’t know anything about.”

“Mt. Harrison,” the officer murmured, consulting the topographic schematic on his visor. “Which one is that?” He gestured with the sidearm. “Quickly.”

The man gestured defiantly. “About a mile west of here this canyon forks. Take the north branch and follow it to its end. From there you can see several peaks. Harrison is the highest.”

The officer considered shooting them all, but his training in the Purpose decided him against it. These four presented no threat. Without communications devices they could not warn their fellows, and from what the officer knew of the region it would take them days to walk to the nearest facilities. By that time heavy weapons would have targeted the enemy installation and extirpated it. They reached the side canyon rapidly and turned north. The cliffs were steep but not vertical, so the floaters were able to make good progress. Scanners reported only bare rock ahead. They had been fortunate to encounter the isolated family group. The officer could empathize with their desire to escape the pressures of combat. Under identical circumstances and without the Purpose at stake he might have acted similarly. The two juveniles would make fine converts someday, peaceable and understanding. Unlike their barbaric, unenlightened parents. Wheeling smoothly around the canyon’s curves, they never saw the fine net that blocked their way. It was fashioned of new ultraweb mesh, invisible to their visor scanners. At the speed they were traveling, the last of them could barely slow in time to avoid smashing into his fellows. Not that it mattered, once the massive weights at the corners of the net were sent tumbling into the canyon. Entangled floater pilots fought helplessly within the mesh, struggling to find a way out. Floater engines stalled and flared. Weapons burned inadequate holes in the wispy material as net, floaters, and Ashregan plunged toward the bottom of the canyon nearly a thousand feet below. Firing wildly, one weapons operator struck a colleague’s entangled vehicle. It exploded, destroying two more. By the time the mass of screaming soldiers and machines struck canyon bottom all were enveloped in flame. Emerging from concealment, Humans strode to the edge to stare at the still burning bodies and vehicles far below. Those on the western ramparts waved to comrades opposite, men and women on both sides of the abyss acknowledging the success of the ambush. Atop the eastern cliffs one man pushed up his cap and tucked his red-and-black flannel shirt back into his pants as he addressed a tiny communicator. “Lukas, tell Denver we got another bunch.” Far below something boomed dully. “No survivors. No, I don’t think they had time to get a warning off.” Camouflaged microdishes relayed his words through the mountains, shielded from orbiting scanners. “One more thing. Get ahold of the Sorrell family back on Clover Ridge and see if you can talk ’em into spending some more time camping. They’re pretty good at rustling up business.”

XXV

Mature-absent-Leg did not mind the name. The limb had been lost in a juvenile accident, and it was a matter of confidence that upon regeneration as an adult the need for a change of identification was not felt. Besides, supreme Amplitur bioengineering had assured that the regenerated leg was indistinguishable from the original three. Repeat-close-Looker stood nearby, contemplating the oneway security screen which separated them from the small chamber beyond even as last-minute checkouts were run on the activated recording equipment. Both Amplitur worked hard at controlling their thoughts, but it was impossible to mute their anticipation completely. After all, this was to be their first opportunity to confront one of the natives in person. Some apprehension had been expressed by members of Mature-absent-Leg’s staff at the Commander’s decision to conduct the interview with only a single companion for support. Their concerns had been dealt with. They were safe now in Underspace and it was a task which could not elegantly be delegated. Mature-absent-Leg awaited the forthcoming confrontation eagerly. Repeat-close-Looker projected similar feelings. Two Molitar entered the room with the specimen between them. It was a male, clad in the laundered but torn uniform of one of the many native armies. Observing that it walked with a pronounced limp, Mature-absent-Leg’s sympathy was aroused. The native did not appear intimidated by its surroundings or its massive escort. Repeat-close-Looker thought at the Molitar, who bowed slightly and left the room. The native evinced some confusion at their departure. Its puzzlement grew when a chair emerged from the floor near its feet together with a stand which held a basin of clear, cold water and samples of captured native food. “Please sit down,” said Mature-absent-Leg. A translator picked up the whispery voice and conveyed it to the room by means of concealed speakers. The native’s head jerked around. He pivoted slowly as he searched the room, his gaze finally coming to rest on the mildly reflective security screen that separated him from his interrogators. “Why should I?”

A typically brusque and not unexpected native response, Mature-absent-Leg reflected. “Because there is no reason for you to stand. You must be tired.”

“I’m not tired,” the native snapped. When no response was forthcoming he sat down, clearly relieved to have the pressure off his damaged leg. “I am going to let you see us now. Do not be shocked.” Mature-absent-Leg hazed a thought, in response to which Repeat-close-Looker deopaqued the screen. The native’s reaction to the appearance of the Amplitur was guarded but calm. “Do you know what we are?” the Commander asked, forming the sounds with its horny lips and soft interior mouthparts. As it nodded affirmatively the native’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps an instinctive defense posture, Mature-absent-Leg thought. “You’re Amplitur. Our friends have shown us pictures.”

“Along with much additional inaccurate information.” Mature-absent-Leg hoped that the translation was as reassuring and friendly as it had been programmed to be. “You should feel honored. You are the first of your kind to meet us personally.”

“For real?

Well then, have a look.” The native spread his arms and leaned back into the chair. “We are already acquainted with your physiology, both external and internal.”

“You are not frightened?” Repeat-close-Looker inquired. “No, I’m not frightened.” The native straightened slightly and both Amplitur could sense that it was lying. That, too, was expected. It was akin to the denial of reality the creatures exhibited in combat. “You don’t look like much.” The native regarded them curiously. “Based on your reputations I thought you’d be a lot bigger.”

“Physical size is not much of a determinant in the grand scheme of things,” Repeat-close-Looker informed him. “Maybe so, but I’d still rather wrassle one of you than a Molitar. Those are about the toughest guys you’ve got working for you.”

“The Molitar do not work for us.” Mature-absent-Leg shifted slightly on all four legs, the mottled orange skin rippling fluidly. “They are …”

“Yeah, I know, I know. They’re part of the Purpose. Everyone is part of your Purpose.” Lips parted to reveal white teeth. “Except the Massood, and the S’van, and a few of their friends. And us.”

“You can be an important component of the Purpose.” Mature-absent-Leg moved closer to the screen, the manipulative tips of the two tentacles on either side of its mouth spreading wide, flexing and contracting. “You can share fully in the beauty which has been revealed to us.”

“We’ve got plenty beauty of our own, thanks. We don’t want yours. Why don’t you squids just take a hike back to wherever it is you come from?”

“We would be reneging on our destiny were we to do that,” replied the Commander, ignoring the derogatory descriptive. “If there is any truth in what the S’van have told you, you realize we cannot.”

“Yeah, that’s what they said. But this is our solar system. If you insist on hanging around where you’re not wanted, we’re going to have to throw you out.”

Such primitive, feeble attempts at humor were the native’s way of maintaining its spirits, Mature-absent-Leg decided. Surely it must realize that it was imprisoned on an enemy warship somewhere in Underspace, possibly with no chance of ever seeing its own kind again. Once more the inherent denial of reality, which smacked of irrational mental focus. A trait which was useful nowhere except in combat, the Commander knew. Such contradictions would be eliminated once these creatures were brought into the Purpose. They would know a peace they had never known before. The two Amplitur exchanged thoughts about procedure. This particular specimen was not one Mature-absent-Leg would have chosen, but they had to begin somewhere and presently this single male was all that was available. Repeat-close-Looker reached out mindwise, probing with the intelligence and care for which it was renowned. Since the Commander was not participating directly but was only conscious of a colleague’s efforts, what happened next did not strike with its full force. When later asked to describe it in detail Mature-absent-Leg found it painful to contemplate, impossible to describe accurately. Touching the native’s thoughts was like tapping into an over-pressurized container bloated with blind anger and hatred. On contact it exploded in a fiery wave, sweeping logic and reason and sensitivity before it, submerging any proximate suggestion of intelligence in a flood of concentrated pain and angst. It stank of mindless destruction and anarchy, of raw emotion and animal instinct. Immediately upon contact the native’s eyes widened. It stared in shock at Repeat-close-Looker. That individual had already been rendered comatose. The prober lay on its right side where it had collapsed, tentacles curled tightly against its mouth, eye-stalks completely retracted. Nearby, Mature-absent-Leg still stood on shaky limbs; head throbbing, vision blurred, acutely aware that the full force of the native’s reaction had only brushed past. The Commander stood as if paralyzed, thinking furiously as mind cleared and the initial pain lessened. Judging by the native’s confusion it was clear that its defense had not been a conscious one. In a way that made what had happened even more terrifying. It meant that not only was the native dangerous, its response was unpredictable and uncontrolled. It turned to stare bewilderedly at Mature-absent-Leg. The Commander shivered helplessly under that stare for a long moment, until it began to realize that the native could not willingly project whatever was in its mind in the manner of the Amplitur. The shivering faded. The unfortunate Repeat-close-Looker had somehow tapped into an unsuspected component of the native’s nervous system, something of a purely defensive and instinctive nature. It could not have been anticipated because nothing like it had ever been encountered before. The native was standing now, gesturing at the motionless form of Repeat-close-Looker. “That son of a bitch was trying to get into my head. I felt it.” He looked up at Mature-absent-Leg. “That’s how you people work, right?

You get inside people’s brains and screw things around until they have no choice but to believe in your Purpose. That’s what he was trying to do. Only he couldn’t. Something hurt him.” Realization dawned slowly, “I hurt him.”

The man’s confusion gave way to excitement. “It means you can’t get to us, you can’t twist us. And when you try to, something inside us fights back. Something you can’t handle.”

The native advanced until it was hammering both hands against the security screen. Though it knew the creature could not break through, Mature-absent-Leg unconsciously found itself retreating from the hairless, contorted visage. It sent out a quick, anxious projection. The door at the rear of the room opened to admit the two Molitar who had brought the native. Both had their weapons out. The native spun to face them. What it did next was quite unexpected. It began to laugh, tears running down its scarred cheeks. “You poor, dumb, backboneless SOBs, you can’t do it to us. You can’t do what you’ve been doing to everybody else. Wait till this gets out!”

Without warning it charged the two Molitar, heedless of the weapons they were carrying. For a horrible instant Mature-absent-Leg thought it had been reading his mind, quickly realized that could not be so. The natives had demonstrated nothing in the way of telepathic abilities. As the nearest Molitar fired, the native threw itself forward. The shot passed above it to strike the security screen directly in front of the Commander, who flinched, eyestalks retracting instinctively. The blast did not touch him, the screen having been designed to dissipate far more intense energies. The native’s foot struck his massive assailant square on one joint. The Molitar let out a penetrating howl and collapsed heavily. Meanwhile his companion grabbed the native by its right arm, wrenching hard, striking with the other. The native ducked the blow, curled impossibly tight in on itself, and uncoiled with a lightning strike to its captor’s eye. Blood fountained and the injured Molitar released its grasp. In response to the Commander’s alarmed thoughts, armed Crigolit and Ashregan began pouring into the room. “Kill the thing!” Mature-absent-Leg projected anxiously. “Kill it!”

Uncivilized, unworthy, embarrassing thoughts. But the Commander was still glad when the thing finally died, unable at the end to deflect energy beams with its bare hands. It lay motionless on the floor, smoke slowly rising from the multiple wounds that had been necessary to bring it down, a lump of dead protoplasm no more or less threatening than any other sack of bone and fluid from which the motivating force had been removed. Fleeing the observation chamber as fast as he was able, Mature-absent-Leg made his way toward Command Central, using the time to ponder possible courses of action. They could muster every available vessel and soldier in an attempt to overwhelm this world before its defenses could be made even more secure, but that would leave vulnerable worlds on which the Purpose presently held sway. Worse still, an assault formulated out of panic and in haste might well fail. The Amplitur had achieved all that they had through patience and careful planning. Before launching an attack one must first come to understand the enemy. An in-depth study of the natives’ nervous system was an absolute prerequisite to any further combat. It was of paramount importance to secure additional live specimens. The rest would be up to the Amplitur’s unsurpassed bioengineers. The nature of the creatures’ defense mechanism could be isolated, then analyzed and overcome or otherwise rendered harmless. Only then could these beings provide fertile ground for propagation of the Purpose. First it was vital to remove their lingering primitive characteristics, both mental and physical. The result would be a happy and content population. To call the fleet staff’s initial reaction skeptical was to severely understate, but the recordings that had been made of the confrontational session ultimately convinced them. There was also the disquieting reality provided by the still comatose Repeat-close-Looker, whom physicians had as yet been unable to revive. One of the fleet group commanders was tracing a diagrammatic cube of the recordings with a tentacle tip. “Look at this burst of cerebral activity here. What does it mean?”

“I cannot intuit these imports,” added another, its mastery of biologic theory notwithstanding. The senior fleet specialist in alien neurology chose to venture an observation. “As Mature-absent-Leg has surmised, the native was as surprised by the presence of a defense mechanism as were its interrogators. I have reviewed the recordings and this seems inarguable. When Repeat-close-Looker was injured, Mature-absent-Leg and the native expressed equal astonishment.”

“Why evolve a mechanism to defend against something that does not exist on your homeworld?” wondered another member of the staff. “Nature is sometimes capricious, but never wasteful.” The specialist unfurled its right tentacle. “The trait may have developed in response to other local conditions of which we as yet know nothing. I submit that this development is no more incredible than many other aspects of the bizarre world on which it has evolved.” Thoughts swirled and melded. “In light of what we have learned during our brief confrontation here it is clear that we attacked without first securing adequate information about our opponent. Is it therefore surprising that we have subsequently had to endure the losses of the overconfident?”

“While currently stable, the longer the situation on the surface is stalemated, the stronger the enemy’s position becomes,” said a tactical specialist. “What we have encountered here is unprecedented. Therefore we must evolve a precedent. “Rendering uninhabitable the surface of the planet is not an option. These creatures can be the greatest force for the advancement of the Purpose since it was revealed to the Amplitur. I submit that we must withdraw until we have devised a more effective means for dealing with the particular difficulties they pose, while we are still in a strategic position to bring out the majority of our surviving forces.”

“To do so now,” disagreed another, “will greatly boost the determination and morale of the Weave.”

“Morale is a transitory intangible.” With that comment Mature-absent-Leg reasserted commander’s prerogative. “What is happening here is reality. Let us plan to deal foremost with the reality. “We have not encountered anything like these beings before. That does not mean we are incapable of coping with any special difficulties they present. It requires only the application of time and study, as do all complex problems.” Mature-absent-Leg directed a thought to the fleet specialist in alien neurology. “You are convinced from your examination of the recordings executed during the interrogation procedure that the native had no understanding of what occurred when Repeat-close-Looker’s mind touched his?”

“There is nothing to indicate awareness. As you observed, it realized what Repeat-close-Looker was attempting, but it in no way indicated it had consciousness of a method of resistance. “Something lies buried within the native nervous system; something they themselves are unaware of. A cerebral twist, a specific gene: it is only a matter of isolating and identifying it. Given time we may even bend it to our advantage. It is nothing more than a chemical puzzle to be solved.”

“It will make things difficult,” the military specialist commented, “if it becomes known among the peoples of the Weave that they have among them a new ally who happens to be immune to our particular kind of gentle persuasion.”

“We will deal with any awkwardness if and when it arises,” Mature-absent-Leg projected firmly. The neurospecialist thought expansively. “I am not so certain that ‘immunity’ is the correct term. There is something in their system that reacts violently to mental probing. If they are not probed, the defense mechanism is not activated. Therefore there is no reason for panic. It requires only time and the application of suitable intelligence to solve this new problem.”

“It cannot be done in a combat situation,” another pointed out. The inevitable question did not have to be formulated. Nor was there need for a vote. Decision unanimously followed understanding. “We shall withdraw from this system.” Mature-absent-Leg’s eyestalks were fully extended. “Preferably after securing additional specimens for study. Should we fail to obtain the necessary sampling here, we shall obtain them elsewhere, at another time. Since we will be departing without having suffered defeat, the intangible effects of our withdrawal should be minimized.” This astute observation served to mollify the concerns of the military specialist. “Upon full recovery, Repeat-close-Looker will be able to add to our knowledge of this matter and assist in future research.”

“That is assuming,” said the neurospecialist, “that the mind damage is not permanent.” The observation provoked uneasy thoughts mixed with sorrowful reflection. “I experience regrets for having had the specimen terminated,” thought the Commander. “You reacted defensively,” said a group leader. “You did not know what had taken place nor what might follow. Given such circumstances a relapse into instinctive self-preservation is not to be faulted. “Our consolation is that this dangerous reactive mechanism is involuntary in nature. It cannot be directed or you would have suffered the same fate as Repeat-close-Looker.”

“That is so,” agreed the Commander as the meeting dissolved. But despite that reassuring thought and the press of work ahead, Mature-absent-Leg was unable to expunge the pain of the disastrous interrogation session completely from his mind. XXVI

“It’s over.”

Will glanced up from his workdesk, ignoring the view out over the lagoon. While the Belizean reef was no longer the center of Weave activity on Earth, such activities having long since been usurped by several national capitals, it was still an important research center. As there was no longer any reason for concealment, the submerged complex had begun to build upward: slim, elegant towers rising into the tropical sky. “What do you mean it’s over?”

“The battle for your world.” T’var might have been smiling behind his dense growth of facial hair. “We’ve won.”

Will knew he should have shouted, thrown his hands in the air, or otherwise reacted as billions of his fellow Humans no doubt already were. Instead he felt oddly calm. “When did you get the news?”

“Just a few minutes ago. It arrived via closed transponder from a place called London.” His English had gotten quite good, Will thought. “They’re pulling out; the Crigolit, Ashregan, Molitar, Acaria, the Amplitur themselves. All of them, everywhere. Your Gobi and Great Plains, the Ukraine and Matto Grosso, even those bases they had managed to secure. Shuttles have been coming and going all morning. Our forces took several of them out before they could escape, and at least one warship that didn’t slip back into Underspace quickly enough.”

“I don’t understand,” Will said quietly. “I’d heard that we were pushing them back, but nothing to suggest total victory was imminent. What happened to make them suddenly pull up and leave?”

“No one knows.” T’var hunted for and found a bench built to his height. “The word is that by this evening there won’t be an enemy soldier left on your world or a hostile warship in your system. The Hivistahm are concerned that it may be some kind of trick, but the Hivistahm would worry if the Amplitur sued for peace tomorrow. The consensus among the Massood is that the pullout is genuine.”

“There’ll be a lot of celebrating.”

“It’s already begun,” T’var told him. “Here at the base as well as across your world. This is a great moment for your people as well as for the Weave. Not that the Amplitur haven’t been driven from other worlds, but it was accomplished far more quickly here than anyone thought likely or possible.”

“They must not have cared for what they found,” Will murmured thoughtfully. “They encountered what they first found on Vasarih and later on Aurun, only much more of it.” T’var was bursting with excitement. “We’ll give them more of what they don’t like until we finally push them back to their homeworld, wherever that may be and however long it may take.”

“Perhaps,” said Will slowly. T’var gave him a funny look. “I don’t understand your implication.”

“You and your councils better not expect Humans to fulfill preconceived expectations. Now that the Amplitur have been driven out, mankind may not react to your liking. People united in the face of a common foe. Now that that foe has fled, don’t be surprised if everyone decides they want to go back to the way things were before all this happened. I’ve been warning you and Caldaq about that possibility all along.”

“Impossible,” said T’var. “A species cannot demature.”

Will snorted derisively. “Don’t underestimate the determination of a world filled with fractious fools.”

Despite the best efforts of the enemy to preserve the secret, Humanity and the Weave learned of mankind’s resistance to Amplitur probing when a brace of Human soldiers were exposed to a captured Amplitur officer. Seeking to free himself, the officer struck out, with the result that he lapsed into convulsions. Astonished Massood who came upon the scene listened intently as the puzzled Humans reported the sequence of events. The inferences which were drawn led to a series of delicate experiments which confirmed what the Amplitur already knew and feared, though an understanding of the Human body’s actual defense mechanism awaited considerable further study. The Massood troops in the field were not interested in reasons. Delighted and not a little awed by the news, they regarded their hairless colleagues with ever greater respect. So it came as quite a shock when the population of Earth declined to leap wholeheartedly into the battle against the Purpose, exactly as Will Dulac had told the S’van it might. The representatives of the Weave were taken aback. Not only had Humans proven themselves superbly in combat, but they alone among sentients were immune to the enemy’s mental trickery and manipulation. Therefore the decision not to participate did not arise from fear. S’van and Massood attempted to remonstrate with mankind. Their reward was bewilderment. Once it was assured that the Amplitur had fled, the temporary military political council which had been formed to coordinate planetary defense promptly dissolved, once more leaving the Weave with dozens of tribal governments to contend with. Each tribe had its own priorities, its own agenda. Regardless of which system of government its people professed, no two were exactly alike. Nor was there even agreement within tribal borders. Often local consensus was dominated by whichever faction could yell the loudest. The Wais took pleasure in the byplay of complex mannerisms, the Massood in running. Humans seemed to prefer argument and disagreement. It made them impossible to deal with. Will felt vindicated as the temporary anti-Amplitur alliance splintered and mankind returned to its old ways. He missed no opportunity to mention it to Jaruselka and Soliwik, T’var and Z’mam and all the rest. “I warned you,” he was telling Caldaq. “I told you we couldn’t be depended on to fight a war beyond our own world. When the invaders fled so did the desire to fight. “I expect you’ll be able to recruit a few thousand more soldiers here, but you’ll never get entire governments to participate.”

“Nevertheless we must continue to try,” the Massood responded. The media reported daily on the ongoing debate, the learned opinion of numerous experts serving, as always, to muddle the facts further. All governments participated lest one gain some unimaginable advantage over its neighbor. Weave representatives pleaded and argued, elucidated and cajoled, all to no effect. It was true that the Amplitur had been driven off, but there was no permanence in such a victory. Unless they were utterly defeated they would return someday, stronger and more determined than before. If mankind declined to fight now, it would have to defend itself again in the future. All such admonitions and dire warnings aside, governments continued to refuse to commit resources to what remained for most people an obscure, impossibly distant conflict. The planet prospered as regional conflicts faded under the glare of knowledge. Foolish to brandish weapons against another country when one day all might have to unite to teach an inimical alien species another lesson. Armies were maintained in the event of such an eventuality, but now their soldiers mingled freely with one another, discussing tactics and trading ideas. Those corporations which specialized in military research and development found themselves as busy as ever, modifying and improving weaponry for a conflict which might never come. “You’ll never get the kind of participation you want,” Will kept telling T’var. “Mankind can’t agree on small things. There’s no way we’d ever get together on something like this. You’re going to have to be satisfied with a few recruits here and there. No matter what arguments you use, the majority of the population will always opt for peace and isolation.”

“As always, you seem pleased by the course of events, Will Dulac.”

“Me?

Hell, I’m delighted. This is the next best thing to having been ignored. Earth’s a much nicer place now that peace has broken out. Also you’ve provided an outlet for people with warlike inclinations, not to mention the average malcontent. They can join your forces and work out their frustrations and anger light-years away from their peaceable neighbors. Those who make it back have usually been pretty tamed by what they’ve encountered. “Meanwhile the rest of us can relax and get on with the business of finally advancing our culture and repairing the environment.”

“Can you come with me?” T’var slid off his bench. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“All right. Just give me a second to shut this down.” He made sure his work in progress was saved before cutting power to the electronic composer. T’var took him to a new section of the ever-expanding research complex. Unlike most of the new buildings, which towered above the pristine lagoon, this one was grafted inconspicuously to the side of the reef. A large circular doorway admitted them to a room unlike anything Will had previously encountered. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to a level of illumination well below the Human norm. The far wall consisted of a gigantic transparent bubble which protruded into the sea. As he watched, a school of hundreds of mahogany snappers and yellow jacks swam past. Giant elephant-ear sponges framed the seascape. Movement drew his attention from the breathtaking underwater ballet. Something large and bulky was moving in the shadows. Only when it passed in front of the bubble was he able, based on what he had been told, to identify the shape. A Turlog. He caught his breath. Turlog analysis had contributed to many of the victories on Vasarih and Aurun. Even the S’van admitted that without Turlog assistance and perceptiveness the Amplitur might well have overrun the Weave centuries ago. To the best of Will’s knowledge no Human had yet set eyes upon a member of that shy and reclusive species. Their importance to the war against the Purpose was inversely proportional to their limited numbers. They disdained, nay, they actively disliked the company of others, even individuals of their own kind. Will knew a Turlog had been present on the ship which had first brought Caldaq and his companions to Earth, but he had not heard that any had participated in the planet’s defense. He could not keep himself from staring. The vast chitonous shape scuttled further into the diffuse blue light supplied by the bubble, advancing on half a dozen short, inflexible legs. About the size of a full-grown steer, it seemed to belong more to the underwater world outside than to the darkened room with its dim telltales and readouts. It had both a hard exterior and an internal skeleton, a combination which resulted in an extremely slow-moving, awkward being. Two pale silvery eyes regarded him emotionlessly. Each stiff, hard-shelled arm ended in four-pronged pincers, which looked sharp and clumsy. T’var kept his voice low, though whether out of habit or politeness Will didn’t know. “This is Pasiiakilion.”

Automatically Will started to extend a hand, then hesitated. Not out of fear. Nothing so bulky and slow could be threatening. But he sensed no need here for extraneous movement, unnecessary gestures. He had been admitted; therefore his presence was accepted. The pale eyes and inflexible face revealed nothing. Turlog and man stared silently at one another. Will felt that this creature would devote its entire being to whatever subject was at hand, be it a discussion of the nature of subatomic particles, galactic war, or the petals of a flower. The silence was broken by a coarse, gravelly noise that reminded Will of raw rock spinning inside a gem tumbler. There must have been a translator nearby, because the rasping was transformed into barely intelligible English. “Will Dulac. I know of you.”

“And I think I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you one of Caldaq’s original crew?”

Waves washing gravel on a deserted beach. “It is quiet down here. I like your world. It interests me.”

Will tried to see more of the room, which was filled with things and grotesque alien shapes. A heap of glowing mucus glistened damply in a far corner. Seeking a better look, he took a step forward. “Please go no farther.” The voice was as emotionless as it was raspy. “My egg cluster. Perhaps you may know that we are hermaphroditic.”

Like the Amplitur, Will realized with a start. “No. I didn’t know that.”

“We wonder often about sex,” murmured Pasiiakilion. “So much energy, so much drive and concentration spent merely to promote reproduction. But as our own efforts at reproduction seem inadequate, we make no value judgments.”

Will whispered to the unnaturally subdued T’var. “Why did you bring me down here?”

“Something I thought you of all people should know,” the S’van replied softly. “I could be reprimanded for doing this. Pasiiakilion can explain better than I.” His attitude was very serious, very un-S’van. In the dim light his stocky form seemed less diminutive. “Your people are contentious and confused,” rumbled the Turlog, “but wonderful fighters. The best we have yet found.”

“So I’ve been told.” That was no revelation. Will waited. “As your social development has lagged remarkably behind your technological accomplishments, you have yet to achieve a planetary government. Your geology has also worked against you. Thus you have no means of formally representing yourselves to the Weave.”

“We don’t want to join anyway,” Will responded. “It’s been agreed that if individuals want to fight for the Weave they should be allowed to do so, but there’s no broad base of support for any kind of formal alliance.”

“I know that. It is a good thing.”

Will was taken aback, unsure he’d heard correctly. “I thought you wanted us in the Weave. I know that’s how the Hivistahm and Lepar and Massood and all the others feel. If it was up to them right now every adult on Earth would be undergoing combat training.”

“We want you for soldiers because that is what you do best,” said the Turlog. “No. It’s not what we ‘do best.’ I can’t deny that we seem to do it well, but …”

“Please let me continue,” said Pasiiakilion, interrupting. “I am not used to talking and so am not very good at it.” Will restrained himself. “I give you truth. You are the best fighters. You may be more than that: you may represent a turning point, though it is far, far too soon to hazard such a prediction. Despite that, those of us who think hard about such matters do not want your people to join the Weave.”

“Caldaq would say differently.”

“As would many. But it would not be in the best interests of the Weave, or of your own kind.”

Will knew he should have been delighted to find another philosophical ally among the aliens. Instead he was wary. “That’s what I’ve been saying for years. So you think we should stay out of formal alliances, too?

That’s great. If we’re left alone we can be just as peaceable as the O’o’yan or Wais.”

“No, you cannot. We want you to fight on, but we do not want you to join. We want your help, but not your companionship. You are dangerous. To the Amplitur, to every civilized species you encounter, to yourselves. “With time that may change. No matter how much assistance your kind renders, the Amplitur will not be defeated tomorrow, or the next day, or any time in the foreseeable future. They are patient and resourceful because they are dedicated, however wrongly. Your people do not know patience. Today they find ready success in battle. That will change, or the Amplitur are much less than we have thought them to be. “We do not want you in the Weave. The Hivistahm do not want you, the O’o’yan do not want you, the Wais and Lepar do not want you. Even the S’van do not want you.”

Will looked sharply at T’var. Small dark eyes stared back at him. “I see. You want us to be your mercenaries but not your friends.”

“You are not sufficiently evolved to be friends,” said Pasiiakilion mercilessly. “It is thought that with help and teaching you might mature. But if we change you, then you will not be the fighters you are now. You are more valuable to the Weave as fighters than as friends.” Will said nothing, waiting silently. Outside the bubble an eagle ray flew by on silent wings. “If you could somehow,” the Turlog continued relentlessly, “cobble together a rudimentary planetary government, if this United Nations of yours could acquire enough strength to be regarded as truly representative of your people, you would still not be offered membership in the Weave. Your presence would be disruptive, a characteristic already present in sufficient quantity among the civilized races. The introduction of an uncivilized one such as your own would be counterproductive, possibly explosive.”

“You don’t know that. I think you’re wrong about my kind. I think you’ve been wrong from the beginning.”

“I would like nothing more than to be able to believe that. It may be so. Hence the caution with which we proceed.” A pincer waved, silhouetted by the blue light from the bubble. “But for now you understand why we are pleased that you do not wish membership in the Weave, a membership the Weave does not wish you to have but would be embarrassed to deny. This way both sides get what they want.”

“You might explain that,” Will murmured. “It has been my lot to conduct an extensive study of your racial psychology. You cannot be trusted to respond rationally to a disclosure of the results, to recognize your own weaknesses. You would respond as you respond to everything contrary to what you want to believe: with violence. “The Weave overflows with artists and philosophers, musicians and technicians. Fighters are in very short supply. Given a choice even the Massood would prefer not to fight. Now we have found you. We need you.”

“What happens,” Will wondered after a long pause, “when we’ve defeated the Amplitur, when we’ve beaten this Purpose of theirs?

What happens to us then?”

“That is far in the future,” said T’var quickly. “All that matters now is defeating them.”

Silvery eyes had not strayed from Will’s face. “Myself, I wonder at the ramifications of the mechanism which shields the Human mind from Amplitur manipulation. No others have this quality.”

“Not even the Turlog?” Will asked challengingly. “Not even the Turlog.” Pasiiakilion shifted all six legs. “Are you afraid of us?”

“Not of you. Of the enigma you present.”

“Disruption,” said T’var. “We don’t need any more disruptions. The Weave has been in danger of falling apart since the day it was founded. Defeating the Amplitur may take another hundred years, a thousand. In any event none of us in this room will be around for the outcome. So we have to concern ourselves now about what we’re leaving to our unknowing descendants. Besides,” he added in as aggressive a tone as Will had ever heard from a S’van, “isn’t this what you wanted all along?

To keep your world as uninvolved as possible?”

“Yes, sure,” Will replied. “I wanted us to be left alone. But not disliked.”

“No one dislikes you,” said Pasiiakilion somberly. “Because of your accomplishments your people are admired, even venerated throughout the Weave.”

“Sure. Because it means someone else doesn’t have to fight. It’s not affection. You can admire a cobra but that doesn’t mean you want to snuggle up to one.”

“It’s what you would call a ‘love-hate relationship,’” said T’var as his sense of humor returned. “Does it matter to you so much then, William Dulac,” the Turlog inquired, “why you have achieved that which you fought so long to gain?”

“I don’t know,” Will muttered. “I thought it did, but now you’ve confused me.”

“Do you have such a deep longing to be liked?

Is it not sufficient for now to be respected?”

“If you’re being respected for the right reasons, yes. For contributions to the advancement of civilization, or culture. Not for the ability to slaughter Crigolit.”

The Turlog pivoted to study the seascape outside the bubble. “I am sorry. The S’van and I thought you had the right to know what is the truth of things. For now.”

“Time to go.” T’var tugged on Will’s sleeve. “You’ve heard what I wanted you to hear.”

“But I’m not through. There are questions …”

“Another time,” rasped the Turlog without rancor. “I have eggs to attend to.”

“You ought to be flattered,” T’var told him once they were back in a properly lit corridor. He looked back over his shoulder. “Pasiiakilion gave you more time than I’ve ever seen him allot to anyone else, Caldaq included. Not only that, he responded to your own inquiries instead of just delivering himself of information. He very badly wanted you to understand.”

Will slowed his pace to that of the shorter S’van. “I don’t think he liked me very much.”

“The Turlog don’t ‘like’ anyone, not even other Turlog.” T’var led the way into the lift that would carry them surfaceward. “They only help at all because they hate the thought of being subsumed into the Amplitur Purpose worse than they do the strain of cooperating with the Weave.”

“Everything he said was true?”

“I’ve never known a Turlog to lie.”

“Nobody wants us in the Weave?”

They exited at sea level. Will was relieved to find himself back among daylight and conversation, away from the gruff alien and its primal, disquieting habitat. “Consider the Turlog,” T’var urged his Human companion. “They are not liked, but they’re admired and accepted for what they can contribute. We S’van are often more envied than liked, and no one is especially fond of the Lepar. Why then should you and your kind worry so much on this?

You’re in good company.”

“It’s more than not being liked,” Will muttered. “The Lepar, the S’van, the Turlog are all considered civilized. We’re not. We’ll never be fully accepted until we’ve been invited into the Weave.”

“It will happen.”

Will looked down at the second captain. “When?”

“In time. When you are no longer what you are.”

“Meaning the mindless killing machines depicted in some Weave propaganda?

Oh, yes, I’ve been exposed to that. I’ve done plenty of research of my own these past few years.”

“It will not happen in our lifetime, but it will happen.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Of course. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” The S’van smiled ingenuously. XXVII

Following the invasion it was much easier for the Weave to recruit Human soldiers. Many of those who had turned back the Amplitur attack were anxious, even eager to sign up for training on Motar. Then there were others who hadn’t had the chance to participate, who saw in the offer the chance to fulfill their dreams of travel, or glory, or simply a chance to fight back. There were the soldiers and officers of all the world’s major armies, whom peace and rapprochement between the great powers had left idle, with no chance to utilize their own training. Poverty also provided a fertile recruiting ground for Weave recruiters. They made use of the testimonials of early recruits, including some that Will remembered from the early days in Belize. Weave medical technology was far advanced beyond Earth’s. Even serious injuries could be successfully treated. If a soldier wasn’t killed outright there was a good chance he would make it back home healed, healthy, and well-off. The Weave was generous to its friends. But there were many who felt as Will did, that mankind had no place in the millennia-long alien conflict. It was no longer a matter of patriotism, of fighting off another invasion attempt, but of free choice. Those who went, went of their own free will. Those who remained suffered no opprobrium for doing so. While inferior to Weave science in many respects, there was the one area where Human achievement had leaped ahead. Advances in military technology no longer surprised Weave sociologists, however, ever since it had been determined that that was what the species had devoted its greatest efforts to since it had first acquired sentience. Human scientists and laboratories, given access to Weave technology, soon set to work modifying and improving with a vengeance, turning out improved versions of standard weaponry at a rate that astonished even the S’van. They did so without the reluctance or moral qualms that often plagued Weave scientists. Facilities scattered across the face of the planet competed gleefully to see which could make the deadliest improvement or the most lethal modifications. They did so without second thoughts. After all, none of their output was intended for use against fellow Humans. Here at last was the conflict mankind had secretly wished for but had never been able to enjoy. No more brother against brother, cousin against cousin, color against color or religion against religion. It was man and his allies and friends against the horrid, cephalopodian Amplitur and their brain-damaged slave races. Humans had always excelled when presented with uncomplicated, easy-to-comprehend options. Us against Them eliminated the need for irritating introspection. There were a few who called into question the advisability of warring against sentients there had been no dialogue with. Against these arguments were arrayed the tales of returning Human soldiers who had actually fought against the enemy. They had no trouble with moral gray areas. The Amplitur were bent on sucking all other species into their Purpose. They knew not the meaning of neutrality. You were for them or against them. If you were for them they promised you full participation in their Purpose … under their guidance, of course. Doing what they thought was the proper thing to do, acting the way they thought you should act. Only through resistance did a species retain its independence, its individuality. There was no need to whip up pro-war hysteria on Earth. No need to spread the propaganda Will feared. The Amplitur and their code of the Purpose was enough to draw adequate numbers to the recruiting stations. So people went off to fight alongside the Massood, supported by the S’van and the Hivistahm and Yula and the other peoples of the Weave. They returned admired, content, wealthy, inspiring more of their kind to do likewise. The bulk of Humanity was not involved. Will was pleased. Caldaq was strolling through the upper levels of the base that by now had spread itself across much of the reef. Towers rose high above the still unspoiled waters, dominating the palms and coral islets. Beyond the reef scheduled shuttles touched down and lifted off, carrying recruits and technicians and supplies to ships recently emerged from Underspace. The sentry system which had been placed in orbit at the limit of the sun’s magnetosphere was as modern and efficient as the one that circled his own homeworld. Weave warships patrolled the water planet’s outer atmosphere. Mankind felt secure, shielded by its friends even as it declined to participate in their organization. It was a great relief as time passed and no formal invitation to join was extended. It spared Humanity the embarrassment of declining. Mankind had no desire to hurt the feelings of its good friends. Unbeknown to everyone except the composer Will Dulac, the General Council of the Weave was more than content to maintain the status quo. A group of decorated Human soldiers were coming down the hall. They wore the yellow-slashed jumpsuits designed by the first recruits, and they talked animatedly among themselves as they advanced. Spotting Caldaq they executed the peculiar hand and arm gesture which among them was considered a sign of respect to a superior. It was called a salute, Caldaq knew, a gesture unknown to Weave forces. Leave it to mankind to invent a purely military salutation. It struck him as unnatural and unnecessary. Why not simply greet another individual as you would otherwise?

Why should a uniform make a difference?

It was yet another example of the unique militaristic culture which had evolved among Humankind, apparent even in those who chose not to participate. He waved, well aware that his response was not nearly as crisp and sharp as their own gestures, which they performed without breaking stride or conversation. It was as if they executed it unconsciously. Like breathing. He turned as they passed, noted a pair of strolling Hivistahm technicians talking with an O’o’yan attendant. One of the Hivistahm saw the approaching Humans and whispered to its companion. Surreptitiously they got out of the way, sidling over to the wall without pausing in their conversation. The Humans noticed nothing. They were not sensitive to the reactions of their allies and hosts, wholly engaged as they were in their own conversation. Caldeq observed the Hivistahms’ posture, the way their necks retracted slightly, the way their eyelids half closed beneath the gaudy shields. The smaller O’o’yan kept his larger companions between himself and the Humans. They were expressing contempt if not outright fear of those who had just walked past them. It was not an uncommon reaction. It was known what Humans did. They fought, magnificently. The sentients who did not, could not fight, like the Wais and Hivistahm and Lepar and others, were extraordinarily grateful for this. They admired what Humans did, but they did not like them for it. Even among his own kind, Caldaq knew as he turned a corner, there were many who disliked Humans. Even those who subscribed to the mythology which was growing up around them. For example, there was no one better to fight alongside in the field than a Human, but outside of combat the Massood preferred not to socialize with them. They did not know how to behave in civilized company. They were … clumsy. Jaruselka was calling to him and he lengthened his stride to meet her. It was always a pleasure to be in her company. Her mere presence helped to banish discomfiting thoughts from his overburdened mind. He had anticipated meeting her in the dining complex, but this was preferable. They could walk the rest of the way together. A Human would have sprinted to join him. Remarkable how they could outrun most anything over a short distance, he reflected. Another characteristic of their peculiar physiology. But over distance nothing could keep up with a Massood. They exchanged greetings contentedly, nuzzling one another’s necks and murmuring the secret mate-words. Only after she drew back did she express concern. “You look troubled.”

“No. Just thoughtful.” He straightened. “That has always been your problem.” She chided him affectionately. “You worry like a Hivistahm.”

“Do not say that,” he replied, amused. “You wished to dine together?” He matched her stride. “Yes. There is news for you, lifemate.”

“Of the fighting on Kantaria?”

“No. You have been promoted.” Her great eyes were shining. He slowed, stared at her. He’d been so busy these past years he’d forgotten about such minor matters as promotion. The Massood did not seek personal advancement with, for example, the same avidity as Human beings. It was something that came, if it came at all, naturally and for good reason, like aging. “I also have been honored.”

“Then the news is all good.”

“Perhaps. You are to be given a battlefield commission.”

He frowned inwardly at that, his eyes closing halfway. “What of my work here?”

“Command feels you can be spared. Others have taken on much of the burden. The S’van interact far better with Humans than do we. It is felt there is no longer a need for a Massood presence in what has become an administrative facility, and as always our combat abilities are desperately needed where worlds are being contested. Kantaria, for example.”

Ironic, he mused. He had anticipated utilizing recordings of the combat on that world to boost local recruiting. Now he would have the opportunity to see what progress was being made there in person. Kantaria was populated by an immature developing race; mammalian, short and slim as the O’o’yan but without O’o’yan skills. Intelligent but only slightly civilized. They had nearly been conquered by the Amplitur only to have the Weave discover what was happening and intervene at the last moment. And he was to be a part of that vital effort, a part of something the Massood had grimly prided themselves on for hundreds of years. He was not very familiar with the situation on Kantaria since the Weave presence there was a recent one. He knew only that the Amplitur and their allies were firmly established on much of the planet and would have to be driven off section by section. “How do you feel, my warm one?” he asked Jaruselka as they walked. “Pleased to be departing this world. We have been too many years here. We are to be given leave to visit home for a while in recognition of our achievements and the important work you have done. Your ancestors are much honored. As for joining the conflict on Kantaria, that too is an honor given the difficulties our forces face there.”

“What do they consist of?”

“Mostly Crigolit under the usual Amplitur supervision, though there are others. They include a new convert to the Purpose, the Mazvec. It is rumored that the Amplitur are trying them out on a world they have already largely secured in order to assess their abilities as fighters. “Kantaria is not a great prize; not a developed world or advanced people. But there is potential, if it can be wrested back from the Amplitur.”

“Fodder for the Purpose,” Caldaq muttered darkly. “Exactly.” Her gaze roved the wide corridor, so unlike the cramped quarters of the original base. “I like some of the Humans we have met here, but I confess I can only make myself warm to them as individuals and not as a species. When they are brought together in numbers something happens to them. They change.”

“Research continues,” he told her. “Some scientists believe it may have something to do with pheromones. Others delve among the esoteric and the outrageous in search of explanations. It is not something to trouble the Massood. I gladly leave it to curse the sleepings of S’van and Hivistahm. It is easier simply to go where we are told and fight until we have won or lost. There is no ambivalence in combat.”

“Surely there are some here you will miss,” she said. “Will Dulac, for example.”

“Not at all.”

Her surprise was evident. “You have shared a long relationship.”

“What you say is so. I have been cordial to Will Dulac. He was the first Human we encountered and in many ways remains the most admirable, I might even say civilized, example of his kind that I have met, together with a few exceptional tribal leaders. But he is Human, and I am still less than comfortable in his presence.”

They passed a large viewport. Past the towers and palms and burgeoning structures of Lighthouse Reef he could see the distant green mountains of the interior. Beyond, to the north, lay vast Human cities teeming with potential recruits. They were far outnumbered by the great mass of Humans who refused to help, each of whom considered him or herself to be the center of the universe, each of whom was concerned primarily with his or her own well-being and comfort. It was an attitude that made supreme good sense on the battlefield but went down poorly among the other citizens of the Weave. “No, I will not be sorry to leave this place.”

XXVIII

Caldaq was bitter and sorrowed. Fighting was not easy anywhere, but Kantaria itself seemed determined to make his life as miserable as possible. It was an awkward, difficult place of rugged mountains cleft by deep valleys, of swift-flowing streams and constant cold rainfall. The landmass had been heavily glaciated in the recent past and as a result the topography was barbaric. It was matched by the weather, which was intolerable everywhere except a narrow band along the equator. Worst of all there were no decent places to run. The perpetual rain was as demoralizing to the sun-loving Massood as the snow which crowned many mountains. The tall fighters tolerated cool weather adequately, but not the constant precipitation. Fungi and mildew sprouted everywhere. Including, if one was not careful, on equipment and feet. The short, bipedal natives resembled skinny, less hirsute versions of the S’van, but without their civilized graces. When confronted by an alien regardless of origin they fled to their stone huts and huddled fearfully inside around flickering fires. Incipient cities boasted a few larger structures of rock held together with crude cement. It had taken Caldaq less than a year to realize why Kantaria would never be the site of a quick victory by either side. The terrain made ground combat extraordinarily difficult. While the Kantarians spoke the expected single tongue with local variants and dialects, there was no central seat of government; only local tribes and clans to organize. Their infant network of intertribal commercial contacts was growing but still fragile due to the lack of adequate infrastructure. It was easy to understand why their progress was slow. The Weave might succeed in liberating an entire region only to be outflanked by Amplitur forces trickling through valleys and along mountain trails. Both sides could win and lose the same sector several times in a year. The enemy could heavily fortify captured towns against assault while battlefield communications remained primitive because relay satellites were shot down as rapidly as they could be deployed. So the war went on, consisting largely of desultory forays by both sides against each other’s fortified positions. A recent airborne assault on a major town had been a total disaster. Descending craft had come under fire not only from forces on the ground but from those dug into surrounding cliffs and mountainsides. The survivors had likened it to trying to land in a cauldron. Unlike elsewhere it proved impossible to spare the natives, since they invariably occupied the contested valleys and mountain passes. No wonder they fled to their pitiable abodes at the first sight of either side’s soldiers. The only consolation Kantaria offered was the knowledge that the place was as hard on the Amplitur and their allies as it was on the Massood. But they had been there longer and held far more territory. With the greater mobility this afforded them they were winning, slowly but inexorably driving the Weave forces back. It was not that the Crigolit were better suited to combat on Kantaria than the Massood, Caldaq knew, although the Amplitur’s new allies the Mazvec seemed to tolerate the adverse conditions better than anyone else. It was that in such execrable circumstances fanaticism had an advantage over mere dedication. Blindly driven as they were by the Purpose, the Amplitur’s soldiers were better able than the more contemplative Massood to ignore the festering circumstances in which they found themselves. Furthermore, every time the Crigolit-Mazvec forces gained a valley or a ridgeline, they tended better to hold onto it, whereas the forces of the Weave could often be driven out. Sitting for months in the dreary, pouring rain sapped the resolve of the finest, most dedicated Massood soldiers, weakening their fighting resolve. They tended to grow lax and tired, having too much time to wonder what they were doing in such a miserable place. Meanwhile the poor Kantarians were forced to listen to the blandishments of both sides, uncertain which way to lean, who to ally themselves with. They were hardly civilized enough to comprehend the issues at stake, let alone the concept of racial unification. In such circumstances the Amplitur had another inherent advantage. They could take a village chieftain aside and artfully adjust his way of thinking until he saw only their point of view, then leave it to him to persuade his people. In the first part of his second year on Kantaria, Caldaq lost Jaruselka. XXIX

He had been supervising an assault on a Mazvec-held ridgeline which guarded the way to an important Kantarian city. He was in an aircar, the only sensible way to cover any distance on this impossible world, when a brace of floater-mounted Crigolit had slipped in behind while patrolling vehicles dueled overhead. It wasn’t even a planned attack which had caught them. Jaruselka had been riding in another aircar, supervising forward fire and safe from direct interdiction as her craft hugged a protective mountainside. The Crigolit floaters were as surprised as anyone when they stumbled unchallenged into the main part of the attacking force. They fired only to cover their retreat as they fled hastily toward the canyon from which they had emerged. An explosive projectile, fired wildly by a fleeing floater pilot who probably never sighted on his target, had struck the granite wall above Jaruselka’s aircar, blasting a huge gouge in the sheer cliff face. The car’s pilot didn’t have a chance to react and probably never knew what had happened. Countermeasures designed to defeat incoming projectiles and energy beams did not even react to the tons of falling rock which struck the vehicle and overwhelmed its stabilizers, sending it tumbling and crashing into the canyon below. Caldaq saw it over and over in his mind: the metal and plastic shredding, mixing with the disintegrating granite, until stone and ship together came to rest at the bottom of the contested gorge. Little remained intact of the vehicle or its inhabitants. For that he was inordinately grateful. It allowed him to remember his lifemate as she had been, not as this world had rendered her. Since then he had carried out his duties numbly, mechanically, fighting and watching others die amidst the unforgiving terrain and remorseless climate as they fought for a world whose inhabitants did not even understand why control of their modest culture should be so fiercely contested. As often as was permissible he requested transfer offworld. Cognizant of his combat skills, his superiors turned him down as regularly as he applied. It turned into a personal ritual, each application confirming his own unhappiness and the pain of his loss. There was nothing in this forlorn place worth Jaruselka’s death, he knew. Nothing worth the depression his soldiers suffered as a consequence of the rain and cold. It was reflected in their performance, as the Weave lost mountain after mountain, valley after valley including the one in which his lifemate had died. They were being pushed back toward the western shore, to the cliffs and fjords of the frigid Kantarian ocean. It was an agonizingly slow process, because for every several Amplitur successes the Weave might gain ground elsewhere. It sapped what remained of Caldaq’s determination and came dangerously near affecting his professionalism. We may have to concede them this world. It was a painful thought for a Massood officer to have to contemplate. But that was the nature of the ancient conflict. Advance and retreat, surrender and acquire: the tides of combat. They might lose Kantaria and gain a world elsewhere. He had come to realize that because of the nature of this world the Weave could not win here. Not only the odds but the planet itself was arrayed against them. Sooner or later he and the other senior field officers would find themselves recommending a complete pullout, thereby abandoning the unfortunate Kantarians to the inevitable genetic manipulations of the Amplitur. The poor natives were not mature enough to understand what was going to happen to them. A gentle, bewildered people would be forever transformed. Some things a soldier should not dwell upon, he thought emotionlessly. In any event, he would not be alive to witness it. Some day, some time in the future, the Weave would come back to Kantaria and liberate its people, in that far distant time when the Amplitur had been forcefully expelled from this portion of the galaxy. It was inevitable. But for now the burden of retreat would have to be entered into his family history, even though the loss was due to forces beyond the control of him or his colleagues. They could continue the fight for a long time, could hold out for perhaps another hundred years or so before they were pushed back to the western sea. But it wasn’t worth the sacrifice of energies best utilized elsewhere. Better to absorb a small defeat in hopes of gaining a greater victory on another world. He would accept that as he had accepted Jaruselka’s death. Except he had not yet succeeded in accepting that. Enough time had passed for it to be allowable for him to mate again. He had no interest even though he knew she would have wished it for him, even as he would have wished it for her had the circumstances been reversed. And he prayed he could make that reversal occur. But he could not undo what had happened. He could only concentrate on his command, which today seemed to be going the way of the rest of his life. It was raining hard; a steady, unrelenting downpour. As usual it would affect the enemy less than his own people. His command vehicle hovered at the south entrance to the valley, just beyond range of the battle raging ahead. He could see that a general pullback had already commenced as the Crigolit gunners poured heavy fire on his troops, even as they did their best to spare the village and fields which occupied the valley. The Massood fought back, once even regaining a portion of the valley’s eastern reaches. The valiant effort ended in disaster when a horde of Mazvec fell on the attackers and annihilated an entire squad. The subofficer in charge ordered the survivors to commence as orderly a retreat as possible. Another miserable plot of land surrendered, Caldaq thought tiredly. They were going to have to abandon this valley, these mountains, these people, to the Amplitur. It was not the first time circumstances had required him to oversee such an action. Repetition had numbed his sensibilities. Emotionless orders issued from the damned machine of his soul as he carried out his assignment by rote. Reinforcements were not an option. He’d known that before the fight had been joined. Several major battles were under way elsewhere and troops could not be spared from those sectors to bolster his efforts in this valley. Presently I must leave this world, he thought. His grief had kept him longer than any sense of duty, to the credit of his family if not his spirit. It was time to go. Another year here would not bring Jaruselka back any more than it would turn the tide against the Amplitur. It was past time. He studied the tridimensional projection which represented the immediate theater of conflict. Time to pull back; to another valley, another ridge. The geography of Kantaria was as bereft of hope as its people. Eventually there would be no more valleys to pull back to. Then they would have to flee in transport shuttles, running the dangerous gauntlet to an evacuation fleet darting in and out of Underspace, hoping to avoid the Amplitur attacks which would surely follow their flight. They would leave behind a miserable world populated by an abandoned, confused people. The Amplitur would at least resolve their confusion. Preparations for withdrawal were nearly complete when the subofficer came running into the command center. He was breathing hard and his body armor was scored from several near hits. His left ear was missing. Field hospitals on Kantaria were not equipped with such luxuries as regeneration facilities. “Honored Commander.”

“What is it, soldier?” A transmitter dangled from the long slim fingers of Caldaq’s right hand. “We cannot get away.”

“Explain yourself.” Caldaq’s calm arose from the not unwelcome possibility that his spirit might soon be reunited with that of his beloved. Jaruselka, Jaruselka; I am tired and I miss thee. “Monitoring has located a hitherto unsuspected Crigolit strike force in a canyon behind us. They apparently have surface-to-air weaponry with guidance to match. Given our present situation I …”

“I am familiar with current conditions, soldier. Request a tactical strike from Support.”

“Is there no other way, Honored Commander?

The enemy is close upon us. I fear it may be impossible to hit them from long range without suffering damage ourselves.”

“If what you say is true then we have no choice.” Caldaq commented quietly, almost indifferently. “Without a strike they will pick us off one vehicle at a time. We cannot go forward because the enemy is advancing in strength and we cannot go anywhere else because our aircars will not surmount the peaks that surround this valley. It may be as you said that we cannot get out at all, but we can try. At least we will take many of the enemy with us. “I would like to know how they slipped through our defensive perimeter.”

“It has been suggested, Honored Commander, that they may have been dug in there all along, only waiting for us to retreat in order to spring their ambush. Or they may have only just arrived in this sector. Some of the new floaters they ride are so fast and travel so close to the surface that they are almost impossible to detect by traditional means.”

“I have heard of them,” said Caldaq tiredly. The subofficer watched his commander uneasily. Caldaq looked exhausted, drained. Finally the younger Massood felt moved to prompt his elder. “Sir?

The strike?”

“Yes. Call for it. Tell Support not to sacrifice firepower for precision.” He looked down to make sure his sidearm was in place. For years he’d worn it more for ceremony than anything else. Now he might actually have to use it. A check showed that it was fully powered. One could not take that for granted ever since the Amplitur had introduced into some battles a genetically engineered bacterium which found Weave power cells the perfect place to breed. “Inform all units, officer, to hold their positions for as long as they can. We will try to coordinate strike timing with Support. I will request a ten-minute pause at a time to be determined and communicated. During that time all units will attempt the downcanyon outrun. If we are lucky, the Crigolit will be concentrating on shielding themselves from the strike and some of us may be able to slip past before they have time to react.”

The strike request was met with some hesitancy on the part of Support. Concurring in retreat was never easy. Caldaq loudly explained that the longer the strike was delayed, the less was the likelihood of any of the valley’s defenders escaping. The success of the enemy’s tactics did not embarrass him. In this hellish terrain it was hard to tell what one’s own troops were doing, let alone the enemy’s. Someone had made a mistake, but there was no time for recriminations. There was time only for flight. The command vehicle in which he rode was slower than most but more heavily armored. He did not care about himself, but he badly wanted to save those who had served under him. It would reflect well on the family. His craft would make a large and tempting target as it trundled down the canyon. Normally it would be screened and defended by slider outriders, but he had lost so many soldiers in the failed attempt to take the valley that the craft would be forced to proceed without benefit of escorting fire. It would be futile, he calmly decided, to try and disguise the command vehicle’s progress, which would show up on even primitive monitors. He would order off all nonessential personnel. They could double up on attack sliders and transport cars. If the command vehicle made the run first and headed directly for the Crigolit positions, the move might confuse the enemy. At the very least it would draw their initial response. Heavily shielded, it could deflect fire that would down a slider instantly. If the diversion was successful, it ought to open a brief escape window for the rest of his command. It might also be recognized for the ploy that it was. A thousand years of combat had given both sides a good idea of what tactics the other was likely to employ. He was being too hard on himself. There were only so many strategic variations possible in a given situation. As field commander it was incumbent on him to analyze and direct. If the diversion resulted in the escape of only a few more of his people than otherwise, it would be well worth the effort. Soon he would be with Jaruselka on the other plane of existence. Whatever that was. If it existed. It would not be a bad thing to die issuing orders intended to save others. At least he would not perish outside, in the unending rain. His call for volunteers to crew the command craft was rapidly oversubscribed. They made what preparations they could in the limited time available. There was little time for farewells. Directives went out over those portions of the field communications system which had not yet been damaged by invasive Amplitur bacteria. Support poured explosives on enemy positions ahead and to the rear. No words were spoken inside the command craft as the skeleton crew dwelt on final thoughts. Chronometers counted down. Soon it was time to move. The lumbering vehicle rose above the tops of the sheltering trees and pivoted westward, all shields and weaponry activated. The canyon was dark with swirling clouds of granite dust and the debris of pulverized vegetation. That would not be enough to shield them from enemy detectors, Caldaq knew. But the release of energy which would commence as soon as the command craft was engaged by Crigolit forces would help to screen the sliders carrying his surviving troops as they bolted for safety. “Any reaction?” he inquired. “No, sir.” A single composed subofficer was doing her best to evaluate detection and surveillance reports that were normally monitored by three specialists. Caldaq was not surprised. The report had said that the Crigolit force was well dug in. They would be in no hurry to emerge until they were certain the bombardment had ceased. They never saw where the first missile came from. It struck rear left, taking out a main thruster and cutting their maneuverability by nearly a third. Smoking and listing to one side, the command craft began to curve across the valley. Caldaq hung onto his chair. “Adjust right rear thruster to compensate.”

“Sir, that will slow us considerably,” said the technician in charge. “At maximum thrust this machine is already too slow. Do it!”

The subofficer gestured acknowledgment but said nothing as he struggled to comply. We must look strange to the enemy, hovering here in plain sight, hardly moving, he thought. It might confuse them more effectively than the most exquisite maneuver. Indeed, the anticipated response was not forthcoming. Instead, a long pause was followed by a single, surgically placed missile which struck the command craft amidships. It was sufficient to knock out all but a single remaining thruster. Deprived of support and forward motion the skid began a slow descent. Through the acrid smoke that filled the room he saw that they would probably land hard but intact, unless they took another hit on the way down. Habit rather than desire made him check to insure that his harness was tight. The ground was coming up fast. Granted time to think, he realized that there must be Amplitur among the ambushing force. Crigolit or Mazvec would simply have obliterated the wounded command vehicle, whereas the Amplitur would try where possible to preserve life. Survivors could be evacuated from Kantaria for “education.”

His fingers caressed the sidearm. He would not be a candidate for their schools. He knew about such places, where the Amplitur would work on you until you weren’t sure what you were fighting for, or even who you were. Only that you were, had to be, must be, a servant of the Purpose. Caldaq held no illusions about his ability to resist that kind of persuasion. One did not resist lightning, earthquake, or Amplitur intrusion. Mentally, he was no stronger than anyone else. Following successful “treatment” the Amplitur would slip the reeducated back onto their homeworlds, there to sow dissension and confusion. An altered Massood could do more damage to the war effort than the most powerful particle weapon. Dimly he was aware that the subofficer for piloting was screaming at him through the flames and rush of air. “I apologize to my family, sir!

I did the best I …!”

His voice was stilled by whatever also took away the light …

The ringing in his head remained when consciousness returned. A mocking, sadistic providence had left him bruised and battered but otherwise alive. Coughing and fighting for air, he slapped three times at his harness release before it let him go. Without the straps to hold him in his seat he fell to the floor. There he rested a luxurious minute before struggling to his feet. It was impossible to see anything through the boiling smoke. Better to make his way outside, if possible, and let his vision clear. Then he could think about helping others. Memory guided him to an exterior door. Not surprisingly, the electronics did not respond and he had to cycle the lock manually. He fell through the resultant gap, sucking in huge lungfuls of moist, uncontaminated air. No Crigolit or Mazvec troops saw him exit. Perhaps the command craft had come down in a relatively inaccessible area. More likely the enemy was on its way and simply had not yet reached the crash site. Staggering toward the thickest stand of trees, he nearly tripped over the smoking body of his third-in-command. The subofficer was still alive, breathing shallowly. Caldaq dug up clumps of spongy moss and massaged the soldier with the saturated vegetation. Only when the jumpsuit had stopped smoldering did Caldaq heave the subofficer onto his shoulders and start for the woods. As he did so a voice speaking perfect Massood ordered him to halt. The woods were dense, dark, full of possible hiding places, and oh so near. He could not balance the moaning subofficer and draw his sidearm at the same time. As he took another step something like a sharp blade cut him in the side. Looking down he saw a tiny, steaming black hole in his uniform, just beneath the fifteenth rib. There would be a matching hole in his back. As he stumbled onward he sought to analyze the wound with perfect objectivity. What vital organs, blood vessels, or nerves lay in the vicinity of the shot, and relationally, how long was he likely to be able to keep going?

The problem was no less intriguing for the fact that it was of more than theoretical concern. The shot did have one immediate consequence, he decided. It had stolen his feet. He felt rather than saw himself falling forward, the weight on his shoulders accelerating his descent. The subofficer let out a groan as they struck the ground together. Having taken his feet they were now trying to steal his vision, he mused as he lay motionless on the macerated earth. He did not think he was bleeding. The weapon whose effects he had experienced was one that cauterized as it penetrated. That was not necessarily a good thing. It might mean he would die slowly. His fingers were still functioning but not in tandem with his brain. They fumbled at his sidearm, taking an unconscionable amount of time to extract it from his belt. The hard plastic handle was comforting in his palm. Unfortunately, someone had increased the density of the compact device to that of a neutron star. No matter how hard he tried he found he could not lift it higher than his waist. Voices reached him through the rain that was beating him to death. Sharp, clicking sounds characteristic of Crigolit. There was also a less audible nasal tone. Mazvec, perhaps. If he could only raise the damnable sidearm he might yet offer one final objection to the inexorable advance of the Purpose. But he could barely feel the weapon now, much less see it. The voices came closer. The Crigolit tended to be excitable. If he was lucky, they might shoot him despite orders to the contrary. They began to shout. I have been seen, he thought wearily as he fought to turn the sidearm just enough to aim the tip at his chest. I deny you a pupil if not the victory. But his traitorous fingers refused to obey. He swore at them as he passed out. For the second time that day he awoke. It was dark and the stars of Kantaria only occasionally pierced the ever present clouds. It was raining again, a damp curtain of misery that added to his discomfort, soaking him beneath his body armor. The subofficer he had carried into the woods was supporting him. “Praise to the Lineage,” said the soldier. “I found only the single beam wound, Honored Commander. It is good to see you alive. No, do not try to stand alone.”

Caldaq felt strong arms beneath his own as the subofficer helped him to his feet. He swayed slightly as he studied their surroundings. They were in a narrow side canyon. A crude shelter fashioned of branches and boughs had been erected alongside an overhanging boulder. Water ran swiftly down the middle of the narrow gorge. “When I regained consciousness, sir, you were lying next to me. At first I thought you were dead, but your heart still beat. I brought you here.”

“The others.” Caldaq wished for better night vision. “I do not know, sir. I heard firing when I came around and I could see flashes of light off to the west. It suggests that the enemy located the retreating column. How many of our people slipped past them I cannot guess. Perhaps that was what distracted them from searching for us.”

“Some must have made it away,” Caldaq muttered tightly. His side hurt badly, a continuous burning as if a knife had been lodged beneath his ribs and forgotten. He did not dwell on the possible severity of his injuries. Yet another scrape with death had done nothing to alter his ambivalence toward life. The subofficer he had rescued and who had in turn saved him harbored no such uncertainties. “The battle for this valley is over, sir. When the Crigolit have satisfied themselves of that they will move on. Then we can start toward base central. We have a chance.”

“Of course we do.” Caldaq hid his own pessimism for the benefit of his companion. The trek would be arduous even for healthy Massood. Somehow they would have to cross rugged mountains and rain-swollen rivers. He wiped water from his face and damned this wretched, ungrateful world for the thousandth time. “I still wonder how they managed to get behind us in strength, Honored Commander.”

“Perhaps an outlying detector failed.” Much easier, Caldaq thought, to blame a military disaster on a failure of equipment rather than personnel. Through falling rain and forest ramparts he saw motion. The subofficer would not have to worry about the difficult trek back to base central. “They are coming,” he whispered. His service belt lay nearby, where the subofficer had placed it. He drew his sidearm and his companion did likewise. Together they waited beneath the leaking lean-to, grateful for what little concealment it offered. There was no thought of running. It would have taken all Caldaq’s strength just to stand. Shapes loomed in the murk; larger than a Crigolit, smaller than Molitar. Mazvec, perhaps. They advanced with tense grace, rain dripping from their field armor and opaqued visors. Their electronics were muted, so he was unable to tell how heavily armed they were. One glanced in the direction of the lean-to. Caldaq raised his weapon and tried to aim. His vision was blurred and his arm shaky. The armored figure turned and shouted through a voice membrane, disdaining the use of a communicator. That meant its companions must be close by. Sharp and loud, the exclamation rose above the noise of the downpour. Even in his dazed condition Caldaq recognized it immediately. “Tyro, Ephram, get your butts over here!

There’s rats in the rain!”

Exhausted, Caldaq let his arm drop, sank back against the stone which formed the rear wall of the lean-to. He was unsure of the words which had been spoken but certain of their origin. The armored figure vaulted a fallen log and bent toward the two Massood. There was a slight click as the soldier unsealed his visor and flipped it up. Caldaq squinted as bright light was played over his face. “Glad to see you alive, Honored Commander.” The soldier spoke in cracked Massood. Under the circumstances Caldaq forgave him his atrocious accent. The light swung up to the subofficer, back to Caldaq. “Just the two of you, sir?”

The subofficer explained. “We employed our field HQ as a decoy. The Crigolit were pleased to oblige.”

“Yeah. The bugs love slow-moving targets.”

They were soon joined by several other figures who formed an armored semicircle in the rain opposite the lean-to. Caldaq studied their faces beneath opened visors, flat and symmetrical within the helmets. A red-striped medic knelt alongside. In an instant she’d set her field computer to Massood mode and was diagnosing. A Hivistahm would have made faster work of it but no Hivistahm could cope emotionally with front-line conditions. Caldaq felt something prick his side and the pain began to recede. He was immensely grateful for the relief, however temporary. A portion of his strength was returned to him. “Sorry we got here so late, sir,” said the soldier who’d found them. He was a young male, Caldaq noted, with naked pale skin and golden hair. “The others,” he heard himself mumbling. “The rest of the column …”

“You mean your people who were trying to get out?

We showed up when they were halfway down the canyon, sir. The Amplitur and the Crigolit were waiting for them.” Caldaq’s heart sank. “But they weren’t waiting for us.” In the dim light Caldaq saw the white flash of the Human’s incisors. “We came down on ’em like trolls out of Tyrannia, sir. Scattered them to hell and gone. Damn but it was fine!”

Caldaq sensed the excitement in the Human’s voice, knew it was the combat rush they alone among Weave fighters experienced. He could not criticize. Those racial deficiencies had saved his life, and those of who knew how many fellow Massood. “Can you get us out of here?”

“No problem, Honored Commander. It’s our valley now.”

Caldaq heard but did not comprehend. “The Crigolit in front of us … they were dug in, they had control of all critical positions …”

“The operative tense, sir, is past. After we came down on their intended ambush we just kept on going. Rolled ’em up like herring. Lost some good people, too,” he added darkly. “The Crigolit, they’re hard fighters, but they think instead of reacting, if you know what I mean. They never recovered from the initial surprise of our appearance.” He stared into the darkness. “Nice rain tonight. Reminds me of home.”

The Human medic continued to work on his side, muttering as she did so. “Small-bore beam weapon.” She glanced up at him. “You were lucky, sir. A little to the left and your spine would’ve been severed.” She smiled reassuringly at him, and he wondered anew at the Human ability to feel warmth and pleasure in the most appalling conditions. “No permanent damage, nothing that can’t be fixed,” she was saying. “Bet it hurt like hell, though. I’d go in myself but I’d rather let the Hivi surgeons back on the coast have a go. Wish I had their technique. Never will.”

“I am grateful for your ministrations,” Caldaq told her in her own language. Behind him the subofficer stretched out a long arm. Another of the Human soldiers clasped the long Massood fingers, then slid his hand up the arm to the elbow as greetings were exchanged. As the soldiers chatted amiably the medic peered into Caldaq’s face. “I’ve given you something to make you sleep, sir. I’d rather you didn’t try to walk. We’ll have you out of here in a few minutes. I know how uncomfortable you must be in this rain.”

Caldaq felt consciousness beginning to blur. Not from trauma this time but from the gentle chemistry of the sedative. Peace began to spread throughout his battered body, as if he were being massaged from the inside out. A new voice, a face gazing into his. Vaguely he noted the officer’s stripes that crisscrossed the right shoulder. “What’ve we got here?” the figure asked. “Couple of half-drowned rats, sir,” said the soldier who’d found them. “One’s a field commander.”

“Your pardon,” mumbled a fast-fading Caldaq, “but I am not certain in this context of the use of the term ‘rat.’”

“Nothing personal, sir,” said the officer. “It’s your faces. Humans have a tendency to nickname everything and soldiers more so than civilians. I assure you it’s in no way derogatory. Quite the contrary.”

“Since I do not know what a rat is I can hardly take offense at being compared to one.” Caldaq’s nose and whiskers twitched feebly in the rain. The officer looked up. “It was a near thing here, a near thing. When the initial reports started coming through, my unit volunteered to take a crack at breaking your people out. Now it’s the Crigolit and the Amplitur who are running for cover. My people are helping them along, picking them off in the darkness. The Crigolit don’t do so well in the rain at night, their instrumentation notwithstanding.”

He paused and leaned close. Almost asleep, Caldaq ignored the rain that dripped off the man’s upraised visor. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I do not believe so,” Caldaq murmured sleepily as the sedative began to exert itself. The Human began to whistle softly. It was a skill they were adept at. Through the haze which had enveloped his brain Caldaq thought he recognized the melody, though it had been a long time since the jarring tones had assaulted his ears. “What do you think?” the man asked gently. “Does it sound any better now?”

“I am glad to hear,” Caldaq replied, angry at his inability to form the consonants correctly, “that you are still making your music, William Dulac.” As he drifted into a sound, restful sleep he found himself struggling with the contradictory image his friend presented in field armor. Were the Humans commissioning composers now?

XXX

Thereafter he dreamed. He dreamed that their sled was attacked twice on the long flight back to the coast and Weave regional headquarters. He dreamed he saw Will Dulac storming among the other soldiers, raging and bellowing orders as they fought off repeated attacks. Each jolt and roar was an individual nightmare, muted only by suspension in the medical pallet. Like the eviscerated entrails of some glassine beast, transparent tubes recycled and replenished his bodily fluids as he dreamed. In the distance and through the mist of medication he thought he heard himself speaking. “I thought you despised all this. I thought participation in the resistance against the Amplitur was against everything you stood for. You said always that you wanted to be civilized like the other Weave races, that you wanted more than anything else to keep your people out of the war and the fighting.”

“I did. I said all that. But I couldn’t, and finally I gave up. Gave in, rather.” Will smiled that strange Human smile. “Until I did it was tearing me apart, to the point where I couldn’t work, couldn’t compose, could hardly think.”

“What happened?” asked the disembodied voice he thought he recognized as his own. “I was asked by a S’van to compose some Human music to accompany images which had been recorded of the fighting on Vasarih. I replied that I didn’t think I could do that, but that I would try.” He paused. “It turned out to be the easiest, least stressful composition of my life. The music came pouring out, fully orchestrated. Hardly required any revision. I sent it to my agent and it turned into a huge hit on Earth. People still hum the principal theme. “I kept writing in the same vein. It was easy. I ended up with a six-movement symphony, over an hour’s worth of music. There was talk of a Pulitzer, but I don’t care about that anymore. “I wanted to do more in the same vein, so I thought I should get out and experience what was happening and not just sit in a room watching recordings. Be true to the work, so to speak. Write about your experiences, paint what you see, compose what you feel. So I signed up. And they kept promoting me. I didn’t ask for that. I didn’t ask for any of this. But you know what?

I’m good at it. When I was a kid my grandfather used to take me hunting in the bayous. Except for the technology this isn’t as different as I thought it would be. Because the quarry’s still not Human. “Organizing an attack isn’t so different from organizing a symphony. You orchestrate your forces and plan your strategy. I don’t know. It just feels right. And all the internal conflicts, the uncertainties, are gone now. My body and mind may be at war, but my soul’s at peace. Maybe that’s what being Human is all about. The debate on that is unending, you know.”

“No, I did not know,” Caldaq whispered weakly. “That’s right. You’ve been stuck on Kantaria for quite a while, haven’t you?

“I’m not confused anymore, old friend. I’m here to fight, and to interpret this conflict musically. The two are inseparable now. I know plenty of other artists who feel the same way. More and more are coming around to that way of thinking all the time. There’s something natural about it, something easy. Maybe it’s chemical. Something happens inside the Human system in a combat situation that makes you feel more alive, more aware, than at any other time. If you’ll tell me where Jaruselka’s stationed I’ll be sure to …”

“Dead. More than a year ago.”

Will was silent for a long time. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Here, on this world,” Caldaq was murmuring. “I could not save her. I could not do anything but watch.”

It was quiet in the room for a long while before Will spoke again. “If you wouldn’t object, I’d like to compose a little memorial piece for her. I’ll utilize Massood tonalities so the result won’t make you wince.”

Humans spoke of their dead with an enthusiasm other races reserved exclusively for the living, Caldaq knew. They painted, wrote, composed music, and sculpted death. It was a morbid racial affectation no other Weave species shared. Why write about the dead when one could write about the living?

Yet mankind seemed to glory in it. Such Human peculiarities had saved his life. The dream passed, was followed by another. Will again, talking reassuringly. “We’re out of danger now. Just crossed over the southwest massif. Soon we’ll be at Base Central. They’ve got a bed with your name on it reserved at the hospital.”

Caldaq saw that his friend was surrounded by smaller figures, heard him speaking in a strange language. The man looked back at him, switched his translator to Massood. “Kantarians. Even though we secured their village some of them wanted to come with us. They want to help. I’ve been told that’s something of a breakthrough. You know, Caldaq, if it wasn’t for you we’d still be fighting among ourselves back on Earth instead of helping out people like these.”

Caldaq found he was able to turn his head, saw the way the slim, diminutive natives hung close to the taller, bulkier shape of the Human. They were approximately the same size as Hivistahm or Lepar. It was strange to see them crowding around Will Dulac, him smiling down at them even though they might not understand the expression, listening to them converse in elfin tones before the Human shooed them out. Their attitude had been almost worshipful. But that was wrong, all wrong. Sentients needed to respect one another as equals. “Nice folk, the Kantarians.” Will shut the door and walked back to Caldaq’s pallet. The battle sled lurched slightly and the Commander’s eyes widened. Will hastened to reassure him. “Just weather. You know what the weather’s like hereabouts.”

“Horrible,” Caldaq muttered. “Rain all the time, dampness everywhere.”

“Our people don’t mind it. S’van researchers say it has to do with the variety of weather we get on our own world. Apparently it’s considerably less stable than anywhere else. From what I’ve heard I think we’d find the weather on the other Weave worlds pretty boring. I guess we can make ourselves at home just about anywhere.”

“How could any civilized being think of this awful place as a home?”

“The Kantarians do.”

“They are not civilized.”

“Neither are we, remember?

Maybe that’s why we’re getting along so well with them.”

Caldaq thought about that when he awoke in his comfortable bed in the main hospital at Base Central, his pain much subdued. The Hivistahm tech who happened to be checking on him clicked its teeth in delight when the Commander opened his eyes. “How long?” Caldaq asked immediately. “Ten days almost, Commander.” The tech was checking readouts on nearby monitors. On command the bed raised him to a sitting position. He saw that he was in a private cubicle as befitted his rank. “Is there a Human officer, Will Dulac, on base?

I realize you would not know, but if you could initiate inquiries it would be appreciated.”

“Truly there is for that no need, Commander.” He handed Caldaq a pill which the Massood obediently swallowed. “Everyone knows of the Human Dulac.”

“They do?”

“Naturally, since regional commander he is.”

“‘Regional commander.’” To Caldaq the notion seemed as alien as an Amplitur probe. “Truly. Many battles have the Humans won since they arrived here in force. They are in the process of pushing the Crigolit main body back over the continental divide. It is rumored that Human infiltration squads are already swift strikes conducting on supply lines and depots in the foothills of the eastern slopes.”

“Do you know of my own group?

Southern sector forces Two and Three?”

“Those who survived the battle in which you wounded were are alongside the Humans fighting. They to go back volunteered, I understand.” The Hivistahm whistled. “Truly strange are the ways of those who capable of combat are. Is it true your people fight better in the company of Humans?”

“Not that I have noticed.”

The technician hardly heard him. “Time it is to wait expectantly. Some say that the Humans will push the Crigolit, Mazvec, and Amplitur off Kantaria by year end.”

“Not possible,” Caldaq mumbled. “The enemy is too firmly established on this world, too well entrenched. Their lines of supply are secure and …”

Extraordinarily, the technician interrupted him. It was unheard of for a Hivistahm to interrupt a Massood. “None of that to these Humans matters. It is understandable, as they not civilized are. I have the recordings seen. Visualize the most ferocious, hostile land-dwelling creature imaginable and then intelligence give it. Truly there you have a Human. Although,” the tech added after a moment’s hesitation, “some of their music nice is.” Double eyelids blinked in the smooth flat light of the hospital room. The tech’s cleansuit bristled with specialty insignia. “Tell me something.”

“If I can, Commander.” The tech checked his chronometer and Caldaq noted the length of his claws, which were extreme for a Hivistahm. Perhaps they served some practical function. “What think you of Human beings?”

“I personally?”

“Truly,” Caldaq said in Hivistahm. The technician was forced to pause. Hivistahm much preferred to render opinions in a group. But after a moment’s thought he said, “I have for them little use myself. Of true culture or the higher civilized disciplines they know little, despite their protestations to the contrary. I admire their tenacity and their fighting abilities even as I personally abhorrent find them. But I am for their presence glad as it means I am to fight myself not required.” He shuddered visibly. “Humans fight and die for the Hivistahm and the Hivistahm worlds.”

“They fight for their own purposes,” Caldaq corrected him. “Their passion for odd sorts of remuneration well known is.” The technician clicked its claws together. “It only their uncivilized status confirms. It does not trouble me that they fight for such reasons. It matters only that in fighting they the rest of us shield and defend.”

“No, I meant how do you feel about them on a personal level.”

“I have few Humans myself met,” said the tech thoughtfully. “Those I have encountered are invariably grateful for any good treatment they receive, as though it were some sort of exceptional bonus instead of an inalienable right. They have of civilized behavior but a poor grasp and thus regard what is natural as unusual. “Personally?

I have to know them personally no desire. Were you to place me in a room with one I think that I should quickly start kicking the door in an effort to flee. But in this environment”—and he indicated the surrounding medical complex—“I am with my own kind most of the time. I have the support of the group or of S’van or O’o’yan. Even Yula and Massood. I am among Humans not isolated.”

“Then it doesn’t trouble you?”

“What does not trouble me?” said the technician. “That the Humans are doing so much of the fighting and are having so much success at it. That fighting is the thing they do best.”

Bulbous eyes peered querulously down at him. “Truly it pleases me, as it pleases all Hivistahm.”

The door slid aside silently to admit an O’o’yan tech; a shorter, slimmer version of the Hivistahm. It differed from the one Caldaq had been conversing with primarily in coloring and skull structure as well as attitude. “Truly I must to other work now attend, Commander. You should rest. If you will do that, then I believe I can recommend that you from this facility in a day or two be discharged.”

“My thanks,” Caldaq said in a passable Hivistahm. The technician’s Massood had been quite good, but then a medical tech on Kantaria would spend most of its time working on wounded soldiers and would be expected to know the language of the injured. Despite that, he had yet to see a Hivistahm speaking English. When working on injured Humans they invariably utilized their translators. Because they had yet to master a new allied tongue, or because they saw it as a way to maintain a certain distance between themselves and their new patients?

This technician had already said he had admiration but no love for Humankind. The O’o’yan could be expected to express similar sentiments. From all Caldaq had heard and seen only the Massood were able to share certain feelings and emotions with their Human colleagues. The S’van pretended well, but in this they could not fool an experienced observer like Caldaq. They had no more love for Humanity than did the Hivistahm. It gave him something to ponder as he lay on the pallet recovering his strength. He discussed his concerns, quietly and casually, with the many who came to attend to his needs. They included fellow Massood officers glad to learn of his survival as well as numerous Hivistahm, O’o’yan, and S’van technicians. He asked all of them the same questions, even the Lepar who cleaned his room. One who did not come again was Will Dulac. He was among those directing the relentless assault on the central Crigolit positions in the eastern mountains. Caldaq contented himself with those who took the time to visit with him. He was remonstrating with two unit commanders who had arrived to pay their respects to the hero of Takicohn Valley. To them had gone the pleasure of informing Caldaq of the honor that was to be bestowed on him. He protested as vigorously as he was able, insisting that he deserved no such recognition. He had lost the battle. To his way of thinking, a glorious retreat was unworthy of commendation. They joked about it, pointing out that he was too weak to refuse, and read the text of the award that would be entered in his family records for all to venerate. Thus frustrated, he availed himself of the opportunity to unburden himself of the fears that had been festering in his mind as he lay in the hospital. “We must stop using Human soldiers.” He tried to employ the command accent to the fullest, to convey to these two fellow officers the depth of his feeling. Clearly his words had an effect. His visitors exchanged a puzzled look before the one called Huswemak eyed him uncertainly. “Why?” he inquired. “They are the best fighters we have ever had. Already they have turned many battles in our favor. Here they have saved a campaign we were losing. I myself have seen them throw themselves on heavily fortified positions heedless of their own safety in order to rescue Massood troops.”

“That is not why they fight in what appears to us to be a reckless manner. There is nothing of the altruistic about them.” Caldaq shifted on the bed. “It took me a long while to realize this. I knew a Hivistahm third-of-study who tried to explain it to me but like you, I could not see. I was blinded by the prospect of Human aid.”

“Could not see what?” inquired the other officer, struggling not to sound patronizing. Clearly the Honored Commander was still suffering the aftereffects of his life-threatening injuries. “That Humankind is potentially as dangerous to us as to the Amplitur.”

“You must be very tired, Caldaq,” said Huswemak soothingly. He started to rise. “I am quite clearheaded,” Caldaq replied tersely. Thus admonished, the officer had no choice but to sit down again. “The Humans hit our enemies as hard as they can. If one is given access to their thoughts they make it clear that they despise the Amplitur and what they stand for. I fail to see how that makes them a threat to us.” Huswemak wondered if the psytechs had cleared Caldaq for release. It was widely known that he had suffered severely from the loss of his mate a year earlier. “Humans are dangerous,” Caldaq was telling them. “Dangerous to the Amplitur and Crigolit.” Arenont’s lips rippled with amusement. “I myself have seen an injured Human take on a Molitar in the field and defeat it. You would not believe such a thing possible if you did not witness it for yourself.” She turned to her colleague. “Perhaps it would be advisable for us to call for a physician.”

“I tell you there is nothing wrong with my mind!” Caldaq’s nose and whiskers quivered. “But you have been through a terrible time.” Huswemak rose. “The mind as well as the body can suffer from trauma.”

Caldaq used the bed to straighten himself. “Listen to me!

I was of the same mind as you. I once thought as you did.”

“You are famed among the people for your uniquely non-Massood ability to pause and ponder.” Arenont gestured deferentially. “Is it not possible that you have recently had too much time to think?

This is a problem which often afflicts the S’van.” The two officers stood by the door, which parted silently to allow them egress. “Out of respect we will pass along your comments.”

“To the medical staff?” Caldaq shot back sardonically. Clearly his concerns had made no impression on them whatsoever. “To relevant parties,” replied Huswemak softly. When they had gone Caldaq lowered the pallet and lay staring at the pale blue ceiling. Useless to share his worries with others. They would not believe. They chose not to believe. He remembered something Arenont had said. Perhaps the S’van would be more open-minded. Having little presence on the battlefield they would be less likely to be overawed by Human achievements. Skeptical they might be, but they would listen. The S’van always listened. If he could at least set some among them to thinking …

On the day he was to be discharged he received a visit from a Hivistahm physician. This in itself was expected, but the physician’s identity was not. It was she who had been the interfacer on his ship: the one who had been devastated by Will Dulac’s reaction to the artificial mind probe. Though he was far from expert at judging Hivistahm health it was clear that the past years had not been kind to her. Too many prosthetic scales dotted her neck and the graceful, elongated head. Her eyeshades were thick and dark, unfashionably unadorned. She was elegantly clad in the pale green uniform of a full physician. Insignia of rank gleamed on her shoulders. Before entering she sampled the air of the room, an instinctive Hivistahm reaction. “Honored Commander Caldaq: Do you know me?”

“I do.” He stood by the edge of the pallet which had nurtured him back to health. “I did not know you were on Kantaria.”

“I have not here long been. Truly one does not have to be to of your exploits hear.”

“It seems I am to be exalted for a grand failure. I am not pleased.” His upper lip curled. “Have they sent one who knew me to decide whether I am sane enough to return to my work?”

“Sarcasm better suits the S’van,” she commented. “I have heard of what you have been saying. I know quite sane you are.”

“If anyone should, it ought to be you. And Third-of-Study, if you remember him.”

“Well I recall. He spoke, I was silent. I needed to heal.” She came close and stared up at him. “I know firsthand the truth of what you have been saying.”

Caldaq looked down at her. “Because of what happened to you on the ship?”

“Truly that, and other things. I have had time to study, to observe.”

He inhaled sharply. “Then perhaps between the two of us we may yet convince others of the danger. I intend to take this matter as far as possible. To the Military Council, if need be. The support of a non-Massood, and a physician at that, will be very welcome. You will help me?”

“I will do no such thing,” she replied. “But you agree with me.” Caldaq was stunned. “It was you who once insisted we kill the man Will Dulac and flee his system. Or have you forgotten?”

“Truly I have not. But help you I will not. It would not matter anyway.”

“I do not understand.”

“Of course you do not. You are a soldier, a fighter. But for the very reasons you enumerate it is too late now things to change. Perhaps at the beginning, when first we these people on their homeworld encountered, a case might have been made for granting them the isolation they requested. But now they have integrated themselves too fully into our forces, have made themselves to the war effort invaluable. Your fellow Massood have told you that. The other species, my own people, will with Humankind have nothing to do, but they revere them for what they have accomplished on behalf of the Weave.”

“Attitudes can be changed. Why won’t you help me?”

“Because despite my personal fears and concerns, or yours, there is no avoiding the fact that the Humans a difference in the fighting have made. They have a status quo shattered which for hundreds of years existed. Truly they the new figure in the equation are.”

“We fought well without the aid of Humans. It can be so again,” Caldaq insisted. “I have what you propose already tried. Quietly, in the manner of my kind. I have cultivated important contacts, have gained the interest of those who have the attention of Council members. I have shown them the records of my own personal experience, despite the fact that I relive that pain time and again. Truly a nuisance of myself I made. “That was when I was of something not generally known informed, something perhaps unknown even to members of the General Council.”

“Critical information would not be kept from the General Council,” Caldaq protested. The physician indicated humor. “You a fine soldier are, Caldaq of the Massood. Among your people you would qualify as a deep thinker. But you are not Hivistahm, not S’van. Innocence is a trait to be encouraged among fighters. “The truth is that the war we were losing.”

“No,” Caldaq objected. “Both sides won victories and sustained losses.”

“Truly, but in subtle ways it had been clear to the Military Council for some time that the Amplitur winning were. Defeat could greatly prolonged be, but not prevented. Tout a minor victory here, play down a major defeat elsewhere. In this manner was kept from the general population this knowledge. “Understand that this was as much a revelation to me as it must be to you now. Only when I chose the matter of intimate Human involvement in the resistance to pursue was it decided that I should to a carefully masked reality be exposed. “It was made clear to me in nonmilitary terms that during the last hundred years the Weave had begun to lose the war. With their singleness of purpose and ability to mentally manipulate their allies the Amplitur an advantage had which the acrimonious members of the Weave could not hope to counter. That advantage had at last begun to tell. “And then the Humans. They do not like any other known race act. Though manifestly uncivilized they have an advanced technology managed to develop. They are unlike anything the Amplitur have encountered, the product of an abnormal evolution. Mediocre artists and technicians, they combine minimal intelligence with an extraordinary proclivity for violence. Their presence has the military revitalized and the Amplitur and their allies stunned. And then there is the as yet unexplained mechanism within their nervous system which enables them not merely to resist but fight off the Amplitur mind probe. “Not only has the inevitable defeat been staved off, our forces are reversing losses and the offensive taking. I do not mean to minimize the danger I think Humans present to our civilization, but that civilization must first be preserved before we can deal with what is at present only a theoretical threat. Under the circumstances, you can see truly why the Military Council no choice has but to make maximum use of Human volunteers. Were anyone otherwise to suggest they would be instantly replaced.”

Caldaq was silent for a long moment. “Do you understand the real danger they represent?

It is not that they are good fighters, or independent of mind. It is that they like fighting. They revel in it, they luxuriate in it. They have spent millennia trying to deny this birthright because they were forced to fight each other. Now they have an opponent who is not Human. No longer do they have to strive to resist their natural instincts.” He paused. “I saw this happen to a friend of mine. One you would remember well.”

“It does not matter. Whatever the outcome of the war or Human-Weave relations, neither you nor I will be around to see them. The historians will judge. I am here to tell you there is nothing that can be done.”

“We could try,” Caldaq insisted. “Try what?

The Humans aware of us now are. With every passing day they become more familiar with Weave technology, Weave tactics, Weave strategies, and Weave civilization. They cannot back to their homeworld be forced. There is no going back. “Suppose you could the Council convince of your fears. What would you have them do?

Forcibly all Human soldiers from Weave units expel?

The Amplitur nothing better would like.”

“Nothing so extreme is required. It is only necessary to deny transportation facilities to Earth.”

“You think so?

You have only lived among them, fought alongside them, known them as soldiers, whereas I have had the opportunity to continue to study them. You forget that their technological advancement was restricted by its emphasis on the military and by intertribal conflict. With the end of such conflicts they have been freed to normally develop for the first time in their history. “They have for improvisation and for improving upon existing technology a remarkable capacity which for the first time in their development they are putting to use.”

“What are you saying?” Caldaq muttered. “That their exposure to Weave technology has given them knowledge enough to build their own ships. They the ability have. They no longer to their own world can be restricted.”

Caldaq sat down heavily. “Then all is lost.”

“Nothing is lost. Truly. You and I are not the only ones of the potential problem cognizant, although I am more intimately familiar with it than any other. Others alerted have been, or similar conclusions as the result of their own studies have reached. While it would be heretical to discuss it in public, I can assure you that certain select small study groups do so in private. “As the war against the Amplitur is pursued, informed members of the nonmilitaristic species will decide how with the problem of Humankind to deal. As Humans learn from the Weave, so will the Weave learn from them. As we study them, we may even learn the secret of their biological defense against Amplitur intrusion. It would be worth retaining them as allies if for that only. Eventually they will be managed and integrated into Weave civilization.”

“‘Managed’?” Caldaq murmured. “That sounds very much like the approach the Amplitur would take.”

The physician was undisturbed by the commander’s accusation. “We will not change Humankind in that fashion. Their independence of thought will not be restricted. Were we to attempt to do so, we would indeed be like the Amplitur.” Teeth clicked together. “Who knows but that they might react to us as they have to the Amplitur?

No. This is more a matter of Human energy to useful channels turning.”

“If you and your friends believe you can do that, then you are unrepentant optimists.”

“Truly we can be nothing else. You fear Humans. I have more reason to do so, yet I have succeeded in coming to terms with their presence among us. I am of the potential difficulties they present aware but still wish to a basis for eventually dealing with them establish.”

Caldaq wished Jaruselka were there beside him. He missed her calming influence, her sound advice. Missed the partnership. “We will never be able to manage them,” he said quietly. “All sentients develop and mature through mutual cooperation. Humans are the only species to have done so as the result of continual conflict. Their genetic makeup as well as their society is warped.”

“Truly we can help to change that,” said the physician. “Any people helped can be.”

“Are you so certain?” Caldaq asked her. “The S’van can manipulate us while we unaware of it remain. I have seen them do the same to Humans. S’van suggestion is not the same as Amplitur manipulation. “Humankind is its destiny fulfilling, doing what it was designed to do. For that they are to be pitied more than feared. My people do not socialize with them. Nor do the S’van, or the Wais, or any other. They are at once brilliant and barbaric, but they are not hopeless. In time they can be civilized.”

“If not, it will be our fault,” Caldaq pointed out. “We have asked them to fight, to give free rein to the very instincts they have been struggling throughout their history to suppress.”

“At least they cannot now themselves exterminate. By providing them with a common enemy we have given them unity as a species, something they might otherwise never have achieved. Did you know that they were their own planet destroying?

They were dying in the grip of their own perverted instincts. They spoke contradictory nonsense like ‘fighting for peace.’ We have them the outlet they needed given. We have given them time. And in time we will give them civilization. “But not now. For now we need them as they are, as they have been. Dangerous. Truly.”

“It is a terrible responsibility.” Caldaq gazed into the distance. “I had the opportunity to observe Humans at peace, verging on true civilization.”

The physician dismissed the comment. “What you saw was the veneer Humans invented have to their sanity maintain. Inside they are all alike. It is something even they are beginning to admit to. As a physician I know that for a patient the first step in receiving successful treatment is to admit that one needs help. For the moment, however, we must convince them that they do not. Are you now changing your opinion of them?”

It was raining outside. From the hospital room Caldaq could see the western ocean, dark green glass beneath a troubled sky. “No. I fear them as they are, and so it concerns me that we do not begin immediately to try to civilize them. The more we allow them to utilize their natural abilities on our behalf, the more difficult it will be to eventually change them.”

“Truly that is so. But we have no choice. We must continue upon the path we have chosen and hope that when we reach its end, Humans will continue to walk with us.” The physician stared at the Massood’s back. “If it helps, you might an alternative future contemplate.”

Caldaq glanced tiredly back over his shoulder. “What?”

The physician spoke with all the somberness of which her kind was capable. “Consider the possibilities if the Amplitur had encountered Humankind first.”

The False Mirror

For Harry E. Fischer, Able-bodied seaman and fellow voyager. I

By the time he was twelve years old, Ranji knew he liked to kill. His parents, naturally, encouraged him. By the time 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 same 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-to-seventeen-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 everything. 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 had 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 Maze twenty-five young men and women from Kizzmat Township were at this very moment going through the same motions and thinking many of the same thoughts as Ranji and his friends. Afterward there would be a celebration, a party, where victor and loser could meet in an atmosphere of genuine conviviality and friendship. But before that happened they would do their very best to mock-murder each other. Ecozones occupied Ranji’s thoughts. He hoped the Maze wouldn’t be full of, say, arctic tundra. Tundra simplified things too much. There was nowhere to hide, not enough variables. Dense jungle would suit him better. Or maybe desiccated granite. Hopefully there wouldn’t be a lot of water. He didn’t like fighting wet. Whatever they encountered, he and his friends were prepared. They had trained in all conditions. He was one of five squad leaders. Birachii was another, Cossinza a third. Pretty blond Gjiann from the outskirts of the township was a fourth, and Kohmaddu the fifth. Heavyset and slow, she compensated for physical deficiencies with a brilliant mind and undisputed courage and daring. No matter how tough the competition, her squad rarely suffered a loss. They were ready for the Kizzmatis, all right. Victory lay on the far side of the Maze. All they had to do was enter and take it. II

The pale glow of predawn heralded the incipient appearance of Cossuut’s sun as the five squads which comprised the Trials group assembled for Kouuad’s final briefing. “I don’t have to tell you how proud I am of what you have already accomplished.” Their squat instructor surveyed them in fatherly fashion. “You have surpassed not only my expectations but also those of your parents and learning mates. “I am especially gratified by the performance of those of you whose origins lie with devastated Houcilat. Your achievements stand out all the more because of the additional burdens that were placed on your maturation. Soon you will be given the opportunity to seek compensation. Keep that in mind as you enter these Trials.” He strove to make eye contact with each of them in turn. “May it go well for you,” he said finally. “Let each do their best. Whatever results, I will be there for you when all is over.”

They waited in respectful silence until their instructor was out of earshot. It had been a typical Kouuad speech: terse, to the point, and devoid of the flowery exhortations sometimes favored by other instructors. No matter. They did not need fancy words. They had training. Ranji knew they would not let the old warrior down. A certain amount of pomp and ceremony was unavoidable as they were marched to the south entrance of the Maze and subjected to final Trial instructions. Somewhere to the north of their starting position lay the Kizzmati headquarters and twenty-five highly trained opponents as dedicated to winning as themselves. In between were the unscalable ceramic walls that cut the Maze up into multiple twists and terrains. Ranji paid little attention to the declamatory Trials official. He and his companions knew the rules by heart. They were assembled across from the Maze entrance, already planning and plotting, their eyes alert for potential antagonists even though they knew that the Trials had yet to begin. Tense and expectant as he was, he knew this was no more than a student exercise, a prelude to the real thing, to actual combat. That would come soon enough. First there was this one final test to get past. A last chance to accrue artificial glory. As the official droned on, some of Ranji’s friends began running in place or performing restricted range-of-motion calisthenics to stay loose. Cossinza’s quintet was particularly agitated. As the fastest of the five squads, they had been given the task of moving out first, striking quickly for the enemy’s headquarters in hopes of bypassing or catching any defenders off guard. It was a risky strategy but one they had brought off before. For it to work, Cossinza had to find the shortest path through the Maze on the initial try. The rest of the group would advance more deliberately, cautious but still pressing the attack. Relentlessness was their hallmark, a natural tendency which Kouuad had wisely encouraged. As far as Ranji was concerned, emphasis on a strong defense was the sign of a battle already half-lost. No martial music, no blaring sirens announced the start of the Trial Finals. An official simply gestured in their direction, and a couple of squad leaders responded in kind. Led by Cossinza’s people, the young representatives of Ciilpaan entered the Maze. Immediately they separated into their respective squads. Moving forward at the run, Ranji’s quintet passed through a ceramic portal that opened onto gently rolling desert terrain. His heart sank even as the temperature rose alarmingly. He didn’t favor desert fighting. Automatically he and his colleagues made appropriate adjustments to their equipment and camouflage. Small sandstone buttes glazed with the hue of forgotten rust protruded from shifting dunes. To their right a small pool of water collected at the end of a dry gully. Alien-looking, spiny plants were the only visible life in the artificial landscape. Ranji reminded his friends to avoid them. The Maze was as much their opponent as the Kizzmatis. Squads Four and Two hugged opposite walls as all three moved forward, Four taking up positions on slightly higher ground to cover Two’s advance while Ranji’s people worked their way up the middle. While it was unlikely that their opponents had come this far already, no one from Ciilpaan was taking any chances. The Kizzmatis did not have a reputation as sluggards. Ranji’s squad entered the gully. As they used its cover and then that of a smaller tributary to work their way northward, he wondered how Cossinza’s people were faring. They had disappeared into a different branch of the Maze. He glanced at his wrist communicator but did not adjust it. Communication was allowed and possible only within individual Maze partitions. Splitting up offered a testing group more attack options but reduced their ability to coordinate strategy and defend their own headquarters. Radical groups that divided into the maximum five squads were usually overwhelmed, while those in which all twenty-five participants stayed together were almost always outflanked. It didn’t matter to the Ciilpaans. They were prepared for anything. Such tactical flexibility had been a major contributor to their string of successes. It took them most of the day to cross the desert partition, advancing with a proven mix of care and speed. Evening produced the first of several surprises. Gleaming walls narrowed to form an intersection. Whiteness glimmered beyond. Not the white of gypsum sand but of ice and snow. Bitter cold leaked through the portal. Ranji’s people were forced to make hasty readjustments to their equipment. The instant they darted through the opening temperature and visibility fell sharply. Snow swirled around them, and the clear desert sky of the partition just traversed was replaced by wind and scudding dark clouds. Ranji smiled to himself. There had been rumors. Not only would they have to make their way through an infernally uncooperative Maze, avoiding natural difficulties and traps along with their opponents, they would also have to cope with environments that changed with each new partition. That meant altering tactics accordingly. It was challenge enough to tax the most resourceful. Among other things, it meant they could not predetermine how to allocate their supplies of food and water. Not when they might have to go from spending days in a comparatively benign temperate forest to a week on a barren tundra. It complicated everything. Which was, of course, the intention of the Maze’s designers. The next partition was dominated by higher, damper desert. Dense succulent vegetation mimicked lusher climes while small creatures scurried through the undergrowth. A sudden downpour caught them unaware, leaving everyone drenched and considerably less buoyant than they had been the previous morning. And still no sign of the Kizzmatis. Squad Four was out of range, having decided to explore a different partition, but he was still in communication with Two. Again he found himself wondering at Cossinza’s progress, decrying the inability of the communicators to penetrate the ceramic walls of the Maze. Then the dry air was full of questing beams of colored light and he was too busy shouting orders to worry about the circumstances of distant colleagues. As he scrambled frantically for the cover of a cluster of thick-leaved bushes, he found himself marveling at the Kizzmatis’ speed. He’d repeatedly been told how fast they were, but it was still a shock to encounter them this early in the game. From the volume of fire it was impossible to tell how many of them there were. He guessed more than one full squad but less than three. Lights flickered overhead, hunting responsive targets. A quick check revealed that his squad had suffered two minor “injuries” and no “deaths.” They were still at full strength, which suggested either that the Kizzmatis were very bad shots or else that they had also not expected to run into their opponents quite so soon. A hasty call indicated that Birachii’s Squad Two was in equally good shape. He felt better. “I think we’ve surprised them.” Birachii sounded confident over the communicator. Ranji kept his lips close to the pickup. “It’s mutual. Don’t try to move on ’em too fast. We want to be in position to support each other.”

“Check. How many you estimate?”

“One to three squads.”

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

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

Birachii responded with a rude noise, which left Ranji and his companions grinning. “They didn’t waste any time.” Tourmast-eir used his perception lens to try and peer through the thick brush. “By my ancestors, they’re quick.”

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

“Wonder if they’ve crossed more of the Maze than we have?” mused a fourth member of the squad. This was not how his people should be thinking. “Nobody covers ground faster than the Ciilpaan,” Ranji snapped. It didn’t matter that he did not believe it, only that his squad believed him. “Check,” murmured Tourmast-eir. Crawling on his belly, he began edging to his right. “Let’s try and get behind them.”

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

“Won’t matter if we move faster than them,” observed Weennoon. “If we don’t and I’m right, then it’s Trial end for this squad. You ready to chance that, Weenn?” The older boy subsided, thoughtful. “What do you have in mind, Ranji?”

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

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

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

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

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

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 Maze, 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 rim 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 fighting 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 defeat 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 Ashregan 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. IV

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 I 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 physiotech 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. “Ashregan 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 physiotech 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 Lepar’s 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 in 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. V

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 throwback 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 spearpoint 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 insides 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. Fifth-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.”

VI

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 Underspace 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 Yula 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 overstuffed 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 and 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 Eirrosad 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 than 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 between 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 obtuseness 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 Amplitur.”

“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. VII

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 ornithorp 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. VIII

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 so Ranji 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 VVadir. Turned them into soldiers, fighters for the Amplitur cause, when all they want is to be left alone.”

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

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

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

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

“How do you know?

Because they told you so?

You must know how forceful their ‘suggestions’ can be.”

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

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

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

She eyed him intently. “Maybe you do. Maybe you do. But I think you’re either a greatly gifted liar or else you’ve been completely mindwashed by the squids.” She rose and he tensed slightly, but she made no move toward him. “Well, it’s obvious I’m not going to convince you otherwise. Maybe this one was right.” She prodded the prone Yula with a foot. “Maybe it’d be better if he had shot you.” She looked back at him. “If you’re going to knock me out, get on with it. I’m fed up with trying to talk to someone who’s unable to speak for himself. I don’t blame you; it’s not your fault. But it’s boring, and I’m tired.”

Ranji rose and drew the little cylinder full of sleep gas from the service belt. Despite her outward show of bravado he saw her flinch expectantly. He hesitated. “Perhaps I will allow you to remain conscious for a while yet. Every time you open your mouth you tell me something useful.”

“Then you’re easily sated.”

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

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

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

There!

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

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

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

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

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

She stared back at him as if trying to see 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. IX

When he awoke the following morning she was sitting off to one side, deep in contemplation. The thin stick protruding from her lips gave off wisps of aromatic smoke at periodic intervals. Reflexively, his fingers felt for the pistol. It wasn’t there. Nor were they alone any longer. Three other Humans sat off to his right. The two males were enjoying their morning meal while their female companion paid close attention to Ranji, the grid of the narco cylinder held firmly in her left hand aimed unwaveringly at his face. Seeing that he was awake, the nearest male turned in his direction and spoke politely through a translator. “We decided to let you sleep. After the race you’ve run us we figured you must be exhausted, and we want to deliver you in good condition. Don’t think we’d have caught up with you yet if we’d done much sleeping ourselves.”

His gaze shifted from the new arrivals to the Human Heida Trondheim. She sat parallel to him on a smooth rock, her slim form outlined against the rising sun, knees drawn halfway up to her chest. “Sorry,” she said. “I told you my friends would catch up with us.”

“I thought—” he started to reply. What had he thought?

What could he conceivably have been thinking?

It was simple enough. He hadn’t been thinking. If he’d been thinking he would have shot her. He’d been very tired, and she had been warm, and comforting, and understanding, and had raised intriguing issues of mutual interest, and the two of them had been very alone. The look on his face must have been close enough to its Human equivalent for her to recognize. “You know, I thought about helping you stay free for a while. I really did.” She shifted her legs around. “It must be terrible to be all alone so far from friends and family and familiar surroundings. But it would only have postponed the inevitable, and you had two loaded weapons. You might’ve shot at someone, and they might’ve shot back. I didn’t want to see you killed.”

“Why should you care?” He stared searchingly. “What difference does it make to you what happens to one enemy soldier?”

“Because I’m not sure you are an enemy.” She sucked on the slim, silvery stick. Fragrant haze momentarily obscured her expression. One of her male counterparts glanced at her. “What’s that supposed to mean, Heida?”

“Have you looked at him?

I mean, taken a really good, close look at him?”

The woman holding the gun on Ranji responded. “We all saw the images. They were pretty detailed. He’s supposed to be some kind of a cross, isn’t he?

A mutated Ashregan?”

“Maybe,” Trondheim murmured. “Or maybe something else.”

“Not our business to propose answers.” The man pulled a tab on his empty meal pack and watched as it turned to biodegradable powder. “We track; Research and Development pontificates.”

Ranji marveled at his calmness. He could have been angry at her but he wasn’t. After all, it wasn’t as if she’d betrayed an intimacy. Their brief interaction had been nothing more than a scientific experiment. She’d as much as said so. They were representatives, albeit compatible representatives, of two different species. She could not “betray” him if she wanted to. If he was angry at anyone it was at himself. For succumbing, for letting down his guard. He drew what consolation he could from the knowledge that nothing in his training had prepared him for what had transpired the previous night. They were very careful with him this time. Everyone had heard the story of his escape, and they were determined not to repeat the error of his earlier escort. The sled that arrived to pluck the Trackers and their prisoner off the mountain came equipped with limb restraints and a lockable compartment hastily installed for the benefit of a single important guest. It afforded him privacy while easing the minds of his hosts. He saw Heida Trondheim several times during the flight back down the mountain as the sled retraced in minutes terrain it 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 carried 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 gruffhess 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 Hivistahm 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 affect 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.”

X

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 Amplitur. 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 no 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 coming 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 emplaced 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 mélange 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 corner 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 my 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.”

XI

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 homeworld. 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 microsurgical 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-aar’s 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. XII

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 fill me 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 Humanness 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 Motar, 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 coopted 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.”

“If 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 his. “It is good to find you alive, Unifer.”

He could feel his indoctrination, his recently acquired Humanity, beginning to crumble in the presence of Ashregan 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 his 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 Ashregan, 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. XIII

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 him. 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. XIV

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 frozen 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 been 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. XV

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 uncertainties and put an end to his private sufferings. Once more the peculiar calm which his troops mistook 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 noncombative 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 assumption.”

“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 unpiloted 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 acerbically, “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 staff 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-manyfold-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-manyfold-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. XVI

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 themselves 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 themselves. 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 fire. 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 coconspirators 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 repositioned 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. XVII

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-dimensional construction to vanish in odd corners 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 chosen 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 and 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 unenlightening 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 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 … Ulaluable.”

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. XVIII

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 as 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 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 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 Tourmast. 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, Ulaluable 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 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 Koba, Eirrosad, 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 midflight. 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.”

XIX

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 Underspace 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 Eirrosad.”

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 reached 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 was 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?” Tourmast 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 what?” 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 Amplitur. And that would likely be the end of me as a freethinking, 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 the 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. XX

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 or allies. What was important was what individuals believed 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 Omaphil. 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 meditech, 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 Cossuutian. 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.”

XXI

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 puffballs 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 his 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 rightness 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. XXII

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 Ulaluablian 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 barely 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 the 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 he 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 uncleanliness 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. XXIII

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. This Human 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 wellness. Resolve was strengthened. At approximately that time a new, third mental presence impinged on Sigh-moving-Fast’s consciousness: a Massood, 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 in Human. 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 lock. 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 if 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. XXIV

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 Hivistahm 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 alien 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 Cossinza’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. I 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. The Spoils of War

For John Soderberg: sculptor

Fellow shaper of the aether

Fellow explorer. I

“I wish that you would not do this thing. You know that we all do.”

They reposed on the slightly raised dining platform on the external lip of the restaurant. From their present height they could see much of the city spread out before them, an urbanized extravagance that covered a vast amount of territory. Mahmahar was not that heavily populated, but since by law no structure could be more than four stories tall, expansion was predominantly horizontal. The vast number of gardens and parks demanded by custom and aesthetics further contributed to the large areas occupied by even modest conurbations. Not that the city had the slightest overtone of urban sprawl. On the contrary, it barely resembled a city at all, much less the kinds of metastacizing metropolises one found on the Hivistahm or O’o’yan worlds. Architecture that emphasized the harmonious while intertwining with gardens and parks made sure of that. In such a setting it was the larger structures that looked like interlopers and not the other way around. Home to slightly more than two million, the community of Turatreyy was one of the larger on Mahmahar, and its inhabitants were proud to call it home. Where possible the Wais preferred to restrict the size of their cities to less than five million but more than one. In socialization as in everything else, the Wais found beauty in definition. Sometimes this engendered a mixture of contempt and envy among the other members of the Weave, who would deride the Wais for their manners and formalities while secretly admiring their ability to develop or find beauty in everything. Even among their detractors there was no denying that Wais society and civilization represented the zenith of Weave culture, one that other species could only aspire to emulate even when Wais action (or lack of it) proved exasperating. It was a responsibility the Wais took seriously. Like every other member race of the Weave, they had sponsored the war against the Amplitur from the beginning, over a thousand years ago. It was a support that had never wavered, one as strong as their desire to shun actual combat. In that they were no different from the majority of their allies. Lalelelang’s mother toyed with the three traditional drinking utensils in front of her. One for the aperitif, one for the main course, a third filled with a lightly citrus-flavored spring water for ceremonial clearings of the palate between bites. Like every other aspect of Wais society, dining had been raised to a fine art. As the dominant surviving representative of their matrilineal line, her mother had to say such things; it was her place. Her grandmother would have been even more forceful in her objections, but that honored life-giver was two years deceased, clipped, embalmed, and reverently ensconced in the family mausoleum. So the disagreeable task was left to her mother. Her father would be informed of the results only when the females saw fit. “You could be so many things,” her mother was saying. “Among your age and study group your potential gradient is by far the highest, as it is among the family. You show flashes of brilliance in narrative poetry as well as industrial design. Engineering is wide open to you, as is the entire range of organic architecture.” Gold-tipped lashes fluttered above wide, blue-green eyes. “You could even be, dare I venture the notion, a landscaper!”

“I have made my choice. The proper venues have been notified.” Lalelelang’s tone was deferential but firm. Her mother inclined forward, sipping through her beak delicately and with perfect grace from the damascened aperitif container. “I still do not understand why you felt it necessary to choose such a dangerous and uncertain occupation.”

“Someone has to do it, Mother.” With the prehensile, featherless tips of her left wing Lalelelang nervously fingered the four small plates of food arranged in the standard midday meal pattern before her. “History is a respected and valued profession.”

Her intricate body language conveying unyielding parental concern, the senior female ruffled her feathers as she straightened in her chair. Her movements signified frustration rather than anger. There was disapproval in the delicate tilt of her head, remorse in the slight arching of her feathery cranial crest. Her father’s, Lalelelang mused, would by now have been twinkling iridescent crimson. Lacking such colors, a female had to make do with subtlety of movement. She got the message nonetheless. Her mother had been flashing it in various guises throughout the meal. “You choose to be a historian, by which amusing quirk of nature I cannot begin to imagine.” Lengthy eyelashes fanned the air between them. “Eclectic enough, but not in itself objectionable. It is your fascination with the war that confounds and distresses me. The obsession is un Wais.”

“However much we may dislike it, it remains the single most important component of our modern history as well as of our daily lives.” Lalelelang picked up a clutch of perfect, tiny, bright green berries from the dish nearest to her and used (as was proper) just the tip of her beak to neatly nip them one at a time from their black stems. When she’d finished she placed the stripped stems back on the empty plate, carefully positioning them so that neither end pointed either at her or at her mother. A perverse profession she might have chosen, but she still remembered her manners, of which there were intricacies even those representatives of other species who had worked intimately among the Wais for years did not suspect. After a while they ceased to care, which helped greatly to ease tension between them and their hosts. In the midst of difficult times it struck some, like the Massood, as a waste of time and energy, not to mention an overemphasis on foolishness, but to the Wais manners were the very lifeblood of meaningful existence. It was a principle reason why they had contributed so much for so long to defeat the enemy: if imposed, the Amplitur Purpose would have wreaked havoc with traditional etiquette, without which, the Wais were convinced, there could be no true civilization. Other species did not disagree with this tenet so much as they did the emphasis the Wais placed upon it. “Even if I grant your thesis, daughter, I still do not see why you could not have left this work to someone else.” Her eyes swept worriedly across the nearest garden, a dense paving of six-petaled yellow and orange Narstrunia that were just coming into glorious full bloom. They were edged with tiny violet Yunguliu, a touch the senior female was not sure she wholly approved of. Black and white Wessh would have provided more contrast, and they were in season. We are all of us critics, she thought, as l am now in criticizing my offspring. It was a principle reason why within the Weave the Wais were greatly admired but less than universally popular. An empty package marring the soft floral perfection of the garden path caught her eye. Doubtless dropped by a visiting alien, she knew, for no Wais would be so careless with the visual aesthetic. Possibly a S’van, though they were no more or less crude than any of the other Weave races. Their irreverent attitude toward life, however, bordered on the regressive. It was with some difficulty that she repressed her instinctive urge to leap over the ornate railing and spring across the lawn to snatch up the debris before it offended another passerby’s sensibilities. She forced herself to concentrate her attention on her patiently waiting daughter. “Because I believe that I am best suited to the task, Mother.” Politely Lalelelang searched the remaining three plates of food in front of her for something appropriate with which to chase the green berries. “The same attitudinal approach which would make me a good engineer or landscaper will stand me in good stead in my chosen field of endeavor.”

“Aberrant behavior,” her mother whispered in the most inoffensive dulcet tones imaginable. “No. Just a talent … and a calling.”

“So say you. Aberrant proclivity, then.” She sipped from the container of spring water and picked at her own meal, sufficiently upset to ignore dining protocol by selecting directly from the fourth dish. Her concern for her daughter outweighed any hunger, but it would have been unforgivable to have ordered food and not eaten. She leaned across the table, the narrow head protruding gracefully from the half-meter-long neck. “You grade out top of your age group. You already speak fourteen Weave languages fluently when the norm for your educational cluster is five and for matriculated adults ten. I grant you your choice. I grant you your determination.” The head drew back and the senior female gazed into the distance. “But this area of specialization you have settled upon, like a stone sinking down through the darkest waters: that I cannot give my approval to.” Her crest was absolutely flat against the back of her head and neck as she spoke. “Why, of all the subjects available, must you choose this?”

“Because no one else has,” her daughter replied. “And with good reason.” She shifted dialects effortlessly, from one of admonition to one indicative of deep concern. “Your very health and future are at stake. Even the males in the family are concerned.”

“Everyone is worrying themselves needlessly.” Lalelelang’s reply was strong, but she could not meet her mother’s gaze. She focused instead on the other midday diners, careful not to stare at any one group or individual for too long. Her mother’s neck contracted. “I do not understand you. I do not understand how you can cope.” She reached for one of the half-dozen lightly broiled Hapuli grubs on her second plate, hesitated, and withdrew her wingtips. Distress had ruined her appetite. “I have trained myself,” Lalelelang explained. “When dealing with extremes I use the special medication that has been devised for such purposes.”

Her mother whistled soft derision. “Who ever heard of embarking on a career that requires periodic ingestion of strong medication merely to enable one to maintain one’s normal equilibrium?

What sane Wais would voluntarily subject themselves to such a prospect?”

“There have been one or two,” Lalelelang protested. “Not here on Mahmahar, but off-world. Careerists of the diplomatic service.”

“They had no choice. You do. Yet even they did not opt for this peculiar … specialization … that so perversely attracts you.” She adjusted her posture significantly. “I concede you the honors you have won, but surely you must have noticed with what distaste they have been granted?”

“Someone must do the distasteful work,” Lalelelang countered. Her mother’s beak clicked regretfully. “Yes, but why you?

Why the brightest of my offspring?”

“Because I am the best suited, and additionally the only one so inclined.”

“So you continue to insist.” She straightened formally in her chair. “It is clear you are obsessed by this and intend to pursue it, no matter the dangers.”

“It is not an obsession. It is simply what I have chosen. Or as certain poets say, for reasons unfathomable it has chosen me. I am already regarded as one of the top three in the field.”

“Easy enough to excel at something everyone else avoids.” An uncomfortable pause followed this observation, which neither mother nor daughter knew how to gracefully break. As the younger, Lalelelang finally felt it incumbent on her to speak out. “Then you won’t come to the presentation tomorrow?”

“Do you really think I could cope with it?”

“I do not know, but I would like you to see some of my work instead of condemning it solely on the basis of second-and third-hand knowledge.”

The senior ’lang’s feathers quivered. “I am sorry. The mere thought unsettles my insides. It is difficult enough just to sit here and discuss the subject with you. But to actually observe your work … no, I cannot. Of course, your father will not be present, either.”

“Because you refuse him permission?”

“Don’t speak ill of your father. As males go he is exceptional. Your genes speak to that. It is simply that he has no more stomach for your choice of subject matter than do I. The same is true of your brother and sisters.”

Lalelelang considered the remnants of what had been a less than serene meal. “I expected no more. I’m sorry you will not be present. It is fascinating material, when you consider that in the first instance—”

“Please, daughter.” Both wings rose at just the precise angle to emphasize unease. “I have heard quite enough already. Remember that though as a good parent I tolerate your fixation, that does not mean I am required to share in it. It astonishes me that any in your department can do so. Tell me: Prior to such presentations, do they also take medication?”

“I am sure there are some who do, as a precautionary measure if for no other reason. You may not believe it, but there are others besides myself who can examine everything without special preparation. It’s like working with any toxin; the more you are exposed to it, the greater the immunity you build up. Though there are always surprises.”

“And this is the life you have chosen.” Her mother steadied herself. “To scholar the war is one thing. But to focus on the Human quotient?” Her eyelids flicked eloquently. “If you had not graded out so remarkably on all the standard tests, I would have recommended you for advanced adolescent therapy.”

Rising from the table, they commenced the ritual of parting suitable for female parents and second daughters. “I know that you love me, Mother.” Wingtips, eyelashes, feathers, and beaks all bobbed and swayed in eloquent, intricate rhythm as she spoke. “I do indeed, despite the repulsive avocation you have selected.” Wingtips danced and lightly caressed. The following day Lalelelang strove to put her mother’s words and deep concern out of her mind as she checked the equipment in the tiny auditorium. Given the light attendance expected, there was no reason to request a larger facility. Besides, it was convenient to her office and relatively isolated from the main body of the university. No one should be offended. Attendance was restricted to those qualified either by membership in the department or dual recommendation from a senior scholar. This was as much for the protection of unwary students as anything else. Should an unprepared innocent expecting a normal lecture happen to wander into one of Lalelelang’s presentations, the resultant emotional and mental damage could be serious. She wasn’t worried about that. Security was the responsibility of others, and she gave herself over wholly to the upcoming presentation. The audience consisted of a dozen expectant observers, each occupying a cradling individual rest pad. Like everything else on Mahmahar, or any Wais world, the presentation chamber had been constructed with an eye for beauty as well as function. Each pad had its own lighting and reproductive screen, as well as remote terminals for recording and observing. The holo projector stood quiescent off to one side, and a simple flat screen had been secured to the depth wall. Lalelelang had learned early on in Human Studies that the usual life-simulating three-dimensional projections were too unsettling for even experienced researchers to handle. Displaying Humans in flat, obviously artificial two dimensions, particularly when combat was involved, made it much easier for novitiates to take and was about all most Wais could handle. She lit the slightly curved flat screen and checked the projector, adjusting the speech amplifier clipped to her lower beak. Most of those in attendance were known to her, though her heart jumped slightly when she noticed Fasacicing among them. He was accompanied by the two other males of his bonding trio, probably for moral support. All three worked in the sociohistory department, though only Fasacicing had shown any interest in Human Studies. For the most part they preferred to specialize in the easy prewar Golden Period of Waisisill itself. It was a mildly rewarding and decidedly unchallenging field of endeavor. Fasacicing was taking her lectures as a subspecialty. He was a handsome and extremely colorful specimen, gratifyingly flamboyant in his plumage and manner of dress. They had exchanged more than pleasantries on several occasions, advancing as far as fifth-stage verbal-physical interaction. Try as she had, she’d been unable to stimulate him to further action. He remained interested, however. She had to concentrate on her presentation, though that didn’t mean she couldn’t spare him an occasional glance. She’d acknowledged his arrival with a semiformal wave of one wing, and his triumvirate had responded synchronously, acknowledging as three the greeting intended for one. She admired his stride, almost a prance, as the trio entered and settled into adjoining pads. After allowing a decent amount of time for late arrivals, she launched into her presentation, beginning with a verbal overview of her most recent work, reading from her next report, and finally dimming the lights and initiating visuals. Immediately those peripheral attendees began to squirm and fidget uncontrollably. She made no concessions for them. The subject of her presentation was clearly described in the university overprogram and it was incumbent upon everyone present to know what to expect. Though life-size and sharply defined, the images displayed on screen were reassuringly flat, rendering them considerably less intimidating than they would have been in three dimensions. Even so, a few distressed murmurs were audible from the back row, close by the entry portal. This was normal. Lalelelang ignored them and continued with her erudite explication. “As I mentioned earlier, today we will be examining social interaction between Human fighting forces and various noncombative representatives of the Weave. In this particular case study, the Hivistahm.”

Lalelelang culled her visuals and related information from multiple sources, distilling those items of interest to her from numerous nonmilitary as well as military venues. Given the length of time Humans had been in the alliance, there were a fair number of sources to choose from. Such had not been the case hundreds of years ago, when contact with the Weave’s erstwhile Human allies had been restricted for safety’s sake. Still, it was difficult to find usable recordings that illustrated specific instances of social interaction between Human soldiers and representatives of other Weave species, since the latter did their best to avoid the former even in noncombat situations. When such contact did occur, it was usually accidental. Lalelelang spent a good deal of her time scouring otherwise uninformative media reportage in search of the occasional useful nugget. Sometimes representatives of logistical support teams, be they Hivistahm, O’o’yan, or S’van, would find themselves accidentally caught up in a flurry of fighting. More rarely a media or military reporter would be present. Out of this exotic combination of circumstances came what little material she could use. She began with updated diagrams, giving the preoccupied a final opportunity to ingest any personal medication. As for herself, she’d been able to dispense with most of it two years ago, scientific detachment and experience having combined to inure her to even the most shocking sights. As she delved more deeply into the presentation and Massood, Humans, and others began to appear on screen in abnormal proximity to one another and to actual fighting, the usual outbreak of involuntary chirpings and whistlings began in the audience. Personal recorders took down everything that was shown, everything she said. When the first detailed combat footage appeared, the shuffling sounds from the rear of the auditorium grew more pronounced. Even several of her regular students looked a little queasy. But no one left. As she elucidated, the projector flashed a particularly graphic sequence showing Human soldiers taking apart a slightly larger number of attacking Crigolit. An isolated incidence of unsuppressible regurgitation from somewhere in the auditorium failed to interrupt the flow of either words or images. Courteous or not, she didn’t have time to coddle the unprepared. It was normal for several visitors to throw up during the course of her presentations, and so she was anything but shocked when it happened. There was the usual palpable whistle of relief when she concluded the visual exhibition and resumed unsupported speaking. Her gestures, she knew, were not as refined as those of more experienced scholars, her movements not as polished by the winds of academic discourse. In her presentations information took precedence over skill of delivery. No doubt this would slow her professional advancement, but it in no way abrogated the efficacy of the material she was imparting, and she was content with that. As she shut down the equipment and pocketed the storage bead in her shoulder pouch, she took a moment to study the faces of her departing audience. It was smaller than when she’d begun, several visitors having left —or fled—prior to completion. This was not unprecedented. She might have smiled had her inflexible upper beak permitted such an expression. Not being so endowed, the Wais instead made do with a bewildering variety of gestures, eye movements, and vocal inflections. It was not a deficiency they felt keenly. Crossing the auditorium, she intercepted Fis and his companions. He seemed to have handled the presentation all right, his expression being only slightly queasy. Though his companions looked less well, they still ritually interposed themselves between the oncoming mature female and her obvious quarry. Either of them would readily have mated with her to cover for a less adventurous member of their triumvirate. While there was nothing wrong with either young male, it was Fis who attracted her. As usual he did not respond to her elegantly convoluted request for a private meeting—a date, the Humans would have called it, though for a Wais the social implications were far more subtle—with the result that the rest of the four-way conversation was politely formal if somewhat stilted. As they departed, however, one of his companions returned with the message that Fis would be pleased to meet with her in two weeks, if only to mute her persistence. Naturally she professed indifference even as she acknowledged the acquiescence. Colleagues had worried and even quietly criticized her lack of a normal social life. Perhaps evidence of this ritually scheduled assignation would mollify them for a while. Societal politics were the lifeblood of Wais culture, but sacrificing valuable research time to meet one’s minimum expected social obligations could sometimes be a pain. It was a blunt observation for a Wais to make, but one couldn’t spend months studying Humans without being influenced, however slightly, by the subject of one’s studies. She knew that among the university hierarchy her unusual straightforwardness was not always appreciated. Two weeks, then. If they could finalize a casual assignation, it would go a long way toward silencing her critics. Nor was she totally averse to such a liaison. Fis was mature enough and his companions respectable. There was also that streak of iridescent lavender that ran from his neck down onto his chest …

She made a last check of the auditorium equipment. Sometimes it was hard to be a female, she thought. You were always expected to make the first moves. That derived from ancient days when male body chemistry was governed by hormones that fired only several times in a year. Science had since homogenized that biocurve, but social conventions had proven far harder to change. What must it be like for Humans, she wondered, where the male was usually expected to be the aggressive one?

Or for the Massood, whose minimal biological and social differentiations allowed sexual courtship to proceed in an atmosphere of genteel ease?

She could envision both from an academic standpoint, but not a personal one. By now the auditorium was deserted except for herself and one remaining visitor. She blinked in surprise, wondering what Kicucachen wanted. She hadn’t noticed the presence of her departmental superior earlier and decided that he must have entered while her presentation was still in progress. While it wasn’t like him to drop in on scheduled lectures, neither was it unprecedented. She observed that despite the loss of color in his crest and chest feathers he was still handsome. Not in Fis’s class, but still a viable mate. It was a compliment for someone of his advanced years. She did not voice it, of course. Given the difference in their respective scholarly positions that would have been a serious breach of academic etiquette. There was nothing wrong with her speaking first, however. “Are you all right, Senior?”

“I believe so.” His reply was strong despite undisguised overtones of discomfort. “I hadn’t been to one of your infamous Human Studies presentations in some time and had forgotten how graphic they can be.” He glanced involuntarily in the direction of the now blank screen, as if something alien and lethal might still be lurking there just waiting to pounce on the next unwary passerby and tear him beak from limb. “You certainly haven’t moderated your subject matter.”

“I study Human activities in war and how they relate to the rest of Weave culture, particularly our own.” She made a show of adjusting the projector. “The actions of Human beings do not easily lend themselves to moderation. It is not something that can be adequately studied through indirection.”

Seeing that the brusqueness of her response had taken him aback, she hastened to soften it with appropriate follow-up gestures. It was an awkward attempt and she made a bad job of it, but he showed no offense. “You are a very unusual individual, Lalelelang. It is a continual surprise to many in the administration that someone of your background and ability should have settled on so gruesome a specialty.”

She chose not to comment. There was no specific reason to do so, as she’d been hearing the same thing for many years. “Might I inquire if you have found time in your busy schedule to make arrangements to mate?”

For a change, a comfortable coincidence. She relaxed. “There is someone I am interested in, but it is difficult. My work keeps me so occupied.”

“Yes, your dedication is frequently remarked upon.” The senior strove, not entirely successfully, to conceal his impatience. “May I accompany you back to your office?”

“I delight in your company,” she said, knowing she was hardly in a position to refuse. Her crest erected proportionately. As they walked, scholars and students, visitors and researchers swirled around them, a brilliantly chromatic academic conflagration of dialects and whistles, chirps and dips and bobs, that wonderfully poised social interaction of gregarious Wais on a mass scale which would have appeared to some outsider as a carefully and exquisitely choreographed dance. Among the sweeping gestures and strides, the arch of feathery crests and flashes of male iridescence, the luster of clothing and jewelry, the occasional exchange student or scholar representing some other species stood out like a chunk of weathered debris drifting across the surface of an otherwise mirror-still lake. Here a bright green Hivistahm, all scales and polish. Alongside a coiffured stream, a clannish pair of even smaller O’o’yan murmuring to one another. “Don’t tell me administration is complaining again?”

“No.” The senior’s eyelids barely flickered. “They recognize the significance of your work and know that someone has to do it. Since they do not dare appoint anyone, they are silently grateful for your enthusiasm. In the final analysis it affords them more relief than distress.”

“I am glad.” She did little to hide her sarcasm. “It does my spirit good to know that because of my efforts the administrators can sleep soundly at night.”

“There is no call for that tone. You have had ample administrative support.”

“Ample but reluctant, as though I were researching some dreaded disease.” When the senior did not attempt to dispute this analogy, she continued. “I am sure no one would be terribly disappointed if my entire body of work were to evaporate and I were to be reassigned to something less … discomfiting.”

They walked down a glideway lined with stained glass and planted in pink finushia. “No doubt there is some truth to that observation,” he admitted. “Yet they also realize that there will be a place for your efforts until the war ends.”

“Afterward as well, though they do not see it.”

He glanced sideways at her. “How do you mean?”

“The end of the war will not mean the disappearance of Humankind. At the Weave’s encouragement they have settled and populated many worlds in order to provide the alliance with more and more soldiers. The war’s conclusion will not make them go away. We will still have to interact with them socially. That is why my studies are so important.”

The senior was silent for a while. “I am not so sure that will be necessary,” he said finally. “Many believe that with a little appropriate assistance Humans would be glad to resume their original isolation.”

“That’s nonsense,” she replied, “or wishful thinking. You cannot keep offspring from revisiting the nest once they’ve matured. They can’t be swept out and forgotten like old droppings. No matter how much Weave society might wish it, they will not go away. So in order to live with them we must understand them better, and in order to understand them we must study them.” Her eyes flashed. “Under all conditions.”

“Pray me no polemics, for I am on your side,” said the department head. “Were it not so, I would not have supported funding of your work thus far. I say only that there are others less farseeing … or tolerant.”

“I am not alone in my studies.”

“I know. There is Wunenenmil at the University Siet and Davivivin on Koosooniu.”

“I know them well, from their work. As they know me. We are a small bonding; an unlikely triad, scholarly in intent rather than sexual.”

They turned beneath a waterfall, along the winding path that led to the residences. “This reluctance to study Humankind in combat is not limited to the Wais,” the senior remarked. “It is a distaste common to all our allies, from the S’van to the Chirinaldo. The result is a lamentable gap in the history of the war. The Massood could fill it in well but are too busy fighting, the S’van too happy-go-lucky, the Lepar obviously out of the question. The Hivistahm and O’o’yan and Sspari are too intent on logistics.” A soft whistle escaped his beak. “Sometimes I think only the Wais are interested in serious scholarship.”

“The Humans claim they are.”

The senior glanced at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“They have their own institutions of higher learning, in which they actually, believe it or not, study something other than the mastery of war.”

“Yes, I’ve heard such stories.” The feathers on the back of his neck quivered visibly but his crest did not erect. “A Human university seems almost a contradiction in terms. It must be a terrifying place.”

“I do not know. Someday I hope to experience it for myself.”

“It is a true scholar you are, to be so dedicated to your work.”

“No more so than any of my honored colleagues,” she unassumingly assured him. “Perhaps, but they are driven by respect and love for their subject matter. Surely it must be different for you.”

“It is true I have no more love for Humankind than any other thinking Wais. I would not, could not deny that. My affection is for the vast gap in an important field that must be filled in. I am glad that despite their personal feelings the membership of the administration can see this.”

“Rest confident that they do.”

“Then they will understand how urgent it is that they fill the grant that I am going to formally request as of tomorrow.”

“Grant?” His eyelids closed halfway. “For what?

Additional memory storage?

Some exotic research materials?

Perhaps an off-world leave to journey to Koosooniu to confer with colleagues in person. I see no difficulty. We are at present adequately funded.”

“Nothing so prosaic, I am afraid. It concerns something which has been troubling me for some time.”

He halted abruptly. “You are not ill?” His concern was genuine. She’d sensed for some time that the department head’s interest in her was more than merely professional. Not that she in any way resented such attention: it was simply that he did not intrigue her as a potential mating partner. Her lack of interest kept his attentions at a distance without wholly discouraging him. She knew that it was a purely male thing over which he, even at his advanced age, had no control. “I feel strongly that I have progressed as far as possible given the materials available and must therefore take whatever steps are necessary to broaden the scope of my research activities.”

“Of course; certainly. An in-person conference …”

“No, you don’t understand. I have exhausted the literature going back to the first contact between Humankind and the Weave. My own work has already moved beyond anything being done anywhere else. I need—” She hesitated as she tried to couch her comments in the most persuasive possible dialect. “—to do some fieldwork.”

The senior didn’t react immediately. When he did it was to chirp uncertainly, “Fieldwork?”

“Yes. I feel I can no longer advance by means of impersonal study. I have gone as far as I can. You’ve seen my reports.”

“Brilliant. Highly original work. One might almost say ingratiating despite the unpleasant nature of the subject matter. You have brought much credit to the department and the entire university.”

“And I intend to bring even more, by pursuing my studies in the field. I need this grant in order that I may visit, in person, a combat site. The battlefield. After examining the most recent media reports, I have settled on Tiofa as a good place to begin.”

“Tiofa is a disputed world, on which actual fighting is taking place.” The true meaning of her request had still to sink in. “Correct. Where else can I personally observe Humans interacting with other species in a combat situation?”

Forgetting courtesy, he gaped at her as they entered the spiraling Gucheria garden. “You cannot be serious!

You are Wais. I do not care how much you think you have hardened yourself to such horrors. Academic proximity is not the same as actual experience.”

“Precisely why I must go,” she contended. “You know from your own work that we are emotionally and mentally unable to cope with such conditions.”

“Over the years I have developed a number of exercises, mental as well as physical, that I believe will enable me to do so. There are also updates of the standard medication.” Her neck bobbed sharply, a fluid punctuation mark. “I must do this. Otherwise my research comes to a dead end.”

“Yet you are still comparatively young.” The department head sounded regretful. “I will not stunt my intellectual growth any more than I would the physical. Fieldwork is the next step for me.”

“I don’t know … the administration might consider itself responsible if anything were to happen to you in the course of work they had funded.”

“I have already prepared the necessary waivers. As far as the legalities are concerned I could as readily die here as on the battlefield.” She used the approximate phonetic equivalent for the term, there being no word for “battlefield” in any of the Wais dialects. “Have you considered that in the course of this work you might at times be the only non-Human present?”

A slight involuntary shiver ran down her legs but not enough, she was certain, for the department head to notice. “I think I have thought of everything, though naturally there is no way to tell how one is going to react to an unprecedented situation without actually experiencing it. I would not propose the prospect if I felt I could not survive it. “This is more than a matter of simple academic research,” she added intently. “I have partially formulated certain hypotheses which trouble me deeply. I am convinced that this proposed fieldwork will eventually allow me to solidify or, preferably, discard them.”

“If you are so troubled, you would be better off taking a pill for it,” the department head murmured. She halted on the trail and faced him demandingly. “Will you recommend that funding be appropriated?”

He hesitated, having trouble reconciling impartiality with personal concern. “You put a burden on me.”

“If anything happens to me, it will be on myself and no one else. This is a simple matter of academic propriety. There is no guilt attached.”

“If you should survive this and return with even a minimal amount of original material, it would be a triumph for the university. Personally I think your mental state is questionable. Professionally I can only proffer my abject admiration.” Several minor crest feathers erected appropriately. “I will put through your request and recommend that it be granted promptly. To what I hope is not my everlasting regret, I will not do so anonymously.” He shifted smoothly to a much more personal dialect. “And I will certainly think of you fondly while you are engaged in this extraordinary enterprise.”

“You will not be disappointed, nor will the university.” His approval sent a little thrill of elation through her. “I will bring such credit to the university that—”

“Yes, yes,” he said, interrupting her as the delicately curved and etched doorway parted to admit them to the temperature-controlled interior of the next building. “If you survive.”

II

She’d never been off-world. There wasn’t much reason for a Wais historian to leave his or her beads and scanners. Except for individuals who chose to serve in the diplomatic service, Wais tended to stay close to home, supporting the war effort in other ways. This was due as much to personal preference as to practicalities. They invariably found all other worlds, no matter how supposedly sophisticated and advanced, a comedown culturally and in most other ways from their own homes. Besides, there was no need for academics to travel between worlds when it was far easier, simpler, cheaper, and faster to shuttle requested information through Underspace. As the shuttle lifted her orbitward to rendezvous with the Underspace transport, she had her first view of her home planet, and found it most exhilarating. Her personal as well as academic voyage of discovery had truly begun. Other inhabitable worlds must be equally glorious sights, she thought. Great glowing spheres surrounded by lambent halos of cloud-painted atmosphere, their single landmasses adrift in all-encompassing oceans of burnished blue. Except for Earth. Alone among the inhabited worlds, Earth was different. Home to Humankind and a perversely active geology. Font of weirdness and uniquely regressive but highly useful sapient behavior, not to mention her career. What a wonderful and shocking place it must be, she mused. Perhaps someday she would get there as well. She found herself starting to shake and immediately began one of the numerous mental and breathing exercises she had developed. The shaking went away. To imagine actually being on Earth, a possibility traditionally employed to frighten unruly children, was something few other Wais would dare to voluntarily contemplate. To the best of her knowledge no Wais had ever visited that distant sphere of mystery and horror, or any other Human-settled world. Such contacts were better left to the more resilient Massood, or even the S’van. At J’kooufa she had to transfer to a smaller vessel, far less luxurious and equipped with fewer amenities. There were only a handful of Wais aboard, and they clustered together for the duration of the voyage. Fearing misunderstanding if not outright isolation, she kept the purpose of her journey to herself as she socialized with them. After stopping at two other worlds she had to transfer again at Woura IV, to a ship filled with S’van and Hivistahm. There was also a contingent of Massood soldiers aboard. She saw her first weapons—simple sidearms. But no Humans. Not until she found herself aboard the armed military shuttle dropping like a stone toward the contested surface of Tiofa. Like many advance worlds of the Purpose, Tiofa had been erratically settled by farming T’returia protected, in this instance, mostly by fighting Mazvec. Traditionally, Weave forces would first establish a foothold and then push the defenders back toward their planetary strongholds, from whence they would eventually surrender. But resistance on Tiofa had been unusually robust. Not only had the Weave assault been enjoined, but in places actually reversed by counterattack. Weave Command was in danger of having to seriously consider abandoning the entire effort and withdrawing all forces. Prior to that it was decided to send a much larger than usual contingent of Human warriors into the fray. With the introduction of these reinforcements, the tide of battle began to turn, but the future of Tiofa was still very much in doubt. The fluidity of the situation appealed greatly to Lalelelang. The shuttle was not attacked as it descended, the enemy instead concentrating its efforts on resupplying its own troops on the surface rather than wasting resources on the difficult and dangerous task of attempting to interdict Weave vessels as they emerged from Underspace. Weave forces mimicked this approach, for which Lalelelang was grateful. When antagonistic vessels actually managed to synchronize—usually accidentally —their emergence from Underspace, one or the other invariably vanished in a silent flash of debonding atoms as overwhelming weaponry controlled by electronics operating faster than thought was instantly brought to bear. Such rare, isolated encounters generally concluded before either side had a chance to reflect on whether it had won or lost. Down on the surface, where the great majority of fighting took place, the opportunities for surviving a combat situation were considerably better, particularly for nonparticipants. Military consultants unhappy about her journey had warned her about the facilities she was likely to have to deal with. She shrugged them off, believing she was prepared for anything. Besides which, a Wais having to live anywhere besides a Wais world was by definition roughing it. Nor had she traveled this far to sample civilized verities. She was prepared not to see or encounter another Wais for the duration of her stay. The impending social isolation did not trouble her the way it would have an ordinary citizen. Serious researchers spend the majority of their time working in solitude anyway, while historians in particular tend to stumble awkwardly through reality, their minds constantly adrift in other times and places. As soon as it set down, the shuttle was guided into a heavily shielded and camouflaged shelter set in a valley among modest, round-topped mountains. It docked alongside a number of other similar craft. Several were in the process of being serviced while large, malicious shapes were being carefully unloaded from the largest. Only the setting was utterly unfamiliar. The rest she had noted and committed to the experience of memory from numerous studies. She felt disoriented but not alienated. Her research stood her in good stead. Tall, angular, and lethally armed, a no-nonsense Massood directed her and the few other nonmilitary passengers to a waiting lounge where crude but adequate multispecies facilities had been installed. She folded herself elegantly into an appropriate chair and prepared to wait. Medication as yet unsampled weighed heavily in her shoulder pouch. It was an excellent vantage point from which to observe a fascinating and constantly changing consortium of visitors. Ferocious-looking Massood strode purposefully in and out of the lounge, towering over everyone else. Stocky, hirsute S’van bumped into one another, exchanging volatile fusillades of conversation and laughter before moving on. Reptilian Hivistahm in an infinite variety of electric green skin-tones rushed hurriedly to and fro, occasionally pausing to exchange greetings with their more high-strung but less loquacious distant relations, the O’o’yan. She even saw a bulky, massively built Chirinaldo looking unusually thoughtful behind the mask of its heliox helmet. But no Wais. Nor Bir’rimor or Sspari or numerous other Weave allies. No doubt the mix would narrow radically the nearer she moved to the front lines. It was then that she saw her first Humans. After so many years of intimate study, their appearance, the way they moved their heads and eyes, their limbs and bodies, was as familiar to her as that of her own family. There were three of them, coming down the central concourse toward her. Two males and a female, the latter recognizable by the characteristic mammalian generalities. As was usual, the males were slightly taller and more muscular, though there was considerable variation among the sexes within the species. They were talking animatedly, their conversation occasionally punctuated by loud bursts of raucous and utterly undisciplined Human laughter. This extraordinary noise, approximated within the Weave only by the S’van, caused heads to turn among the Hivistahm and other strollers, who gave the trio a wide berth. Lalelelang’s recorder seemed to have materialized magically in the grasp of one wingtip, and she was annotating her observations almost before she realized it. A thrill of excitement raced through her. Here were, after all, in the flesh, representatives of the species which formed the basis of her life’s work. They appeared to be typical specimens, which …

No, she reminded herself. Uncivilized they might be, but it wouldn’t do to think of them in that fashion, even if they were only associate members of the Weave itself. That was as much their choice as that of the other allied species. She would have to be careful to adjust her perspectives accordingly. One of the males was comparatively tall, but none of the three was especially massive. All were larger than any Wais, or Hivistahm, or S’van, but the Massood were generally taller and the Chirinaldo bulkier. Their fluid lope was familiar to her from years of intimate study. Primitive muscular bulk made their uniforms bulge in numerous unexpected places, and she fancied she could hear the grinding of their heavy, dense skeletons. Hunter-killers with intelligence. She started to tremble ever so slightly and immediately steadied herself by reciting an appropriate mnemonic. Nervousness gave way to expectation as she aimed her recorder. Her entire career had been spent in preparation for this moment. If her colleagues could see her now, they would be shuddering with fear. One of the Humans noticed her, stopping to point. They conversed briefly among themselves. Then the two males departed down a side concourse. The sole female headed in her direction. From an academic standpoint she would have preferred one of the males and so was slightly disappointed. Conversely, the female was little taller than herself and therefore far less physically intimidating. Coincidence, she wondered, or diplomatic foresight?

The female halted at a politic distance and spoke through her translator. “You’re the historian Lalelelang. I’m to be your liaison while you’re here on Tiofa. My name’s Lieutenant Umeki.”

A naked, smooth-skinned, five-digited hand was thrust toward Lalelelang. Aware that it could smash right through her rib cage, she flinched instinctively, her carefully prepared greeting completely forgotten. Immediately apologetic, the human retracted the gesture. “Sorry!

I forgot that you Wais are a little less … direct.” She proceeded to bestow on her charge an excellent example of the wide, feral Human grin. No doubt it was intended to be reassuring. Fighting to steady herself, Lalelelang ignored the unutterably uncultured, blatant display of cutting teeth and extended the flexible tips of her right wing. “It’s all right,” she said in perfectly inflected Huma. “My fault.”

Fingers brushed against her gripping quills. The bare skin was warm and the flesh beneath deceptively flexible. This time a determined Lalelelang did not so much as twitch. Suddenly she was glad that neither of the males had been assigned to greet her. She fluffed her feathers, those on her head and the back of her neck erecting to the proper height. It was a cultivated automatic response to the handshake, and completely lost on the Human. “If you’ll come with me?” The officer turned and started back down the concourse. As she complied, Lalelelang observed the easy, rolling gait, perfectly fluid despite the taut internal bracing of thick ligaments and heavy tendons. The shuttle hangar, her last tenuous link with real civilization, receded rapidly behind them. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” The Human Umeki’s speech was utterly devoid of the civilized overtones and inflections that so graced even the baser Wais dialects. “I’ve done a fair amount of liaison work, but it’s always been with Hivistahm or S’van. Techs and logistics specialists. We’ve never had a Wais here before.” She glanced in friendly, reassuring fashion at her guest, blissfully unaware that her eyes burned. Like any number of inherent disconcerting characteristics, it was something Humans couldn’t help. “I understand that you’ve been studying us?”

“For some time.” Lalelelang explained carefully. “It is my field of specialization.”

Umeki chuckled. “I know something about Wais society. Your friends must think you’re slightly daft.”

“More than slightly. Your unpopularity among us does not trouble you?”

“Nah. We’re pretty much used to it. Most of the time it’s just amusing.”

“Knowing as much as I do about your kind,” Lalelelang replied, “I expect to get along quite well.” She’d already discarded the rituals of greeting she’d prepared and had slipped into the Human conversational mode, which favored directness and brutal familiarity above all else. There was precious little room in such uncouth interaction for even minimal interjections of appreciation and courtesy. For all that, the Human seemed eager to relax and reassure her. Lalelelang listened politely, discarding the clumsy conversational chaff while retaining that information which might later prove useful. “Your Huma’s better than mine,” Umeki said in a bumbling attempt at flattery, “but of course linguistics are your people’s specialty. It’s nice not to have to use the translator. Last Hivistahm I squired around needed two minutes to figure out anything and five to reply.”

“I also dislike the distance mechanical devices interpose between individuals,” the Wais replied politely. The Human was deliberately shortening her stride and slowing her pace to enable Lalelelang to keep up with her. But then, Lalelelang reminded herself, this individual was experienced at liaison work. The average Human would not have been so thoughtful. She turned off her recorder. Umeki was not a useful subject for detailed study. “I am also familiar with the majority of current Human colloquialisms.”

“You don’t say?” Umeki led the way around a corner. “Is that important in your work?”

“It can be. I am a social historian. I study not only how Humans interact with other species but with each other.”

“Same thing our own sociologists do. Everybody wants to know something about everybody else, don’t they?”

At ease now with the Human conversational mode, Lalelelang was able to overlook the casual, unthinking insult. “In the crudest sense, yes.”

“We’ll check on your luggage. I understand you Wais like to travel with a lot of luggage.”

“You will find me difficult. I came prepared for my destination as well as my work.”

“So much the better.” She stared at Lalelelang appraisingly until she became aware that her guest was starting to fidget uneasily. “You know, you people are the most beautiful little things. Your personal decoration, your natural coloring … makes one want to take you out in the sunshine and just admire you.”

Realizing that the comment was intended as a compliment and not an unforgivable breach of behavior, Lalelelang was able to accept it as such. The more time she spent in this Human’s company, the more at ease she felt. Years of intense study were paying off. The combination of offhand affronts, verbal and physical directness, threatening gestures, and unsympathetic posture—not to mention body odor—would have by now reduced any unprepared Wais to a quivering wreck. Perhaps her visit wasn’t going to be such a debilitating proposition after all. She felt a socially acceptable quotient of pride. They drew plenty of stares as they penetrated farther into the complex. She saw no other Wais, nor did she expect to. The attention she was receiving came not only from the increasing number of Humans, but from Massood, Hivistahm, and even dull-visaged Lepar, who wondered at the presence of a fragile Wais in such company. They must be speculating furiously on my intentions, she mused. In that respect their reactions were no different from those of her friends back home. “I’ll show you around the complex once we get you settled,” Umeki was saying. “Won’t take long. It’s pretty compact. After that and at your leisure, I’m directed to take you any place you want to go. The storage facilities here are extensive, and weapons upgrading and repair is interesting. Lot of O’o’yan and Hivistahm at work there. There are also the R-and-R facilities.”

“I want to visit the front lines.”

The Human halted with an abruptness that nearly caused Lalelelang to trip over her own feet. Though she was intimately familiar with such acute gestures from her studies, it was still something to experience it in person. “You want to do what?” Umeki gawked at her. The sudden shift in tone, the overwhelming aura of accusation, the implication of possible attack inherent in both timbre and movement finally set Lalelelang to shaking violently. To her credit Umeki recognized what she’d done and hastened to rectify the mistake. “Sorry, take it easy. I didn’t mean to spook you. I know you’re easily startled.”

The exercises began to work their magic. “Yes. We certainly … are,” Lalelelang replied. “It’s just that your request startled me. I can’t take you to the front.”

Lalelelang mustered her reserves. “You just stated that you have been ordered to escort me anywhere I wish.”

“That’s true, sure. But a Wais in a combat situation … you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Entirely. It goes to the heart of my research.” She was astonished to find herself speaking forcefully to a Human. An untrained Wais would not even have been able to respond. “It is what I came here for and it is what I want to do.”

Accusation crept back into the Human’s tone. “I don’t like this. I’m personally responsible for you while you’re here. If anything should happen to you …”

“I do not intend that it should. I am only here to observe and record. You do not need to worry about me picking up a weapon and charging off to rage among the enemy.” The comment, much less the attendant dark humor, would have been impossible to execute in any of the genteel Wais dialects. Umeki considered the unexpectedly obstinate ornithorp. “You sure as hell have prepared yourself. No wonder your request to come here was approved. I’ll have to double-clear this with my superiors, but if it’s what you want, and you’ll sign the appropriate waivers, I guess I’ll have to take you.”

“I think you will find that all the necessary forms are already on file. I do not want to waste time dealing with the bureaucracy.”

“Oh, I think you’ll have enough time.” The lieutenant looked thoughtful. “There’s constant skirmishing on the Kii Plateau. Secondary theater of operation. We’re pushing them back there, but it’s slow going. That should do for you.” She paused as if waiting for an objection. When none was forthcoming, she added, “If you’re sure this is what you want?”

“Quite sure.”

Umeki looked her up and down, merely another breach of courtesy in a list grown long. By now the historian had become adept at ignoring them. “We’re going to have a helluva time finding proper field dress for you.”

“Do not trouble yourself. There is no military gear for Wais. Even if we could improvise functioning equipment I would not be able to make use of it. It would be wasted on me.”

“That’s true.” This observation, at least, was a statement of fact and therefore not insulting. “We’ll have to devise something in the way of attire, though. Nothing confining. You’ve got feathers, you don’t need much in the way of insulation. Get rid of your jewelry, for a start.” She waved into the distance. “You’re not gonna be very comfortable out there.”

“I do not expect to be. If I wished to be ‘comfortable,’ I would not have come to this world. If I wished to be comfortable, I would not be talking to you now.”

Umeki was nodding slightly to herself. “Yeah, you know the language, all right. Everything you say sounds like it’s coming out of a musical instrument.”

Lalelelang accepted the crude compliment, knowing that there were less than a dozen individuals on all the Wais worlds who would even have considered trading places with her. “You also seem to know what you want.” The lieutenant started to put a guiding arm around the historian’s thin shoulders but thought better of it, and rightly so. “I promise you you’re going to find it.”

III

They draped her with some cursory, loosely secured folds of the most flexible protective weave they could find and put her in a heavily armored air-suspension vehicle heading north. She had an ill-fitting seat forward, right next to the pilot and away from the Human soldiers clustered in back. To see them in full battle armor, dripping weaponry and related means of destruction, would have been for an ordinary Wais something out of a particularly bad nightmare. Lalelelang was not only familiar with their appearance; her studies enabled her to identify by name and function many of the destructive devices they carried. Even so, she found proximity to so many of them more than daunting. As usual, the exercises helped. Every soldier in the transport was larger than Lieutenant Umeki, and some were truly massive. She kept her distance from them while they ignored the fluttery alien dropped in their midst. Strange to see the comparatively diminutive female Umeki decked out in similar gear, with less armor to allow for more freedom of movement but wearing fully functional double sidearms and a brace of concussion darts. Lalelelang recorded it all for posterity and future study. Before leaving the base she’d dosed herself with a duet of stabilizing drugs, knowing that exercises alone would be insufficient to protect her stability should she find herself in an actual combat situation. It was entirely possible she was the first of her kind to intentionally place herself in such inimical surroundings. From a social standpoint the information she expected to gain by being a part of the experiment instead of merely an observer ought to prove invaluable. Already she had secured enough data to have made the long, difficult journey from Mahmahar worthwhile. In her mind’s eye she could envision the reaction of her professional colleagues. Hopefully she might even see enough to allow her to retire the unpleasant theories that had from the very beginning served as the main impetus behind the expedition and indeed, behind her choice of career. The terrain visible through the armored transparency that fronted the troop carrier changed from grassland to scrub-covered hill country as they advanced. Occasionally she saw other vehicles accelerating past them or whizzing by in the opposite direction. Some were considerably larger than the transport in which she rode, and boasted frightful arrays of destructive technology. Once, one of them fired repeatedly at a target out of her range of vision, and later something deadly and unseen sent a fountain of soil and gravel blossoming skyward not far to port. A terse shiver ruffled her feathers. So this was combat, she thought. This was the tactile actualization of one intelligent species attempting to destroy another: what the Amplitur had finally resorted to in their attempt to bring the members of the Weave into their all-encompassing Purpose. The unnatural act the representative species of the Weave had been compelled to embrace in order to preserve their independence. Praise to all Elevated Spirits for the existence of the prolific Massood, who had been one of the founding members of the Weave and who had carried the burden of actual fighting for so long. Praise also to the legendary Massood explorer Caldaq, whose team had first made contact with the disagreeable but invaluable Humans, who were at long last turning the tide of battle against the enemy. The single enemy miss did not upset her as much as she thought that kind of encounter might. Easy enough to mentally classify it as kin to a natural calamity, like a bolt of lightning or a meteor falling from the sky. Terrible to contemplate but relatively simple to abstract. The transport slowed as it entered a forest of taller trees, flora different from that of home. Tall and straight-boled, their branches were dense with long, pointed shapes instead of leaves. Surprisingly few bushes sought the shelter of large, glacially polished boulders. Umeki materialized next to her, flipping a coppery colored visor down over her face. “Get ready.”

Anxious but excited, Lalelelang rose from her seat, awkwardly adjusting her own modified visor. Umeki helped her with the improvised face shield, grumbling as she did so. “You’re not fully protected, but this is better than nothing. Try to keep your head down.”

“I am somewhat familiar with the conventions from my studies. I will be careful.” Lalelelang checked her recorder and its backup, far more concerned with their condition than with something as peripheral to her desires as body armor. Umeki took a step back. “You don’t look like you’re very comfortable in that getup.”

“I am not, but I will manage.” She considered upping the level of medication in her bloodstream but decided against it. Higher concentrations posed the possibility of debilitating side effects, which could affect her work. Besides, she felt as much exhilaration as fear. “You really are remarkable, for a Wais.” In full light field armor the Human female looked quite intimidating. “Not that I’ve dealt with that many.”

“I am only doing what is necessary to fulfill my work.”

Umeki nodded, a typically brusque and unsophisticated Human gesture. “You ought to get plenty of that out here.” She drew a sidearm, a compact and thoroughly wicked-looking contrivance of plastic and metallic glass. “As soon as the squad has taken up its assigned position we’ll follow. This is a standard reconnaissance-and-destroy sortie in an area that’s already been partly secured. Shouldn’t be any serious trouble.”

She nodded in the direction of the Massood pilot, who was folded intently over his instrumentation. “He can’t hang around too long. The transport’s too big a target. This plateau’s full of patrolling shapeseeker drones.”

“I understand.” It meant that she would be stuck in this place for the duration of the sortie with nothing but Massood and Humans for company, until such time as it was deemed strategically viable for the group to be withdrawn. She checked to make sure her equipment was running as she recorded the squad’s efficient and rapid deployment, looked on admiringly as they took up positions between trees and rocks. Her aural resonator was full of closed-channel communications. The soldiers were conversing in clipped, professional tones, and she had no trouble deciphering their sometimes slang-filled exchanges, whether they took place in guttural Huma or the more sophisticated high and low Massood. Language was a matter of sorted sounds, of which there were always a finite number. Translating was simply a cataloging problem. For reasons the Wais had never been able to quite comprehend, all other species seemed to find this difficult. Like the rest of her kind she felt sorry for those who were forced to rely for communication on simple, primitive systems—which meant every species that was not Wais. “It’s time.”

Umeki led her outside and down the shielded disembarking ramp, lightly resting one gloved hand protectively on the base of Lalelelang’s long neck as they ran from the transport. Breathless, recorder running, she hunkered down next to the Human’s reassuring bulk as they entered the woods and took up a position behind a massive chunk of oblate granite. There were two other Humans there. One spoke into his suit communicator while the other gave orders. Save for a quick glance they ignored the presence of the two female observers, enabling Lalelelang to study them at her leisure. Their activity level, both verbal and physical, was daunting. She’d anticipated as much, but it was still impressive to observe it in person as opposed to via a holo reproduction, no matter how accurate the latter. The speed and suppleness of their movements, their coordination though burdened with armor and weapons, was as stylish as that of the finest Wais dancers, possessed though it was of a terrible alien beauty. She made notes in a steady stream, pausing only to take throat-soothing sips from the service tube built into her makeshift suit. Every minute, every second was fraught with new and invaluable insights. Information garnered on this single excursion would provide material for a year’s study. She was immensely grateful for the unique opportunity, and proud of the intestinal fortitude which enabled her to take advantage of it. So intent was she on her observations that she hardly noticed the heavy hum of the troop transport as it rose from the forest floor and pivoted in midair before retracing its path back through the trees. “I have seen enough here.” She addressed her guide through the visor’s voice membrane. “Can we move on?”

Umeki’s face was hidden by her own visor, but there was no mistaking the amazement in her voice. “You really are something, you know?” She pointed. “Let’s try that hollow over there.”

Lalelelang followed the crouching Human as they entered a dip in a dry ravine dominated by a particularly impressive specimen of the local growth. She played her recorder up and down the burly, rough-skinned trunk, marveling at its stature. What a centerpiece this would make for a formal Wais garden, she thought!

Great gnarled roots snaked into and out of the surrounding rock, supporting and nourishing the venerable forest giant. Such fantasizing helped to calm her. She wasn’t trembling at all when she turned to see that Umeki was peering cautiously over the rim of the ravine. Lalelelang adjusted the recorder, taking close-ups of each of the Human’s limbs. “What happens next?”

“We wait. The squad’s moved forward, toward a rumored Mazvec bunker. If they find one, they’ll try to clean it out. Either way, we stay here until we’re told it’s safe to advance.”

“But I came to witness combat, to see Humans fighting.”

Umeki looked down at her. “One step at a time. Don’t overreach yourself.”

Beneath the composite armor Lalelelang’s feathers fluffed. “I have made the study of such matters my life’s work. I assure you there is little to be encountered here that would surprise me.”

“You think so?

I’ve seen others who thought they could handle it. Hivistahm and one time a S’van. They couldn’t. Some things you can’t quantify.”

As if to reinforce her warning something whispered over their heads, silent as a gliding seabird. An instant later Lalelelang felt herself crushed to the ground as Umeki flung herself atop the startled Wais. The incredible density of the Human skeletal and muscular system impressed itself on the historian in a way no amount of study could have done. She felt like a leaf stomped by a falling stone. Even so, Umeki took most of the shock on her hands. A second later the ground heaved as the deceptively sedate humming gave way to an explosion of deafening proportions. Gobs of seared soil and carbonized plant life vomited skyward before raining down on them. Sidearm in hand, the Human rolled off her. A dazed Lalelelang fumbled with her recorder. Secondary explosions reverberated around inside her shocked skull. Thankfully they were farther off. “‘ ’ … what …?” she mumbled, hurriedly translating. “A cute little new toy the Mazvec have deployed. Sounds like a big bug, doesn’t it?”

Lalelelang nodded, utilizing the simplified Human gesture instead of the far more elaborate Wais response the query called for. It could not have been adequately executed in the suit and would have meant nothing to her guide anyway. “It just comes floating in, unobtrusive as you please, and you’re tempted to ignore it.” Umeki’s eyes were as active as her lips. “As soon as it senses any number of preprogrammed target shapes—like us—it swerves and tries to land on your head.”

“But … we are all right.” Lalelelang kept her stunned legs tucked tightly beneath her. “The squad has decoy shapes out. It went for one of those. Too close by half, though.” A voice hailed Umeki and she responded to her helmet pickup. “Here, dammit!”

For the third time Lalelelang lowered the volume in her earset as she listened absently to the conversation. It was thick with military jargon she couldn’t quite translate. “Shit.” Umeki broke off and skidded back down to the bottom of the ravine. Slipping an arm beneath Lalelelang’s left wing, she raised her bodily to a standing position, fairly flinging the ornithorp to her feet. “What is it, what is wrong?” Lalelelang looked around uncertainly. Explosions continued to echo nearby. “The Mazvec are coming out. Either they were waiting for the transport to unload or else they’re less surprised than we hoped they would be. They’re coming this way, and in greater numbers than we anticipated. Bunker must have shielded sections our detectors didn’t pick up.” She started up the ravine, back the way they’d originally come. “Let’s go. We’ve got to get out of here and join up with the others.” A hand reached back and locked around a wing, yanking Lalelelang forward. “I do not understand.” Once clear of the ravine she saw other armored figures, Human and Massood, backpedaling through the woods. Those farthest away would occasionally stop to aim and fire before resuming their retreat. Smaller explosions ripped the ground not far from where they were standing. Something unseen snapped a tree in half a body length above the ground. It toppled majestically, splintering half a dozen lesser versions of itself. Colorful energy beams, bright lances of destruction, severed branches and split smaller boulders. The smells of scorched vegetation reached her nostrils through the selective visor membrane. “You wanted to see combat!” Umeki shouted, pulling her along so that her feet barely skimmed the ground. “This was not how I … envisioned things,” Lalelelang gasped breathlessly. “You ain’t alone.”

They scrambled over small ravines and protruding roots, dodging trees and rocks determined to intercept them. Once they splashed violently through a wide, shallow stream running dark with tannin. Except for the inexorable grip Umeki maintained on her wing, Lalelelang knew that the Human could outdistance her in seconds. But her guide would not abandon her to the mercy of the battlefield and the oncoming Mazvec. Trying to keep up as best she could, Lalelelang felt a fiery pain lance through her lower right leg as her broad but fragile foot struck a rock. The delicate ankle twisted and she went down in a heap. “Hell!” Umeki slid behind a huge fallen log carpeted with some dense blue-green mosslike growth, dragging Lalelelang down with her. The upturned confusion of exposed roots at the dead tree’s base provided some protection from above. A visored face thrust into her own. “You stay here,” the Human hissed. “Stay here?” Lalelelang lay uncomfortably on her belly, her right ankle throbbing. Her flexible neck enabled her to raise her head and gain some idea of their immediate surroundings, but smoke from burning foliage and continuing explosions reduced visibility in all directions. “But where are you going?”

Umeki was already on her feet and moving around the base of the fallen forest giant, a weapon gripped tightly in each hand. “Orders. Forming counterattack. That includes me. You should be okay here.”

Painfully Lalelelang sat up. She was shaking so badly it took several moments before she could focus on the readouts on her recorder. It was still running. Umeki’s voice echoed in her ear. “Sector control knows what’s going on. They’re sending out some heavy weapons, but they won’t get here for a while.”

“I am coming with you.” Bracing herself on her wingtips, she fought to rise. Umeki turned back toward her. Her posture, her whole attitude indicated that the Human battle drive had taken over her system completely. “You … stay … here.”

Lalelelang froze. It was the peculiar, distinctive inflection Humans utilized only in combat: edgy and confrontational, charged with all manner of primeval hormones. She knew it intimately from her studies. But none of the recordings she had analyzed so dispassionately had ever been directed at her. She found herself paralyzed by the combination of tone and attitude, rooted to the spot. If Umeki had ordered her to bury her head in the dirt and cover it up, she was convinced she would have complied. Her trembling redoubled. A wingtip fluttered over a control on her belt, missing several times before striking home. The injector it activated hissed imperceptibly, and a piercing but not painful heat spread through her left side. As the medication took hold she relaxed. The uncontrollable trembling gave way to a less debilitating quiver. She sat back down as her guide vanished around the upturned base of the tree. Time passed inconclusively. When the last of the disconcerting palpitating had ceased, she rose and walked over to the massive log. Beyond she could see Humans and Massood moving slowly away from her. Holding the recorder in her beak, which could reach higher than her prehensile wingtips, she extended her neck to the limit and peered over the mossy barrier, panning slowly from left to right. Sheer excitement kept her going. This was what she had come for, this was what she had come to see. Any other Wais would have long since fainted dead away. Better prepared for the situation than any member of her species before or since, she was determined not to waste a single moment. Any psychological damage could be dealt with later. Right now she was coping, thanks to her extensive preparations and studies. This isn’t so bad, she thought. With proper training others of my kind could do this. She sensed movement near the dead log’s exposed roots and retracted her neck. The Human Umeki would be relieved and perhaps a little surprised to see how well her charge had done in her absence. It was not Umeki who stumbled around the base of the tree. The ruff of bright orange fur that framed the short neck had been dyed a dull camouflage green. The neck emerged from a tubular, tanklike torso— squat, unlovely, and not much bigger than her own—which was clad in flexible forest-brown armor. Two double-jointed arms emerged from the upper body. They were tipped with four fingers apiece, all of which currently occupied themselves with the manipulation of a long, narrow-barreled weapon of alien origin and unknown potentiality. The Mazvec advanced on broad, splayed feet, each toe individually padded and protected. The exposed skull was small and rounded. Tufts of dyed fur ran in lines down from the top of the head to lose themselves among the denser drifts of the neck ruff. Behind the narrow snout filled with flat crushing teeth, bright green eyes turned to focus on her. The mouth beneath the snout parted and a rasping squeak emerged as the alien aimed its weapon. It didn’t look like much: a cluster of thin metal tubes atop a small plastic sphere. One of the alien’s long fingers began to contract on what was obviously some sort of trigger mechanism. Without her ever becoming aware of the actual moment, she realized numbly, events had passed beyond the stage of philosophical speculation. She thought of all the reports she wasn’t going to get to write, all the marvelous lectures it would never be her privilege to deliver. Hopefully her recordings would survive to be an inspiration to other, less reckless scholars who would acquire much credit for dissertations based on her notes. Here I am about to die a brutal and unnatural death at the hands of another intelligent being and all I can think of is my work, she found herself musing. Scholar is as scholar was to the end. She began to shake violently. A mountain fell on the Mazvec from behind as her assailant’s weapon emitted an incongruously soft bang. Something supersonic whizzed past her to strike the edge of the boulder against which she’d been leaning. There was a pause following which half a dozen tiny explosions shattered the solid granite as the shell’s independent burrowing fragments dispersed prior to detonation. The concussion knocked her to her knees. She looked up, fearful of what she might see but unable to keep herself from doing so. Still locked convulsively in her clenched beak, her recorder continued to hum softly. A Human had fallen on her attacker from behind, just as it had been about to terminate her unfulfilled life. It was much, much bigger than Umeki, the massively muscular Human male build clearly apparent beneath the flexible armor. She was glad she couldn’t see its face because she knew from extensive study the kind of contortions it must be undergoing. The Mazvec let out a despairing screech as it tried to swing its weapon to bear. Before the muzzle of the long gun could be brought halfway around there was a sharp, distinctive snap. The Human unlocked its thick fingers and the enemy alien crumpled to the ground, no longer a thinking, breathing creature. A single quick, unimaginably savage gesture had reduced it to dead meat, its neck broken. To make certain, the Human lifted the Mazvec by its limp splayed feet and dashed the rounded skull against the unyielding log. Lalelelang blinked. Then she spat out the recorder and added the contents of her crop to the mess. Breathing hard but evenly, the oversized, highly efficient lungs sucking air, the massive Human stood over the body of her would-be assassin. It straightened, towering above her. It was at least four times her mass, completely encased in light, color-adaptive chameleon armor, its head concealed by a helmet and visor more elaborate than the one Umeki wore. A rifle the size of a small field-artillery piece was slung across its back, while the broad chest was draped with a variety of unidentifiable equipment. Holstered sidearms protruded from either hip. A gloved hand rose to push back the protective visor, and for the first time she had a glimpse of the naked face. It was streaked with sweat and one thin line of blood. No fur or feathers disguised the naked skin, no brightly hued scales threw back the diffuse forest light. Still gasping sickly, she fumbled for her recorder. It growled at her in friendly fashion. “I’ll be damned … a canary!”

IV

Obviously unversed in appropriate diplomatic procedure, it took a giant step toward her. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

Trembling violently, she tried to scrabble away. Her legs gave out and she collapsed in a quivering heap, staring at nothing, both feet kicking convulsively at the moist ground. The Human halted. “Hey, take it easy!

I didn’t mean—” In one smooth movement he dropped to a crouch and whipped the huge rifle off his back, aiming it to his left as another figure hove into view. A second of observation and then he straightened again, relaxing. Umeki noted the condition of her charge, flipped up her visor to glare at the much bigger male. “Ah, hell. What happened here?

What did you do?”

“Saved its life, Lieutenant.” The soldier grunted and stepped aside, allowing Umeki a view of the dead Mazvec. “Hopefully there isn’t any serious emotional damage.” She bent worriedly over the prone form of the ornithorp, folding back the makeshift visor. “You know how sensitive Wais are.”

“Who me?” The soldier craned his neck for a better look at the recumbent alien form. “I’m just a grunt, Lieutenant. First canary I’ve ever seen … in person. Not much to them, is there?

‘Feathers and frivolity’ it says in the handbook. Still, an ally’s an ally.”

“Your uniform was probably made on one of their worlds.” Umeki’s voice fell. “Lousy luck. I was hoping for a commendation out of this. Didn’t want the job. Taking a Wais out to the front lines. Knew something like this might happen.” Gently she cradled the limp, blank-eyed avian head. “She said she was prepared, that she could handle it.”

A distant explosion brought the soldier’s eyes up and around. He fingered the trigger of the rifle nervously. “Yeah, well, at least she ain’t dead. Woulda been if I hadn’t come along.”

“I know.” Umeki fumbled with her service pack. “If anyone gets a commendation out of this it’ll be you, soldier.” She adjusted a knurled knob on a short, thick wand-like instrument and applied it to Lalelelang’s shoulder. The twitching moderated. “Your appearance may have stunned her more than the Mazvec.”

“She’s better off stunned than shot. I’d better get back to my unit.”

“Yes, go ahead.” Umeki spoke absently, without looking up from her patient. There was no need to exchange details. Their respective suit recorders had already taken care of that. She slipped the wand smoothly into her pack and rocked back on her heels. While the trembling had slowed, the wide-eyed Wais was still unresponsive. “I’m going to catch hell for this, you know,” she muttered at the prone form. “Knew you were going to be trouble. Of course, it isn’t your fault. You can’t help what you are.” She glanced up, toward the woods from which the sounds of ongoing battle were beginning to fade. “Not your fault that the Mazvec chose the occasion of your visit to launch a counterattack, either.”

She sat back against the base of the fallen log and put in a call for evacuation. Unless the enemy had brought in heavy weapons they ought to be able to get a medevac in and out immediately, provided one was in the area and available. Not that those on board would know anything about Wais physiology, but their resident medical computer would. Once she’d made contact and given their position, she verbally disengaged the communicator built into her helmet and returned her attention to her catatonic charge. “You wanted to see combat. Why didn’t you stay home?

Patrol your gardens and listen to your cantatas?

But no. You had to stick your beak where it didn’t belong, where it’s not historically or culturally designed to go. Next time listen to Nature. You’re not made for this.” A long-range enemy shot snapped a nearby tree in half ten meters above the ground. Umeki eyed the smoking bole casually. “I’m wasting my time here with you, you know that?

Babysitting an alien academic when I should be doing something useful and constructive … like killing Mazvec.”

She awoke to a pale green sky and walls dense with holoed flowers. Someone had improvised a traditional heavily padded nest in the midst of a large bed designed to comfort a different kind of body. Sheets were piled around her, supporting her weakened form in a correct upright position, legs carefully folded underneath her abdomen. She straightened her neck, bringing her head off her back where it had been resting in the feathers between her folded wings, and surveyed her surroundings. Trouble had been taken to insure her comfort. “Good to see you awake.” Umeki stood near a chair. “I was told you’ve been showing signs of coming around.”

Memories came flooding back to Lalelelang, and with them the trembling. But the room was quiet, the sight of the lightly ruffled flowers soothing. She recalled her training and steadied herself. Her eyebrows flexed decorously. “I remember now. Everything. I fear I have become the vessel for more apologies than I can adequately convey.” She concluded with an elaborate trill, a kind of running whistle with three distinct glottal stops. Tradition demanded it even though Lalelelang knew it would mean little to the Human female who stood before her. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Umeki replied with straightforward superficiality. “It wasn’t like you asked to be attacked.”

Lalelelang studied the guide. The transformation was remarkable, as if when putting off her armor Umeki had simultaneously doffed an attitude. She no longer looked threatening and deadly, as she had out in the field. Now she was no more than a flat-faced, clumsy primate waiting dumbly for conversation to resume. What a species, Lalelelang thought. “You’re lucky to be alive,” the guide ventured unnecessarily. “I know.” There was a great tiredness in her. “How long?”

“Couple of days. You scared the hell out of me out there. My career could’ve died with you.”

What a primitive, adamantly impolitic thing to say, Lalelelang mused. No doubt another Human would have thought it reasonable, perhaps even amusing. Naturally she did not comment. “But you’re okay, so no harm done.” Umeki smiled, displaying sharp incisors and canines. It did not last long, for which Lalelelang was grateful. “You’re not, uh, thinking of going back out again, are you?”

“I think I’ve gained enough firsthand information for a while.”

The human relaxed visibly, laughing softly. “You Wais. Always understanding.”

“What about my recorder?” she asked suddenly. “In better shape than you.” Umeki gestured toward a cabinet. “It’s in there, with the rest of your gear. You’ll have some interesting images to relive. You’ll be going home now, I presume?” Her tone was ripe with expectation. “I imagine so. I hope my leaving early will not displease you?”

“Do you expect me to lie?

You’d see through it anyway. You people master languages too well.” She turned to the door. “There’s someone who wants to say good-bye. He doesn’t have much time … not that I think the two of you would miss the opportunity for lengthy conversation.”

She opened the door and spoke to someone out of Lalelelang’s range of vision. A moment later the portal opened wider to admit the soldier who’d saved her. He looked just as massive in his duty uniform as he had in armor. Reciting silently and rapidly kept her from shaking. Now that circumstances were different she was able to view him in light of numerous studies and saw that he was no more than slightly above average in height and mass for a Human male. He towered over her as he approached the bed. This time she did not flinch. There was contrition in his voice. “They tell me my appearance upset you pretty bad I didn’t mean for it to.”

“You saved my life.” Lalelelang spoke rapidly, trying to forestall any additional embarrassment on the soldier’s part. Most Humans had only their inadequate words with which to try and elucidate interpersonal relationships. Under such primitive conditions it was a wonder any matings at all survived long enough to produce offspring. She forced herself to extend the tips of her right wing. Surprised, the Human reached out to grip them in his powerful fingers. She tensed, but he was careful and did not bruise her. The hand withdrew. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re feeling better.” The soldier held his duty cap in his other fingers. As she watched, he latched onto it with his second hand and began kneading it absently, as if he didn’t know what to do with his limbs. This kind of undirected motor activity was quite common among Humans. “The lieutenant told me that you’re some kind of professor and that you’re studying us.” He smiled almost shyly. “I wouldn’t want to think that you’d got some kind of wrong impression from me.”

“Actually I am a historian and no, the impression you gave me was … no more than what I expected.”

He seemed relieved. “Glad to hear it. Hey, I guess this means I’m gonna be in a history book or something, right?”

“Or something,” she murmured noncommittally. “My name’s Kuzca.” He whispered the name, as if delivering himself of some confidential information of consequence. “K-u … I guess you being a Wais, you won’t have any trouble with the spelling.”

“I do not think so.”

“Michael Kuzca. Homeworld’s Tokugawa Four.”

“I will remember. I have a good memory for names.”

“Better than me, I’m sure. I’m just a grunt.” Lalelelang recognized the application of an ancient term Human soldiers liked to apply to themselves. Its true meaning was difficult to divine, overlain as it was with the conflagrative psychosocial detritus of thousands of years of unrelenting warfare. “You take it easy now. You canar … you Wais don’t heal so fast.”

“No,” she murmured. “We do not have your recuperative powers. But then, neither does any other intelligent species.”

He left with a parting wave of one huge hand, an ineloquent but nonetheless affecting gesture … in its crude, primitive fashion. “He didn’t want you to leave with the wrong impression.” Umeki approached the bed-nest. “Because of the special circumstances he was able to get leave long enough to look in on you.”

“I am touched. Where he is going now?”

“To rejoin his unit. Back to the fighting.”

“Of course,” Lalelelang murmured. “Where he will be happy.”

Umeki studied with interest the makeshift nest in the center of the bed. “You’re pretty exceptional, to have survived what you went through. Any other Wais would still be catatonic. Maybe never come out of it.”

Lalelelang shifted her body into a more comfortable position. “I have made this my area of expertise for many years. And I have developed my own training exercises, both physical and mental, to enable me to cope with extremes.”

“Still.” Umeki was silent for a moment. “I may or may not have the chance to talk to you again before you’re taken to your shuttle. I just want to say that I hope you got what you came for.”

“More than I hoped for in my dreams.”

“I’ll bet.” Umeki chuckled softly to herself as she moved away from the bed. Halfway to the door she turned to bow slightly in its direction. “I am not familiar with your gesture in the context of our present situation.”

“It’s tribal instead of species-specific,” Umeki explained. “A gesture of respect among my familial ancestors. A lot of them were fighters and would have understood.”

“All of your ancestors were fighters,” Lalelelang responded. “That is something that is species-specific.”

“Well, I guess what I meant to say was that a lot of them were professional soldiers.”

Lalelelang acknowledged the correction with a gesture. There was much more she could have said, could have discussed with this useful Human, but she was too tired, exhausted in both mind and body. She was ready to leave, yes. Ready to return to the peace and sophistication and familiar surroundings of Mahmahar. For all that, a perverse, irrational part of her was ready to do it all over again. The difference between dedication and fanaticism, she reminded herself, is measurable as the diameter of one’s pupils. She did not ask for a mirror. She feigned sleep but kept one eye half-open until the Human officer had departed. Guide and savior Umeki might be, but she was still Human, and Lalelelang could not relax until she was once again alone in the room. Her caution caused her no guilt. You couldn’t trust a Human, not even those who seemed completely reliable. How could you, when for the entire stretch of their recorded history they’d been unable to trust themselves?

No fanfares, no celebrations stood poised to acknowledge her return home. Nor would she have responded favorably to any such overtly tasteless display. Not that she was ostracized. As a representative of her species to have actually experienced combat her status was unique. This meant that a special social subniche had to be created for her, with the result that she was simultaneously sought out and ignored. This did not trouble her. She’d always been something of a loner, even within the requisite sisters triad to which she belonged. Her triad siblings were at once regretful that she participated in so few social gatherings and proud of her accomplishments. Lalelelang hoped they balanced out. One immediate result of her expedition was that attendance at her presentations tripled in numbers if not enthusiasm. As the novelty of her journey faded, so did attendance. She thought this as inevitable as she did amusing, realizing that many of the newcomers were driven by perverse curiosity rather than serious scholarship. Yet not even the dilettantes could help but depart enriched. It did not trouble her, since research and publication rather than education had become her primary focus. Fortuitously, this coincided with the administration’s goals. Anyone could teach, but the experiences on which she alone could expatiate were singular and deserving of a wider audience. By virtue of a single journey she had become the leading expert in her field. There existed a small coterie of specialists with whom she regularly exchanged information: Hivistahm and O’o’yan and one Yula, as well as fellow Wais. Many shared her concerns, though none were as yet sufficiently bold or committed to subscribe to her most radical hypotheses. Lalelelang knew she at times entered dangerous theoretical ground: places where even brilliant fellow academics feared to tread. Her report on “Irreversible Bloodlust in Traditional Entertainment,” for example, was not merely controversial but simply beyond the realm of comprehensibility for many scholars. They tended to try and deal with such propositions in the abstract, which correspondingly reduced the effectiveness of her formulations. Lalelelang was working from a historian’s viewpoint toward a comprehensive theory of Human behavior, and many of her colleagues and contacts did not much care for the direction she was taking. This she could not help. As a dedicated empiricist she had no choice but to plunge helplessly on down the path she had chosen. The deeper she delved and the harder she studied the more she was convinced she was on to something of critical importance not only to her own people but to the entire Weave. Something so obvious and yet so elusive that the rest of the Weave had elected to overlook it rather than probe too deeply. Another combat experience might have crystallized everything, but she wasn’t ready for that. The memories of her previous encounter with the battlefield were still too fresh, too readily brought to mind. She briefly considered actually applying to visit the speciocentrically named Earth, but decided there were limits to what even she, with her specialized training and experience, could stand. The thought of being isolated on an entire world full of Humans, all of whom were potentially unstable, and where she would invariably become an object of curiosity and attention, was sufficiently daunting even in the abstract to kill the notion aborning. She felt herself beginning to tremble whenever she considered it and hastened to recite a calming mnemonic. She was convinced she needed to further observe Human soldiers, preferably in more intimate circumstances, but was not prepared again to go through the suffering she’d experienced on Tiofa. By now her academic reputation was such that she could make use of proportionate funds without having to go through administration. What were her alternatives?

Ideally she should attach herself to one of the primates as closely as possible in order to make the exhaustive observations she felt her ongoing work required. Much of the difficulty would lie in finding a Human soldier willing to put up with a Wais underfoot while it went about its waking activities. Her brief interaction with the Human Umeki had hinted at the difficulty of establishing such a relationship. She felt it was something she had to do, that she could not fully know or understand the species until she had lived with one of them, shared its daily experiences, observed how it interacted not only with representatives of other species but with its own kind. It meant not only putting her proposal before administration but personally applying to Human authority. Her experiences on Tiofa should count for something with the latter. They would be concerned that she not inhibit the combat readiness of whomever she was attached to. She doubted that was anything to worry about. Among all the intelligent species only a Human could peacefully discuss dance, or cooking, or luminescence sculpture, and at an instant’s notice be ready to fight and kill. The presence of a single Wais in such company was unlikely to cause much in the way of interference. If she was fortunate, she might make contact with a soldier conversant with Wais as well as Weave culture. It would make her work much easier, not to mention more comfortable, if all the requisite cultural condescension did not devolve upon her. Yet, if necessary, she was prepared to deal even with that. She framed her proposal carefully. There was a good chance the preparation would be wasted and all would come to nothing. After all, what Human soldier would want to have a Wais, traditionally ready to go unpredictably comatose or spasmodic at the first difficult moment, for company while it was trying to carry out its assigned duties?

Excitement and apprehension followed the dissemination of her application. In many ways this was more extreme than her request to visit a battlefield. She was applying not merely to observe but for an extended period of interspecies cohabitation—with a Human soldier, no less. She knew that she had to try. For the sake of critical theories not proven fact as well as for personal feelings that ran deeper still, to the core of what she believed, she had to try. In so doing she hoped for revelation, but was willing to settle for understanding. Among the Wais there were few as powerfully driven by their convictions. What she wanted more than anything else, of course, was for experience and study to prove her wrong. If she was right, then the occupation of future historians would be simply as annotators of footnotes to the potential cataclysm only she seemed able to see. Barring the triumph of the Amplitur and their Purpose, of course, in which case all history would become, in the grip of that singular race, merely another of their manifold clever fictions. What truly terrified her was that the steadier the edifice of her principle theory became, the less sure she was that an Amplitur victory would be the greater of the two evils. V

Straat-ien and his beloved drifted in a blue mist softly illuminated by stars flung like glitter across a palette of black velvet. About them puffy white cumulus clouds floated: ambient cotton. In the distance lay rugged mountains decked out in brown and green and capped with brighter white, a more intense absence of color. Proximate details were easier to resolve. Strange trees and vines bound the land together in a vibrant network of intertwined life. Harmless huge insects drifted among the vines on iridescent wings that were shards of soap bubble. They scattered on languorous hums as the nearly nude couple drifted down through them. At precisely the right moment the man and woman came to placid rest on a beach of ruby sand that had been formed by millions of years of wave action on a shelf of solid corundum. A translucent emerald sea sang joyously against the reef just offshore as they consummated their journey. Afterward they rolled onto their backs, the woman’s fingers lightly gripping the man’s wrist. Naomi inclined her eyes to her companion. Sweat lightly beaded her forehead, and her pale blond hair formed golden veins against the deep red sand. She smiled. “You’ve got to hand it to the Hivistahm. For a race whose lovemaking is pretty damn prosaic they really know how to create a dazzling enviromood for us nonreptilians.”

Nevan Straat-ien saw no reason to disagree as he lay on his back searching the simulated sky. It was a perfect sky, devoid of pollution, speckled with just the right number and kind of clouds. Exactly as had been requested. The rate of their imaginary descent to the beach had been controlled by their respective degrees of arousal, all monitored by the Hivistahm’s remote foreplay software, everything combining to insure that they landed on the opulent sands at the truly perfect moment. He had no complaints. Other simulations allowed them to tumble together down an icy mountain slope, or glide beneath the sea surrounded by choreographed piscine inhabitants. Such enviromoods served to take the participants’ minds off the battle raging for Chemadii, to which they would soon have to return. Base Atilla was the most advanced of the three hardened bastions that the Weave expeditionary force to Chemadii had succeeded in establishing on that contested world. By coincidence it was located on the shore of the western sea, a far bleaker and less stimulating coast than the one that had been conjured up by the Hivi sensorial. The sands of the beaches that backed onto the military complex were dirty white and profligate with decaying oceanic flora, while the ambient temperature was anything but tropic. As the thin, slightly metallic headband he wore monitored internal hormonal shifts, the sky above faded and the sand beneath him grew dull. They were lying on a utilitarian platform bed beneath a four-meter-high dome the color of fresh milk. Flattering lighting came from indirect sources. He blinked and sat up, hooking his knees with his forearms. The sensorial had concluded. “It’s a shame that having invented something this sumptuous, the Hivis can’t enjoy the full effect themselves,” she opined. “They get something out of it,” he replied. “It’s just that their hormones don’t rage like ours.” Memories of shimmering insects and ruby sands were already waning. There was nothing synthetic about Naomi, however. She lay next to him, open and unself-conscious. The length of her hair was a dead giveaway that she wasn’t a combat participant. Her actual duties lay in Supply and Replenishment, a classification that provided them with a considerable source of amusement. They lingered beneath the dome because his leave ended tomorrow. It was the first time since they’d met that they’d had more than two consecutive days together and both had intended to make the most of it. In this they had been successful. He knew they missed him in Planning. Chemadii was one of the frontline worlds on which the Amplitur and their allies had recently been able to muster real strength. It was a place where there had not been and were not likely to be any quick, decisive victories. The enemy was deeply entrenched and had thus far given every indication of remaining so. Which would make the triumph all the greater when the minions of the Purpose were finally thrown out, he mused. After that, after Chemadii, there would be another world, another confrontation. It was the way of the war. Perhaps the Weave would try to take another semisettlement, or even the nearby, important agricultural Segunian-dominated system of Two. He’d heard rumors. There were always rumors, to which officers were no more immune than the lower ranks. It didn’t matter. He went where they sent him, took it one world, one battle at a time. That was how the war had gone for hundreds of years. He felt fingers lightly caressing his lower back. His relationship with Naomi had grown into more than a diversion. He hadn’t planned it that way, but such things rarely happened according to plan. Much easier to develop a strategy for dealing with the enemy. She was intelligent and attractive, understanding and thoughtful. Her mental net did not cast as wide as his, but that was no drawback. Oftentimes her perception exceeded his. She was much better with people, for example. She squirmed a little nearer and he felt her warmth. “You’re planning again. We don’t have much time left. Can’t you just relax?”

“Sorry. I can’t help myself.”

“No, I don’t suppose you can.” She grinned. “You weren’t planning a little while ago. You were extemporizing like mad.”

He smiled the boyish, almost bashful smile that women seemed to find so endearing. It was the only innocent thing about him. He was short, a little below her own height, but it hadn’t caused them any problems. Combined with his smooth, easily depilated face it gave him the appearance of someone ten years younger, though he was nearly forty. He had the build of a gymnast, slight and limber but extremely muscular. The latter was the result of fortuitous genetics and a great deal of hard work. His hazel-colored hair was cut in a short brush, a single jagged slash shaved into each side above the ear. It was a style he found both comfortable and defining. Occasionally his appearance and stature gave him trouble, since he looked more like an orderly than a colonel. On more than one occasion he’d had to produce proof for other Humans as well as aliens attesting to his actual rank. As a child he’d hated always being mistaken for someone younger, but as he aged he’d come to appreciate the advantages and no longer cursed that particular aspect of his heritage. Though like any Human he missed the thrill of actual combat, he’d resigned himself to working in Planning. He seemed to have a knack for spotting enemy weak points, a talent that resulted in quick promotion if not personal fulfillment. He soon came to realize that Planning was an ideal place from which to best utilize his other talent, the one none of his colleagues suspected. The one that allowed him to forcefully suggest occasional changes in tactics to even the most tentative Massood officer. Nevan’s genes were inherited from his Cossuutian parents. He was one of the Core. Like any normal Human, Naomi suspected nothing. His abilities had no effect on other Humans, and she never saw him at work. To her he was only Nev, her confidant and lover. Now he had to face the possibility of her becoming rather more than that. It was something he both wanted and dreaded. Marriage outside the Core was possible, but very difficult. Keeping a great secret from friends and acquaintances was comparatively easy. Concealing it forever from a wife and life-partner was another matter entirely. They genuinely liked one another. She was a good talker, and he liked to listen. Her enthusiasm complemented his natural reticence. They were good together. He’d never married and had nearly reconciled himself to the likelihood that he might never do so, though the Core encouraged marriage among its members. Not outside, though. Maintaining the Core gene pool had priority over mere love. Naomi had lost one husband to the war. There were no children, which would help in the event that …

He stopped himself, surprised at how far down a difficult path he’d already traveled. “You look happy.” She sat up next to him. “I am. It’s just that there’s work to do.”

She sighed. “Always working. Sometimes I’m tempted to drug you, but I’m not sure it would make any difference.”

He slid off the platform and started to dress. “I’ll keep in touch. Get back as soon as I can beg off active duty. Maybe in a couple of weeks.” He stepped into his off-duty jumpsuit. She lay back on the bed, watching him, enjoying the play of sharply defined muscles in his back and legs. “You have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. I wish I could have it surgically removed.”

“The next couple of months are going to be critical.” He turned to face the bed, running a finger up the front of his suit to seal it. “I’ll try to arrange a private line out. We can talk.”

She stretched enticingly. “My private line’s always open to you.”

“Stop that or I’ll never get out of here. They’ll knock me down a grade if I’m late.”

“I doubt it. You’re invaluable. And not just to those dead-heads in Planning. How are we doing, anyway?

Everyone sees the reports and wonders.”

“The Amplitur are fighting like hell for this world. There are so many transports on both sides arriving from Underspace that the orbital shell is getting crowded.” He looked down at himself, then back at the woman with whom he was more or less in love. “I’ve got to go, Naomi.”

“I know.” She sighed resignedly. “That club of yours.”

“We’re just touching bases before we have to get back down to business.”

“I wish you’d drop it. That would leave more time for us.”

“It’s only an occasional get-together. Friends and cronies from the homeworld. Don’t you go to the Barnard’s socials?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know many of those people. I guess Cossuutians link tighter.”

“We do. It’s our background.”

“I know the history of the Restorees. A miserable business all around. But it’s over and done with. Their descendants are all normal folk. Like you.”

He forced a grin. “And all this time I thought you considered me exceptional. It’s nothing special, Naomi. Just a few hellos and some sharing of memories. There aren’t a lot of us. It’s not like an Earth or Carry-on get-together, where you can always find a few hundred people to chat with.” It was different in many other ways, he knew, but he couldn’t tell her about that. There were many things he couldn’t tell her about. Exposure was what the members of the Core feared most, and they guarded their privacy dearly: even from loved ones who suffered from normalcy. He could dream about a permanent relationship, though. He could fantasize having Naomi by his side forever. There were no strictures against that. “Go on, Colonel.” Her despair was transparently and intentionally specious. “Go to your damn meeting. I know what’s really important to you.” She softened. “At least we have tonight.”

Maybe, he thought. It depended on timing … and other things over which neither he nor she had any control. He leaned over the bed and kissed her good-bye. It was awkward, but neither of them protested. When he finally managed to pull away, she said unexpectedly, “Maybe sometime I could go to one of these soirees with you?”

He tensed slightly, hoping it didn’t show. “You’d find it boring as hell.”

“Oh, I don’t know. It would give me a chance to meet some of your friends from back home.”

“They’re just regular people. Just like you said, Cossuutians are no different from anybody else. Not since the Hivistahm and O’o’yan straightened out our ancestors’ anatomy and fixed the damage the Amplitur had done.” He strove to change the subject. “Or is there something still screwy about me?”

“Absolutely.” She laughed. “You turned out better than average.”

We all did, he mused, but neither you nor anyone else can be allowed to know that. He couldn’t marry her. She was too perceptive, and it would be impossible to keep the secret of the Core from her forever. If that was discovered, then greater concerns would take over. It would be impossible for him to protect, to shield her from inevitable consequences. Better never to let it get that far, to stop it now before the danger to her became too great. It wasn’t going to be easy. She was sitting on the other side of the bed slipping into her overblouse. “You Cossuutians.”

Could anything be read into so bland a statement?

Did she somehow suspect something?

He prayed she did not. If the Massood or any of the other member species that comprised the Weave suspected that certain Humans could influence their thought processes in the same fashion as did the Amplitur, the revelation could destroy the alliance. It was a great secret, one that had to be preserved at all costs. If Naomi or anyone else learned the truth, they would have to be dealt with as necessary. Nevan knew that if it came to that he would do what was necessary himself. Paranoid fantasies, he murmured silently. She knew nothing, and he’d see to it that it stayed that way. Half-dressed, she came around the foot of the bed to put her arms around him. “I am most reluctant, Colonel, to let you go. I hope it shows.”

“It’s not the only thing,” he responded playfully, kissing her again. “How far from me are they sending you this time?”

“The Circassian Delta.”

“Damn. No night leaves, then?”

“’Fraid not.”

“You’ll get in touch as soon as you win the battle?”

“If we win the battle. Nothing on Chemadii is certain.”

“It seems like this world means a great deal to them.”

He stepped back. “These days everything seems to mean a great deal to them. I suppose that’s a good sign.”

She sat down on the foot of the bed and fingered her pants. “I don’t suppose the end of the war is in view?”

“The end of the war?” He found he’d never really pondered so outrageous a notion. “The Weave’s made a lot of advances since Humanity sided with them, but I don’t see any indication that the Amplitur and their alliance are falling apart.”

“I suppose not.” She shrugged. “Still, it’s a nice thought.”

Like most Humans, he’d been trained to be a soldier from the time he was old enough to press his first fire-control button. He’d never thought about an end to the war, nor to the best of his knowledge had any of his friends. But Naomi was different. It was one reason why he loved her. Later, when acceleration pressed him into the back of a speeding, dodging courier skimmer as it raced up the coast from Base Atilla toward his field assignment, he found himself wondering if, no matter the desperation of the circumstances and the need to do so, he really could kill her. Ranji-aar could have done it, but he’d been the first; a legendary figure in Cossuutian history. Nevan knew he was no Ranji-aar. He was just an ordinary soldier with a talent for strategy. If only we could suggest other Humans the way we can the Massood or S’van or Hivistahm, he thought as he stared out the window at the gray, alien sea. It would make one’s personal life so very much easier. VI

The regional command module lay four-fifths submerged in the dark waters offshore from the delta. As the skimmer drew near and began to slow, a shapeseeking Crigolit concussion dart changed course to intercept. VR projectors on the skimmer went to work to confuse the incoming threat, striving to rattle its sensors. Electronically, the skimmer seemed to change into a large, low-flying waterfowl of a type common to this part of Chemadii. The biobit mappers had done their work well. The dart’s shape-recognition circuitry was forced to pause and reanalyze lest it spend itself uselessly against an example of harmless local fauna instead of the enemy. It quickly saw through the deception, but the delay had allowed the skimmer’s own weaponry to lock on and respond. It flung a cloud of subsonic lenticular shells in the attacker’s direction. The dart took evasive action of its own, but one small shell struck near the engine and the self-contained weapon was forced to retire, wobbling back inland in the general direction of the delta. There were no other attacks, and the skimmer arrived safely, docking with one of the subsurface ports in the module’s ventral side without further interference. Humans in rebreathing dive gear attended the arrival, one looking up from her work to wave at the skimmer’s pilot. He smiled through the foreport. A Lepar crew would have done the work better and faster, Nevan thought as he disembarked, but like so many of the Weave’s inhabitants no Lepar could function efficiently this close to actual combat. Among all the species of the Weave, only the slow-witted amphibians and Human beings were comfortable with underwater work. While this ability only enhanced humanity’s reputation for differentness among the rest of the Weave, it rather endeared them to the slow-moving, slow-thinking Lepar. Nevan was one of the most respected Planners on Chemadii. He had a flair for laying out the means to take enemy positions with a minimum amount of risk and casualties. Troops aware of his reputation felt better when they knew he was among those preparing the battle plans they would be required to carry out. Field planning and strategy were directed from a crowded chamber located in the center of the floating, mobile command station. While special stabilizers kept it steady, the module could shift its position in the bay to react to changing conditions. It could not fly, like a plane or skimmer; it could not completely submerge; nor could it make much speed, but neither was it rooted to one place and therefore correspondingly vulnerable to enemy detection and attack. Fresh water from the delta mixed with the saline body of the ocean to create a habitat that was rich in native Chemadiian fauna. It would have been a treasure trove for avid xenologists had not the air and water been filled with agile, eager weapons of destruction looking for targets against which to expend themselves. The delta had been home to intensive if infrequent fighting for several months, with neither side as yet able to claim a strategic advantage. Local combat forces contained a higher proportion of Human soldiers than was usual, Nevan knew. This was because of the Massood aversion to water. The delta was notably lacking in stable, solid ground of which to contest ownership, which left most of the actual fighting to Humans. It also gave them an advantage over the equally water-shy Crigolit, who compensated by means of superior numbers and constant aerial patrolling. Now, if the Lepar could have participated, Nevan mused … but that was a ludicrous thought. A Lepar wouldn’t have brains enough to make use of a complex weapon, much less the inclination. It was left to Humans to fight for control of the vital delta region. There was plenty of cover for individual troops moving through the aqueous terrain. Lots of trees and bushes. But anything big, like a floating battery, was sure to be spotted and destroyed. Weave command was faced with the problem of trying to secure the area with light firepower only. It was a contradiction they had thus far been unable to solve. Though the regionally assigned Massood were reluctant to participate in the actual fighting within the soggy deltan landscape, they had no problem staffing the module, thereby freeing up the Human contingent for combat. Nevan was discussing strategy with one other Human officer and four Massood when the first explosions shook the deck beneath them. One of the Massood reacted with a distinctive twitch of whiskers and an accompanying observation via his translator. “Long-range sensing detonation. I recognize the vibration. It should not have made it through our defenses.”

As if in confirmation, the first explosion was soon followed by the simultaneous activation of multiple alarms. Lights flickered uncertainly. A junior officer burst into the chamber. “We are under attack!” he shouted in vibrant Massoodai. “Control yourself!” The field colonel in charge of the module was a wizened old Massood who’d survived several theaters of operation. She glanced sharply at a screen set in the east wall. “I see no evidence of enemy skids or floaters in our vicinity.” The module shook again. “Explain your conclusions.”

The junior officer was not reluctant to do so. “I know it seems impossible, honored Colonel, but the Crigolit are attacking without the aid of aerial transport … from underwater.”

“Impossible!” declared another of the Massood. At that moment the lights went out. Self-powered screens and fluorescent wall coatings flickered to life, restoring interior illumination. A quick check with the rest of the module confirmed the implausible report. The Crigolit were indeed mounting an unprecedented subsurface assault, which explained how they had been able to approach the module so closely without exposing themselves to early detection. The module’s defense systems were designed to hunt for incoming vehicles or self-propelled weapons, not for individuals quietly approaching below the surface. As he raced from the command chamber, Nevan found himself wondering at the daring of it all. The Crigolit had the same healthy fear of watery submersion as other intelligent species on both sides. Somehow a group of them had been persuaded to overcome that fear. Sensors provided video that showed Crigolit soldiers advancing by means of small, self-contained rebreathers attached to their chests and backs. Wraparound masks allowed them to see underwater. Since the notion of swimming—not to mention the mechanics of the process—was as alien to them as it was to the Massood or Hivistahm, each attacking soldier had been provided with a small propulsion pack fitted to his or her rear legs. Arms held weapons while the second set of legs hung free. The Amplitur, Nevan reflected, must have worked long and hard with this particular assault group to enable them to mount such an unnatural offensive. Repeated suggestion sessions would have been required to overcome deeply ingrained Crigolit fears. Whatever the eventual outcome of the battle, such radical alteration of natural instincts would inevitably result in some severe psychological damage among the survivors. That would not trouble the Amplitur, Nevan thought grimly. Wasn’t it all in the service of the Purpose and therefore self-justifying?

Scooting forward singly instead of en masse, they had succeeded in fooling the module’s detection systems until well within attacking range. Now the unnerved defenders hastened to try and organize a defense against a kind of offensive they’d felt sure could never happen. While some of the Crigolit went to work on the stabilizers and propulsion system, others attacked surface-mounted weapons from below. Still more broke in through the landing and service ports just above water level. They swarmed into the module’s corridors, discarding their rebreathing equipment as they advanced. Nevan found himself retreating, using his sidearm as he dodged incoming fire. The Crigolit were familiar with Hivistahm engineering and so concentrated their efforts on the module’s communications and fire-control rooms. That left Nevan and a few others room to maneuver, but only temporarily. As soon as they had secured communications and rendered the module’s defenses helpless, the enemy would begin a methodical search of the remaining chambers. The defending Massood and Humans fought back ferociously, but they had nowhere to retreat and no room in the narrow corridors in which to maneuver. With the Crigolit jamming internal communications, there was no way to make use of the two large sleds docked in the module’s service ports. Furthermore, the bulk of the module’s combat contingent was updelta, fighting to drive the Crigolit inland. Not only was the enemy on the verge of taking control of the floating base, but if they did so, those troops fighting upriver would be cut off. The module’s crew had been caught seriously unprepared, having made the assumption that since the enemy had never attacked underwater before, it was a possibility that could safely be ignored. They had been fooled as well as taken off guard. Perhaps the Amplitur had lifted the idea from the many times Humans had attacked their own installations utilizing a similar approach. Explosions and loss of illumination came more frequently as the Crigolit continued to advance. In hastily rigged defensive positions, isolated clusters of Massood or Humans tried to make a stand. The interior of the module had not been designed for internal defense, however, and one by one the defenders were killed or captured. One other Core member was part of the module’s regular operating staff. Sergeant Conner came rushing around a bend in a corridor, splashing through the salt water that had entered through a breach in the outer base wall, and pulled up next to Nevan. Blood ran down his face from a cut in his forehead, making him blink. He was breathing hard. “Glad I found you, sir!” Though all Core members were on a first name basis with one another, it was important to maintain appearances in case others might be watching or listening. As such, it would not do in a combat situation for a noncom to address a superior in too familiar a fashion. “We’re losing it.”

Nevan glanced around the corner, drew back. The corridor ahead was still deserted. “What’s the word on reinforcements?”

“Mostly unprintable, sir. Not much likelihood. The bugs got to communications fast. Several of us sent out a quick report over field units, but chances are they don’t have sufficient range to reach our people upriver. Even if they did there’s not going to be enough time for them to get back here.” The sergeant paused, wheezing. “I’m open to suggestions, sir.”

Nevan considered. “If they’ve taken communications, they’ll go for engineering next. Let’s keep moving in the opposite direction.”

Once they nearly stumbled into a pair of Crigolit skittering down a corridor. Milky eyes gazed back into their own, followed by a startled exchange of oaths and fire. Nevan found himself dropping and rolling to avoid the neural beams which sought his spine. One struck nearby and his right foot went numb. His own weapon was less sophisticated. The Crigolit’s head exploded on contact with the tiny expanding shell as Nevan’s pistol flared. The other insectoid carried a rifle, which took a small chunk out of the sergeant’s shoulder. Conner’s return fire snapped his assailant in two. Ignoring his tingling foot, Nevan struggled erect and examined his companion’s wound. It was messy but superficial. They resumed their desperate odyssey. It was clear that the Crigolit were in complete control and there was little chance of driving them off. Their unprecedented assault had been a complete success. With any reinforcements or relief questionable at best, there was no thought of organizing any kind of counterattack. “This way, sir.” Conner was leading him toward the emergency lifeboat bay. The corridor heading toward it was depressingly deserted. The lifeboats had been included to provide a means of escape in the event that the delta region was struck by a severe storm. They contained no weapons or armor, but neither Straat-ien or Conner much cared. Right now they constituted a possible way out; maybe the only way out. Unfortunately, the same idea had also occurred to the Crigolit. There were half a dozen of them assembled near the entrance to the bay. It looked as if they’d only recently arrived. Several were in the process of removing their bulky underwater rebreathers. Behind a makeshift barrier of jumbled furniture and equipment, the others were trying to calibrate a large and nasty-looking automated weapon for close-quarter work. Whoever had planned this assault knew what he was doing, Nevan thought in frustration. They crouched behind the last bend in the corridor. “I don’t think they saw us,” he whispered. “They’re too busy setting up their position. I think I saw five.”

“Six.” Conner continued to bleed from the shoulder, but the gash in his forehead was clotting reassuringly. “Maybe more, but I don’t think so.” He was about twenty-five, Nevan guessed. Already an experienced soldier, scared and hardened all at once. “If we wait till they get that big gun on auto, we’ll never get past them.”

“Too many to rush.” Nevan considered, eyeing his young companion. “You know how to suggest.” It was not a question. Conner gazed back at him uncertainly. “I’ve only done it a couple of times, sir. Each time it involved an allied individual I was close to. Never an enemy, and never in numbers.”

“Time you tried.” Nevan loosened the grip on his side-arm’s trigger. “I want you to pretend that you’re a Crigolit officer. A High Unifer. Believe that you’re in command. We’re going to order them to search the next corridor. We’re going to present the edict in such a way that they won’t even think of questioning its logic.”

Conner looked doubtful. The young sergeant had to do his part, Nevan knew. There was no way he could successfully suggest half a dozen Crigolit on his own. If they were merely confused instead of immediately convinced, they would open up with their weapons as a matter of training. And that would be that. They would have one chance to do it right. “Don’t use your translator. Don’t even open your mouth. Just make the suggestion. You’re a Crigolit Unifer giving an order to troops in the field. They have to listen.”

They rose. When Conner nodded, Straat-ien stepped around the corner and started boldly up the passageway. They’d had one good look at the enemy soldiers; sufficient to visualize them. Two of the Crigolit glanced up immediately. Nevan stared right back at them, feeling the sweat start down his ribs. He reiterated the directive in his mind, tensing with the strain. Conner marched next to him, staring straight ahead. The four other quadrupeds edged away from the formidable gun to stand alongside their brethren. A moment flickered away; heavy time. Then they simultaneously pulled their sidearms. Nevan heard the sergeant suck air but he couldn’t spare the energy to admonish him. His own sidearm hung uselessly at his side. Fortunately, the Crigolit could not be counted among the enemy’s mental giants. They traditionally thought and did things as a group. If one complied, others tended to follow. Brandishing their weapons, the six Crigolit started down the corridor. One brushed close enough to Nevan to make contact. It hesitated, the tiny black pupil shifting, but lurched on in pursuit of its comrades. It was clearly confused but while operating under a direct order from a High Unifer couldn’t spare thought for reflection. That would come soon enough, Nevan knew, as the powerful mental suggestion he and Conner had applied wore off. Then the six would slow, blink, and gaze at one another in search of explanation. They would remember, and hurry to return to their former position. By which time the two Humans needed to be gone. The Crigolit rushed into the next passageway. They had been ordered to challenge a possible counterattack. It was easy to see that no such assault was in progress or even in evidence, but they scoured their surroundings nonetheless. Gradually their efforts slackened. An edict was an edict, but none of them could recall precisely when or how they had received it, or the name of the commanding Unifer in whose name it had been issued. Two paused to confront one another. Mass delusion was not unknown in combat situations. Had there even been an order?

It was time to ask some questions. Avoiding the eerily pulsating but uncalibrated big gun, Conner vaulted over the makeshift barrier into the lifeboat bay. Straat-ien was close behind. As they passed it, both men looked longingly at the almost operational weapon; at the narrow barrel and attached magazine of explosive armor-piercing flechettes. If they hung around, there was a good chance they could wreak some serious havoc … before they were killed. Conner energized the nearest lifeboat tube. A watertight door slid aside to reveal a craft far larger than they required. It would hold up to forty Humans and Massood. Nevan glanced back up the corridor, saw only smoke and haze. If there were other survivors who hadn’t yet been captured, they would have to make their own way down to the bay. It was important that someone escape to provide Base Command with a firsthand report of the disaster. They piled into the compact craft. Conner slid into the pilot’s chair and initiated the console. As soon as the watertight door shut behind them, the external cover rolled aside. As it did so they were greeted by a view through the foreport of several startled Crigolit chugging clumsily past. In their bulky rebreathers and individual propulsion units they looked distinctly unhydrodynamic. That hadn’t hampered their activities, Nevan reminded himself. One of the swimming Crigolit awkwardly managed to twist out of the way. Its companions were less fortunate as Conner gunned the engine and the lifeboat smashed into both of them. Looking back Nevan could see the pair fumbling weakly at their damaged rebreathers. The fumbling quickly ceased. Conner flicked the switch that would return them to Base Attila. The lifeboat rose to the surface and raced southward. A rearward-facing viewer showed smoke and occasional flame rising from the islandlike exterior of the captured command module. With the module’s defenses now disabled, a Crigolit skid had pulled up and docked alongside to unload fresh troops unencumbered by unnatural rebreathing apparatus. The battle was all but over. Not overconfidence but oversight had doomed the station, Nevan reflected disconsolately. Fatal oversight. Because the enemy had never before done such a thing it had been blithely assumed they never could. Some long-term strategic assumptions were going to have to be reevaluated. Amphibious Crigolit. What would the Amplitur come up with next?

One step back, two steps forward. That was how you won a war, he thought. This was a decided step back. Gripping the back of the seat he was leaning against until his fingers hurt, he envisioned the number of dead and dying Massood and Humans who remained behind, trapped in the module, which had been turned into a giant spherical coffin. There was nothing he could do about that, nothing he could do for them. He looked away from the viewer. Conner was trying to get his attention. “I’ve got movement onshore, sir. Range about a hundred meters.” As it fled, the lifeboat hugged the coast for protection. “Doesn’t look like Crigolit, but it’s hard to tell. These on-board sensors weren’t designed for combat use and don’t have battlefield resolution. They’re pretty basic.”

“Could be an Ashregan signature.” Nevan sat down next to him, studying the readout. “Possible.” The sergeant glanced up from the board. “Or some of our own people. Maybe one of those hand-unit-generated distress calls got through.”

As an important field officer, Nevan knew it was his duty to save himself for further combat, not to mention so that he could report in person on what had happened here at the mouth of the Circassian delta. He thought swiftly. The lifeboat was empty. Only two lives were at stake, and one of them was his own. “Let’s take a quick look. Make as fast a pass as you can, evasive approach. Just get us in close enough for one glimpse and then take us out as fast as this thing can scoot. Use a multiple-field-frequency scan.”

The latter wasn’t necessary. They had visual confirmation before a responding voice shouted at them over the console speaker. Conner nudged a switch and the lifeboat slowed as it approached the tree-lined shore. “Identify yourselves,” he said, addressing the pickup. “Who the blazes are you?

Identify your own damn self!

What the hell’s going on out in the bay?”

Nevan smiled slightly as he leaned forward. “This is Colonel Nevan Straat-ien, Strategy and Planning. Delta module has been taken by enemy amphibious assault. As far as I know only myself and Sergeant Conner managed to get out.”

“Amphibious Crigolit?

Who’re you trying to kid?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

There was a pause before the voice replied, only slightly more under control than before. “I’m Lieutenant Mogen, Second Alphan Biodiv Corps. We hit the bugs hard upriver, sir, and were on our way back for requip when we heard the fireworks start. My noncoms and I caucused and decided a roundabout return might be a good idea.”

“Better than you know, Lieutenant. I’m not kidding about the amphibious Crigolit assault. I wish I were. It looks like the squids have been working overtime on minds as well as machines lately.”

Conner eased the lifeboat closer to the cluster of anxious, confused soldiers waiting inshore, negotiating a path between shattered tree stumps and mud banks. Nevan studied them through the foreport. Sixty to seventy heavily armed men and women, all wearing recently acquired dirt and muck in addition to standard camouflage. They were accompanied by perhaps fifty Massood. He saw few wounded. Their sliders idled beneath overhanging vegetation, hot and ready to run. The lieutenant was a stocky, powerfully built man with dark skin and straight black hair. He wore a seeasy over his wounded right eye. It would help him make out shapes and changes in the light while the damaged organ beneath healed. Behind him a Massood junior officer stood at semiattention. A distant explosion drew everyone’s attention back to the bay. “I still can’t believe it,” the junior officer muttered. “Neither could we. It’s real enough, all right.”

“What do we do now?” The lieutenant indicated his distraught troops and the double rank of two-person sliders parked in a semicircle beneath the trees on the highest patch of boggy ground. A combat seat clung to each side of the battle units’ drive frames. “We’ve been fighting for days. There isn’t a slider in the bunch with enough of a charge left to reach Attilla even if they take one soldier per unit.”

Conner stood patiently next to Nevan. “We could probably fit most of them in the lifeboat, sir. At the very least we could evacuate all the wounded and many of the rest.”

That was what they should do, Nevan knew. That would be the eminently sensible course of action. It was also diametrically opposed to what he was feeling. Judging by the expression on the lieutenant’s face, he felt similarly, and said so as he nodded in the direction of the bay. “Most of us have friends, buddies back there. We could try and give ’em a hand.”

“The attack was made in strength,” Nevan informed him. “The Crigolit continue to bring additional firepower to bear.” He was aware that the nearest cluster of soldiers was staring at him intently, listening hard. “Anything else … sir?” The lieutenant’s tone was coldly correct. Nevan nodded absently. “I was just thinking that, if anyone was so inclined, we could slip back to the main river channel, using the jungle as cover. Try and hit their reinforcements in the shallows as they come downriver.”

“Your pardon, honored Colonel,” said the Massood junior officer who stood behind the lieutenant, “but our unit is not equipped with underwater breathing apparatus.”

The lieutenant glanced back up at her. “We’re Human, Sholdid. We don’t need any.”

“I am aware of that, but if what the colonel has told us is true, then the Crigolit will still retain the advantage. They will have full underwater breathing capability for the duration of any confrontation. I know that breath-holding capability varies among Humans, but if I recall correctly it is in no wise time-intensive.”

“The bugs are operating in an unfamiliar and to them frightful environment,” Nevan pointed out. “I suspect only some kind of extensive Amplitur conditioning is enabling them to function at all. I doubt that they’ve been training for or are prepared to engage in any kind of underwater combat. I’ve seen the propulsion systems they’re using. They’re crude and improvised, not representative of the kind of highly refined Mazvec or Korath engineering we usually encounter in these kinds of situations. I have a feeling everything they’re using today was thrown together for this one tentative attack, to see if it works. Their weapons systems aren’t designed for underwater combat either.”

“Neither are ours.” The Massood’s expression was grave. “That’s right.” The lieutenant bared his teeth, causing the Massood to twitch a little more sharply than usual as she dug at a persistent substernal itch. “There are many ways to terminate an opponent underwater.” He indicated his assembled, restive troops, turned back to Straat-ien. “As you suggest, sir, I think we might be ‘so inclined.’”

Nevan considered. If the Crigolit reacted boldly, he’d do well not to return to Base Attila. On the other hand, if they could catch them off guard, particularly now, when they doubtless thought victory inevitable …

He nodded once, sharply, to the younger officer. “Let’s do some damage, Lieutenant.”

“I have to voice concern.” The Massood was more than uneasy. “The risk and danger involved are …”

“We don’t expect your people to deal with water,” Nevan assured her. “Someone needs to take charge of this lifeboat. You can lie in ambush along shore and pick off every non-Human head that shows itself above the surface.”

The Massood’s ears flicked uncertainly back and forth, and her long lower lip curled downward slightly. She was outranked by this Human but could still call on interspecies protocol to argue further. Trouble was, she couldn’t think of any more objections. Nor was she sure she wanted to. Out in the bay, friends were dying. “Gratefulness for that,” she muttered. “It’s settled, then.” Nevan turned on his heel and led the way back to the lifeboat. VII

It was very crowded, with the tall, nervous Massood packed in tight among the squat, more muscular Humans, even though most of the latter had sped off riverward on their battered sliders. Clinging to the dense undergrowth, the lifeboat followed at a more leisurely pace. It was not armored and would offer little protection against heavy enemy weaponry in the event its presence was discovered. It was not. The hastily organized counterattack hit the startled Crigolit all up and down the delta. Weapons at the ready, the Massood watched in astonishment as their Human companions, stripped of their familiar battlefield armor, dove from the lifeboat and idling sliders to challenge the enemy in the depths of the clear, unpolluted river. Caught by surprise in an element alien to them, the Crigolit were no match for the agile, breath-holding Humans. Their hastily engineered motorized propulsion units were designed to push them from point of embarkation to a chosen destination. They had not been constructed with maneuverability in mind. Bereft of mechanized aids, the Crigolit could not swim. Devoid of clumsy rebreathing units, they could not survive more than a few seconds underwater. They drowned in large numbers, flailing madly with thin, useless legs and arms. As their respiratory systems were unable to generate sufficient buoyancy in proportion to their body weight, they sank instead of rising naturally to the surface. “I’ve got something big moving in, sir.” Conner spoke from his position next to the more experienced Massood pilot who had assumed control of the lifeboat. Straat-ien had just returned from a series of dives. Dripping wet, he moved to stand by the sergeant’s shoulder. Nearby Massood eyed him surreptitiously, fascinated by the way in which the furless, naked skin, more like that of a primitive Lepar than their own, shed river water. He studied the console screen. A pair of large skids was coming downriver, moving fast. They would mount heavy weapons. The fight for the command module was coming to an end. “Get everyone back on board,” he growled tersely. “We can’t stand up to field equipment. We’ve done all we can here.”

Conner nodded understandingly. One by one the divers were informed of the deteriorating battlefield situation as they returned to the lifeboat. Even so, they were understandably reluctant to leave. So were the Massood, who from the air-conditioned comfort of the compact craft had taken their time obliterating those Crigolit who had managed to make it to the surface with the aid of their propulsion units. As soon as the last soldier was back on board, the Massood pilot gunned the lifeboat’s engine and sent them racing back toward the open sea. Their actions had not prevented an Amplitur victory, but the swift and unexpected —if modest—counterattack had certainly tarnished the enemy’s triumph. Now that it was all over, the Massood officer wondered at her ready compliance with the Human colonel’s tactics. By nature a cautious individual, she was surprised that she hadn’t haggled more strongly for restraint. Her puzzlement quickly faded in the afterglow of a job well done. There was no way they could have retaken the module, but at least they had made the enemy pay for its victory. Among the other Human-Massood patrols that had been working the upper delta at the time of the unprecedented underwater Crigolit assault, some escaped untouched through the surrounding swamps to be picked up by special small, superfast rescue and reconnaissance craft hastily dispatched from Base Attila for that purpose. Others were not so fortunate. Losses were heavy. There was no way of glossing over the severity of the defeat. Not only was Straat-ien absolved of any responsibility, he was awarded a commendation for his quick thinking in organizing the lightning if ultimately inadequate counterattack. Having only just arrived at the command module when the enemy assault began, he could hardly be saddled with a portion of the blame for its loss. There were misgivings but few recriminations at the base. No one had imagined the possibility of an underwater attack by Crigolit; therefore no defense had been designed to cope with it. Planners and Scopers immediately set to making sure it would not be repeated elsewhere. The Weave prided itself on suffering the effects of such shocks only once, and the Amplitur were fast running out of surprises. Eventually they would run out entirely. Neither that knowledge nor his commendation left Straat-ien feeling any better as he awaited reassignment. It was the first time in his career that he’d been involved in anything so close to a rout, and it continued to weigh heavily on him as the weeks passed. He didn’t even have Naomi around to console him, since she was off on assignment elsewhere on Chemadii. Therapy helped some. It could ease his days, but not his memories. He was glad when the call finally came. The presence of the female Wais in the base commandant’s office did not surprise him. Despite the ornithorp’s finery he hardly spared the visitor a glance. For a Wais to make planetfall on a contested world like Chemadii was unusual but not unprecedented. No doubt this one had been assigned to deal with some problems of translation or protocol. Nothing to do with him. Krensky leaned back in his own chair and acknowledged Straat-ien’s arrival with a desultory wave of his real hand. The other was prosthetic all the way up to the shoulder, a flesh-toned marvel of Hivistahm design and O’o’yan manufacture. When too much of the original body part was lost for regeneration to have a chance of working, a Hivoo replacement was the next best option. This was not necessarily a comedown. In many instances the artifice exceeded the efficiency of the natural. There was no desk and no window; just seats and benches suitable for life-forms of varying physiognomy, a waveform soholo on the curved rear wall, and in the center of the room, a large metallic glass vase of exquisite design, which served as home and frame to a clutch of pale pink and blue blossoming clover. It was real clover, from Earth. He could smell it. The incongruity of its location was matched only by the cost of its maintenance. A base commandant could barely afford such luxury. The clover might have been able to survive on the surface: Chemadii was not an inhospitable world. But the room lay beneath fifty meters of solid basalt and two intervening layers of compression-injected shielding. Under such conditions the healthy deep green of the clover was a testament to the skill of a dedicated, if displaced, horticulturist. No doubt the garden-loving Wais had a greater appreciation for it than did any of the commandant’s human visitors. “Good day, Colonel Nevan.” For someone with a tough reputation Krensky had a disarmingly delicate voice. “I’ve got a special assignment for you.” As any experienced soldier would, upon hearing this declaration Straat-ien immediately tensed. Not that the details mattered. Something to do, at last. Something to take his mind off the catastrophe in which he had been an ineluctable, if peripheral, participant. “About time, sir. I’ve been going slowly crazy waiting.”

“Apparently the psychs think otherwise or they wouldn’t have released you to Command. You’ve no right to be impatient. None of the delta survivors has been released for return to duty until they’ve been double-cleared. You know that.”

“I know that, sir, but I don’t have to like it.”

Krensky snorted approvingly. “That’s pretty much what they’ve all said. Well, you can relax now. You’ve been passed. As of this morning. Still, I would’ve given it another few days except that I need you for something special.”

“I’m ready for anything, sir.” Straat-ien waited expectantly. “Are you?

I wonder.” Krensky’s gaze shifted to the heretofore silent alien. “Hello,” it said. It took Nevan a second to realize that the greeting was directed at him. The Wais spoke in sweet, ethereal tones. It sounded as if her words were being voiced through panpipes. In addition to being superb linguists they were perfect mimics. In a darkened room it would be difficult even for an expert to tell one from a Human. Or a Lepar, or a Hivistahm, or whomever the Wais would choose to sound like. This one, at least, was not as severely overdressed as were most of her kind. He knew it was a female from the slightly duller natural coloring, the marginally less florid plumage. Krensky introduced them. “This is Lalelelang of Mahmahar. She’s a historian. Or something like that.”

A supple susurration of perfectly matched feathers and attire rose to extend a prehensile wingtip. “Colonel Straat-ien, I am very pleased to meet you.”

He gripped the proffered limb carefully, feeling the resilience in the modified quills beneath the feathery covering while wondering at the alien’s presence. At the same time it occurred to him that he had never before seen a Wais initiate such contact. Like other Weave species they preferred to avoid physical interaction with Humans unless it was absolutely unavoidable. Clearly this Lalelelang was an exception, that rare example of her kind who was comfortable—if not entirely at ease—among the big, contentious primates. Perhaps her demeanor was a function of her work. He turned back to Krensky. “About my assignment, sir?”

The commandant nodded toward the Wais. “Our distinguished visitor is your assignment, Colonel.”

Nevan blinked. “I don’t understand.”

“Consider her profession.” Krensky steepled his fingers and regarded Straat-ien out of hard eyes. Nevan didn’t blink. “You already mentioned that … sir. What has that to do with me?”

“Our guest’s particular area of interest centers on how different species relate to one another under battlefield conditions. Obviously, she needs a guide.”

Straat-ien had tensed anew. He found himself glaring involuntarily in the direction of the patient Wais. She flinched under his gaze, but less than he expected. A sudden unnerving thought struck him. Did she know or suspect something about the existence of the Core?

He forced himself to relax. Just because she was a historian who had apparently worked among Humans didn’t mean she knew anything of the secrets of Cossuut’s genetically altered offspring. He told Krensky in no uncertain terms that he wanted no part of such an assignment. Krensky was equally adamant. “I’m sorry, Colonel, but this determination was approved at the regional level. They wanted someone of substantial rank who is also intimate with field activities. Like it or not, you qualify, you’re presently unassigned and available: you’re elected.”

“It’s crazy. I can’t have some”—he nearly used several terms he would have regretted—“Wais trailing me around out in the field. There’s unfinished business I need to take care of. I was hoping to be sent back to the delta.”

“The revenge motif,” said the Wais unexpectedly. He turned sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve always been fascinated by the intricate contortions of logic your species invents to justify its actions, even as you simultaneously recognize their illogicality. Such complex mental-emotional-physical rationalizations are unique to Humankind, and constitute an important stimulus for my studies.”

It was not the kind of reply he’d been expecting. Though it was easy to generalize about any alien species, he found himself more than a little intrigued by the individual who stood before him, staring up out of bright blue, heavily lashed eyes, unafraid to meet his feral Human gaze. He tried to envision her trailing along in his wake, tiptoeing through the swamps out in the field while trying to keep her perfect plumage pristine. The image was ludicrous, the notion absurd. He so informed Krensky. The commandant listened patiently, smiling and quite unshakable. “What happens to her if she’s my responsibility,” Nevan asked finally, “and I find myself in a combat situation?”

“You needn’t worry about me, Colonel Straat-ien. I have been in combat before.”

“Say again?” Nevan’s tone shifted from accusatory to curious. “No Wais goes into combat. The Hivistahm and S’van rarely, but never Lepar, or O’o’yarn. Or Wais.”

“I am an exception. To the best of my knowledge, the only exception. I was in combat on Tiofa. In the company of Humans and Massood.”

Krensky was nodding confirmation. “She’s telling the truth, Nevan. I saw her dossier. She was very nearly killed in action. Mazvec.”

Nevan hesitated, his gaze narrowing. He was now on completely unfamiliar territory. “You didn’t … you didn’t carry a weapon?”

“No.” She didn’t tremble at the thought, and took pride in her equilibrium. “Of course not. Not that I couldn’t have carried one,” she added with sudden boldness, “but I naturally could not have used it.”

“Right.” Nevan felt a little more confident. The universe had not turned inside out after all. “You really have experienced actual fighting?”

“Quite so.”

He looked thoughtful. “That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Combat isn’t like a poison. Repeated exposure doesn’t make you immune.”

“I’m quite aware of the psychological ramifications, Colonel Straat-ien. I would have to be in order to successfully pursue my interests. I have devoted my life to the study of how Humans interact with other species in combat situations. While I agree that I personally am not exempt from the mental danger posed by being placed in such a position, I can state unequivocally that I am better prepared to cope with it than any other representative of my kind. Over the years I have developed and refined a number of highly effective pharmacological and psychological prophylactics to insulate me from the danger.”

“You can’t insulate yourself from combat,” Nevan argued. “If someone’s shooting at you, it’s necessary to shoot back.”

The image thus conjured caused her to quiver slightly. She hoped they wouldn’t correctly interpret the sudden slight fluffing of the feathers on her neck and spine. It was doubtful that they would. The two males before her were, after all, only Human soldiers, albeit of enhanced status. Such types were usually not attuned to the subtleties of interspecies expression. “I will rely on you to do any shooting, Colonel Straat-ien.”

Nevan discovered he was smiling in spite of himself. Though still disgusted with the situation, he had to admire the alien. “You’ve got guts; I’ll give you that.”

“‘Guts.’” Her Huma was superb, but Human colloquialisms followed no formal rules of gestation, being as haphazard and unpredictable in their development as the species that propounded them. So she hesitated slightly before replying. “Yes, to your way of thinking, I suppose that I do. You might be interested to know that my colleagues think I am borderline irrational. As I do not regard it as a prerequisite for my job, I naturally disagree with them.”

Listening to her talk was like listening to music, Nevan mused, though the effect was less when she spoke in an alien tongue like Huma instead of their own. It was seductive. He found himself being persuaded. It helped that he had no choice in the matter. He spoke slowly, for emphasis. “If I agree to this, when we’re out in the field you’ll do exactly as I say. I don’t give a shit how many degrees, or honors, or delegations of prestige you hold among your own kind. When I say jump, you jump. When I say shut up, you shut up. If I tell you to roll yourself into a ball of feathers and lock yourself in a chest, you comply. Instantly and without question.”

“So long as you don’t ask me to fly,” the Wais replied dryly. “As you know, we lost the ability to do that millions of years ago, although we can still glide for short distances. We traded the power of flight for intelligence. However, if you order me to fly, I will endeavor to try to the best of my ability. I must warn you, though, that sports were never a favorite activity of mine. “While the Wais did not share the ready, raucous sense of humor of the S’van or the cavalier boisterousness of Humans, the concept was not utterly alien to them. Their trenchant subtlety was usually lost on other species. Having immersed herself in the study of Humans, Lalelelang had perforce been required to investigate their sense of humor as well, and as such was able to modify her own sufficiently to make it comprehensible to the two men standing before her. “Well, you’re without question the most unusual specimen of your kind I’ve ever met,” Nevan told her. From his posture and expression she deduced that he’d accepted her. Human attributes in those areas were so blunt and unequivocal that even an adolescent Wais could be trained to interpret them. “I have simply prepared myself to do my job,” she explained. “I don’t expect to be welcomed, but I promise you that I will not encumber your movements or interfere in any way with your normal daily activities, whatever they may involve. Think of me, if you will, as nothing more than an ambulatory recording device.”

He recognized the self-effacement for what it was: a ploy to ingratiate herself into his confidence. Not that it mattered. “All right. There’s nothing I can do about it anyway.”

“That’s right, Colonel.” Krensky looked satisfied, a difficult task accomplished. “I hope you two will get along. Anything that contributes to good interspecies relations benefits the war effort.”

“Yeah, right,” Nevan muttered. An “ambulatory recording device”?

Why not?

His thoughts switched to business, which involved reassignment to the field. Preferably to the strike force that was being assembled to try and retake control of the Delta. He had to admit that she did a good job of keeping in the background as preparations were made. It had been decided soon after the disaster that there was no point in trying to recover the captured command module. The intention was to hit the enemy hard and fast, before they had time to establish themselves too securely. In an attempt to do exactly that, artillery and self-guided missiles had been pounding the region ever since the defeat, complicating the enemy’s efforts to install permanent facilities in the area. Overall command of the strike force was given to a general officer. Humans and Massood would go in on fast sliders, bypassing the outer fringes of the delta, where the old command module had been located, and striking boldly for the enemy’s main bastion of supply, which was located farther upriver. If they could take that, then the Crigolit forces that had established themselves throughout the delta would be forced to rely on aerial resupply while attempting to fight off the Weave attackers. A successful first strike would also cut them off from active reinforcement. Of course, the strike force might also find itself cut off, behind enemy lines, once again leaving the enemy in control of the region with their position stronger than ever before. Boldness always entailed risk. Lalelelang observed all the preparations intently. Humans handled the requisite logistics with a forcefulness and precision that was comparably lacking in their social and personal relationships. It was not unreasonable to contend that they spent their entire lives in one kind of combat situation or another. Only with the Massood, their companions in combat, could they ever truly relax. The Massood appeared to reciprocate, but non-Humans could see this supposed familiarity for the sham it was. The Massood were nearer in temperament to the Wais or S’van or any of the other Weave races than they would ever be to Humankind. Even among the tall fighters, distaste remained for a species that actually enjoyed combat instead of treating it for what it was: a necessary evil that went against every tenet of civilized society. She found all of it fascinating. Filling up bead after storage bead, she realized she was accumulating more material than any one individual could annotate in a lifetime. Her best students would have to carry on in her wake. It bothered her that she was acquiring material that she personally would not have the opportunity to analyze in detail. There was little glory in fieldwork, and the eventual accolades would go to others, those who would be fortunate enough to collate, explicate, and publish. Such thoughts troubled her only occasionally. After all, she was not in it for glory. VIII

Weave forces struck the delta just before sunrise on a day when the morning mist was thick on the river and its tributaries. Straat-ien’s troops sped up a chosen byway on glistening, camouflaged sliders and a single command sled, advancing on a heavy, monotonous hum that would be difficult for enemy aural sensors to pick up. Somnolent wildlife barely had time to flap or splash out of their path. His group was equally divided between Humans and Massood. Noting the unease of the latter at traveling for so long in such close proximity to open water, Lalelelang hardly had time to be nervous herself. The sliders rendezvoused at a long, low island, one of dozens that split the main river into the hundred channels which constituted the delta. They overwhelmed the installation that the Crigolit were in the process of constructing in the island’s center. Lalelelang heard but did not see any actual fighting, for which she was grateful. Centered on the big air-repulsion sled, the command post that Straat-ien had established was responsible for directing fire and lines of assault, not for forcing the enemy front. She encountered both Massood and Humans who had been injured, but her training and medicine kept her own endocrine system in balance and allowed her to continue work unabated. As ordered, she stayed close to Straat-ien. She felt that in the days leading up to the attack she’d come to know him fairly well. He struck her as in no wise exceptional: simply another competent Human officer, highly efficient and effective in concocting battlefield strategy in concert with his Human and Massood subofficers. Though she did not have an opportunity to observe him in combat, she had no doubt he could handle an actual weapon as efficiently as any of his more lethally equipped brethren. He was shorter and more muscular than most. Though he still towered over her comparatively diminutive form, she was more comfortable speaking to him than to the average Human, who stood taller still. Even during combat, in moments of uncertainty and tension, he was invariably polite to her, having lost his embarrassment at having a Wais dogging his heels much of the waking day. She thought she detected a grudging admiration for the manner in which she was comporting herself in conditions that would have reduced any other Wais to a shivering, immobile clump of feathers cowering in the nearest available dark corner. Despite that, there were moments when he seemed inordinately suspicious of her, wary beyond reason. She tried but failed to find reasons for these occasional, unpredictable shifts in attitude. It was as if there was something quite intimate he was desperately trying to hide. Some personal failing, perhaps. She was not particularly interested in how this affected him, her interest being wholly professional. Intrigued, she tried venturing casual questions whenever he manifested overt suspicion. This only made him warier, to the extent of threatening the excellent working relationship she had patiently built up out of her detailed knowledge of human psychology. She promptly backed off, deciding to wait for openings rather than trying to force them. It wasn’t as if she had nothing else to record, nothing else to study or occupy her time. Watching Straat-ien as he directed forces and propounded strategy was quite fascinating. Not once did she ever see him, or for that matter any other Human, express concern over arrangements designed to ultimately result in the deaths of a large number of intelligent beings. That was the terrible Human gift, of course: that this they could do which no other species could. Every day she was presented with astonishing and often appalling new perspectives. Sometimes the Humans displayed impatience with their more cautious Massood colleagues. The tall, slit-eyed warriors accepted these spirited admonitions gracefully, but only, she knew, because in matters of combat it was the Humans who usually made the right decisions. Once the offensive was under way, Nevan pretty much forgot about his Wais charge. He was suddenly too busy to worry about her, and she kept her promise to keep out of his way. Halfway into the assault, the Crigolit counterattacked in strength, flooding the delta with floaters and skids. Gouts of flame and the destructive colors of coherent energy beams sliced through the swamp growth and roiled the water at the fringes of the pseudo-mangroves. Self-seeking missiles of intentions nefarious waited just beneath the surface of the water or hid behind trees, poised for some suitable target to stumble unaware into range. The rapid pace of engagement quickly rendered untenable the prospect of either side calling in heavy air support. Single- and double-piloted floaters and sliders darted through the forest and across narrow ponds and tributaries, seeking confrontation. Larger skids and sleds utilized onboard VR projection systems to blend as closely as possible into the swamps. Within the armored, camouflaged confines of Straat-ien’s command sled, Lalelelang was somewhat divorced from the actual fighting, though she was surrounded by plenty of confusion and shouting if not blood. Massood and Humans rushed about, the Humans exhibiting the usual facial and skin-color changes, the Massood displaying more frantic twitching and scratching than usual. The sled was the largest craft that could be utilized in such an attack. Anything more commodious was apt to make an easy target for long-range enemy ordnance. It could carry command electronics, a substantial crew, and some heavy-weapons systems of its own. Such vehicles were the nerve centers of any fast-moving offensive. Lalelelang thought it crowded and uncomfortable but admirably efficient. At least, it so appeared until the undetected explosive charge, which probably executed its stealthy approach entirely underwater, erupted from the river beneath them. Automatic sensors assumed control of the sled’s engines and reacted evasively. The Korath-designed, Acarian-built weapon detected the incipient escape effort of its chosen target and immediately engaged a proximity trigger. The result was a powerful, shaped-charge explosion just below and to the right of the dodging craft. Glassine and metal and flesh disintegrated as the sled lurched. Alerted by the weapon, several dozen Crigolit riding individual floaters arrived subsequent to the blast. They swarmed the sled from all sides, attempting to capture and take control rather than simply exterminate the wounded inhabitants. Anyone not directly responsible for flight operations drew arms and rushed to confront the attackers. That included suddenly superfluous order-givers like Nevan, who pulled his sidearm and joined a group of Massood hurrying toward the point of attack. Unnoticed and ignored, recorder humming imperceptibly, Lalelelang trailed close behind. She never saw the Crigolit who dropped from the ceiling. With their sextupal limbs they were capable of utilizing surfaces denied even to the agile Humans. Twisting in midair, it landed on its four feet just to her left and aimed two hand weapons in her direction … and hesitated. Startled by her appearance, which conformed neither to Human nor Massood, it took a few seconds to determine whether she was friend or foe. That was long enough to allow a hand to reach over the front of the Crigolit’s visored skull and yank sharply backward. The slender neck snapped like a twig, releasing a small, narrow fountain of green, copper-tinged blood from the quivering torso. It splattered Lalelelang, the sticky wetness matting her feathers and staining her attire, dripping cloyingly from her beak and neck. Finding that she was beginning to shake violently, she fought to calm herself by focusing on the necessary and immediate task of cleaning the small lens of her recorder. The decapitated body before her trembled for a moment longer on its quadrupedal appendages before collapsing like a broken child’s toy. Stepping out from behind the corpse was Nevan, the Human she had in preceding days come to think of as relatively sophisticated and progressive for his kind. His eyes were dilated and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps as his highly efficient respiratory system supercharged his muscles with fresh oxygen. The Crigolit’s head hung from five remarkable, powerful digits. Nevan flung it aside and it bounced several times on the deck. Though fighting swirled around them, she kept her attention on her protector, wishing she could retreat somewhere long enough to take some additional medication. She was afraid that if she did she might miss something of value. Though she continued to shake, she did not, somewhat to her surprise, go catatonic. Years of training and conditioning were paying off. Straat-ien kept staring at her. His stance and expression hinted at approval, appraisal … and something more, something she couldn’t quite define. Then he was gone, whirling to rejoin the fight. The Massood had a difficult time with their assailants. Not only was it important for the command sled to maintain its position and function in the greater conflict that was roiling the delta, those on board had to fight off the harassing Crigolit as well. It occurred to Lalelelang that if the sled’s defenders were unable to defeat the attacking enemy, it wouldn’t matter whether she lost her shakes or not. No doubt the Amplitur would be delighted to have her: they didn’t see many Wais prisoners. The efficiency of the Humans in repelling the attackers was appalling to observe. The distancing exercises she had devised received a strenuous workout. Repeated checks of the recorder helped her to half convince herself that she was not witnessing actual fighting; merely recording a demonstration. Lives were being lost all around her only in the abstract. Such practiced self-delusion enabled her to maintain her emotional equilibrium amid hellish conditions. Halfway through the battle to retain control of the sled, a singular incident ensued. An entire squad of Massood, some limping, some otherwise wounded, was retreating down the corridor in which she found herself when they were confronted by a single Human noncommissioned officer: a slightly built, dark-haired individual who addressed them sharply via his translator unit. Being almost as fluent in Massoodai as she was in Huma, she understood both his comments and the sibilant replies they provoked. The Human’s argument did not strike her as especially persuasive in light of the apparent injuries several members of the squad had suffered. They halted before him, staring rather vacuously. Then, one by one, they turned to retrace their path. Clutching his own sidearm, the Human noncom started to follow, when he suddenly noticed Lalelelang staring in his direction. Amid the chaos and confusion of battle their eyes locked for an instant: hers wide and blue, his small and black-pupiled. She wanted to look away but found that she couldn’t. Then the Human was gone, back down the corridor. Doing her best to ignore the deafening screams and echoing explosions all around she struggled to analyze what had just happened. The conversation she had overheard had contained no semantic surprises that she could recall. It had been straightforward, uncomplicated, and brief, and her knowledge of the languages involved was at least the equal of that of any of the participants. Nevertheless, the six Massood, hell-bent on retreating, had been convinced by a single unimpressive Human to put aside all concern for their injuries and return to combat. Their expressions had cogently reflected the fear and panic they’d been feeling. Yet a single Human had somehow helped them to brush all that aside. Something screamed past her head and she half ducked, quivering violently. The incident was for pondering later, in surroundings more conducive to analytical thought. It was all there on her recorder. That was the task of the moment: to record, not to dissect. Under the direction of Nevan, the sled’s captain, and the Massood officers and Human noncoms, the invading Crigolit were driven from the craft. Thus repulsed, the surviving attackers stood clear on their floaters and resumed their assault on the vehicle itself. At this critical moment, when the enemy had finally decided that the taking of prisoners was not worth further sacrifice and destruction therefore had become the order of the hour, a dozen sliders crewed by fresh Massood arrived on the scene in response to the command sled’s ongoing omnidirectional cry for help. Suddenly the Crigolit had their claws full defending themselves from attack from behind. Battered and oozing smoke but still airworthy, the sled was able to drift off into the meager but very welcome cover of a cluster of forest emergents. Despite her pledge to stay near in the confusion of battle, Lalelelang had become separated from Nevan. It took her a while to find him. He’d returned to the damaged but still functional central command room. At her arrival he smiled, carefully keeping his teeth concealed so as not to offend. The expression of recognition was brief, and he returned rapidly to his work. This she observed, her recorder still humming softly. Though she carried spares, she was glad it had not failed on her. The material it now contained was quite irreplaceable. When at last he stood back from the consoles and his fellow soldiers she was sufficiently emboldened to step forward and ask, “How are we doing?”

An exhausted Nevan nearly replied as he would have to another Human, so exacting was her speech. As it was he bowdlerized his response only slightly. “We’re beating the excreta out of them, kicking their chitonous butts all up and down the river. This sled’s right in the middle of it and that’s why we got hit so hard.” He squinted at a console. “The attack on their principal base of supply started slowly, but it’s picking up now. Before this is over we’ll push them out of this whole region.”

“Turn previous defeat into victory?” she opined undiplomatically. He took no offense. “You bet your feathery crest. Look there.” He gestured toward the uppermost of a rectangle of small, oval screens. The feed from the remote airborne eye was presently relaying a visual record of the assault on the target in question. As they watched, an enormous gout of flame erupted from somewhere on the ground and the eye briefly displayed blank sky as the drone dodged to avoid the aftershock. Other screens showed the telltale airstreaks of sliders and floaters engaging in low-level aerial combat. Out there, she knew, dozens, perhaps hundreds of supposedly civilized, intelligent beings were in the process of being eviscerated, dismembered, killed. The muscular trembling resumed despite her most efficient and agile mental gymnastics. Everything had happened so fast. To make things worse, she was sure her medication was starting to wear off. “You okay?” Nevan’s gaze and tone narrowed simultaneously. “I will be fine. I told you not to worry about me.”

“That you did. Still, I don’t think you’ll miss anything critical if you decide to take a breather. Why don’t you spend a few minutes in the medical cubicle and give yourself a rest?

You’ve earned it. A Massood would have earned it.”

She fought to keep a tremor from invading her reply. “Thank you for your concern, but if you don’t object, I would just as soon remain here. If I black out completely, I would appreciate it if you could move me to a corner where I am less likely to be trampled upon in the course of battle.”

He nodded approvingly. “You know, for a Wais you’re really something.”

“So another Human soldier told me not so very long ago. I am only doing my job. This is my life. You are my life. Or rather, your species is.”

A Massood tech seated nearby begged Nevan’s attention for a few moments. When he again had time for his charge, he told her, “Other Weave researchers have tried to make a career out of studying us, but to the best of my admittedly limited knowledge none of them have been able to do so under combat conditions. After a few cursory attempts they all give it up.”

“I suspect none of them were historians.”

“What does that give you that they didn’t have?

A bigger picture?”

“Something of the sort is my goal,” she acknowledged. Such conversation helped to steady her nerves, except when he yelled. Not at her but at his colleagues. She still found the sound of the sharp, concussive human voice, its harsh syllables detonating against her finer sensibilities, disconcerting. As the battle continued, Nevan forgot her afresh. Only later did he notice that she had disappeared. Perhaps she’d taken his suggestion and had chosen to get some rest. As tired as he was he worried that the Wais, with her far less resilient neuromuscular system, might be near collapse. By nightfall the Crigolit and their allies were retreating all across the region, taking what equipment they could, fighting as they fled but fleeing nonetheless. Mopping up continued throughout the night, the methodical butchery of resisters and taking of prisoners proceeding according to time-honored precedents. During that time he saw her only once, ambling through a corridor intersection, her recorder operating as quietly as ever. Conner confronted him the following afternoon. They were standing on the badly marred surface of an enemy floater hangar near the southern edge of the captured enemy base. Below, Crigolit and a few Mazvec and Acarian prisoners were being assembled in a hastily erected temporary enclosure. They offered no resistance. Having been defeated, enemy prisoners were naturally passive, as were those representatives of the Weave who were taken by the other side. Only Humans regularly rebelled in captivity. It was one more puzzlement to the Amplitur. There were no Amplitur among them. It was not certain any were on Chemadii, and if they were, they would remain traditionally distant from the scene of actual combat. To capture an Amplitur was a feat every soldier of the Weave aspired to. The fact that this had but rarely been done in the entire history of the war did not dissuade the dreamers from their individually vainglorious moments of hopeful anticipation. As cleanup efforts continued, flames belched intermittently from ruined storage facilities and underground bunkers. The Crigolit base was extensive and had been heavily fortified and protected. Its loss would cripple enemy efforts far beyond the delta. Taking it more than made up for the destruction of the floating command module. “What can I do for you, Sergeant?” Despite the fact that they were alone he was careful to maintain the appearance of a normal officer-noncom relationship. “Your squad come through okay?”

“One wounded, sir. The Massood took the brunt of this one. Many of them had friends or clan members on the delta module. That’s not what I need to talk to you about.”

Nevan kicked at a fragment of charred, twisted ceramic armor. “What then?”

“It’s that canary you’ve been squiring around.” Human soldiers had pet nicknames for all non-Human species, friend and foe alike. Even though they resembled emus far more than diminutive bright yellow songbirds, all Wais were “canaries,” just as the Massood were “rats” and the Amplitur “squids,” and so on into the depths of Human inventiveness. Such terms were rarely employed in the presence of the species so labeled, all of whom were nonetheless aware of this particular primate penchant. Most took no umbrage. After all, they had their own distinctive, secret names for Humankind. “What about her?” At present the Wais historian was back on board the sled, perusing her records and checking her equipment. “She saw me.”

Nevan turned from his examination of the captured base. “What do you mean, she saw you?”

“During the fight for the sled I ran into a squad of retreating Massood. Five or six, as I recall. They were pretty well shot up, but not so bad that they couldn’t hold a position or serve as backup. They’d had a communal lapse of guts and were looking for a place to sit out some fire while they collected themselves. As you know, sir, at that time the hull had been breached and we needed every hand we could muster.”

“You’re saying they were running away?” Nevan watched a sled loaded with supplies and reinforcements set down delicately on the partly repaired landing platform. “I wouldn’t go that far, sir. More like they were retreating in disorder. They were all field rank, not a subofficer in the bunch. I could see they still had plenty of fight left in them. They just needed someone to give them some direction.”

Nevan nodded slowly. “Which you decided to provide.”

“I made a suggestion. First to all of them collectively, which was hard, and then when I had their attention, to each one individually. That was easier. It went smoothly.” He glanced around, feigning indifference. They were still alone. “That’s good. They all responded well?” The wind changed and both men turned away from it. Acrid smoke stung Nevan’s eyes. Conner nodded. “Conditions made it kind of hard to concentrate, but I think I did pretty well. After the first two turned back that half persuaded the others. No problem there. The trouble is,” he added quietly, “that she saw the whole thing. I know she did, because when it was finished and I started to head back to my own station, she was looking right at me.”

“So, what did she see?” Nevan was nonchalant. “One Human noncom talking to a bunch of Massood. You said they had no subofficer among them. That means you ranked them. What more natural then for you to give them orders, especially under combat conditions?”

“You don’t understand, sir.” Conner licked his lips. “She had that damn recorder of hers going. The whole time.”

That made Nevan look up sharply. “She recorded you persuading the Massood?”

The sergeant nodded. “Not that anything conclusive will show up on the recording. But I just know, I feel, that she felt something, suspected something. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but when she has time in the peace and quiet of a study somewhere to go over that piece of information in detail, to look closely at the visuals and listen to the audio, it just might strike her, sir, that there was something out of the ordinary taking place. “I could sense it. She didn’t understand why the Massood were returning to combat, why they were listening to me like that.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you read her mind?”

“You know we can’t do that, sir.” Conner looked into the distance. “Like I said, maybe it’s all in my mind. But you know that we’re taught from adolescence, from as soon as we’re made aware of our talent, to err on the side of caution in order to protect ourselves, to protect the Core. You can’t blame me for that.” He shrugged. “You’re probably right, though. I’d know a lot more one way or the other if I had any experience interpreting Wais posture or expressions.”

“Few people have, except a few specialists. Everything the Wais do is elaborate and subtle.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that it was a difficult moment and I was, well, I was being very sensitive to everything going on around me. In combat you get jumpy.”

“Don’t get down on yourself, Sergeant. You were right to tell me.”

“I just thought, sir, that since you’re in charge of her, maybe you could sneak around the subject. Ask some questions, watch for reactions. Try to find out if she does suspect anything from the experience. You’d be a lot better at that sort of thing than I would.”

“Don’t count on it. How do you ask questions about something that’s not supposed to exist without bringing it up?

Asking questions, no matter how vague, could be more dangerous than simply ignoring the whole business.”

“That’s just it, sir.” Conner turned his gaze back on his superior. “Can we ignore it?”

Nevan was quiet for a while. “Go back to your duties, Sergeant. Leave this to me. I’ll take it from here.”

“Whatever you say, sir.” The sergeant didn’t hesitate. “And if you make a decision that requires the problem be resolved, I’m available to help.” He didn’t need to elaborate. The two men parted, Nevan heading toward the command sled, the sergeant jogging off in the direction of an armed group which was combing the rubble in search of survivors or resistance. IX

Nevan remained at the captured Crigolit installation for several days, helping to coordinate consolidation strategy before he received orders to return to Base Attila and a certain amount of acclaim. On the return journey he encountered Lalelelang in the control cabin. She was recording the activities of the sled crew, which consisted of Massood and one lone Hivistahm. Armor ports of transparent Bullerene showed swampy islets and open tropical ocean speeding past beneath the field-repaired craft. She was squatting in typical Wais resting posture; legs folded beneath her, against a rear wall, as unobtrusive and out of the way as possible. He started to take a seat nearby, then changed his mind and sat down on the floor next to her. A Human lieutenant walked in, conversed with one of the Massood operators, and was turning to leave when he spotted the colonel sprawled on the deck, his back propped comfortably against the wall. The junior officer started to say something, thought better of it, and exited without comment. “Well, did you get what you came for?”

The large beaked skull pivoted easily on the long supple neck to regard him out of oversized, alien blue eyes. Tight curlicues of iridescent gold and purple glitter framed each eye. The Wais were ever conscious of their appearance, even under unnatural conditions. Lashes fluttered. “All that and more, Colonel Straat-ien. More than I could have hoped for.”

“I think we can drop the military appellation. Just call me Nevan.”

“Very well. And you may address me by the familiar phonemic syllable.”

“I’ll try to remember that, whatever it is. Ready for the next battle?”

“I must decide.” She dipped her head to examine the compact recorder that Nevan had yet to see absent from her wingtips, it being easier for a Wais to move its eyes close to a subject to be studied than to raise it up for a better look. “I have gathered so much material over the past days that I am considering returning home to examine what I have acquired.”

The importunate concern that Sergeant Conner had planted in Nevan’s mind like a permanent itch flared a little more brightly. It was impossible, of course. There was no way she could have divined any truths from watching Conner work on the Massood. Under leisurely examination the confrontation, should she choose to fixate on it, might strike her as odd, but it was an unimaginable jump from that to presuming heretofore unsuspected mental abilities on the part of any Human being. The incident flaunted no raised flags, nothing overt to provoke suspicion. Still, Conner insisted he’d sensed something. She’d stared at him. Did that mean anything except that the sergeant was overcautious?

Nevan was not heir to the same degree of paranoia that affected many Core members. Only to a lesser degree. Did she suspect anything at all?

If so, given the Wais penchant for discretion, would he be able to detect it no matter how clever and carefully thought-out his queries?

“You really are fascinated by how we interact with other representatives of the Weave. The Massood, for example.”

“Particularly the Massood, since they are the only other intelligent Weave species that has overcome their conventional state of civilized behavior sufficiently to wield arms.”

“Have you come to any conclusions?” He smiled encouragingly. “Propounded any hypotheses?”

She didn’t reply immediately. Had there been something in his voice?

He reminded himself that she was an expert in Human language and expression. He was going to have to tread as lightly with his questions as if walking on eggshells. “I haven’t even begun to collate my research, much less postulate conclusions.”

He was unwilling to let it go at that. “Surely there must be some things that you’ve found of more interest than others?

Some observations or revelations that have particularly intrigued you?”

“There always are.” He tensed a little, hoping it didn’t show. “You sitting down next to me, for example.”

He was able to relax. “How do you mean?”

“It demonstrates a degree of politeness and courtesy not normally associated with your kind. Being aware of how your stature intimidates all but the Massood and the Chirinaldo, you voluntarily chose to reduce your inherent physical advantage by taking a seat on the floor. Or did you think I would not notice?”

“I didn’t really think about it. It’s just that you’re my responsibility and it’s my duty to make you feel as comfortable while you’re here as possible.”

“Really?

What a shame. I would have preferred to have ascribed your action to higher motives. I shall adjust my commentary accordingly.”

He felt as if he’d just been offered an easy opportunity to double his money and had instead chosen to throw it away on a particularly dumb bet. “Anything else?” he inquired, with less interest than before. “What have you decided about how we interact with the Massood?”

“The relationship is less abrasive than I would have expected.” He thought she was being slightly defensive, but then with a Wais you couldn’t tell. “That’s all?” A Mazvec tracking weapon exploded somewhere nearby, momentarily jolting the high-speed sled. A fleeting strike from some distant enemy position, launched at extreme range more out of hope than expectation of doing any real damage. “There is the undeniable fact that the Massood seem to fight with greater determination when they go into battle in the company of corresponding Human forces.”

“That’s not news. Why do you think that is?”

“Although it is a phenomenon which has been studied extensively, no one has yet produced a completely satisfactory explanation, including the Massood themselves. It has something do with the Human ability to forget civilization entirely and revert to a purely primal carnivore mode.” There was no hint of accusation or disapproval in her voice, he noted. Her approach was purely academic. She was simply reciting cold facts. Without being prompted she added, “There was one incident among many in the recent conflict which stands out in my memory.”

He went cold as she accurately described the encounter between Conner and the retreating Massood squad. “At the time, those Massood soldiers seemed quite determined to avoid battle. Yet with very few words one of your soldiers succeeded in convincing them to return to combat.”

“You recorded the encounter, of course,”

“Naturally.” Lashes bobbed, and the long feathery neck flexed expressively. “There is little I wished to record that I did not. Without wanting to appear boastful, I am not ashamed to say that I am good at what I do.”

Straat-ien feigned indifference. “That sort of thing happens all the time. The Massood often need a little psychological boost to help them overcome their natural ‘civilized’ reticence. It’s one of the services we Humans provide.”

“I do not doubt it. It is just that I hadn’t had the opportunity to witness such an encounter previously. I found it but one memorable incident among many. It puts me sadly in mind of all that I have yet to learn.” She blinked at him. “You remark on it at length. Do you find it in some way unusual?”

“No,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. “It’s only that I had the chance to chat with the noncommissioned officer in question, a Sergeant Conner, and in the course of general conversation on other subjects he happened to mention it to me. Not because of the encounter, which is common enough, but because he happened to notice you off to one side recording it.”

“My presence did not compromise his behavior at a sensitive moment, I hope?”

“Not at all. But you know that your presence in such surroundings is unprecedented. You have to expect that it will be noted.”

She sounded relieved. “I understand. As a researcher I am naturally always concerned that my presence may influence and thereby alter the very situation I am attempting to study.”

“If a tree falls in the forest and there’s no one around to hear,” he muttered. “Your pardon?”

“Nothing. I’m rambling. So your work is in good shape?”

“Better than I. Exhaustion has become my constant companion.”

“Never know it to look at you.”

“You flatter promisingly. It is something Humans are transparent at, even to one another. But I appreciate the concern.” She let out a long, trilling whistle that finished in a descending coda. “When I return home I am sure I will require several months’ rest before I can even begin to think of dealing with the mountain of material I have accumulated. It will be work enough simply to see to its proper replication and storage.”

“Yes,” Nevan murmured absently, “it would be terrible if any of it were lost.” Bracing himself against the wall, he straightened and stood towering over her. Despite her conditioning she flinched at the nearness of his bulk. It was an instinctive reaction she could not completely shroud. And Straat-ien was one of the smaller Humans on the sled. “So you’ll have plenty to keep you busy back at the main base.”

“Assuredly. I have recorded and observed. Now it is time to systematize. If possible I should also like to obtain more material on Human interaction with Weave species other than the Massood.”

He inclined his head. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“I am sure that by now you have observed that where my work is concerned I am anything but reticent.” The lashes fluttered again. “You’ve been very straightforward,” he admitted. “I know. Among my kind that would be a serious criticism.”

Sensing that he was making her increasingly nervous, he retreated several steps. “You’re damned unique, Lalelelang.”

“How would you know?” She made it sound almost playful. “How many Wais had you met before me, Colonel Nevan Straat-ien?”

“Well, two.” He laughed and quickly dampened the reaction when he saw her flinch at the sight of his exposed teeth. “I hope your opinion of my kind has not suffered from our relationship.”

“Likewise.”

“I can say confidently at this point that you are less than a revelation, but more than a confirmation. You aspire to civilized behavior. It is not your fault that the nuances of proper behavior escape your species.”

Though he knew there was no malice in her comments, he couldn’t keep himself from bridling slightly. “We’ve got other things to do. There are no nuances on the battlefield.”

“The propoundment of hasty absolutes are the conclusions of the insecure,” she replied, rather more enigmatically than he would have preferred. Back at Base Attila a week later he found himself traversing the main service concourse in the company of Mai Pauk Conner. In addition to other Humans and Massood, the serviceway was thronged with Hivistahm and O’o’yan, S’van and Lepar, all operating on Chemadii in important support capacities. Enclosing bubbles of Bullerene armor let in sunlight to nourish the native plants that grew in profusion in the free-form planters that lined walls and floor. The two men were discussing the matter of a Massood captain who had noted the frequency with which his own troops often disregarded his orders in favor of those issued in the field by lower-ranking Humans. It had been discovered by a soldier with Core connections to Conner that this officer had begun keeping a personal file on such incidents. Thus alerted, the young woman had quietly brought the situation to the sergeant’s attention. This was not unprecedented. Core members found themselves having to deal with such potentially dangerous attention throughout the Weave, with far more frequency than they would have liked. If the officer in question had eventually submitted his data to an analytical computer and had happened to ask it the correct, discomfiting questions, it might possibly have informed him that the presence at such times of citizens whose ancestry could without exception be traced back to Cossuutian Restorees suggested an unreasonable coincidence that might bear further investigation. Conner was informing Straat-ien that the worthy Massood officer in question had died tragically in the battle for the great strategic peninsula known as Jac II. It was not an isolated death. Other Massood and Humans had also perished in the fight. Under such circumstances the loss of one more Massood would neither be remarked upon nor investigated. It would be reported that the captain had died bravely, a credit to his clan. It was the first time that Nevan had been involved even tangentially in the essential death of an ally to preserve the secrecy of the Core. It did not sit well with him. It did not sit any better with those more immediately involved, but all knew that such regrettable measures were sometimes necessary. Their continued survival, as well as that of their spouses and offspring, depended upon keeping themselves and their peculiar abilities out of the light. The need for such preventative social surgery was extremely rare. That it might have to be carried out so soon again, and on the same world, was troubling. The fact that the individual so marked for possible excision was a representative of one of the Weave’s least offensive species made it that much more uncomfortable to contemplate. “How much do you think she suspects?” the sergeant asked him. “Nothing, yet. She may never. Dammit, Conner, you’re the one who got me started on this.”

Conner shook his head sadly. “I didn’t call her. I didn’t tell her to be there when I was suggesting those Massood. I didn’t remind her to use her recorder. You’re just as worried as I am or you wouldn’t be talking to me about it now.”

Straat-ien stopped to peer over a tubular metal railing at the level immediately below the main concourse. “I still don’t believe she’s onto anything. But in the unlikely event that she is, and something were to happen to me, it’s important that a relative knows. Just in case. You know the Law.”

Conner nodded. “You’re worried about what she might think when she gets back to her homeworld and starts deciphering her material.”

“Not really. I just wanted someone else to know.”

“You’re being sanguine, sir.” Conner was now speaking to his companion not as a junior, but as a distant relative. They were all related, of course. All the Core members. Through ancestry. Through Amplitur genetic manipulation. Through need. “The Wais are persistent. Their minds are the equal of any, and there’s nothing wrong with this female’s. Sure, she may skip right over the encounter. It’s buried in the mass of data that she’s accumulated. But sir— Nevan—can we take that chance?

If she divines anything it’s going to be a lot harder to correct the situation on her homeworld than it would be here.”

Straat-ien considered the tree climbing from the lower level before him. It had multiple entwined trunks and long, pale yellow leaves. “What’re you getting at, Conner?

That when the opportunity presents itself I ‘suggest’ she forget all about the incident?”

Conner didn’t hesitate. “We both know that won’t work in this case, sir. If she’d just witnessed it, sure. But she made a recording. As soon as she saw it again it would wipe out the effects of the strongest suggestion you or I could make. That would be worse than doing nothing at all because it would start her thinking about why she forgot it in the first place. Nor would suggesting her and trying to isolate and erase the recording be enough. She might have had it duped and stored elsewhere.”

“All right. What’s your ‘suggestion’?”

The sergeant didn’t hesitate. “Take her out on another combat pass. From what you’ve told me about her I’m sure she’d jump at the chance.” The younger, taller man put closed fists together and twisted them in opposite directions. “Wais are fragile.”

“This case isn’t that simple.” Nevan found displeasing the image so dynamically envisioned by his companion. “She’s not a combatant, she’s an important individual on her own world, and she’s been made my personal responsibility. If she dies here, under any circumstances, it’s going to reflect badly on me.”

“Better for you to become bad news for a while than for her to find anything out. You know that.”

A squad of Massood strode past beneath them. Nevan knew what the reaction of their kind would be to the revelation that certain select Humans could mentally manipulate them as effectively as the Amplitur. He glanced up, through the Bullerene glazing. Beyond the deep-sea cove in which the base had been constructed, ascending cliffs forged a towering bluff that formed a distinctive cream-colored landmark against the sky. For most of their length the cliffs were sheer and unclimbable except by experts fitted with special equipment. The western ocean of Chemadii crashed eternally against the granitic escarpment, throwing showers of spray over fifty meters into the air even in calm weather. Deep inside the base he was effectively insulated from their thunder. It was a splendid panorama, as profoundly stark as any he’d encountered in his travels. “Naturally it has to look like an accident.” Conner rambled on, placidly homicidal. “I imagine the easiest way will be to get her out into another battlefield situation. If she’s had her fill of that there are other ways. If you’re worried about your involvement, I can take care of it.”

“I can’t distance myself that easily.” Straat-ien allowed his gaze to wander away from the view and back to the strolling inhabitants of the concourse. The attack siren whined once, causing a number of pedestrians to glance moodily upward, but the electronic exclamation was not repeated. False alarm, he mused, or an asymmetrical test. “I don’t see why you’re so worried about problems that don’t yet exist, Nevan. Whatever the reaction we can deal with it. Accidents happen. Especially in combat. And she’s no soldier, hasn’t had any training. If she were to go proto during her visit here, her fellow Wais would probably be less surprised at her fate than anyone else. They’d all bob their heads knowingly, or whatever the hell it is they do.”

“I know all that.” Straat-ien’s reply was tinged with irritation. “All I’m saying is that I’m not sure it’s necessary. Just because she saw you suggesting a bunch of Massood doesn’t mean she’ll ever divine anything deeper than that. Remember, she’s swamped with information.”

“That’s today,” the sergeant argued. “Who knows what she’ll see in it a year from now, or five, after she’s had time for cerebration?”

“She may skip right through it. Mark it down as just another unremarkable Human-otherspecies encounter.”

Conner considered a moment before replying, somewhat quizzically. “This isn’t just a matter of professional respect anymore, is it?

You really like this canary.”

“You have to admire her. Put the average Wais through what she’s experienced and it would go cataleptic inside a minute.”

“Shit, man, I admire her, too. The trouble is, every time you turn around that damn recorder of hers is up in your face.”

“That’s her job,” Nevan reminded his companion. “Her guts are what make her dangerous. Look, Cossucousin; you rank me, both in the corps and in the Core. The decision’s up to you.”

“I need to be certain the danger is real before we throw away a mind like that. Even a non-Human one. Give me a few more days.”

Conner shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. In the great scheme of things what’s one Wais historian more or less?”

Straat-ien stiffened slightly. “Obviously my feelings in the matter differ from yours, Sergeant. If there’s truth in your sentiment then we’re no better than the Hivistahm and the S’van and the others think we are.”

“I’m just letting you know how I feel, sir. As for how the Weave sees us, I personally think it’s a little late to try and collectively convince them that we’re the pastoral, benevolent type.” He took a step backward. Straat-ien hastened to reassure him. “If I don’t think the problem can be resolved any other way, I promise you I’ll take care of it myself.”

“What about your concerns about being responsible for her?”

“I’ll take care of that. I can be unobtrusive. There’s the advantage that she won’t suspect me, and when it’s over neither will anyone else.”

Conner hesitated. “You know best, Nevan. But if you change your mind and decide you need help …”

“I can get ahold of you through the system. I’ll keep in touch.”

“That’s good enough for me.” Conner saluted smartly, grinned, and headed off down the corridor, leaving Straat-ien alone with his thoughts. That night Naomi found his repeated mention of Lalelelang puzzling. “Why are you so interested in this alien, anyway?

When she first got here all you could do was gripe about how she was complicating your daily routine, getting in your way, and generally making life difficult for you. Not to mention endangering herself and those around her.”

“Opinions change.” Straat-ien rolled away from her and lay on his back, hands behind his head as he considered the ceiling. “For a Wais she’s shown extraordinary courage.”

“Good for her. That doesn’t mean you have to get obsessive about it.”

Submerging the distress he felt, he turned his head slightly. “Who says she’s becoming an obsession?” Was he going to have to arrange for his lovely consensual companion on Chemadii to have an accident as well?

Once one was forced to embark on a program of excising a problem, it wouldn’t do to leave potentially embarrassing complications lying around. He smiled and rolled over to face her, letting his left arm drape itself over her waist. “She has been a concern, but hardly an obsession. Because of what she’s voluntarily subjected herself to, her motivations intrigue me.”

“She’s a historian.” Naomi snuggled closer. “She’s just doing her job. Nothing amazing about that.”

“There is if you know much about the Wais.” Considering how best to defuse her unhealthy curiosity, he had a sudden inspiration. “Would you like to meet her?”

Naomi looked thoughtful. Eventually she gave him an indifferent smile. “Naw. I’ve met Wais before. They’re uppity, standoffish, look-down-their-beak-at-you snobs. No matter how brainy she is I’m sure that at heart this one’s no different. Maybe she seems friendlier, but I bet that’s just part of her job. She can’t very well go around offending the very Humans she wants to study. She has to be part professional diplomat. So she keeps the proverbial grip on her olfactory organs while smiling verbally at her stinky subjects. She’s certainly charmed you.”

“I said that I was impressed by her dedication. I’d hardly say that I was charmed.”

Naomi was obviously enjoying herself now. “She probably talks about you behind your back, makes snide remarks about Humans in general when she’s communicating with other Wais. They’re like that, you know. Gossipy. Not that the rest of the Weave doesn’t do likewise, from the Massood right on down to the Lepar.”

“The Lepar aren’t smart enough to be snide,” he argued. “You know what I mean. They all quietly look down on us. And that’s okay, as long as they respect us. But the Wais, they’re just so damn supercilious about it. It makes you want to put a hand over their beaks until they start to turn blue.”

“The Wais look down on everyone, not just Humankind.” Nevan’s hand moved, distracting her. “It’s their culture: form over substance.”

Her lower jaw dropped slightly and her eyes slitted. “Speaking of form over substance, Colonel …” She drew him closer and for a while he gladly put aside the problems posed by the dangerously persistent alien historian. X

“Why did you bring me up here?” Lalelelang had her recorder out and operating, dutifully tracking her surroundings. They stood near the edge of the point that formed the northernmost end of the penetrating cove whose fulcrum was occupied by the hardened Weave base. A single sled could be seen approaching a landing platform. It hugged the cliffs, using them for cover. Seventy meters below, the green sea of Chemadii smashed against the pale granite cliff face. Spray broke away from the crest of the angry surf to rise up and over the top, dampening her feathers. She knew it probably didn’t bother her companion. Humans could tolerate remarkable extremes of climate. A double-seated slider sat parked behind them, waiting to carry them back to the base. Colonel Nevan Straat-ien moved closer, and she could sense his bulk. The proximity made her uneasy but she held her ground. “I thought it might be helpful for you to have an overview of the entire base. Sort of framing information for the rest of your material. Besides, it’s pretty up here.”

“I agree, but my interests lie in individual interactions.” She gestured with a dank wingtip. “This is textbook background. As for its aesthetics, I can only admire abstractly the undisciplined ruggedness you Humans seem to find so attractive. As a Wais I prefer scenery that has been tastefully imbued with the order of civilization.”

They were quite alone. The base had been in operation for some time, and the view from the point was no longer a novelty. Toward the horizon he thought he could make out several of the monstrous cephalopods who this time of year could regularly be observed on their southward migration. They swam in stops and starts with contractions of their massive split tails, short tentacles thrust downward like the centerboards of ancient sailing vessels. Surf thundered against the cliff base far below. For all that his motives in coming to this place were entirely prosaic, he thought his present position morbidly akin to that of certain protagonists in highly melodramatic tales of love and revenge. He found himself staring fixedly at the back of the Wais; at the long, lightly clad legs ending in sandal-clad three-toed feet; the highly decorated feathered body; the slim, flexible neck. She, too, was gazing at the migrating leviathans, the compact recorder clutched firmly in the flexible quill-tips of her right wing. He would be surprised if she weighed more than thirty kilos. The Wais had lost the power of flight millions of years ago. If she were to topple over the edge, her residual feathers could conceivably slow her fall to the point where striking the rocks at the base of the cliff might not kill her. She’d referred half-jokingly to some minimal gliding capability. But she would certainly be stunned. And the Wais, like so many Weave races, could not swim. A single massive surge of water against granite would finish it quickly. No one would expect her to survive. The body would be pulverized, its fragments scattered. There were no protective railings on the cliff point, no marked trails. A slip, a gust of wind could easily make a difference in the fate of so fragile a creature. It would be understood that he had tried and failed to save her. There would be censure, but no investigation. If she resisted, which was almost inconceivable, a single twist of both hands could snap the frail neck as easily as a plastic tube. The all-concealing sea would obliterate the actual cause of death. He glanced behind him. They were as alone as when they’d first arrived. His fingers flexed. Despite their physical proximity she hadn’t moved away from him. After all, she trusted him completely. Why shouldn’t she?

What conceivable reason could there be for a human officer to want to do harm to a Wais historian?

The rationale was fixed in his mind; indeed, was an inseparable part of it. A part of whose existence and function she could not be allowed to suspect. He knew that her triumviral sisters would miss her, but she’d told him that she was not mated and had no offspring. She lived on the fringe of Wais society. Far more professional than personal mourning would greet the news of her demise. He took another step toward her. Far below, unrelenting waves crashed devouringly against naked rock. It wasn’t necessary to try and disguise the sudden movement, and he was expecting it when her head pivoted on her neck to look back at him. The large blue eyes started to widen and feathers quivered, a gesture no doubt full of meaning to another Wais. His hands stayed tight at his sides. He had to know for certain. “You’ve told me a lot about your work.” He sensed her nervousness and pressed on, using that part of his mind the secret of which he was simultaneously striving to preserve. “But I have this feeling that there’s something of particular interest you suspect or have discovered. Something you haven’t felt free to discuss with me despite all the talking we’ve done and all the time we’ve spent together.”

She wavered slightly on her feet, no more able to resist his mental probe than a Massood or S’van would have been. “No, I …” She blinked, inhaling as if a timed-release injection of some powerful drug had suddenly dispersed into her system. “You are right, Colonel Nevan: there is.”

Here it comes, he thought tensely. It would be a simple matter to snap the slim neck, pick up the crumpled form and heave it over the cliff. A quick flash of iridescent plumage and sparkling beadwork and she would be gone. It would all be over within an instant, his fears and doubts swallowed along with her body by the all-embracing sea. Both he and Conner could relax. But he wanted to hear it from her first. “Well,” he prompted relentlessly, “what is it?” He loomed over her. She was afraid now but somehow unable to move. It was as if her feet had suddenly melted into the stone, fastening her to the spot. She was dimly conscious of responding to his question. This was most peculiar because she hadn’t intended to tell anyone of her suspicions. They were potentially too dangerous, too portentous to reveal even to her own kind. If she told a Human she had a pretty good idea of what the consequences might be. It didn’t matter that she was unburdening herself to Colonel Nevan. Despite the genuine concern he had shown for her welfare, something in his eyes, in his posture, still marked him for what he was. She could no more deny his ancestry than could he. “My studies,” she heard another person saying clearly while realizing it was herself, “have led me to some very unsettling conclusions.” She tried to leave it at that. He would have none of it. “Continue.” She wondered vaguely why she couldn’t ignore him. Like water through a shattered earthen dam the old fears poured out of her. “It is something I came to realize only after repeated perusing of my accumulated research.”

“After you witnessed the encounter during the battle for control of the delta between Sergeant Conner and the squad of retreating Massood,” he offered with bleak helpfulness. “That is certainly part of it.”

“Probably it all ties in with what you’ve learned from watching me,” he added fatalistically. “Naturally.” He was standing so close to her, she realized, blocking out the sun. And he wasn’t even particularly big, for a Human. Powerful, flexible, killing digits flexed at the ends of his wrists. “Also with everything I’ve learned from observing Humans in combat, both here and on Tiofa.”

Uncertainty entered his voice. To a Wais it was as blatant as a change of color. “With everything?”

“What else?”

He took a step back, clearly confused. For whatever reason, she was grateful for his partial retreat. “I guess I don’t understand. Are you saying you found nothing exceptional or remarkable about Sergeant Conner’s encounter with the Massood, or in your observation of me?”

“They only confirm what I have augured from watching other Humans. Should it be otherwise?” Her own confusion increased. “No. No, of course not,” he agreed, rather expeditiously. “Forget it. It’s not important. Not important at all. No more or less so than any of the rest of your observations.”

She took the suggestion. Naturally. “Tell me about your conclusions, then,” he urged her, in a most peculiar tone of voice. “About what you’ve learned from examining us.”

She found herself rambling with an openness she did not suspect she possessed. “Everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve witnessed, only confirms the hypotheses I had formulated before beginning my fieldwork.” Salt-laden wind ruffled her feathers. It was growing cold on the edge of the cliff. “Using my own personal observations of Human-otherspecies interactivity as a springboard, I devised a computer program to carry out some experimental extrapolations into which I also incorporated the work of others, both contemporaries and predecessors.”

It was as if she were lecturing a seminar consisting of a single student. She knew she was being entirely too revealing, both of herself and her information, but she couldn’t help it. Something was compelling her to unburden herself. “I set myself to this fieldwork in the hopes not of confirming my conclusions but of disproving them.”

“You mean you’ve been looking for something here on Chemadii and before on Tiofa that would invalidate your life’s work?”

“Precisely.” She discovered that she could move after all. She was not fastened in place physically; only mentally. “I began to wonder what would happen if the Amplitur were finally defeated.”

“Not if: when.” Straat-ien spoke the good-soldier speak. “Whatever,” she said impatiently. “Certainly it is coming. The tides of war turned significantly about two hundred years ago. Before that they were always able to develop some new weapon, some new strategy, with which to counterattack. With which to once more press upon the Weave. “Two hundred years ago the Weave gained a new ally: Humankind. That has made the difference.”

“We’ve done what we could.” A by now thoroughly bemused Straat-ien wondered what she was getting at. “What happens when the Amplitur have been utterly defeated?

What happens when they can no longer wage this war of the Purpose against us or any other species?

When all their subject races have been freed from the insidious genetic and mental manipulation to which they have been subjected?”

“I don’t want to sound simple,” Nevan replied carefully, “but I’d think that would mean that the war would end and there would be peace.”

“If I am correct then the two may be mutually exclusive,” she commented cryptically. “Why wouldn’t there be peace if there’s no longer any war?

Everyone will quit fighting and go home.”

“Everyone?” She was staring straight at him. For a moment he felt as if he were the one subject to mental paralysis. “If you’re talking about my species, we’ll return to peaceable pursuits just like everyone else. And maybe apply for full membership in the Weave. We’ll go back to what we were doing on Earth before the Weave discovered us and involved us in this war.”

“You confirm my worst fears.”

“Come on, now!” he argued. “I’ve studied my own history. There was hardly any serious fighting taking place on Earth when the first Weave ship arrived there.”

“By whose standards?

There has never been peace on Earth, just as Humans have only played at ‘peaceable pursuits.’ Before you began to fight the Amplitur and their allies you contested continuously among yourselves, the only ‘intelligent’ species to do so. These were aberrations of natural law engendered by your unique planet and your own evolutionary development.”

“We’ve outgrown that,” Straat-ien argued. “We’ve mastered our ancient history. You talk of early Humans making early mistakes. Our long association with the civilized species of the Weave has changed our society forever.”

“Yes, but has it changed it enough?

Grant me a moment my thesis. When the Amplitur capitulate, who will you fight?”

“No one. There’ll be no one to fight.”

“I’m not so sure. I think there will be a brief period of peace, like a long exhalation, and then you will have to find someone new to confront. This isn’t a question of something in your society; it’s a matter of what is in your DNA. You enjoy conflict too much. There is a saying: ‘One human is a civilization, two an army, three a war.’”

By now Nevan had nearly forgotten the reason for their presence on the cliffs. He realized that she didn’t suspect a damn thing about Conner, about himself, about the Core, or about the particular talent the unwitting Amplitur had released in the minds of perverted Cossuut’s genetically altered human offspring. Instead, she had been carefully shielding a discreditable theory that she’d formulated long before she’d even arrived on Chemadii. On the other hand, he was slowly coming to realize, if provable, her own suppositions could cause tremendous damage in an entirely different direction from the one he had been concerned with. “You’ll turn on us, on the Weave.” This she declared with the certainty of the utterly convinced. “That is what my projections show. Because you now have other species to bicker with besides just yourselves, you will end up picking a conflict with the Wais, or the S’van, or perhaps even the Massood.”

“Why should we want to do that?” He was honestly baffled. “Why would we want to start a war with those who’ve been our allies for hundreds of years?”

“Because you can’t help yourselves. Development of your civilization has always been geared to and propelled forward by conflict. You’ve made your greatest technological strides in times of war. It’s all there in your history. “It will not take much. A suspicion here, an imagined threat there. I predict you will battle the Massood first. That would be more satisfying for you than picking a fight with, say, the Hivistahm.”

“I think your conclusions are addled,” he told her firmly. “Remember: You’re deducing all this from the perspective of a Wais, a preternaturally sensitive species.”

“There’s nothing sensitive, preternaturally or otherwise, about the computer models I set up.”

“The equipment you’re using was designed by Wais or Hivi techs.”

“Now you’re being self-deceptively facile.” She chided him from behind the haze that still enveloped her thoughts. “Believe me, nothing would please me more than to see my theories demolished. Unfortunately, the evidence to date tends to accumulate in the opposite nest.”

He looked thoughtful. “I can see why you’ve been reluctant to tell anyone.”

Yes, and why am I now telling you?

a part of her wondered. Why should I trust you?

You’re not even an academic. “What do your colleagues think of your theory?” he asked. “I have yet to share my data with anyone else. I still have thoughts of disproving the constructed model. But I am less hopeful.”

Was he going to hurt her?

she wondered suddenly. Perhaps even kill her?

Was that why he had brought her to this isolated place?

She started to shiver. She’d shepherded her research carefully. It was impossible to imagine that he’d suspected. She’d told no one, not even her two companions in triad. But he didn’t have to suspect, she realized. She’d just told him everything. Why?

What had come over her?

What had prompted his battery of irresistible questions?

If her theories were made public and subsequently confirmed by independent sources it could seriously damage Human-Weave relations. That would delight only the Amplitur, who would rush to exploit the internal divisions that had always threatened Weave unity. The same thought occurred independently to Straat-ien. “Could the Amplitur have planted this idea in your mind in hopes of sowing dissension in the Weave?

You know how they can ‘suggest’ anyone but Humans.”

“I have never been anywhere near an Amplitur, either alive or dead.” Her response was prompt and confident. “Certainly one has never visited my homework.”

“If one had, it could have ‘suggested’ that knowledge out of your memory,” he countered. “Then why would I be telling you all this now?”

He couldn’t very well answer that one. Better to change his line of inquiry. “One theory at a time. I accept that your work isn’t Amplitur-inspired. You’re only one historian. Why should you be the only one to have reached these radical conclusions?”

“What makes you think that I’m the only one?” she replied demurely. That took him aback. “You know of others who’ve come to the same conclusion on their own?”

“I didn’t say that. I merely suggest that others, perhaps working in different disciplines, may have reached identical ends via a different route and are maintaining their silence for reasons similar to mine.”

He picked up a rock and juggled it in his palm, finally tossing it over the cliff. It vanished into the mist and foam boiling up from below. “You know,” he told her softly, “ever since that first encounter the Weave has encouraged us to become better warriors than we ever were when we were isolated on our one world.”

She blinked then and swayed slightly before recovering her balance. “I suddenly feel rather dizzy.”

“It’ll pass,” he assured her absently. “You’re just not used to the combination of sea air and wind.”

“Yes.” The fog that had been hovering thick and confusing in her thoughts abruptly dissipated. “You have a saying, unsubtle as with most Huma but descriptive nonetheless. About having ‘a tiger by the tail.’”

He turned to face her, his hands jammed into the slit pockets of his thin jacket. “That’s right. And the Weave went out and found itself a tiger cub and force-fed it steroids so it could take on the Amplitur.”

“Just so. Soon we will have no more meat to throw at this tiger. I am firmly convinced that everyone is naive to believe that it will willingly and easily switch its diet to vegetables.”

“Anything can learn to change its diet,” Straat-ien muttered. She executed an elaborate Wais gesture of negativity. “Theoretically. But will it be willing to allow claws and teeth to atrophy?

Or want them to?”

He had no reply. “My greatest pleasure in life would be to disprove this hypothesis,” she told him. He nodded. Just to be absolutely certain in his own mind he said bluntly, “Those of us who trace our ancestry to Cossuut have had even more reason than most of our kind to want to make use of our fighting skills.” He was watching her carefully. Insofar as he could tell there was neither hesitation nor artifice in her reply. “I can understand that. As a historian specializing in Human affairs I am familiar with the actions of the Amplitur on that unfortunate world, though after a hundred years I would think that lingering hostility would have faded somewhat.”

“We have long memories,” he told her. He was convinced now. She neither knew nor suspected anything of the Core’s existence or the talents of its individual members. He’d been on the verge of committing murder, of killing an ally and, indeed, a personal friend, for nothing. Except that now she could as easily be slain to suppress the theory she had developed, for it threatened not only him and his relations but the entire Human-Weave relationship. “Do you intend to disburse your theory?”

“Not yet. I am quite aware of the dangers inherent in doing so, and as I have said, I am still willing to be persuaded of its inaccuracy. Having devoted many years to its construction I do not think it will be easily demolished.”

In a half-wild moment he found himself saying, “Maybe I can help you.”

“Why should you help me?

I would think … I would think you would want to stop me.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why I’ve even told you any of this after keeping it a secret for so long, even from my own colleagues.”

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

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

“How can I be certain of that?”

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

She made a gesture he was unfamiliar with. “I accept your offer. Perhaps the interposition of a Human viewpoint will expose flaws in my work that I would otherwise not be able to see.” She turned and started back toward the waiting slider. He paced alongside, his long stride slowing to match her much shorter one. “How can you assist me?” She let the slider seat adjust itself to her body type. “You’re a field soldier assigned to an active theater of combat.”

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

“Won’t you miss the butchery?

It has been my experience that if Humans are deprived of participation in conflict for too long they begin to suffer from disorienting psychological phenomena.”

“Naturally I disagree with that observation also. Fighting is just what we’re trained for.” He switched on the slider’s engine. A low whine rose beneath their feet. “It is what you are genetically disposed toward. There was a Human, an individual who from my studies of your history I gather did not want to be as famous as he became, who was an intimate part of the first meetings between the Weave and your species.”

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

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

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

“Your intelligence is what makes you so dangerous.”

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

“That is something I have long wanted to do but could not acquire the appropriate authorization for.” She was nodding, the Human gesture perfectly executed. He was feeling upbeat about the future. First he’d discovered that she had no inkling whatsoever of the Core’s existence, and now by bringing to bear information she’d heretofore been denied they were going to disprove this preposterous subversive theory of hers. Nor had he been forced to commit murder there out on the point. “You have entry to everything?” she inquired. “Not all of it. I don’t rate a universal clearance. But I can certainly access material you’d never be allowed to see. That’s where your studies have been lacking: no Human input. You’ve been forced to base all your work only on personal observations and those reported by other aliens. We can change that.” He nudged the steering bar and the compact, superbly engineered air-repulsion vehicle plunged down an otherwise impassable slope. “If you think you can work with me, that is.”

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

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

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

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

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

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

They slid off the mountainside and skimmed toward the base, racing along several meters above the waves that marched shoreward into the narrow cove. A large piscine predator snapped at the slider, missing badly. “What if we do all this and the new information you obtain confirms instead of contravenes my work?”

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

And if not, he thought, I can always make you forget it. His superiors were not especially surprised by his request for leave. The loss of the delta command module and the subsequent heavy action involved in retaking the delta was enough to tire any soldier, particularly one saddled with the responsibilities of a field command. His request was granted without comment. Only Conner wondered, but there was nothing the sergeant could say. Despite their distant family relationship Straat-ien was still a colonel and Conner only a noncom. He accepted Straat-ien’s explanation that the Wais was ignorant of the Core’s existence because there was no reason to doubt him, and for a time they went their separate ways. Straat-ien asked for and received permission to spend his leave at Base Tamerlane. The original Weave installation on Chemadii, it was now far from any areas of actual combat and comparatively isolated from danger. He and Lalelelang could pursue their intentions there in comparative comfort. Base Tamerlane was also home to more support personnel than Attila. The Wais historian found comfort in the occasional company of Hivistahm, O’o’yan, and S’van. Responding to her requests and under her direction he initiated inquiries via various entry links as well as putting through a number of Underspace connections to research resources on other worlds. His high clearance allowed him access to facilities that would have been denied someone farther down the chain of command. Conner, for example, would have gotten nowhere with many of the queries. Their activities centered around the base library: a modest and underpopulated annex to the central command structure. As sensitive material she would never otherwise have been able to examine came pouring into the files she and Straat-ien jointly established, Lalelelang forgot her initial hesitation in the joy of dissecting a remarkable succession of documentation. So involved in their research were she and her Human associate that they had long since come to ignore the stares and comments of those who couldn’t help but remark, often in their very presence, on the highly unusual working relationship. Nothing in the flood of new material that Straat-ien was able to obtain weakened Lalelelang’s hypothesis. Every fact and report they fed into her analytical program only seemed to confirm what she had initially propounded. Nevan began to worry … and to contemplate alternative resolutions. It was in the middle of the second week after the information had begun pouring in that Straat-ien found something that intrigued him. If nothing else, it was a diversion. Sensitive to Human emotions and reactions, Lalelelang quickly sensed his preoccupation. She didn’t probe. That would have been unforgivably impolite, if not downright Human. If it was something he intended to share with her, she knew he would mention it eventually. Meanwhile she attended to her own business, of which there was presently a delicious surfeit. Another week passed before he chose to confide in her. Since her Huma was a match for his own and better than that of many Humans, he let her take control of the voice-activated annex unit he’d been working with. “See this here?” He directed her attention to a portion of the material currently visible on screen. Her neck bent forward; a supple muscular curve. “It is a spin-off of one of my programs, but I do not recognize the correlations.”

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

She guided the unit efficiently, superimposing a central processor of her own over his program. She was much better at it than he was, but that was to be expected. When she was finished, everything lined up as before. Her finely boned skull turned to face him. “It is certainly interesting. Perhaps even revolutionary. But I fail to see how it bears on our current work.”

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

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

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

She stared at him. “I did not know.”

“Why should you?

For that matter why should I?

I’m not privy to the inner workings of the central command team.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Granted. So how do you interpret this?”

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

“That’s because you’re thinking like a representative of the civilization of the Weave. If you look at it from a Human point of view the discrepancies and inconsistencies jump right out.” He told the unit to flick off and it dutifully complied. “I’m going to set up an appointment with the individual in question. Not necessarily a confrontation, because at this point all we have is abstract data. But this is too important to ignore, even if it means neglecting our other work. There’s no need or reason for you to come along.”

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

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

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

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

“Your interpretation of those conclusions,” she shot back. “My,” he commented amusedly, “that tone was nearly hostile. Almost Human.”

“Entreat but do not insult me.”

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

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

“I know, and I’m probably wrong. It’s too extraordinary. But it has to be followed up, so that we’ll know for certain. The implications are profound.” Seeing that any further attempts to dissuade her would only intrigue her further and even make her suspicious, he reluctantly acquiesced to her request. “We’ve spent a lot of time trying to disprove one theory,” he concluded. “Hopefully it’ll only take a few minutes to disprove this new one.”

XI

Lalelelang was far more uncomfortable than Straat-ien as the lift descended to the lowest inhabited level of Base Tamerlane. Perhaps because of their avian ancestry they were comfortable in high places whereas subterranean venues made them distinctly uneasy. Nevertheless, she said nothing as the lift finally slowed and the single door slid upward to allow egress. She stayed close to him, however, marveling at his indifference to their claustrophobic, dimly lit surroundings. “You Humans,” she murmured. “You can run and jump, travel temporarily beneath water, crawl through caverns, do everything but fly. You’re so ridiculously adaptable.”

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

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

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

That anyone would prefer to be billeted in such a wan, dank place seemed implausible. It reminded Straat-ien of pictures he’d seen of ancient dungeons on Earth. Only one species, one resident race of the Weave, found such surroundings congenial. “Had a hell of a time setting up this appointment,” he grumbled. “Rank helped. We’re not supposed to stay very long. Either way this shouldn’t take much time to resolve.”

She remembered his cautionary words to the effect that the encounter could prove dangerous and found herself shivering. Her companion took no notice of it. The delicate Wais shivered much of the time, for reasons others could not fathom. The short feathers that formed her neck crest flexed and relaxed. They halted before an unprepossessing door. Nevan announced himself to the small speaker set in the wall, knowing even as he did so that it was unnecessary. The visual pickup set just above the portal exposed him to the apartment’s interior. A moment passed before the doorframe was suffused by a pale violet light. Somewhere within, a locktight clicked a soft electronic greeting. The barrier slid aside. “Let me do the talking,” he whispered to his companion. “Why would I want it otherwise?”

They found themselves in a domed chamber. Walls and floor melted into each other. The total absence of straight angles and the patterned texture of the walls gave the room a soft, ductile feel, as though they were standing inside the organ of some vast dead animorph. Furniture—if such it was— was low and massive. The far side of the chamber was all window; not Bullerene—there was no need for armor down here—but some other transparent material sufficiently tough to resist the modest pressure of the seawater that ebbed and surged against it. They were below the surface of the Chemadiian sea and tangent to its euphotic wonders. Piscines with exuberantly attenuated fins migrated lazily back and forth in small schools while a pair of long eel-like creatures chased each other in and out of the muddy bottom. Small soft-bodied things made tracks in the ooze, wending their way around spiky growths of pale green and yellow. It was an expensive habitat, but the single occupant of the chamber had specific requirements. Its presence was considered important enough for personal whims to be indulged. Nor were concessions made for visitors. Both Human and Wais were forced to squint to make out shapes in the gloom. Compared to the temperate climate above, these reapportioned depths were cold and clammy. Nevan checked his translator prior to addressing the shadows. “Colonel Nevan Straat-ien and Honored Scholar Historian Lalelelang present themselves as scheduled.”

“I know who you are or I would not have let you in.” Despite the heroic efforts of another, unseen translator, the words emerged garbled and vague, difficult to understand. A large shape that Nevan had initially taken to be part of the furniture detached itself from the floor and edged closer to the window, where it pivoted with patient awkwardness to confront them. Air whistled from Lalelelang. It was the first time she’d ever encountered a Turlog in person, though she was intimately familiar with the bulky, slow-moving shape from holomages and recordings. It settled onto its multiple squat legs and gazed coolly at them out of eyes extended on thick stalks. A hand or foot reached out to caress a nearby mound, which turned out to contain several mage screens. Straat-ien knew that it was through these that the Turlog tactician communicated its thoughts and advice to Weave command. The Turlog were not fond of exchanging ideas in person. In fact, they were not fond of company of any kind, including that of their own species, this being a principal reason why the population of the highly regarded, long-lived creatures remained always at dangerously low levels. “I do not know why you wished so strongly to meet with me.” Eyestalks bobbed and the stressed translator hissed and rumbled. “As this encounter must be as uncomfortable for you as it is for me, I ask that you state your business so that we may quickly put an end to it. While we attempt to converse I lose time of contemplation. There is strategy to be devised and reviewed and I am alone here.”

“I realize that,” Nevan responded, “and we apologize.”

The Turlog did nothing to contradict its kind’s reputation for brusqueness. “Do not waste more time attempting to give body to the refuse of social niceties. State your business.”

“You should have been informed that my Wais companion is a historian of note. Were you made aware of her area of expertise?”

“Something was mentioned about ongoing attempts to record and analyze Human-otherspecies interactions.”

“That’s correct.” While Nevan spoke, a fascinated Lalelelang examined the remarkable creature. It resembled nothing else she’d ever encountered, Weave or foe, being in form and development more alien even than the heliox-breathing Chirinaldo. “I’ve been helping her with her research,” Straat-ien was saying. “She has propounded an interesting hypothesis.” Startled, Lalelelang put a wingtip on his forearm. None of her colleagues could have followed through with the gesture, but it didn’t matter anyway. He shrugged her off. “She suggests that when the Amplitur and their supporters have finally been defeated, we Humans will turn on our former allies out of a desperate need to continue fighting.”

“Colonel Nevan!”

He smiled reassuringly. “It’s all right, Lalelelang. It’s only a theory. Sometimes you have to be provocative in order to get a reaction.” He eyed the Turlog. “What do you think of that?”

“Interesting, as you state. I do not believe it has much validity. Of course, I have not been exposed to the data on which this theory is based. If your intention in coming here is to seek an opinion you will depart without one. I do not render unsupported analysis.”

“You mean you’re not even slightly interested in a hypothesis of such import even though if true it might adversely affect your own kind?”

“Why would it do that?” The creature’s feet made scraping noises on the floor. “We have had only the most tenuous contact with your uncivilized people.”

“Uncivilized but useful,” Straat-ien responded. “Do not feel singled out. Because of our solitary natures we choose to have as little contact as possible with all other beings. We regard this, as you would say, as a necessary evil. We regard life itself as a necessary evil.”

Straat-ien was nodding. “Yet from the very start of the war the Turlog have been involved in structuring many of the classic battles against the Amplitur, long before Earth was drawn into the fray.”

“You have absorbed some history yourself. This is irrelevant and untimeworthy. If you have nothing more to say, leave.”

Straat-ien shifted his weight. “Not sufficiently intrigued?

Then try this. I recently learned that there were three Turlog involved in the fight for a world called Houcilat.”

There was no immediate response. The transparent external wall was completely noise-proofed and the only sounds in the chamber were those of three entirely different organisms processing oxygen. “What of that?” declared the sexapodian finally. “It seems that they survived the attack and even managed to escape the Crigolit onslaught which devastated that unlucky colony.”

“So did numerous Humans, Hivistahm, and Massood.”

“You Turlog have broad interests but as you say, it’s rare to find two of you in the same place at any one time.”

The translator choked and struggled. “You find it remarkable that three of my kind were present on that unfortunate world. It has not been so remarked upon by anyone else.”

“I’ve recently had the chance to study some interesting correlational data. My personal motivation also happens to be rather less distanced than that of your average historian. You see, I’m fourth-generation Cossuutian Restoree.”

Eyestalks rose and fell. The inflexibly carapaced face was incapable of expression, the bulbous eyes blandly unrevealing. “That explains your interest in Houcilat. If your intention in coming here is to seek new information based on the presence there of three of my relations at the time of the Crigolit massacre I am afraid I have nothing to add to that sad piece of history that is not already available from the usual sources.”

“Wait. I’m just getting started. There were also Turlog present on Coban, Eirrosad, and other Weave worlds where my genetically modified ancestors were first compelled to fight against the Weave on behalf of their then Amplitur masters.”

“I do not see an end to your striving. Turlog have been present on most contested worlds, helping to devise strategy and tactics on behalf of the Weave. Human commands have benefited as much from our efforts as have any other.”

“I don’t deny that. Just as it can’t be denied that Turlog are rarely taken prisoner on contested worlds, usually because you stay safe in places like this. It’s only happened a few times. Houcilat was one of those times. So was Coban. So was Eirrosad. In each case those captured Turlog were later swapped back for Crigolit or Mazvec or other enemy prisoners of war.”

“We are grateful that our value is recognized and appreciated,” replied the Turlog slowly. “Oh it is, it is.” Now Lalelelang was eyeing her companion with as much puzzlement as the Turlog. Was he rambling sardonically to see what kind of reaction he could provoke, or did he have something more substantial in mind?

Doubtless their host was wondering that as well. “I’m sure your demonstrated usefulness was why the Weave was so anxious to repatriate those of you who’d been captured on Houcilat, and Eirrosad, and Coban. And the other couple of worlds in question. “I find it fascinating that like the Amplitur, the Turlog are also ambisexual.”

Legs scratched. “To what purpose do you now digress into mention of reproductive habits?”

“I’m not sure. I’m trying to make some difficult, unpleasant connections and it isn’t easy. I also find it fascinating that your people were taken by the Amplitur from worlds on which my ancestors fought before they were freed from the squids’ genetic machinations, and that all were subsequently repatriated.”

“We have suffered our share of prisoners taken on worlds unknown to your ancestors for hundreds of years before there were Humans on Cossuut, or Houcilat, or anywhere in the Weave. We accept the possibility of capture as must any who are actively involved in contesting the mastery of a disputed world.”

“How noble of you. Let’s take a moment to review. Three Turlog are present on Houcilat when the Crigolit attack. Three Turlog are captured, yet survive to be repatriated even though hundreds of Humans and Massood are slaughtered. Two Turlog are taken on Coban and subsequently returned, and the process is repeated again later on Eirrosad.”

“You repeat yourself now. Finish and depart. I lose contemplation.”

“Contemplate this: It seems that ever since the restoration of the Humans who were modified by the Amplitur to look like Ashregan began, certain Turlog have been taking a good deal of interest in the reintegration of such individuals into normal Human society.”

“Such observations are relational to the overall war effort.”

Straat-ien was shaking his head slowly for no discernible reason. “None of this would have gone remarked upon if I hadn’t been exposed to Lalelelang’s research. Without her programs the correlations between Cossuutian and Turlog activity would’ve remained undetected. I wouldn’t even have known what kinds of questions to ask. The funny thing is, we’ve been working on something else entirely. My stumbling across all these unrelated coincidences was pure accident. We call that serendipity.”

“You are implying something,” the translator moaned. “The one thing I still don’t understand,” said Straat-ien, “is what the Turlog hoped to gain by orchestrating strategy for the Weave at the same time as they were aiding the Amplitur in their experiments on captured Humans. It strikes me that some of you people have been working at cross-purposes.”

Lalelelang looked up at him in shock. There was no immediate reaction from the Turlog. “That is a very peculiar observation,” the alien said finally. “In one respect you are correct. What would we have to gain from such a contradiction?

Why would anyone take both sides in a conflict?”

“Well, I have to admit that I don’t know of another species that would. I suspect it has something to do with the fact that the Turlog are the only known intelligent species who can think about two distinctly different subjects at once. Not even the Amplitur can manage that.”

“There are no Turlog fighting for the Amplitur. You know that we despise their grand Purpose as heartily as any member of the Weave. Your most basic research should have unequivocally shown you that.” The Turlog did not sound angry or upset. From the time the conversation had begun its tone had not changed in the slightest. “What my research has shown me,” Nevan went on, “is that of all the member races of the Weave, the Turlog are the most likely to have their own agenda. I was hoping that in light of what I’ve found out you might be able to explain it to me. What do the Turlog actually want out of the Great War?

Come on: prove to me the absurdity of my suppositions. Show me where my statistics are wrong. Convince me that my thesis is invalid.”

“Many questions.” The Turlog’s dim silhouette shifted. “You could never convince the Weave high command of anything.”

“Maybe not, but I think the Human high command would be a lot more receptive. Remember: We’re basically uncivilized. Much more suspicious and untrusting than the S’van would be, or the Hivistahm.”

The Turlog settled itself atop what looked like a large block of wood fastened to the floor, but which was in actuality a far more complex structure. “You are right when you observe that none would take such assertions seriously save your own paranoid kind. And only a few Humans could have made the unfortunate connections or would have had reason to: you unpredictable offspring of the Cossuutian Restorees.” It made an untranslatable sound: a deep, benthic gargle. “Always there was the potential for you to make trouble.”

“What is it talking about?” Lalelelang turned sharply to her companion. “What is going on here, Colonel Nevan?”

“Wheels within wheels. Take it easy.”

“I will satisfy your damnable Human curiosity,” the Turlog was saying, “after which it will be necessary, as I am sure you will understand, to kill you.”

Lalelelang was too stunned to shake. “You can’t do that. The Turlog are a civilized species. Among the Weave only Humans and Massood can kill.”

“You have no idea what the crabs can do.” Straat-ien was very still. “It’s well known that our friends the Turlog are not a very gregarious bunch, like the S’van or even the O’o’yan. Are you?” He stared at the large, flattened shape. “You know well we dislike the company even of others of our own kind. Were it not for the need to occasionally exchange information we would all gladly exist in a state of delectable hermitage.” Eyestalks inclined toward Lalelelang. “You are correct in your assumption that I cannot kill in the manner of a berserker Human. I could not bring myself to utilize a gun, or a sharpened stake, or a large blunt object.”

Lalelelang responded in high-pitched but comprehensible Turl. “I still do not understand what is happening here. If you are certain no one will believe my friend’s thesis, why speak of killing us?”

“A precautionary measure. We are a meticulous species, though it appears not as much as we might have believed.” It shifted one eye to Nevan. “It is difficult to conceal everything; to hide every fact, every statistic. Historical coincidence is hard to bury. I regret that your conclusions must vanish with you.”

Lalelelang had been slowly shifting her position until the heavy, muscular form of her Human companion stood between her and the Turlog. “You said you would satisfy my companion’s curiosity. I have yet to see any evidence of that.”

She was trying to stall, Nevan saw. How piquant. “To say, as the Human does, that we are not gregarious is to grievously understate our psychology.” The Turlog examined Straat-ien closely. “Your revelation was an accident.”

“Many great discoveries are made accidentally,” Nevan replied. “Many more are never made. It would have been better for you to have overlooked this one. Did you really think you could come down here, confront me with this, and then depart quietly to tell others?”

“I had to have confirmation. Exposing myself along with what I’ve learned seemed the best way to draw you out.”

“And now you will rely on your skills as a Human warrior to extricate you.” A heavy, clawed limb gestured. “You Humans are the finest fighters the Weave has ever known, but you are not gods. You are not omnipotent. We both know that you will not leave this chamber alive.”

“What if I told you there was a whole squad of Humans stationed on the level just above us, and that if I don’t contact them within a specified time they’ll storm this room?”

“And do what?

Kill me?

I have lived several hundred of your years and have no fear of death. We regard life as a burden, an experience to be tolerated rather than savored. Perhaps this is because we are compelled to suffer so much of it trapped in physical equipment ill-suited to its enjoyment. “In any event your ploy is futile. I have the means with which to monitor the area immediately surrounding my chambers. No cluster of ravening Humans waits to dismember me at your command.”

Straat-ien shrugged. “All right; a bluff. But I wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think I could get away.”

“Bluffs within bluffs,” the Turlog murmured. “Keys within keys. Strange things, keys. When they go missing they are often very close to you.” An eyestalk sought the cowering Lalelelang. “None of this is very complicated, historian. One of the few things the Turlog like and struggle to preserve is our privacy.”

“No one who can avoid it visits your homeworld,” she responded, “and you have never demonstrated any interest in colonization. Contacts between Turlog and other beings are at best minimal.”

“No, you do not understand. It is your tall companion who has puzzled it out. We like our privacy. Few as we are, we find our one world too crowded. The galaxy is too crowded … and too hostile, and too noisy. A blazing, cacophonous, febrile place in which we have been forced by sapience to share residence. Only in unimaginably vast reaches of emptiness and silence do we find the individual solace we seek. It has always been a great regret of ours that we cannot survive in a vacuum, for if we could we would surely flee to the great void between galaxies. “Ours swarms with other intelligent beings. Constantly procreating, they spill out in all directions to fill up the pristine empty worlds, denying their solitude to those who might truly appreciate it, polluting the pure ether with their Underspace conversations and vessels. Trillions and trillions of them, all breathing and eating and reproducing.” The Turlog’s voice grew erratic. “A vast heaving monstrosity of fleshy consciousness.”

It was an outburst Straat-ien had not expected. “You’re not saying that the Turlog had anything to do with provoking the Great War?”

“No. That would have been an uncivilized gesture. We support the war because, like every other thinking species, we have no wish to be coopted into this metaphysical Purpose of the Amplitur. Conversely, we were not disappointed by their appearance.”

“That is wicked.” Lalelelang’s outrage overcame her fear. “Our perspective, as your companion has quite accurately pointed out, is different. Consider that of all the intelligent species only the Turlog can think on two subjects simultaneously. The war seemed to us a very useful way of slowing and perhaps even contracting the unbridled expansion of noxious life-forms. An extensive interspecies conflict would reduce population growth and divert resources from the settlement of blissfully empty worlds. It would, in brief, enhance privacy. “This it has done, and we are correspondingly pleased. We welcome the demise of thousands on both sides. It would be much better if weapons of mass destruction were being employed, and we try where possible to encourage their use, but the Amplitur wish to convert the living, and the Weave to secure a civilized peace. This is regrettable. Only on one occasion did we succeed in overcoming the reluctance of attackers to exterminate on a satisfactory scale.”

“Houcilat!” said Straat-ien. “You were responsible for Houcilat.”

“No. Addled Crigolit were responsible for Houcilat. Our recommendations reached only so far. In the end those who exceeded their combat mandate were disciplined by the Amplitur. A pity they are so civilized.”

Nevan studied the Turlog. “So you advise the Weave on strategy and tactics and then pass the information on to the Amplitur so they can take appropriate countermeasures?

My research led me to realize that’s what happened at Houcilat, but I didn’t have access to sufficient statistics to indicate how widespread the practice was.”

“It is what we do whenever possible. Regrettably we cannot be involved in every battle, every skirmish. We must also work unobtrusively so that it will not be noticed that we are playing both sides against one another. We never would have guessed that a Human would be the first to take note of it. “We were delighted when your kind joined the war effort. Prior to that we had to work hard to insure that the Amplitur did not actually win. You have subsequently helped to rid the plenum of a great many swarming beings. “The problem now is that as your own species multiplies, it is the Weave that is in danger of becoming ascendant. We are having trouble impeding you, but we will think of something. As the war continues it will eventually enfeeble both sides. Your overpopulated so-called civilizations will falter and collapse. It is with fondness that we anticipate your mutual annihilation. We seek not dominance but the demise of those who would dominate. Only then will the Turlog once more know true privacy. Only then can we once again be peacefully alone.”

“I think you’re pretty alone right now,” Straat-ien told him. “You’re more isolated than you can imagine.”

“I sense sarcasm in place of empathy.” The Turlog displaced its bulk slightly. “It is time for this conversation to come to an end.”

Nevan flexed his fingers. “You’re bulky and slow. I have no weapon, but I can still take you apart.”

“Beneath my plastron is a switch which I can activate simply by slumping. I will point out that we are presently within a sealed environment. You may be aware of the fact that because of our very slow metabolism Turlog can survive, albeit only for a short time, at a reduced atmospheric pressure which would be fatal to most other higher forms of oxygen-breathing creatures. I do not regard the implementation of such a condition in the same light as I would wielding an article designed expressly to cause physical harm to another creature, such as a gun or knife. “If you gesture in my direction, I will relax. This will activate the control I mentioned, simultaneously sealing the door through which you entered and exhausting the air to a degree which will be uncomfortable for me but fatal to you.”

“But you’re not going to do that.” Straat-ien stared at the bulbous optics. “I am not?” The heavy-shelled body drooped a little and Lalelelang inhaled sharply. “Why not?”

Nevan’s gaze was unblinking, his tone even and cold. “Because I’m telling you that you can’t.”

The Turlog quivered ever so slightly. Its translator rasped. “I … am … going to.”

“No you are not.” As Nevan took a step forward Lalelelang looked on with wide eyes. “What you are going to do is raise yourself very carefully off the object you are straddling and move to your left, so that you’re standing next to the viewport. Then you’re going to stay there until I tell you otherwise.”

“I am … not.” Eyestalks weaving in obvious agitation, the Turlog rose and ponderously scuttled over to the ceiling-high port as reluctantly as a sumo wrestler banished from the ring by a referee’s decision. Ripples of diffuse sunlight slanting down through the water mottled its dorsal plates. Lalelelang’s crest was fully erect, the iridescent feathers flashing in the sickly light. “It did exactly as you ordered, Nevan. Why?”

“Not now,” he replied absently as he started toward the Turlog. It awaited him by the window, unable to move away. “Are all Turlog party to this duplicity?

Answer me!”

The rumbling reply was hesitant. The Turlog was speaking against its will. “No. Those who choose to participate try to operate in concert. Others opt for traditional isolation, preferring to have as little contact as possible with either side.”

Straat-ien emitted a grunt of satisfaction. “So the entire species isn’t indictable. That’s something, anyway.” He redoubled his concentration. “Stop … that,” the Turlog murmured. “I have to.” Nevan stared, utterly focused on their host. “It is like … the Amplitur.”

“Shut up.” Having had all his suspicions and fears confirmed, Nevan was in no mood to be gentle. He knew Lalelelang was gawking at him in astonishment but he couldn’t spare her even a glance. What he was doing was delicate and required his complete attention. Memories and knowledge helped to focus his efforts. Houcilat, his great-grandparents, the lost relations he would never know, would never know of. Much of that anguish the fault of duplicitous Turlog. But if there had been no Houcilat there would have been no Restorees, no estimable Ranji-aar, no exposition of the great dormant Human talent that was the equal of the Amplitur’s. Perhaps it would have been better that way. He would never know. No one would. The talent was revealed, was real, had been passed on down through the generations and had to be dealt with by those who now possessed it. Benign or inimical, neither it nor the conditions it created could be ignored. He decided to start with the eyestalks and work his way down to the vital organs. There would be questions, of course. A lot of questions. The Turlog were highly regarded. But he would find a way out, invent plausible excuses. A flexible wingtip clutched at him, able to jog his conscience if not his arm. “You can’t. This is a Turlog, a civilized being.”

“A traitor to you, me, and the entire Weave. No better than a Crigolit or Mazvec,” he responded tightly. She saw the killing look in his eyes and backed away. “It has to die.”

“There will be questions.”

“I’ll deal with them if and when they arise. This must be dealt with. There’s no other way.”

He leaned forward. The paralyzed Turlog quivered but did not try to escape. It could not. The compulsion Straat-ien had placed in its mind was too compelling. “Unless …”

He could spare her the violence, he realized. He straightened and addressed his helpless quarry forcefully. “It’s been a very interesting meeting. We value your views and I’m sure you value ours. Don’t you agree.”

The Turlog did not hesitate. “Yes. Most … interesting.”

“It’s useful sometimes for representatives of different species to exchange opinions, even on the most inconsequential matters. Isn’t it?”

“Inconsequential matters.” The Turlog swayed slightly. “This is manifest.”

“We’re going to leave now.” Straat-ien turned and headed toward the entrance. Dumbfounded but alert, Lalelelang trailed alongside. “After we have departed, you will find that this existence no longer has any meaning for you, and you will take appropriate correctional measures. Thank you for your time.”

“You are welcome.”

The Turlog moved back to the hump in the floor. Lalelelang tensed as it shifted a heavy limb toward unseen controls, but it was only to open the door. It closed behind them with equal efficiency. They were back in the access corridor. She waited until the lift was within sight. “How can you be sure?”

“Sure of what?” He strode along next to her; eyes front, expression grim, thoughts elsewhere. The Core would have to be notified of the invidious duplicity of certain Turlog. Those particular antisocial aliens would have to be dealt with, as he had just dealt with their representative on Chemadii. People would have to be moved or transferred into position. The operation would be tricky and would take time, but it was less risky than trying to take out the traitors all at the same time. Physical violence on such a scale would draw to the Core far too much awkward attention. Besides, it wasn’t necessary. Those Turlog operating with Weave forces could be individually approached and queried. Then, if necessary, they could be dealt with. Merely adjusting by means of mental suggestion the attitudes of those singled out would be worse than inadequate: it would be dangerous to allow an Amplitur to make contact with a former ally who had been so treated. The entire ancient conspiracy had to be eliminated without its existence ever being revealed to the Weave at large. All that was necessary was for a few Core members to make the right suggestions. Lalelelang was looking back down the corridor. “How can you be sure now that we have left that it will not revert to its original thoughts and continue as before?”

“Because I know from previous experience. It will comply with my directions.”

“It won’t remember what you did to it and take counter-measures?”

He shook his head curtly, knowing that she was familiar with and would recognize the gesture. “If it tries to recall our visit it will sense vague and unspecified thoughts of nothing in particular. Eventually it will stop trying to remember altogether.” His tone was grim. “Then it will comply with the last of my instructions.”

The lift doors parted to admit them. “You forced its mind.”

He nudged the control for the level they wanted. The doors closed and the car began to rise. “No. I simply made a suggestion, which was accepted.”

She was acutely aware of their isolation in the rising car. Yet he’d made no move toward her. “Just as you ‘suggested’ that it move away from the atmosphere switch it was threatening us with and stand motionless by the viewport?

It was much more than a suggestion. It could not resist you. It was helpless.”

“I can be very persuasive,” he told her, aware that nothing he could say would destroy what she’d seen with her own eyes. “More than facile words were involved. The Turlog had just enough sense left to recognize that. It commented that you were having the same effect on its mind that an Amplitur would have had. You persuaded it as effectively as an Amplitur would have.” Considering her situation, she was keeping herself remarkably under control. He could only admire her for it. “Colonel Nevan, what are you?”

He sighed. “It’s a talent very few of us possess. All who do are descendants of the Cossuutian Restorees. You remember the gist of the Amplitur experiment: to modify captured Human children to fight for them by convincing them through genetic alteration of their minds and bodies to believe they were Ashregan. “When the great Ranji-aar, the first Ashregan-Human the Weave captured, had his Humanity surgically restored, a change neither they nor the restoring Hivistahm surgeons could have foreseen took place. The Amplitur had inserted an artificially engineered organic neural nexus into the brain of each Ashregan-reared Human child. This was designed to block the ability of the Human nervous system to defend itself against Amplitur mind probing. The Hivistahm surgeons surgically severed the connections between these introduced nexuses and the rest of the brain. They thought their work was permanent, but they underestimated the built-in resilience of Amplitur organic engineering. “Unbeknownst to the surgeons or to anyone else, the neural connections spontaneously regenerated. But rather than following the original neuronic paths laid down by the Amplitur, the regenerated neurons instead penetrated and linked with a portion of the Human brain that is normally not in use. In so doing a previously unsuspected Human talent was activated. This turned out to be the same kind of ability to ‘suggest’ other intelligent beings that the Amplitur have always possessed. In our case, their careful genetic manipulation has backfired on them. “As with the Amplitur, we cannot suggest our own kind. Nor can we communicate telepathically as they do. But as near as we can tell, our ability to withstand their probing has been fully restored. In that sense we are more complete, and therefore more dangerous, than they are. But only to them and their allies. “We’re very selective when and where we use the talent. Very selective. You witnessed an example of it that day during the battle to retake the delta from Crigolit control when you saw Sergeant Conner persuade that squad of Massood to return to the fighting.”

“Ah. That explains your subsequent questioning of me.”

Straat-ien nodded. “I told him you suspected nothing, which was true. At the time.” He eyed her speculatively. “I didn’t expect the Turlog to threaten two of us in a manner that would prevent me from dealing with it physically. When it did so I had no choice but to suggest. There was no time to try anything else.”

Calmly, he nudged the stop control. The lift halted between levels. She watched him turn to face her fully. “Unfortunately, you saw more than enough to realize what was happening, even if the Turlog hadn’t clued you to the truth. Now that you’ve had it all explained so that you understand everything, what do you think I should do with you?” His fingers contracted, his muscles tensing expectantly. There was nothing she could do now. She was silent but her mind was racing. Her response was not what he expected. But then, having traveled in her company and observed her for so long, he ought to have anticipated something out of the ordinary. She did not plead for her life, nor did she try to rationalize her position. She did not attempt to argue with him. What she said was “Let me study you!”

“Pardon?”

“Study you. Your people, these modified Humans, they need a historian. Someone they can trust implicitly to watch them and record their activities, but not another Human who might clumsily expose them to the rest of the Weave, not to mention their own unmodified kind. An outsider with special training who can analyze and observe and make suggestions … albeit of a less forceful kind.”

“We can study ourselves,” he murmured. “Not in the manner of a non-Human. I can bring a perspective to your condition you cannot otherwise obtain. For another thing, I would be willing to wager that you have not a single trained sociohistorian among you.”

“I’m not aware of any,” he sputtered, “but that doesn’t mean—”

“Of course it does,” she said quickly. “You have all trained to be soldiers, to fight. That is what all Humans train for initially. And that is as it should be. You do not have the expertise or the time to monitor yourselves properly. Don’t you see?

There is much to be learned here.”

“And I suppose you’re the one to do it.”

“Who else is better trained?

Who among non-Humans has spent more time studying you than I?” Abruptly he realized that her agitation was caused by excitement rather than fear. “I see this simply as an extension of work already begun. A fascinating adjunct.”

“A lethal adjunct.”

“Think how valuable this could be to your people,” she argued fervently. “I can be there; watching, recording, analyzing. It would give you a completely different purview on your development.”

He leaned against the side of the lift car. “And when you decide you’ve accumulated enough data you disappear one day and reveal your findings to the Weave, thus initiating a pogrom against us.”

“No!” The violence of her response startled him. It also startled her, but she neither apologized nor backed down. This was one instance, she mused, where it was useful to be able to assume some of the Human characteristics she’d inventoried. “This is something I do for me as well as for you. I will place everything, all records, under your direct control. “Besides,” she added inexorably, “so long as I am working in your company, you can kill me at any time. I think that I am the one taking on the greater risk here; not you.”

For a long moment he could only stare at her, so profound was his admiration. “Records are easy to copy,” he finally managed to comment. “I will give all the originals into your keeping the instant they are made.”

“You bargain to save your life.”

“I argue on behalf of a unique scientific opportunity,” she countered. Try as he might he could not convince himself that she was speaking anything other than the truth. “If the former, why would I offer to remain at all times in close proximity to you?” Her crest finally relaxed. “This would be the grandest achievement of my professional career. Something eminently useful to leave behind. In your keeping, of course.”

“I don’t …”

Seeing that he was wavering, she ventured what she hoped would be a conclusive argument. “Remember that at any time you can suggest I forget all about what happened here today. You can suggest I forget everything I have learned. You can even suggest that I kill myself, as you did with the Turlog.” Her languorous, trilling voice grew soft. “For all that I know you may have planted such a suggestion in my mind already. Yet I still stand here offering you my help and my trust.”

She was anticipating everything, from possible objections to viable alternatives. He was having a hard time keeping up with her. For the first time he realized what a truly extraordinary mind lay behind the pale blue alien eyes, the birdlike head, the deceptively decorative feathers. “You could kill me,” he muttered, “and be safe, together with what you’ve learned.”

She emitted a whistling laugh. “I am Wais. Can you honestly see me, even with what I have experienced, planning and carrying out the murder of a Human?

Even if I were insane enough to attempt it, do you really think you could not stop me?”

“Sorry. There’s a lot at stake here and I have to consider every possibility.”

“I know.” She was openly sympathetic, which only made it harder. “Let me tell you how you are presently feeling. You perceive isolation, both from normal Humans and from your own special kind. You are unique. So, in my own fashion, am I. We are both isolated, Colonel Nevan. You by an accident of genetics, I by professional choice. Each being able to appreciate the other’s situation allows us to work together to mutual benefit.”

“You’re crazy, you know that?” he mumbled. “No. I am simply one who is completely dedicated to her vocation and who sees before her the opportunity to record and study one of the most important interspecies developments of the past thousand years. I do not think that qualifies me for the tiara of madness. “It may even be that your kind represent the heretofore undetected fulcrum on which my pessimistic hypothesis may be tipped.”

He blinked. “How is that possible?

I told you that we can’t influence other Humans.”

“Who is to say what you can or cannot do, how your people could or could not influence the course of galactic evolution?

At the moment your presence on the social stage of the Weave is meager and restricted. Who is to say how and when and where that might change?

You represent an entirely new component of social development. No one can say what direction your influence might take in the future, much less when the war ends. “With each succeeding generation your talent may strengthen or weaken. You cannot predict. You can only record and study and analyze so that you will be as well prepared as possible for whatever may happen. Allow me, who can offer something none of your own kind can, to be a part of that. You need me, Colonel Nevan. You and your people need my perspective.”

The slim, feathered, ebulliently attired figure gazed back at him expectantly. He knew he could wring the hollow-boned, flexible neck with one hand, just as he could suggest that once back on the surface she walk into the sea or step off the top of a high building. She was physically and mentally helpless before him. Except … what she said made sense. And he could always kill her later, choosing an even more efficacious venue. “You’re not afraid to remain in my company knowing that I could dispose of you at any time, or suggest that you do so yourself?”

“Of course I am afraid. I am dedicated, not numb. But my whole life has consisted of taking risks on behalf of my work. I am not about to change now.” Straat-ien thought it almost a Human thing to say. “I’ll be watching you every minute. If I sense that you’re going to run on me, or reveal even a hint of what you’ve learned—”

Her head bobbed as she interrupted. “I know. You would be a fool to do otherwise.”

He extended a hand and she flinched instinctively. “Honored Scholar Historian Lalelelang of Mahmahar: welcome to the Core.”

Her inflexible beak did not allow her to mimic the Human smile, nor would she have wished to. Wings and body, neck and eyes, feathers and lashes gyrated in the most refined gestures of elation. Most of them were quite wasted on the unperceptive Human, of course. XII

Disappointment and shock suffused the base when it was discovered that the resident Turlog had deliberately cracked the wall which sealed its chambers off from the cove, allowing seawater to pour in and drown the single occupant. Everyone was reminded that the Turlog were an incomparably morose species whose general disillusionment with life was well known. Although suicides among their kind were infrequent, they were not unprecedented. Weave command dutifully bemoaned the loss of strategic advice. For their part, the Amplitur deplored the demise of one of their highly valuable dual operatives inside the Weave military structure, and thought no more on it. Though regrettable, such losses were insignificant to the overall conduct of the great conflict. Straat-ien had to continually reassure himself that he’d made the right decision. Because of all they had been through together he trusted Lalelelang as much as it was possible for one of the Core to trust an outsider. In some ways it was easier than it would have been with a non-Core Human. But he watched her constantly, and was never entirely comfortable with the choice he had made. Still, as she had pointed out, he could rectify the situation any time he wanted to if ever he found himself so inclined. She was careful to do nothing to arouse any suspicion, working in close proximity to him at all times. As well as having her occasional off-world Underspace transmissions carefully monitored, he had them run through extensive ciphernetic programming without her knowledge. Everything always came back clean. She was not trying to secretly send any information to her homeworld. Much of what she transmitted consisted of generalities and greetings to her triadic sisters. Additionally, he had suspicions other than his own to deal with. It was inevitable that he eventually introduce her to the other Core members on Chemadii. They were four in number: Lance Corpsman McConnell, a field captain named Inez, and the redoubtable Sergeant Conner, who was participating in active operations and could not be present. Together they constituted the entire representation of the Core on Chemadii. Seated on the narrow recreational beach that fronted the only shallow part of the cove, they regarded their squat, muscular colleague with almost as much suspicion as the diminutive, gaudy Wais who sat off to one side fiddling with her sophisticated attire. “I still can’t believe you told her everything.” Though not much bigger than Lalelelang, Captain Magdelena Mariah Inez could have eviscerated the Wais without working up a sweat. As she spoke she gazed unapologetically at the historian. Lalelelang had perfected the technique of half closing her eyes while still appearing to give her full attention to Human acquaintances. This enabled her to better tolerate the daunting, nerve-fraying, homicidal Human stare. “She was there,” he explained. “She asked questions. Eventually she would have figured out much if not all of it. And as I’ve explained I had reasons for filling her in on the rest. I think her argument is sound. She can be useful to us.”

“You could have tried to cover it up. Told her something else, tried to rationalize it another way. Explained that only you had the talent.” McConnell was by far the youngest of the trio, but his opinion was no less worthy than that of his elders. Straat-ien shook his head slowly. “She would’ve found out for herself sooner or later. She’s too good at making connections. I told you: Conner was worried that she’d eventually have seen something in his encounter with the Massood. It’s better this way.”

“Unless we kill her,” Inez added quietly. Lalelelang remained calm. Straat-ien had prepared her for this and there was nothing she could do about it in any event. He held his companions’ attention. “I think that would be wasteful. I’ve already mentioned her own thesis, which I happen to disagree with.”

“Imagine us turning on the Massood, or the Hivis, or any of the others.” McConnell let out a snort of disbelief. “She makes a good case. That’s what I mean by having an external perspective. It would be very useful to the Core. I can assure you that her interest in us is purely professional.” He glanced at Lalelelang. “Look at her. Do you think she’s standing there wondering if we’re going to vote to execute her?” In spite of themselves McConnell and Inez both found themselves turning to the inoffensive Wais. “No. She’s lamenting the fact that I told her she couldn’t bring out her equipment to record this meeting. And if we did vote to have her killed she’d want to record that, too. There’s nothing there but an independent spirit of inquiry wrapped in a bundle of feathers.”

“I don’t know …” Inez remained unconvinced. “She even thinks our existence might act as a moderating influence on what she sees as our inevitable postwar hostile tendencies.”

Inez blinked, looked back to the colonel. “Assuming there’s any validity to her crazy theory in the first place, how could we do that?

You must have told her we can’t influence other Humans.”

“She insists we don’t know everything there is to know about ourselves and the talent. You can’t argue with that. Nobody can. The Restoration is only a few generations old. Who’s to say what may or may not eventually evolve?

We’re all still learning as we go. I can think of a lot of instances in which it would be safer and more useful to have a non-Human opinion on Core matters than that of, say, a non-Restoree Human.”

McConnell was nodding. “My experience is subordinate here, sir, but I see your point. If she’s telling the truth and if she’s completely trustworthy.”

“I’ve explained the safeguards I’ve put in place,” Straat-ien responded. “She knows that I can kill her whenever I wish, or have her kill herself. She knows that either of you could kill her or suggest that she do away with herself independent of anything I could do to stop you.”

“That’s true enough,” Inez murmured diffidently. Lalelelang heard and quantified the implied threat as abstract data. If you could mentally reduce every aspect of uncivilized Human activity to mere data you could somewhat distance yourself emotionally from their maniacal behavior. It was a survival skill she had mastered out of necessity. “Yet there she sits, silent and composed, while a trio of Humans calmly debates her possible termination. Does she plead for her life or try to flee?

No. You know why?” Straat-ien smiled. “Because all she wants to do is help, and because even though we insisted she leave her equipment behind, she’s still working, still observing. She’s not interested in giving us away. Because if she did, it would mean she’d lose the chance to study us.”

Inez and McConnell exchanged a glance. The captain faced her superior. “You’re senior here, Colonel, both in age and experience. I won’t deny that I’m less than entirely comfortable with this development, but I can see the points behind your argument. If you vouch for her cooperation, if you’re that sure of this alien, then I defer to your judgment.”

“Same here,” McConnell added readily. Lalelelang said nothing, betrayed nothing outwardly, but inside she untensed. On this peaceful, cool beach in the company of unarmed, discursive Humans she knew she’d come nearer to dying than at any time on either of the battlefields she’d visited. Straat-ien, too, allowed himself to relax. “I’m glad you agree. I don’t think this is a decision any of us or any of our relatives will ever have occasion to regret.”

“This business of the Turlog.” Inez’s expression mixed bitterness and disbelief. “To think that they’ve been playing both sides; developing tactics for us and then relaying those same tactical decisions to the enemy, just to try and reduce the general population of intelligent beings and give themselves a little more ‘privacy.’ It’s as perfidious as anything the Amplitur have ever done.”

“They can’t help themselves,” Straat-ien explained. “It’s the way they’ve evolved. Fortunately the number involved seems to be small. I’ve been able to do some follow-up checking already, thanks to Lalelelang’s help.” McConnell and Inez glanced approvingly at the Wais. “Because of that intense love of isolation only a small portion of the species are active participants in planning Weave strategy, and not all of those are working in a dual capacity. Remember: They like to operate independently of one another.”

“According to what you’ve told us the number involved is big enough to have caused a lot of trouble,” Inez commented. McConnell was nodding in agreement. “What do we do about it?”

Straat-ien was scooping up fine gravel with his right hand, letting the wave-polished nodules trickle out between his fingers. Most of it was jade or jasper, with some agate and moonstones scattered throughout the mix. A beach of semiprecious gems. “We’ll pass the word along to Core members on those worlds where Turlog are active in military matters. They can arrange to have a private conversation with each participant. Those who are in contact with the Amplitur will be dealt with on an individual basis. Some coordination will be necessary: we can’t have a dozen or more Turlog simultaneously involved in fatal accidents.”

“If you’ll design the overall program, sir, I’ll take care of the necessary transmissions,” Inez declared. “Done. Just keep me posted, Captain.”

Lalelelang listened and despite her experiences was dazed. The Humans discussed the possible termination of so many intelligent beings as dispassionately as if they had been planning to fumigate their living quarters. There was no hesitation in their speech, no regret in their manner. Not once did they mention possible alternatives, no doubt having in their own minds already dispensed with the unviable option of civilized behavior. As they went about their planning they ignored her completely, for which she was grateful. Despite her medication and exercises she could not possibly have participated in the discussion. Merely being present and having to overhear was a daunting experience. Inez rose. “You know, Nevan, that we can’t keep this development to ourselves.” She eyed the silent, elegant Wais. “Higher authorities within the Core will have to be notified.”

“I intend to take care of that myself. I’m confident they’ll agree with me, too.” He gestured in Lalelelang’s direction. “She knows we can’t keep this meeting a secret, nor does she want to do so. The more Core members who know about her, the better her access to research opportunities.”

“Very brave or very stupid,” Inez muttered. “I am neither.” Now that her fate—for the immediate future, at least— had been decided, Lalelelang felt no compunction against speaking. “I am simply dedicated to my work. I have always been thus.”

“Admirable,” Inez declared. “In this instance, also foolhardy.”

“Please. If you wish to belittle me, use forethought before speaking.”

Wais, the captain thought. Even if one’s life was at stake it could not help but be overbearing. “I’m glad you trust her so implicitly, Nevan,” Inez whispered later as together with McConnell they walked toward Underspace communications, “but if I were you I still wouldn’t let her out of my sight any more than absolutely necessary. No matter how much she insists she wants to study us, wants to help, she’s still non-Human. Still a Wais.”

“Yes and no. She’s advanced beyond speciesism. She’s pure scientist.”

“I hope you’re right,” Inez mused as they turned a corner. “I hope to God you’re right. Because it’s a hell of a chance you’re taking on a bundle of easily rattled, overornamented alien fluff.”

Not to mention the burden she’s placing on herself, he added silently. His inner turmoil played out on his countenance like the shifting patterns on the face of a dune subjected to a hot and relentless wind. Lalelelang marveled at the range of expressions of which the highly flexible Human face was capable. The inflexible Wais beak precluded such facial eloquence, but Lalelelang’s people more than made up for the deficiency with a breathtaking range of physical gestures unmatched in depth and detail by any other intelligent species. “You are still not sure of this, are you?

Or of me.”

They were on their way to a morning briefing. He glanced down sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I heard everything you told your two friends, but in your own mind you are still not so convinced. You are not sure whether to try and help me with my own work, try to make use of me, or kill me. These thoughts circulate continually in your mind and try as you might you cannot be rid of them. The result is that your spirit is unsettled.”

“Not hard to tell that you’ve been studying us for a long time.” He was a bit overwhelmed by her perception. Even as she responded with a reflexive gesture she knew he would not understand it. “As I have so often stated, it is my work. No other intelligent species suffers such internal torment, over the meaning of existence or anything else. Your runaway racial angst is a product of your bizarre endocrine system.”

“We realized that a long time ago,” he told her. “But you have not yet learned how to cope with it. No wonder you are so abnormally violent. No wonder you throw yourselves into fighting with such desperate delight. You suffer from a traitorous body chemistry.”

He could sense the pity and empathy in her tone. “Don’t disparage it. If we were ‘normal’ we wouldn’t be half so useful to the Weave.”

“That is so, and happens to be an area of study of particular interest to me. But it cannot prevent myself or others from feeling sorry for you. A pity you talented Restorees cannot suggest other Humans.”

“I agree, but why?”

“You could probably work a therapy deep enough to make some real improvements.”

They turned up a narrow corridor. “Happy Humans won’t help defeat the Amplitur.”

“Sadly so.”

The process of weeding out the duplicitous Turlog proceeded efficiently and unobtrusively. Core members passed information to relatives on other worlds, usually by means of Underspace-transmitted special codes, more rarely in person. By and by, certain Turlog met with unfortunate accidents. Their demise provoked no special curiosity among their brethren, who had no more interest in the individual doings of their own kind than in the activities of other species. It did somewhat reduce the Weave’s ability to develop and master complex new strategies. That was nothing compared to the intelligence loss suffered by the Amplitur. Hard as those persistent and patient adversaries sought an explanation for the hemorrhaging, they could find nothing. The retaking of the delta and a host of additional bases and fortifications farther up the great river broke the back of enemy resistance on Chemadii. Thereafter, enemy actions were reduced to a stubborn but steady retreat as Weave forces reduced or removed them all across the planet. What reinforcements the Amplitur managed to divert Chemadii-way proved insufficient and ineffectual in the face of the remorseless, Human-spearheaded Weave assault. When finally their planetary headquarters itself came under attack, they launched the usual convulsive final counterattack. Doomed to failure, it did allow the enemy command staff time to escape to an Underspace transport waiting in orbit. Ships winked in and out of Underspace and, as usual, the Weave failed to interdict the refugees. This failure was mitigated by the official capture of the last enemy resistance on Chemadii. Another world had been freed from Amplitur control, released from involuntary submission to an alien and inflexible Purpose. So extensive had Lalelelang’s store of information become that she knew there were whole areas of specialization she would never live long enough to study in anything other than the most cursory manner. Those Wais who came after her and who chose to make use of it would have material enough to keep them profitably occupied for a decade. Yet she was reluctant to stop. Such an opportunity might never come again, to her or any Wais. So she continued to trail Straat-ien even to the most boring gatherings, observing and recording and making notes about the most routine activities. He ignored her, having grown so used to her being virtually underfoot that his daily routine would have seemed incomplete without her inquisitive presence. This was also true of those he worked with. The early flood of jokes and snide remarks had dried up. No one remarked anymore on her attendance at meetings or the questions she eagerly posed to startled soldiers in corridors or the recreation hall. Despite the pullout of the enemy command unit, mopping up of isolated Crigolit outposts continued even as permanent ground-based defense systems were installed. The latter was necessary to forestall any enemy attempts to reestablish themselves on Chemadii. In the early centuries of the war the Weave had been caught out several times when it had been lulled into believing it had won control of a disputed world, only to have the Amplitur counterattack in force and regain dominance, at severe cost to the Weave in personnel and material. That was long before Humans had entered the conflict. Being highly civilized, the Amplitur were not mentally geared to designing combat strategy. Like the Massood and the Ashregan and the Hivistahm and all the other civilized races, they had to learn through an awkward combination of trial and error. This was a process with which Humans had no such difficulty. In the combat that was natural to them they never hesitated. Even as this facility remained a great conundrum to the rest of the Weave, they recognized it for the advantage it was and made use of it at every opportunity. The Amplitur and their minions were slow to react. It was no wonder the tide of battle had taken a distinct and measurable turn. Lalelelang squatted on the porch of her room, which overlooked one of several armored atriums that connected the multiple wings of the base. It was as comfortable to sit on the flat, bare extruded plastic as anywhere within because none of the furniture had been designed with Wais in mind. A Wais presence was neither required nor expected on a disputed world, therefore no facilities for them were included in construction schematics. She had to make do with a room intended for the occasional visiting S’van advisor. The S’van were squat and stocky while the Wais were slim and fragile, except in the middle. So the apartment was not comfortable. Worse, it was not even decorated. Wais and S’van living priorities were very different. She coped. It was better than sleeping outside the complex, in the field. And S’van facilities were easier to deal with than their prodigious Human equivalents. At least she could reach certain vital components. She let her gaze rise to the transparent roof of the covered corridor. Now that Chemadii had been freed, the armor shielding had been drawn back permanently, letting in the warm coastal sunshine. The several local plants she had adopted in an attempt to give the stark domicile a dash of Wais-inspired color strained upward. The door chuckled, in the preferred manner of a S’van announcement, and she rose to acknowledge her visitor. She was mildly surprised to see Straat-ien. It was unusual for him to seek her out. She stepped aside to admit him, and he had to duck to clear the low S’van doorway and ceiling. Ignoring the useless, too-small furniture, he made himself as comfortable as he could on the padded floor, wedging his bulky anthropoid frame against the wall. “Refreshment?” she ventured. “Drink or food?”

“No thanks.” He glanced briefly toward the open porch. “Not that you avoid me,” she continued, “but it is not like you to seek me out. I take pleasure in your company.”

“You don’t have to run the usual Wais politeness at me,” he replied. “We’ve worked together long enough not to need to pretend. I know that like any Wais you find my physical presence unpleasant, especially in an enclosed space. You just tolerate it better.”

His brief reply contained more violations of simple etiquette than the average Wais would commit in a year, she knew. She ignored it, as she ignored all such Human bumbling. You could not work with them otherwise. “There’s something I think you should know.” It struck her that he was wrestling with some inner torment. “I’ve come to trust you, Lalelelang. No, I mean really trust you.”

She half shut her eyes against that penetrating, unconsciously feral stare. “I know that. Were it otherwise I certainly would have met with an unfortunate accident some time ago.”

“That’s right.” He made not the slightest attempt to disguise the fact, diplomatically or otherwise. “I trust you because I’m convinced that you’re utterly wedded to your work. To studying us, and to proving or disproving your long-held thesis about how my species is going to react once the war is ended.” He glanced toward the porch again. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that myself. We’ve discussed it so often I can’t help but think about it.”

“I know that.” He seemed to need prompting. “Lalelelang, among my suggestive relations far and near, I hold one of the highest ranks within the military. I’ve acquired substantial rank in a comparatively short time. Within the Core there are only three who outrank me. One of them is a General Couvier, who’s presently stationed on Ascej.”

“I do not know the name.”

“No reason you should,” he grunted. “He doesn’t travel in academic circles. I’ve just received a personal communication from him. So have all other high-ranking Core members. There’s normal chain-of-command and then there’s Core chain-of-command.”

She indicated her understanding. “The latter being utilized to deal with such matters as the occasional turncoat Turlog.”

He nodded. “Over the years we’ve developed our own extended family code and other clandestine methods of exchanging information. We had to. You know what would happen if our talent became common knowledge.”

“You did not seek me out in this cramped room to remind me of that which I already know.”

“No, I didn’t.” He hesitated, obviously gathering his thoughts. “It seems that the chance to make a final determination of the validity of your life’s work may not lie so far in the future as you thought. For that matter, as anyone has thought.”

She slid off the uncomfortable curved S’van lounge. “What are you talking about, Nevan?”

“Couvier has informed me that Chemadii was apparently the last step in a long ongoing strategy, the last link in a chain of preparation that Weave command has been struggling to forge for several hundred years. But that’s not the kicker. The real secret concerns something that’s been known for the past half-century but has only recently been revealed to soldiers of Couvier’s rank. That tells you a lot right there.” He looked around. “I would have something to drink but you wouldn’t have anything here I’d find strong enough to be useful.”

“My apologies.”

“Couvier is notifying those Core members who rank immediately below him. We’re to take it from there. But I’ve decided to inform you also, because it bears on your work. Heavily.” He leaned toward her. “We now know the location of the Amplitur homeworlds.”

Her crest erected as she fully digested his announcement. “Can that be true?

Captured Mazvec and Korath and others have always said that the Amplitur homeworlds were impossibly distant.”

“Distant, apparently. Impossibly, no. There are two, in the same system. Both fairly unexceptional, with oxynitro atmospheres and conventional gravity. The third and fifth worlds from their sun. Apparently there’s no doubt that they’re the original Amplitur homeworlds and not early colonies. As you know, the Amplitur were not active colonizers. They’ve tried to take control of everything else instead.”

“I am impressed.”

“That’s just the ribbon on the package. Consider this: In the last decade a lot of troops and ships and material has been positioned. Quietly and carefully, so as not to provoke questions either among the enemy or the Weave population itself. I’m sure you never noticed it or thought about it. Neither did I or anyone else I know. Only the top level of Command knew what it was all really for. “There’s been a vast accumulation of forces in an otherwise relatively tranquil sector. Sources have been alluding vaguely for years to preparations for a major assault on Chi’Khi, the Crigolit home system. Well, an assault is in the works, all right, but when it comes it’ll be in another direction, and through a much bigger chunk of Underspace. “The intent is to attack the fifth world, Eil, and then move on quickly to hit Ail before the Amplitur have time to regroup and mount a significant defense of either world. If it’s successful you know what that’ll mean.”

Lalelelang thought back, considering the hundreds of years of intermittent but endless conflict that had existed between the Weave and the Amplitur ever since some Massood had first gone to the aid of a race called the Sspari. A thousand years of resistance to the all-dominating Amplitur Purpose, a millennium of fighting and dying. If the secret Amplitur homeworlds had indeed been found, if they could be attacked and taken, it would mean the End of the War. How did one contemplate such a prospect?

Generation upon generation had lived and died without giving it a passing thought, ever cognizant of its impossibility. Now a killing Human sat hunched over in her living quarters telling her in its intolerably brusque, straightforward fashion that such a thing was within reach. “The Amplitur homeworlds,” she found herself whispering. “It would mean the end, wouldn’t it?”

“A thousand years and more of war finished, over,” Straat-ien mused aloud. “The genetically and mentally altered subject races of the Amplitur, freed. There would be a grand realignment of alliances and agreements. Maybe a true galactic civilization, something less forced by circumstance or exigency than the Weave. In a word, peace. If not contentment.”

Odd, she thought, to hear a Human speculating on a state his species had never known. “It also means that your theories will be put to the practical test,” he went on, “possibly in your own lifetime. If surprise can be maintained and the attack succeeds, there’ll be no more Mazvec or Crigolit or Ashregan or Amplitur for my kind to do battle with. We and the Massood will disarm, to the thanks of a grateful Weave. My people will be expected to return quietly to Earth, there to resume prewar pursuits.” He shifted his position on the floor. “Except that we can’t all return to Earth. There are too many of us now, scattered in large concentrations across many worlds besides those we’ve begun to colonize. Human procreation was encouraged and supported by the Weave. We were urged to produce as many soldiers as possible to assist the Massood in combating the subject Amplitur races. Those men and women will be looking for new occupations, which can only be found within the greater commercial alignment of the Weave. We’ll at last have to be invited in because being left out is not a viable alternative.”

Isn’t it?

she wondered. “You don’t think that’s going to happen. Your hypothesis says that we won’t be able to handle the peace, that we’ll pick a fight with the S’van or some other species.”

“As I have wished all along, I hope that I am proven wrong,” she said sedately. “A new war, between Humankind and the Weave, would be to no one’s benefit.”

“We’d win any such conflict,” he murmured. “You know that.”

“With the Massood once again fighting on behalf of the Weave, and with all the logistical support that implies?

I am not so certain. I am sure only of the unnecessary destruction that would ensue. Devastation would be the only victor in such a confrontation.” She gazed at him out of wide blue eyes. “It was admirable of you to confide this in me.”

He rose, bending slightly to avoid the ceiling. “I didn’t do it on impulse or because of my good nature. I had to think about it long and hard. But I know from experience how good you are at keeping secrets. Your work’s become an important part of my life. I thought it was time to give something back.”

She performed an intricate seated dance of deliberation, which Straat-ien admired without understanding. “It may still remain something for our descendants to deal with. The attack may fail, or the fight continue for many years.”

He nodded. “That’s right. But if nothing else, the discovery shortens the war. The Amplitur will throw everything into defending their homeworlds, which means they’ll have to draw resources away from other theaters of operation. The fall of the Mazvec and their other allied races will be accelerated.”

She saw him to the door, trailing his bulk. “That may yet take hundreds of years.”

He turned in the corridor, bending to face her. “There was a time when that might’ve been true. But not anymore. Remember: We’re involved.”

She closed the door behind him, knowing he spoke the truth, wishing he did not. His revelation of forthcoming Weave military intentions cast a radical new perspective on her own work. It was unsettling enough to have to deal with it as theory. Was it selfish of her to want to live out her life span before she or any of her kind had to deal with it as fact?

“I thought we had something special, Nevan.”

He continued with his packing, feeling her eyes on his back. “You could request that I travel with you,” she went on earnestly, “as an aide or … I don’t know. You’re clever, you’d think of something. You’ve got enough rank to pull it off.”

He shut and sealed the travel case. “It’s no good, Naomi. Your rating doesn’t qualify you. It would look like just what it is. Someone would notice and there’d be trouble. Trouble no amount of rank could make disappear.” He fingered the lock on the case, tuning it to the specific electrical output of his own body, then moved to its nearby waiting mate. He smiled inwardly as he thought of Lal. She would think his luggage impossibly utilitarian. Her equivalent was exquisitely contoured and embellished, reflective of traditional Wais design. Naomi was persistent. Maybe she had a right to be, Nevan thought bleakly, but it couldn’t be helped. “Are you going to just walk out of here, out of my life, and pretend that you don’t feel anything between us anymore?

I know better, Nevan. You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to yourself.” Her tone was starting to crack around the edges, like a stressed recording. He was packed. Suddenly there was no more reason to fool with the cases. So he turned. “Chemadii’s been a lonely and dangerous posting. I had certain needs, you had certain needs. I think we complemented each other very well. “I’d like to keep in touch, Naomi. I’d like that very much.” He reached out to lightly stroke her cheek. “But asking me to break rules and regulations so that you can come with me, that I can’t do. Our work doesn’t overlap, doesn’t even brush against each other. I’m not risking my career for you, or even for us. Hell, I’m not going to risk your career. “If we were simultaneously posted to Earth, or some diplomatic station, it might be different. But that isn’t going to happen. Unfortunately, this is the way the Service works. Believe me, this isn’t easy for me, either. It’s just something we’re going to have to deal with. Both of us.”

Eyes moist, she pulled away from his hand. “Where are you being sent?”

“I can’t tell you. You know that.”

She nodded, then looked back at him so sharply he blinked. “I’ll bet she’s going.”

“Going?

Who?” Her intensity momentarily stunned him. “The canary you’re always running around with. That damned Wais.”

It took a moment for the implausibility of the situation to sink in. When it finally did he could only gape at her in disbelief. “Naomi, you’re not jealous of an alien?

You’re not implying that historian Lal, a Wais of Mahmahar, and I have some kind of relationship other than professional?” He shook his head in astonishment. “What other kind of relationship could we have?”

Naomi was equally conscious of how inane it sounded. That didn’t stop her. “You see her almost every day. You work together by yourselves. When she requires your presence you respond, when you have something to say to her she appears instantly at your side. You confide in her, you’ve told me that yourself.” She folded her arms defiantly across her chest. “I’d call that a relationship. You don’t have to define it any further.”

“I don’t confide in her.”

“No?

You share secrets. I know you do, because when I’ve asked you about certain things the two of you talk about you’ve refused to tell me about them.”

“That’s part of my job. Work, strictly work.” This was becoming irritating. “Is it?

One hears stories, tales. I always took them for sleazy jokes, but if you’re out in the field long enough you find yourself starting to wonder about everything.”

“Naomi,” he said tightly, “you’re letting your remorse, not to mention your imagination, run away with you.”

“Am I?

I’d like to think so. You’re the one who’s running away, Nevan.”

He inhaled deeply. “I am not ‘running’ anywhere. As you’re perfectly aware, I’ve been transferred. You’re being impossibly—”

“What?” she interrupted him. “Romantic?

Maybe. Isn’t it the Wais who say we have no notion of true romance, of real beauty?

That our conception of romance is nothing more than a flaccid derivative of our antagonistic nature?

Maybe they’re right.” She managed a weak shrug. “I’d like to prove them wrong, right now, right here. But I guess I can’t, can I?”

“Historian La1 and I respect each other for the ability each of us brings to our respective professions.”

“Of course you do.” Her voice fell as her interest waned. “All I know is that that ornithorp sees you ten times as much as I do. For all I know—”

Angry now, he cut her off. “You don’t know anything!”

“No. No, I guess I don’t.” Eyes forward, back straight, she strode stiffly past him, not looking back. The door sensed her approach and obediently slid aside, closing behind her. He stood silently at the foot of the bed, knowing that going after her would only make things worse. If she’d been Core, now—but if she’d been Core the whole confrontation wouldn’t have been necessary, would never have happened. A painful end to a nurturing relationship, as ludicrous as it was unnecessary. He sighed wearily. With Chemadii secured, Naomi would be receiving her own transfer orders soon enough. If the general was right, and there was no reason to doubt his information, the entire armed forces of the Weave were soon going to be so busy that there would be little time to explore personal relationships of any kind. He couldn’t very well have told Naomi that, of course. Somehow he suspected it wouldn’t have made any difference. He knew they’d grown close. Combat assignations were frequent, even necessary for the psychological health of those involved. Evidently Naomi had been seeking something more. As busy and self-absorbed as he’d been it wasn’t surprising that he’d missed the signs. Naturally he and Lal had become good friends; confidants, even. That was for reasons he couldn’t enumerate to anyone else, much less the talkative Naomi. He and the Wais respected each other’s knowledge and expertise. If that constituted a “relationship,” then so be it. To reach beyond that far enough to suspect improprieties of a type reserved for the more outrageous forms of fiction was the consequence of an unhealthy mind. As he prioritized his personal effects for pickup he tried to be charitable. Naomi was obviously disappointed, maybe even devastated. That was unfortunate. He was convinced he’d done nothing to encourage her to expect anything beyond mutual comfort and succor. She would get over it, just as he would. Did she think he felt no sense of loss himself?

He forced himself to shunt personal concerns aside. They’d located the Amplitur homeworlds. What must it be like for members of the Weave, to have lived with the burden of a thousand years of war, to suddenly see a possible end in sight?

It was an achievement Humankind would be able to share only in comparative moderation. To those Massood and S’van who had been informed, whose people had been among the first to resist the Amplitur, it must seem as if the universe had turned inside out. He took a last look around the compact, comfortable room that had been his home on Chemadii. That wasn’t quite accurate, he reminded himself. A soldier had no home: only duty postings. Another planet recovered for the Weave, another world liberated from the suffocating grip of the Purpose. Years of effort and sacrifice validated. Now as before, it was on to the next. Only this time, for the first time, it was not inconceivable that the next could also be the last. XIII

Discouragement and despair hung over the Council like a toxic fog, poisoning thoughts and polluting the atmosphere. This was not entirely metaphor, as the members could not help but project what they were feeling. The Council was not a permanently constituted organizational body. Individuals came and went according to appointment and caprice, out of a desire to contribute or a need to depart. Whether long in tenure or brief in participation, all were renowned for their skill, their learning, their experience. All that and more would now be required of them if the apocalypse was to be avoided. They lounged in a shallow, steaming pool of sulfurous salt water, the informality of the surroundings belying the seriousness of the occasion. Painstakingly cultivated growths of dark green and rust red thrust through the murk, adding color to the amphitheater and perfume to the air. The water helped to support the soft-bodied masses of the participants. Tentacles shifted from bodies to controls as squarish mouths sipped at the water or sucked at the air. The information provided by the instrumentation was extensive without being reassuring. Yellow-green light emanated from the milky, translucent overhead dome, from which dangled additional devices, each ready to respond to a voiced command or specific physical gesture. The members of the Council did not face each other because they had no need to. They lay scattered randomly like a primordial herd, their turgid, sluglike bodies flashing silver-orange or orange-gold in the hazy, subdued light, their four stumpy legs gathered beneath them. Plate-sized eyes of slitted gold and black regarded respectively the landscaped flora, the pungent water, or a lolling neighbor. Each occupied whatever position happened to most suit it at the moment. The extensive instrumentation was needed for education and external communication only, since all present were far more intimately linked by their remarkable projective minds. As a result, the atmosphere in the Council chamber was as thick with disillusionment as it was with solemn, cloying moisture. In keeping with the ancient and redoubtable tenets of the Purpose there was no Supreme Leader, no Grand Potentate. All present were more or less equal, though individual accomplishments and abilities were recognized and respected. Whoever happened to be discoursing was at that moment the one in charge. When it concluded, control would be passed to another of its lugubrious brethren. It was a system to which lesser races, only dimly versed in the depths of the Purpose, could but dimly aspire to. There were no representatives of those eager species in attendance; no Mazvec, no Ashregan, no Crigolit or Acaria or Korath. This was the Grand Council of the Amplitur. From it suggestions, and suggestions only, would be issued to those most worthy allied life-forms. Suggestions which were invariably acted upon. In spite of strenuous efforts on the part of those present as well as their advisors, there existed a serious dearth of suggestions, a lack of laudable ideas on how to proceed. Even the Purpose itself no longer gave the kind of inspiration which had buoyed the Amplitur in their great work down through the centuries. This plagued sorely the members of the Council, who knew it was incumbent upon them to decide when, how, and what to do next. “We must face reality.” It was Nigh-cold-Singing who formulated the thought. “We are losing.” That no protesting thoughts arose to contradict showed how somber was the mood within the chamber. “We have been losing ground for more than a hundred years.”

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

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

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

Takes-short-Thinking was preparing to give birth. The tumescent bud on its back had matured into a miniature version of itself and was on the verge of separating from the parent body. Its presence in the Council chamber at such a delicate and sensitive moment was due only to the extreme nature of the current crisis. “We cannot change history.” Places-change-Distant was senior among the assemblage. Mottled orange skin had faded to a deep rust hue, and the penetrating eyes no longer gleamed as brightly. But within the puffy mass of rippling flesh floated a mind as keen as ever. “Those with us in the Purpose—the Mazvec and Crigolit, the Ashregan and Segunians and the others—are doing the best they can.” Tepid water sucked at High-run-Seeking’s lower body as it shifted its position. “But Human-Massood forces supported by Weave technology and supplies now defeat us at every turn. We have had some success at imitating enemy tactics, but an imitator can never ultimately defeat an originator. I fear we have reached the point of only postponing the inevitable.”

“There must be something we can do.” Sand-sits-Green’s tentacles traced brooding patterns in the humid air. “Not as long as Humans continue to dominate in critical battles,” said Bulk-holds-Tree. “Since they joined with the Weave, our enemies have pushed us back, taking one world after another, sometimes with impunity. We hurt them, and sometimes we win back lost minds, but these creatures are dangerously prolific, moreso even than the Massood. Amazingly, the more losses they suffer, the harder they fight.”

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

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

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

“There must be a way,” Sand-sits-Green insisted. “New weapons are under development, additional ships under construction.” Damp eyes probed the others. “It has even been suggested that we employ orbital devices of mass destruction.” Shocked exclamations arose from every mind present, and Sand-sits-Green hastened to explain. “I said that this was suggested. It was naturally not countenanced.”

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

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

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

Glean-blue-Saying was younger than many on the Council. It had participated previously, dropped out to pursue other tasks, and only recently been readmitted. It was noted for a certain skewed manner of thinking, and its contributions were highly regarded among those for whom eclecticism was considered an attribute. Though not famed for deep analysis, Glean-blue-Saying was frequently cited as an innovator whose ideas were sifted intently for kernels of usefulness by others with more experience. Among the dozens of often dubious proposals it proffered there came forth the occasional gem. So when that worthy finally sallied thoughts into the general pool of contemplation, all paid attention. Whatever Glean-blue-Saying had to contribute might not prove useful, but was certain to be entertaining. “I agree with Takes-short-Thinking. We must do something radical and unprecedented. I agree also with Nigh-cold-Singing: we are losing, and will continue to lose, because we cannot defeat the Humans. To triumph ultimately we must assay something else.” The rest of the Council listened patiently, if not hopefully. “Let us consider what we know. Humankind is the only semi-intelligent naturally warlike species ever discovered. They are defined by their aggressiveness, their combativeness and the adaptation of their bodies as well as their minds to warfare.” Glean-blue-Saying paused significantly. “In fact, it is not unreasonable to assume that the only beings who can ultimately defeat Humans are other Humans.”

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

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

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

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

No one argued with this assessment. The stunning import of the recent intelligence reports had still not sunk in completely among all the members. That the homeworlds themselves should come under Weave attack was a concept scarce to be believed. So concerned had the Amplitur been with preserving the thrust of the Purpose that they had given little thought to protecting themselves. “If that information is confirmed,” said Sand-sits-Green, “then we must prepare to defend with everything at our command.”

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

“Envision it.” Bulk-holds-Tree shifted uneasily. “Humans, here. Wading through the birthing waters of Eil.” It shuddered, and agitated endothelial chromophores sent waves of dull silver rippling down the length of the pliant mass. Places-change-Distant lurched in the direction of the exiting ramp even as its attention was directed at Glean-blue-Saying. “If no one has anything specific to add, I have heavy responsibilities that must be attended to.”

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

Given that assumption, how can we most usefully proceed?

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

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

“There is in your observation nothing I disagree with,” Glean-blue-Saying declared. “Your intentions are obscure.” Takes-short-Thinking allied itself mentally with Places-change-Distant. “I had not intended that it be so.” Green-blue-Saying’s eyestalks rose. “Somehow we must preserve the homeworlds and the font of the Purpose. Furthermore, we can only recover what we have lost to the Weave and ultimately defeat them by stopping the Humans. After devoting much thought and contemplation to this formidable situation I see but one way of accomplishing all this. “As soon as the enemy is about to attack, we announce our surrender.”

Even Places-change-Distant stopped moving. The members of the Council stirred uncomfortably. As they were a species not much given to joking, it was assumed that Glean-blue-Saying was being straightforward. Truthfulness did not enter into the equation. The Amplitur did not lie. It was left to Takes-short-Thinking to seek clarification. “Even though it is not partial to our evolutionary makeup, we understand humor in the abstract. The mood today has been grim. Are you attempting in making this suggestion to lighten our dispositions?”

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

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

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

“The Weave will spread false philosophies and propaganda among our allies. All who have been brought within the Purpose will be lost,” Sand-sits-Green opined. “Not all, I think.” Glean-blue-Saying regarded his colleagues. “Surely we have done our work better than that?

Many will remain bound through free choice and preference. Others can always be reconvinced. Work neglected can another day be restored. “Meanwhile we will be left alone; to talk and to try and persuade, for all that the Weave will be watching, that we do not make too many suggestions to the easily susceptible. They will complain, and we will protest our innocence, and meanwhile we shall make progress where it is most critical. Without having to use that part of our minds which has aided us so heavily in our work in the past. “Humankind is the key to everything. Not only are they the Weave’s most effective fighters, they are also the only species capable of resisting our most heartfelt suggestions. They came raging out of the far reaches on behalf of the Weave and we did not have sufficient time to diagnose how to deal with them. If we can acquire that time, I believe that the means to undo them and the danger they represent can eventually be found.”

“And you propose to procure this time by surrendering to them.” The opposing horny plates of Nigh-cold-Singing’s mouth ground together as they nibbled on a nearby plant. “Do you think that peace will weaken the victors?

They will remain powerful, while we will have disarmed. Or perhaps you believe we should have long conversations with them and try to convince them of the error of their ways?”

“Not long conversations, no.” Glean-blue-Saying was unintentionally cryptic. “I have studied what we know of Humankind. They have devoted themselves utterly to the war, putting aside their attempts at art, at urban enhancement, at everything except turning out fighters for the Weave. They have geared their existence to defeating us, to preparing for a great, climactic battle at the conclusion of which they can celebrate in triumph.” The Amplitur could comprehend such a notion only in the abstract. To them each victory was also a loss, for it meant the death of many intelligent beings who might otherwise have been brought into the Purpose. “By surrendering we will deny them that triumph. They will experience not exaltation but frustration.”

“They will have won the war,” said Red-sky-Thinkng. “How is that not a triumph?”

“They will not have won. The war will simply have ended. To understand the difference you must first understand the workings of that near-impenetrable organ, the Human mind. They will not have defeated us; we will have given up. To Humans there is a measurable difference. A difference which will pain them. You will see. They will realize but temporary gratification from our capitulation.” The tips of both tentacles flexed emphatically. “If they are indeed heir to this frustration you denote,” wondered Sand-sits-Green, “might they not take it out on us, by attacking the homeworlds anyway?”

“There is some small risk of that,” Glean-blue-Saying admitted, “but I think not. Their ability to act should be sufficiently circumscribed by their Weave allies, who traditionally control combat logistics. Without enthusiastic support on the part of other species there is little that companies of Humans can do on their own. If the Weave accepts our surrender, all combatants should be removed to their respective worlds. Humans may protest, but they do not control the transports. Not in sufficient volume to cause us any serious concern. Their own commands are too tightly interwoven with those of the Massood and others to act in dangerous independence.”

“This unseemly notion of yours may preserve the home-worlds,” agreed Red-sky-Thinking, “but I fail to see how it ameliorates the Purpose.”

“The Humans will react as do individuals of all species which reproduce by sexual means when confronted with an anticipated but unconsummated union, except that in the case of Humans this frustration results in unimaginably heightened aggression. Individuals trained for battle from childhood will soon seek other outlets for their store of pent-up emotion.”

“With an end to the war they will have no outlet,” said Red-sky-Thinking. “You admit yourself that the rest of the Weave will see to that.”

“There is an exception the Weave cannot and will not try to control. There will still remain to Humans the original outlet for their frustrations and aggression.”

“You mean they will seek someone else besides us and our allies to fight?” wondered Bulk-holds-Tree. “They will attack the Hivistahm, perhaps, or even the Massood?”

“No. I fear that even though they have never been offered formal Weave membership, Humankind has been a part of Weave society too long for that to take place. When I state that I believe Humans will return to the original outlet for their aggression, I mean that in its absolute sense. Having no other species to fight, I think they will once again turn upon themselves.”

Excited thoughts crowded the chamber. “Surely their association with the civilized races of the Weave has matured them beyond that,” said Takes-short-Thinking. “I do not think so. The first Human the Weave contacted would not have thought so. Recall my original tenet: that only Humans can defeat Humans. By removing ourselves as a threat to them, we force them to change the focus of their hormones. I believe strongly that they are still far from fully civilized, and that left alone without anyone else to contest, they will turn back upon themselves. Their history shows that when not confronted by a perceived external enemy, they are forced to seek dominance within and among their own kind.”

“Would not the members of the Weave, seeing what was taking place, seek to intervene?” wondered Places-change-Distant. “Intervene betwixt fighting Humans?

I doubt it. Among them only the Massood might have an impact, and I do not see the Massood stepping in of their own volition. They will return to their own worlds and resume a peaceful way of life. Remember: Humans fight because they enjoy it, the Massood because they are compelled to. “The Weave will shun any such conflict lest such internecine Human fighting spread to their own worlds. Eventually the Humans will weaken themselves to the point where they are no longer a threat to our goals. It may take some time, but we have always been patient. We have waited thousands of years. The Purpose will not perish: it will simply rest. “Our surrender will be an honest one. We will give up our weapons systems. We will retire to the sacred twin worlds. And here we will bide our time. We will not urge the Purpose on the Mazvec, the Copavi, the Korath, and the Vandir, as we have in the past. But that does not mean we cannot move among them and retain their friendship. We can always use the excuse that we are afraid of the Humans. The members of the Weave will understand that. “We will admit defeat in this war. Concerning future wars we need say nothing.”

Contemplative silence lay over the chamber as the Council members caucused. The proposal was beyond radical, not to mention risky in the extreme. Most obviously, what if Glean-blue-Saying was wrong?

What if in spite of Weave restraints the outraged, cheated Humans mustered enough vessels to mount an attack?

Even in small numbers they could wreak intense damage to the twin worlds. If, however, the assumptions of Glean-blue-Saying were correct, and Humans resumed fighting among themselves, the future, albeit a distant future, was much brightened. Given a chance to confront a Weave devoid of Humans, the members of the Council knew that the Purpose could not fail. Perilous, they thought. Perilous in the extreme. Yet the considered alternatives were hardly promising. “We could, in taking this course of action, concede everything.” Glean-blue-Saying regarded his colleagues. “Conversely, our offspring’s offspring could gain the galaxy. Alternatively, we can try to smash the force the Weave is gathering to send against us. Does anyone present believe we have a realistic chance of doing that?”

Idle thoughts filled the ensuing silence. Somewhere someone munched on a leaf. “I thought not,” said Glean-blue-Saying. “Believe me, if anyone were to posit a better way, I would gladly subscribe to it myself. As for me, I can think of nothing else. “Treated properly, Humankind will eventually prove not the undoing of the Purpose, but its salvation.”

Places-change-Distant proposed quietly, “What if the Humans do not start fighting among themselves, but simply put down their arms and begin to comport themselves in a civilized manner?”

“That is a chance we take. Of course, being thoroughly pacified, none should raise objection if we choose to counsel with them; to offer a thought here, a notion there. Their history indicates that they will slaughter and kill on the least pretext, over the most ephemeral perceived slight. At one time they nearly turned primitive weapons of mass destruction on themselves, on their own homeworld.”

Astonishment and disbelief at this revelation arose from those on the Council who were not so well versed in Human history. “It is a true thing,” Glean-blue-Saying reiterated. “Lastly, I ask you to consider that this plan is fully in keeping with all Purposeful tenets. By surrendering we will preserve thousands of lives or those of their offspring for possible future integration into the Purpose.”

There was no need for a verbal vote. Agreement was universal and unspoken. Glean-blue-Saying experienced much internal satisfaction. When it was over, speculation flowed as freely as before. “How long do you think it will take for internecine fighting among the Humans to weaken them severely?” Sand-sits-Green wondered. “I do not know. Their history provides no adequate stonemarks for speculation. As representatives of the humbly defeated we will naturally do our best to encourage them in the mutual suspicions which will flower subsequent to the outbreak of peace.”

“You do not think they will be leery of such activities on our part?”

“Perhaps. We must proceed carefully. But there is much in our favor. Humans are both credulous and arrogant, a potentially suicidal combination which we will exploit to the utmost. It may be that with a few considered and well-placed words and phrases we may do more to defeat them man ever we did with energy beams and explosives.”

“This is good.” Takes-short-Thinking was finally convinced. “It will mean an end to fighting, an end to the wasteful demise of intelligences. The peace will resonate within the Purpose. We shall fight on without weapons. “Meanwhile we will continue to study as well as prod the Humans. We will learn and remember. It may be that some among the Amplitur will discover chemical or neurological means that may be eventually used to defeat them utterly.”

“I will inform the military.” Places-change-Distant was appropriately grave. “We will prepare to announce the surrender.”

“Not yet,” Glean-blue-Saying gently reminded his colleagues. “To achieve the greatest benefit we must wait until the last moment. Let them assemble their forces. Let them plunge through Underspace in imagined secrecy. Only when they are actually in orbit about the twin worlds do we capitulate.”

In the end, many of the Council members were surprised only in that they had not thought of such a solution themselves. The placid brilliance of it led each and every one of them to rededicate itself anew to the ultimate clarity of the Purpose. XIV

On all the worlds of the Weave preparations were concluded, preparations that had been ongoing for some time. The vast net of troops and weapons, ships and supplies, was being drawn tight. It was a moment none among the select few who knew the ultimate objective of all the preparation had thought would come in their lifetime. Though the ultimate goal remained secret to all but the uppermost ranks, it was clear even to the lowliest Lepar that something major was in the works. Too many ships and too great a volume of supplies were being sent to the same few assembly points: little-known, lightly populated worlds situated far from any ongoing conflict. A prodigious effort of logistics was under way. As they gathered and waited, the thousands of soldiers speculated among themselves, wondering at the great mass of vessels and supplies drifting in organized orbit above them, waiting for assignment to Underspace transport. Massood came, with Hivistahm and O’o’yan technical support. The S’van were there, rendering a host of inconspicuously critical decisions. And the Humans, of course. The most famous units, filled with veterans of many successful campaigns. Not even their officers could answer the continual queries of their curious troops except to say that they had been promised that all would soon be revealed to soldier and superior alike. The movement of so great a force could not be kept a secret, but expensive probings bought a curious media few hard facts. One thing no one could hide: The level of excitement and tension among the Human participants was building to an explosive pitch. It was a uniquely primate phenomenon. To the Massood and the rest such preparations were no cause for excitement. They did not look forward to combat as Humans did. They assembled and waited quietly, marveling at the amount of energy their Human counterparts expended in anticipation. One or two remarked on the absence of any Turlog in the burgeoning battle force. This apparent oversight remained a curiosity, but not an obsessive one. Throughout the buildup Colonel Nevan Straat-ien stayed in touch with other Core members, monitoring developments and sharing information until he, too, was assigned to a ship orbiting an outpost world whose lengthy name he did not recognize. Observing and analyzing, the historian Lalelelang traveled in his company together with her voluminous store of notes and recordings. When they had time they would discuss her theories and, not infrequently now, matters of wholly personal interest. When word of the great battle group’s eventual target became official at Straat-ien’s level, as it inevitably had to, they still found it as difficult to accept as did those who had been living in ignorance of the possibility all along. “The Amplitur homeworlds.” Lalelelang bobbed elegantly by way of emphasis. “Through you I knew they had been located, but I had no idea that the war had progressed so far.”

“No one did.”

Straat-ien regarded her approvingly. As near as he could tell she had been true to her word. Nothing of what she had learned of him and his relations had been communicated elsewhere, not even in the form of sealed storage. What now of her theories?

he found himself wondering. Suppositions that both of them expected to find a harmless place buried deep in volumes of research now looked to be put to the actual test. Or were they getting ahead of themselves?

he wondered. Just because an assault had been planned on the Amplitur homeworlds didn’t mean it was going to succeed, didn’t mean that the end of the Great War was imminent. All it meant for certain was that a lot of warriors on both sides were about to embrace oblivion. “When?” he heard her asking. “That I haven’t been told yet. Have you stood on the uppermost observation platform late at night and looked up at the sky?

There’s a ring around this planet. It looks like it might’ve been there for a billion years, but it’s recent and artificial. Nothing but transports being loaded and positioned for Underspace insertion, with new ones arriving and departing all the time. I’ve seen a lot of attack groups in my time, but nothing like this. There are hundreds of ships up there, and other fleets being assembled off other worlds. It’s the greatest logistical push the Weave has ever mounted. “There’s plenty of room in Underspace, but coordinating the emergence so two or three ships don’t materialize in the same place is going to take some unprecedented preplanning. I’m glad I’m just a soldier.”

“To anyone but a Human, Nevan, that would be a contradiction in terms.” Both of them were quiet then, contemplating future possibilities that had unexpectedly and abruptly been brought forward by several hundred years. The relentless preparations continued, as did fighting elsewhere. Despite the care taken to conceal the ultimate objective of the gathering fleets, it was doubted by those trained to ponder such matters that the Amplitur would be taken by surprise. They had always maintained an effective intelligence operation inside the Weave, and preparations on such a scale would inevitably draw more than the usual attention from their operatives. Due to the diversion of so much Weave war material the enemy managed several small victories elsewhere, but if anything it was decided that this would make them even more wary. Still, the Weave High Command had hopes of achieving at least a modicum of surprise. If nothing else, the enemy would not know which of the twin worlds was to be struck first and would have to divide its defenses accordingly. At the very least, if the Amplitur succeeded in staving off the attack, the use of forces drawn from elsewhere to defend their homeworlds should allow the Weave to roll up substantial triumphs in weakened systems. Weave tacticians were confident of the efficacy of their strategy even if they remained unsure of the actual outcome’s direction. Victory there would be: it was just that no one could predict where it would occur. Along with hundreds of other officers, Straat-ien eventually received formal orders. The only Wais in a battle group of human soldiers, Lalelelang enthusiastically continued her work, recording and analyzing the troop buildup and departure. So familiar a sight had she become to the milling troops that they no longer remarked on her presence and she was able to move among them with greater freedom and ease than ever before. From Vecilan, from Nojong III, from Aulebebunda and Didone and a dozen other minor worlds the grand fleets departed. Preparations continued in Underspace right up until the moment of emergence. Little was known of the surface features of the Amplitur homeworlds, but no one doubted that they would conform to the norm for populated, civilized planets: a single extensive landmass surrounded by oceans, with a few scattered islands dotting the continental shelf. Only Earth deviated from that pattern. Ail and Eil were not expected to provide any such surprises. Depending on the degree of surprise the Weave would be able to achieve, the Amplitur defenses would react accordingly. Yet despite arduous preparations, no one on any of the attacking Command ships was prepared for that which greeted them subsequent to their actual emergence from Underspace. It took the form of a general communication that was repeated endlessly, in a dozen major Weave languages. It rose from both Amplitur homeworlds and effectively offset every variation in the elaborate plan of attack. Naturally it was at first thought to be a trick, an outrageous subterfuge designed to buy the defenders time to mobilize and focus their defenses. Several commanders were all for ignoring the broadcast and proceeding with operations as planned. But the intensity of the presentation, the lack of flux by defensive orbital weaponry, and the concomitant communications from Mazvec, Crigolit, and other non-Amplitur forces in the vicinity only reinforced the original message. It was still difficult for the High Command to countenance what they were hearing. Cipher specialists and other intelligence groups went to work, probing the depths of the communications as well as movement on the surface of Eil, around which the grand fleet had emerged. Fortifications were certainly present on the surface, but they were not active. Impossible as it seemed at first, specialists on board the grand fleet began to believe that the droning, repetitive communication might be genuine. Ampliturologists pointed out that if naught else it was supported by an important sociocultural precedent. The Amplitur did not lie. A bemused Lalelelang was searching the central assembly area for Straat-ien. All about her groups of Humans were screeching and howling, jumping wildly up and down while flailing joyfully at one another. Like everything else about their society, even their enjoyment was founded on violence. She kept to the fringes, hugging the wall lest she accidentally be crushed by the indiscriminate jubilation. She did not pay much attention to the activity, having observed and recorded it all before: what she was witnessing was a standard primate pack celebration. She found him seated at the far side, contemplating the sweeping view of the Amplitur homeworld provided by a long, narrow port. “What has happened?

I have heard nothing about landings, or fighting. Meanwhile we sit in normal space, an easy target for the Amplitur’s ground-based defenses.”

Straat-ien turned to face her. “There isn’t going to be any fighting. No one believed it at first, but confirmation’s just come down from on high.”

“No fighting?

What do you mean?” She kept her recorder going. As always, his facial contortions supplied fascinating insights into Human thought processes. She could not easily interpret his present expression, however. He seemed dazed as well as contemplative. “It’s the Amplitur. They’ve surrendered.”

“Surrendered?

But why?

Have they suffered some noteworthy defeat elsewhere?”

“Nobody knows. Nobody knows much of anything, it seems. People still have a lot of questions. Meanwhile the Amplitur are allowing troops to land unopposed, and their orbital weaponry isn’t reacting to our presence. The theory that’s going around, and it’s only a theory, is that once they got a good look at the extent of the forces arrayed against them, they simply decided to cut their losses before they occurred.” He blinked at her. “Lalelelang, the Great War is over.”

Unable to reach the Human-scaled bench with her backside, she folded her legs beneath her body and squatted on the floor nearby. All life had been circumscribed, if not defined, by the war. Generation upon generation had known nothing but the war, had been raised with its ponderous presence always dominating their consciousness. The origin of the conflict was ancient, commencing more than a thousand years ago with the first contact between the Weave and the Sspari. Could such a presence simply vanish?

“It’s over,” the Human colonel Straat-ien had said. How long before the real meaning of those words sank in?

What would happen now?

“It hardly seems possible,” she trilled, for lack of anything more profound to say. The Human shrugged. “Possible or not, it’s happened. According to the few reports I’ve been allowed to see, even as we sit here the enemy is turning over weapons, transports, communications facilities: everything. No more war. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

“The Wais have never fought,” she reminded him. “You know what I mean,” he responded restively. “The Weave. It’ll probably fade away once the Amplitur have been completely disarmed. It came into existence specifically to counter them. Once they’ve been reduced and isolated, the Wais and the Hivistahm, the O’o’yan and the S’van and all the others will doubtless resume their individual paths.”

“I am not sure I agree with you. As a working organization the Weave has been around for so many centuries it may well linger long after the reason for its founding has passed.” Her head cocked sideways as she regarded him. “Tell me what you think, Nevan. Is this capitulation for real, or are the ever-inscrutable Amplitur planning something?”

“I think it’s some kind of trick, but Command is staffed by individuals a lot more perceptive than I am. Even if the Amplitur are trying to deceive us, they won’t fool the S’van.” He nodded in the direction of the gesticulating, hollering troops. “That’s why I think this celebration is premature. No one’s been ordered to stand down yet. But you can’t keep people from reacting to the news.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what the Amplitur can do without ships or weapons, and with Weave forces stationed on their worlds.”

“Let us suppose it is for real and that it indeed means the end of the war. What do you imagine will happen now?” she asked him. “To what?”

“To you and your fellow Humans.”

“What?

Oh, your theories.” He smiled confidently. “I suppose some of us will stay here to assist in disarming the enemy and dismantling their orbital weapons. A discreet number will be stationed on both Amplitur worlds to keep an eye on their activities. The same may take place on the principal worlds of the Crigolit, the Mazvec, the Ashregan, and the other Amplitur-allied fighters. “Those troops not needed for such duties will as soon as is practical be released to return to their own homes. To Earth, to Asmaria, to Barnard’s and the rest.”

“And then?”

“I know what you’re thinking, Lalelelang, but I’m still convinced that you’re wrong. They’ll return to peacetime pursuits. Industry, the arts, education, agriculture: just living.”

“There are other species who do each of those things better than Humankind. If you venture to contend in such fields beyond the worlds you presently occupy you will find yourselves competing with the Hivistahm and O’o’yan in manufacture, the Wais in the arts, even the Lepar at simple labor.”

“I think you’ll be surprised at how well we can redirect our energies, Lalelelang.”

“As I have often stated before, nothing would please me more.” Inoffensive wide blue eyes bored into his own. “You, for example. Have you given any thought to what occupation you might follow outside the military?”

He blinked. “Not really, since I didn’t exactly expect the war to end today.”

“I am certain it is the same with every Human. These reactions will be interesting to observe.”

“You never rest, do you, Lalelelang?”

“I have dedicated myself to this work. Why would I want to rest?”

He smiled understandingly, but deep inside his soul there was a persistent wisp of unease that all his confidence could not banish. As soon as the word was passed through Underspace to the worlds of the Weave and its meaning began to sink in, the outpouring of emotion on board the transport was repeated elsewhere many billion times over. On non-Human worlds it generated less flamboyant but equally enthusiastic reaction. Once the Amplitur homeworlds and those of their allies had been secured, the Weave military embarked upon a studied but steady reduction in strength. Whole units were still needed not merely to keep watch over the former enemy but to supervise the destruction of immense quantities of war material. A whole new industry arose simply to see to the recycling of vast resources originally designed for war and destruction. On the Human worlds, the returning troops were greeted with elaborate parades and mass outpourings of relief and affection. Massood fighters dispersed to Massoodai and their own colonies, to be welcomed back less ostentatiously into family and clan. Support personnel of the Hivistahm and S’van slipped easily back into normal, civilized life-styles. Benumbed Lepar quietly returned to their few worlds as if nothing of note had transpired, while the Wais saw the termination of the great conflict reflected in an outpouring of art that was at once suave and restrained. On the worlds of those who had been allied to the Amplitur—the Crigolit and Ashregan, the Segunians and Copavi and T’returia—returning soldiers mixed uneasily but hopefully into the general population. The first isolated instances of individuals casting off the tenets of the Purpose were recorded, though in the absence of an equally comforting alternative most continued to cling to that which had been the primary motivating force of their societies for many hundreds of years. Lalelelang did not have the time or inclination to celebrate, nor did agitated outpourings of extreme emotion have a place in Wais society. She had returned to the somewhat guarded accolades of her colleagues, who were at once admiring of and unsettled by her work. In sheer volume, however, it was breathtaking and unprecedented. Whatever another Wais personally thought of the distasteful, even morbid subject matter, it could not be ignored. She had accomplished all she had set out to do, which was reflected in the diffident but formidable honors that were bestowed upon her subsequent to her return. Never again could her academic standing be called into question. She resumed presenting her seminars while attempting to prioritize the vast archive she had assembled. Without modern cataloging methods it would have been impossible just to digest the specifics, let alone provide for the thousands of critical cross-references. She was aided by the fact that there was no crush of scholars eager to delve into her discoveries. Her chosen field remained one in which fellow Wais were still reluctant to browse. In person, she was treated by colleagues and students alike much as they would have an award-winning artist possessed of a unique but unsettling viewpoint. Exhibiting the utmost refinement in their choice of phrases and gestures, friends and acquaintances remarked that she appeared rather the worse for her experiences. There was no opprobrium attached to their observations. Nothing less could have been expected, considering what she had been through. Few could discuss combat in the abstract, much less envision what it must have been like to practically participate in it in the company of rampaging Humans, without suffering at least a modicum of digestive malaise. With the war over, her work would now truly be relegated to the realm of history. She bore understandingly the affectations of those with whom she came in contact, suffering patiently even those whose obsequious attendance at her seminars was obviously nothing more than an attempt to curry academic favor. Otherwise she remained unchanged by her experiences, even to still neglecting to attend societal functions in the company of her triad sisters. She was too busy, she explained. Prior to her odyssey she had been too busy planning, and now she was too busy organizing. Her family and sisters despaired of improving her dismal social standing. The longer she worked, the more she devoted herself to speculation and research, the less she saw of anything to disprove her original hypothesis. There had been a brief period of social grace subsequent to the Amplitur surrender. That was already beginning to dissipate. Danger signs were cropping up on more than one Human world. They would not be recognized for what they were by anyone else, but to Lalelelang the historian their import was unmistakable. A riot in Kendai City, on Edo. The rise of gang warfare on Columbia. Conflict on Barnard’s. And plenty of ongoing hostility on Earth itself, much but not all of it involving returning soldiers who were having the expected difficulties adjusting to a civilian, peacetime society. To Lalelelang it was inevitable. What else could one expect from a species that had been encouraged by the Weave to devote all its energies for the past several hundred years to creating the most effective fighting force the galaxy had ever seen?

What did the S’van and Hivistahm expect?

They had made use of a patently uncivilized species. Now they expected it to react to a radical change of conditions in something approaching a civilized manner. Men and women who had fought together tended to stay in contact by means of social clubs or traditional military service organizations. Such places were often the only readily comforting outlet for their confused emotions and suddenly restrained aggressions. Reading and interpreting these signs, she saw that the postwar explosion she feared was already building. If her theory was correct, then the question for all the civilized societies of the Weave including her own was not whether or not it could be forestalled, but if it could be contained. The fact that there was no longer any obvious need or reason for other species to suppress their true feelings toward the smelly, discourteous, uncivilized Humans only threatened to compound the problem. It was starting already. XV

When the visitor was announced, she was sitting in her office, alternating her attention between two viewscreens, ignoring the bright sunshine that gilded the formal gardens outside. As she privatized her equipment she tried to organize her thoughts, only to find that it was not as simple as cataloging statistical information. Also, she was out of practice. Alien words and phrases trickled back to her slowly, rusty from long disuse. She made sure the door to her office sealed behind her as she started down the corridor, heading for the official greeting center. It was a better place to meet. Her visitor would have found the connecting corridor too narrow, the ceiling too low. Also, it would have been very upsetting for any Wais unfortunate enough to encounter him in such confined surroundings. He waited alone in the greeting center, his legs crossed in front of him as he sat on the circular visitors’ bench. Droplets of liquid cycled in stately precession behind him, constrained and manipulated by magnetic fields programmed by the artist, the glistening fluid avoiding the sprays of exquisite kanda blossoms that thrust upward in graceful loops from the central planter. She noted the restrained glances that he drew from passing pedestrians. That was hardly surprising. Mahmahar had been far from the front, insofar as an interstellar conflict could be said to have a front. It serviced no military facilities. Humans were a rare sight even in the capitol. Here, in an academic conurbation, they were all but unknown. So everyone contrived to investigate the extraordinary visitor without appearing to look at him. They also kept their distance. Several were unable to restrain themselves and stared unashamedly, however, when she strode directly toward the intruder and extended a wingtip to meet his fingers. Conscious of their lapse of courtesy they hurried away, trying to conceal their own faces with fluffed wing feathers. Not all succeeded. “It is good to see you once more, Colonel Nevan Straat-ien.”

Aware it could give offense to others nearby he was careful not to smile, not even for her. “It’s still just ‘Nevan’ to you, honored historian.” He indicated their surroundings. “I seem to have caused a bit of a ruckus.”

“This university might see one Human visitor a year,” she explained, “and it would be confined to administration. Your presence here has an effect comparable to that of one of your lions or tigers taking an unsupervised stroll through one of your schools for preadolescents. Be understanding of my colleagues. Fascination temporarily overwhelms their natural courtesy, not to mention the instinctive panic.”

“I might have expected a little more discernment from the inhabitants of an institution of higher learning.”

“Higher learning does not preclude the presence of lower minds. You’re getting all the understanding they think you deserve. Come to my office. Mind your head; the ceiling becomes lower.”

To the palpable shock of several of the mesmerized onlookers, she slipped the end of her right wing through the loop he formed with his left arm, having to stretch slightly to accomplish the maneuver. It was fortunate Straat-ien was of less than average Human height or she could not have managed it. He still towered over everyone in the room. More astonishing to the onlookers even than her obvious tolerance of the actual physical contact was the fact that she had initiated it. A ledge ran beneath the window in her office, which overlooked the grounds outside. Pushing aside plants and other artifacts, he made himself as comfortable there as possible. It was either there or the floor, since his weight would have buckled her furniture. “I’ve stayed in the military.”

“I can see that,” she murmured. “I’ve never forgotten your theory. Couldn’t have tossed it aside had I wanted to. Ever since the Amplitur capitulation I’ve paid a lot of attention to the general news in addition to running some follow-up probes and checks of my own. I don’t much care for what they imply.” He hesitated. “I’m afraid you may be right.”

With a sweep of one perfumed wingtip she indicated her blank screens. “I, too, have seen nothing with which to contradict myself. But there is yet hope. The conflagrative index I designed has held steady for two months now. Perhaps it will not climb any higher.”

“Do you really believe that?”

She exhaled musically, her heavily lashed, limpid eyes finally rising to meet his. “No.”

“Neither do I. I can’t, being as familiar with your work as I am.” Rising, he removed a small instrument from his pocket and turned a slow circle, checking the compact device’s readouts as he did so. Satisfied, he resumed his seat on the ledge. “I’ve been in regular contact with my extended family.” He did not need to explain. “They’ve all been made aware of your theories, but they’re divided on their validity. In any case, there’s not much they can do. As you know, we can’t influence our own kind, not even to act sensibly. We have been able to defuse several potentially unpleasant situations by making appropriate suggestions to non-Human participants. In both cases Massood were involved. That’s a bad precedent. “Some of the people I’ve exchanged views with think that several hundred years of contact with the Weave would have bred this kind of unbridled aggression out of us if not for the war.”

“I feel the same,” she responded. “How can you ask a people to produce the ultimate soldiers one moment and engineers and agriculturalists the next?

It is too much to request of a civilized species, let alone Humankind.” She was silent for a moment. “What news of the Amplitur?

Are they truly defeated?”

“Oh, they’re defeated, all right. I’m just not so sure they’re beaten.”

“I thought my mastery of your language was complete. Apparently this is not the case. Be so good as to explain, Nevan.”

“My position allows me access to a great deal of information. On the face of it, the war’s definitely over. The Amplitur and their allies continue to turn over weapons for disassembly. Plants that have manufactured such materials for centuries are being rapidly converted to peacetime pursuits. Hivistahm technicians have begun work on techniques for undoing the extensive genetic manipulation the Amplitur have performed on races like the Mazvec. Weave inspection teams have even been allowed on their homeworlds.”

“What of their great and grand Purpose?”

“They continue to propagate it, but only verbally. They say they’ve sworn off using their singular mental abilities to forcibly manipulate others.”

“It would not matter,” she murmured. “Such things can be checked, and the Amplitur know that. Besides which they never lie.” She considered the translucent blue sky outside the building. “Among my kind there’s an ancient saying to the effect that there’s a first time for everything. Which is another way of saying that there are a lot of us who don’t trust them.”

“But Humans don’t trust anyone,” she reminded him. “Including each other. Given your perverse history it cannot be any other way. Which is why I have always been so concerned with what your people do. The task of monitoring the machinations of the Amplitur I leave to others. It is Humankind which worries me. Now that the war is ended, more than ever. “The question is and actually has always been: Can your people overcome hundreds of years of persuasion on the part of the Weave and thousands of years of unbalanced social evolution on your own to develop a truly civilized society?”

“And not incidentally disprove your theories,” he muttered. “To think that the first contact, William Dulac, believed we weren’t naturally combative enough to be of help in the war!”

“Yet he eventually became a soldier himself,” she reminded him. “Sort of. The Weave has seen to it that most of the Will Dulacs have been bred out of Humankind. Now all of us, Human and non-Human alike, have to find a way to deal with the consequences.” He rose and began pacing the small room, activity that any other Wais would have found intimidating in its power and aimlessness. The historian Lalelelang was not affected. She’d seen it plenty of times before. He halted and leaned against her wallviewer. “My friends and I have been talking, postulating some hypotheses of our own. More than anything else, the Amplitur have been known for their patience. They think in terms of hundreds of years, not decades. What if they arrived at your theory independently?”

“What do you mean?”

“Suppose they saw that they couldn’t beat the Weave. They must have realized they were losing badly even before the assault on their homeworlds was mounted. What if they planned their surrender as one last surprise?”

“In that event I should say that they succeeded.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than that. Let’s say they decided they couldn’t beat us, meaning a Human-led battle force. So they chose to preserve their worlds, their base of power, and themselves. To retire and exercise that endless patience of theirs, and wait. In the hope that eventually we’d do their work for them?”

“You?” She was silent for a long time, eyes half-closed, upper and lower beak separated by a breathing gap of minimal politeness. “I see. You think they will do nothing in the belief that your kind will eventually destroy the Weave for them?”

“That would be too obvious, and what’s obvious to me and my friends has to be at least as obvious to the Hivistahm, for example. I think the S’van could take the steps necessary to prevent a Human-Weave conflict from growing to dangerous proportions. “No, I think that what the Amplitur may be hoping for is for the Weave to continue to shun Humankind socially, shutting us off as much as possible from the main flow of galactic civilization. If that happens, my kind will once again be forced to turn inward. The result will be that the peoples of the Weave will be safe, but that we Humans will revert to fighting amongst ourselves, as we did before the Weave made contact with us. “The result will be peace for the Weave for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. But eventually we’ll weaken ourselves to the point where we can no longer be a factor in any interstellar conflict. That’s when the Amplitur, ever patient, will renew their drive for dominance through the Purpose.”

She considered. “Does that matter, if the ability of the Amplitur to wage war has been removed?”

“Of course. If Humankind destroys itself, it means that if the Weave and the Amplitur eventually resume their conflict, it will be on an even basis. Because now that the war is over the peoples of the Weave are going to revert to wholly ‘civilized’ behavior. Your own people won’t let you contribute to a standing military force when there’s no longer a demonstrable need for one. The Massood are already demobilizing with a vengeance. “It’ll start all over again. Long after you and I are dust there’ll be another great war, only next time there won’t be a world of congenital warriors waiting out there for the Weave to call on to help it out. And except for my kind, when it comes to warfare the Amplitur are better motivators than the S’van or the Hivistahm, or even the Massood.”

She made a gesture of acknowledgment. “Then there is only one solution: Humankind must be brought into the mainstream of Weave development. Your aggression must be routed into other channels. While remaining true to yourselves, you must also somehow become civilized.” She bobbed and dipped eloquently. “Most of my colleagues would consider that an impossibility.”

“I’m not so sure I don’t agree with them,” Straat-ien confessed unhappily. “It means undoing not only the conditioning of the past several hundred years but all of that from the previous several thousand, when Earth was an isolated backwater. We’re talking about psychological adjustment on a colossal scale.”

“Nothing less than species therapy,” Lalelelang agreed. “I do know one thing. We can’t do it without outside help. Without the assistance of the Wais, and the S’van, and all the rest. If out of dislike and fear you shun and ignore us, there’s a good chance we will destroy ourselves. When that happens and you have to deal with the Amplitur again, we poor, dumb, homicidal Humans won’t be there to bail you out. That’s what I think the squids are counting on. I think that’s what was behind their abrupt surrender.”

She was not sanguine. “To convince Wais, for example, to become involved in Human affairs will be very difficult. I can think of only a few who might be willing, not to mention mentally and emotionally capable, to try.”

“That’s a start,” Straat-ien said encouragingly. “A modest network to begin with, organized along academic lines.” She was warming to the idea now. “Dedicated to furthering Human-Weave understanding. It is a possibility.” She eyed him evenly. “There will be resistance. Perhaps even active discouragement.”

“That’s where the Core can be of help.” He stopped his pacing. “I’m told that the Amplitur have a love of games. Of all those that they’ve ever embarked upon, this is probably their most complex and far-reaching. Certainly the stakes have never been higher. “We have one great advantage. I don’t think they’re expecting anyone to recognize their early moves, much less anticipate them. We have you and your early work, Lalelelang, to thank for that.”

“If we pursue this, we shall do so ignorant of its eventual outcome,” she reminded him. “As you say, we will become dust.”

He was nodding vigorously, energized now. It was a wonderful and frightening thing to see. “I know. But if we’re successful it’ll mean that our many-times-removed offspring will be able to look the Amplitur in their oh-so-inscrutable eyes and grin knowingly.”

It was an image she found highly distasteful. “Speak for your own offspring, Nevan Straat-ien.”

XVI

A slim, wiry man was the general; tall and gangly as a scarecrow, rough as recycled metal. From his considerable Human height he gazed condescendingly down at the clumsy, slow-moving being before him. It could advance but gingerly on its four squat legs. The ropy tentacles that extended outward from either side of the peculiar, four-sided mouth were not strong enough to raise the soft-bodied creature’s own forebody off the floor, not even once. Though he knew the truth was otherwise, it was impossible to watch the thing’s progress without interpreting its painful approach as an act of supplication. The general took a bite of the enhanced chocolate wafer he held and regarded his visitor. “Excuse me if I stare. I’ve never seen an Amplitur before. In the flesh.”

“Straight-go-Wise is pleased to satisfy your curiosity.” A tentacle gestured delicately. “I am in charge of dismantling the military infrastructure on this world.” Fascinated, he watched the Human eat. “Thanks to you the Crigolit seem to be as efficient in defeat as they were in war. You’ve been very helpful.”

“We hew to our word.” The translator bungled the initial translation and the general had to wait for its second effort. Meanwhile the Amplitur admired the clean lines of the biped’s uniform, stark beneath the floridly expressive face. “We are doing all we can to cooperate.”

“I know. I couldn’t have asked for better cooperation.” The general leaned back in his seat. “You know, I never understood why you started this war in the first place. It’s one thing to try and promulgate a philosophy, quite another to fight a war over it.”

“I sometimes wonder myself. Remember that this all began many, many hundreds of years ago.” The Amplitur was as relaxed as it could be in the presence of a Human. “Perhaps you yourself may on occasion have wondered what might result if all intelligence could be brought together to focus on a single matter?”

“Never happen,” the general declared curtly. “So I never wondered about it. Intelligence is too diverse. By that reckoning it’s something of a miracle that the Weave stuck together long enough to defeat you. But I don’t have to tell you that. You know now that you were wrong in your original assumptions.”

A tentacle fluttered. “Perhaps our error lay not in our assumptions but in our methodology.”

“Oh?” The general’s eyes narrowed. Owing to his manner of speech, he sometimes sounded shallow, but he had a sharp, inquisitive mind. “Then you haven’t entirely given up on your ‘Purpose’?”

“When we surrendered we agreed to war no longer against the Weave, and to forgo trying to forcefully convince others of our beliefs. Nothing was said about abandoning them ourselves, or not providing information to those who seek it voluntarily.”

“That’s interesting.” The Human stared boredly at the ceiling. The Amplitur regarded him out of great, golden eyes. “You seem preoccupied.”

The general lowered his gaze. “A little. Like most of my friends, I’ve spent my whole life in the Service. This may be my last active assignment. I’m too young for formal retirement and I don’t know what I’m going to do next. Is it like that with you?”

“Rarely. We usually know what we are going to do next.”

“Well, you’re lucky. I have a cousin who owns a plant that manufactures shoes. He’s invited me to come in with him.”

“I have heard that for Humans choosing the direction of one’s life can be an ordeal. We have no such problems. I am sure you will be content in your choice. Fortunately, there will soon no longer be any need anywhere for large military forces. Peace and tranquillity will everywhere reign. There will be no more fighting. A good thing.”

“Yes, a good thing,” the general echoed in lackluster fashion. The Amplitur felt a surge of hope, which, of course, it strove to dampen. There was little reason for concern, since it was doubtful the Human could properly interpret the flush of bright yellow that appeared in several places on the puffy body, but Straight-go-Wise believed in caution. By now it was clear that the Human was inclined to continue the conversation. Straight was equally eager to satisfy the biped’s curiosity. The Board was polite. Being Wais they could not be otherwise. But they were more polite than usual. It was a bad sign. Restraining her impatience, she’d followed accepted procedures and had eventually been granted an audience. Because of her exalted scholarly status, the five senior academicians listened sympathetically to her application, but despite her best efforts they refused to countenance anything she had to say. “Even if what you tell us is true,” commented Grand Aumemenaht, “what can we do about it?

Throughout the Great War the Wais were never more than peripherally associated with actual conflict. It should be the same in peacetime.” Trills and whistles of concurrence emanated from her colleagues. “Rightly true.” The senior seated next to her preened his feathers as he spoke. Though elderly, he was still capable of mating. Lalelelang’s crest erected. “I am telling you that if we do not deal with this problem now, then we will have to deal with it after it has spread. Even to us.”

“What you hypothesize cannot spread to the Wais.” Grand Prewowalong sang confidence from between two exquisitely mounted sprays of fresh flowers. Behind the Board the elegant spirals of Famed Hotutidad’s purple, green, and gold oil-suspension mural flowed in unceasingly pleasing patterns. “We must at least make minimal preparations,” Lalelelang insisted. “For what?” Grand Aumemenaht extended both wings and stretched, the quills quivering emphatically. “We cannot alarm the government on the basis of a theory. You have no proof of anything. Only suppositions.”

“The proof is there for anyone not afraid to look.” She was careful not to phrase her rejoinder in the form of an accusation, which would have been discourteous. “Exchangeable media is available to anyone with the resources to access. I am not making this up. The Humans are already beginning to fight among themselves. How long before it severely diminishes them, or spreads to involve other members of the Weave?

“Don’t you see?

The Amplitur hope to achieve through peace what they could not in war.”

“The Amplitur,” declared Grand Nauvenlileng, “hope to achieve contentment. This laudable goal they approach with admirable and measured determination. Throughout the millennium we have fought each other, they have never been known to lie. What matters what the Humans do to themselves?

If, as you claim it might, their internal dissension should spread to involve other peoples, the Weave will deal with it at that time. Until then they are, as Humans always are, better left alone.”

“If the Amplitur can adapt to peace, so can the Humans,” Grand Prewowalong added. “The Amplitur are civilized,” she argued. “As always, scholar Lalelelang, your theories are interesting but hardly conclusive.” Grand Aumemenaht spoke affectionately. “You are a valuable asset to the university. Do not let yourself drift into iconoclasm and destroy what you have accomplished. How many other experts in your field concur with your findings?”

Her beak clicked. “There are no other experts in my field. Not at the level at which I am currently working.”

“Precisely my point. You are a lone voice, one mated to worry. Return to your research, Exalted Scholar Lalelelang, and do not poison your life with concern for the future course of Human events. The victorious Weave has everything under control.”

“Humans under control. A quaint idea,” she murmured, but under her breath. “Their confusion is understandable.” Grand Nauvenlileng spoke with the quiet ardor of one who believes his qualifications impregnable. “Such occasional internal flare-ups are to be expected. They will burn bright but brief, only to fade as Humans settle into the kind of mature civilization that has heretofore been denied them. Just as the Weave encouraged them to become great warriors, so we will help them to appreciate the benefits of permanent peace.”

“It will not be easy,” agreed Grand Aumemenaht, “but everyone is convinced it can be done.”

“That might have been possible if it had been implemented when contact was first made,” Lalelelang argued, “but not now. Not anymore. We’ve encouraged their natural attributes for too long.”

“They will find their niche within the grander orbit of Weave civilization, as have all species.”

“If the, Weave holds together. It was created for a specific purpose: to fight the Amplitur. Now that there is no reason to do so, will we retain close contact with the Massood?

Will the Massood who privately despise the S’van continue to treat with them?”

“If naught else, inertia will preserve the Weave,” said Grand Partouceceht. “A thousand years of association is not so easily dissolved.”

Aumemenaht made a show of checking her official chronometer. “We have granted you more time than was scheduled. We have listened to your concerns; to your observations and theories. It is to be regretted, but others also have demands on our time.” It was a formal dismissal. “If we do not make a start at dealing with this problem now, in a shorter while than you can imagine there won’t be any time to do so!”

At this extraordinary breach of courtesy several of the senior academicians regarded her with shock. Grand Nauvenlileng looked dazed. Aumemenaht retained her composure. It was left to her to respond, which she did with as much equanimity as she could muster. “It might strike some that you have been too long in the field, Exalted Scholar Lalelelang, and that you have through no fault of your own acquired certain aspects, certain overtones of a culture that is less than Wais. This is not unprecedented. It is known that you have suffered. “I suggest, and take the liberty of suggesting on behalf of my colleagues —” Soft whistles of profound agreement came from the others “—that you consider taking some time to reintegrate yourself into the society from which you have been so long separated.”

Stunned by the extent of her transgression, Lalelelang hastened to deliver herself of an elaborate apologia of words and gestures. It appeared to mollify the Board, which was as understanding as it was unperceptive. The result was that she left the meeting dissatisfied and discouraged. She had hoped for, though she had not really expected, something more. Having thus damaged her academic social standing and gained nothing in return, she sought solace in her triad. Her sisters managed to succor her somewhat, but they could not reassure her. They did not subscribe to her outrageous hypotheses any more than had the Board. Better, they advised her, that she should listen to the wise advice of the seniors and throw herself into systematizing the vast body of knowledge she had accumulated in the course of her daring travels. She thanked them but declared to their dismay that she would continue to keep to her own counsel. Part of the problem, she knew, was that any normal Wais would find the entire subject distasteful. She could hardly blame her people for that. Nor were her theories likely to find a more enthusiastic welcome among the S’van, or the Hivistahm. The coming cataclysm was inevitable. There was no mistake. Her theories predicted it. At least, she mused in frustration, she would not be around to experience it. She was in her office when the visitor was declared. The announcing code implied that it was not a student or fellow academic. For a brief while she bustled with excitement, remembering a similar visit of not so very long ago. When her visitor finally arrived and was admitted she was as surprised as she was disappointed. The female S’van searched in vain for a place to sit. Short and thickset, she could not fit into the simple untenanted seat intended for the much slimmer Wais pelvis, nor did she have a hope of reaching the ledge beneath the window, which a much larger visitor had at one time occupied. In one corner sat a large potted plant whose slim, multiple trunks reached the ceiling before sending out overarching, spatulate leaves. She balanced herself precariously on the rim of the container, stroking the short, neatly trimmed beard that was a hallmark of S’van females. The thick black curls both front and back were heavily pomaded with a substance that caused them to flash iridescent beneath the overhead lights. Her clothing was traditionally garish in tone, with none of the subtlety or nuance of Wais attire. “What do you want with me?” Lalelelang’s S’van was smooth and accentless. Her disappointment could not completely suffocate her curiosity. “Do you represent an academic organization?”

“You could say that.” The S’van was typically direct. “My presence here is semiofficial, though as far as anyone outside this office is concerned, this is an informal meeting. “The organization which I represent has a long-standing interest in your work. People have particularly been intrigued by some of your recent publications, in which you harangue like mad for one of your pet theories.” The visitor shifted her position on the planter. “It doesn’t look like you’re having much luck getting anyone to pay any attention to it.”

“Until now, it would seem.”

The S’van clicked her teeth. “You’re unusually direct for a Wais. I put that down to the amount of time you spent working closely with Humans. By the way, my name’s Ch’vis.”

“There is no question that I have been somewhat influenced by my studies,” Lalelelang replied. “If you would prefer to deal with traditional Wais politesse I can introduce you to several colleagues who are familiar with my research.”

“No, no. I think it’s better that I talk to you.” She scratched at the back of her neck, where thick black coils vanished down the collar of her jumpsuit. Lalelelang shuddered slightly. One of the differences between the humanoid S’van and Homo sapiens was that the latter had no manners, whereas the S’van had them but often chose to ignore them. The S’van were also one of the few intelligent species the Wais could physically look down upon, though the short, hirsute bipeds were much heavier in body. “What about my work interests you enough to prompt a visit in person?” she inquired. “Others have studied it in more depth than I, but the gist of it seems to be your claim that now that the war is over, unfocused Humans are going to go on the rampage: against the rest of the Weave, against each other, or both. You predict the rise of unmanageable conflict, to the general detriment of civilization.”

Lalelelang’s neck dipped slightly forward and she blinked one eye in an especially emphatic manner. “An unscholarly but not inaccurate summation.”

“The organization I represent is impressed with the research you’ve accumulated to back up your theories.”

“Is it?” Eyelashes fluttered. “What organization might that be?”

“Doesn’t really matter.” Ch’vis leaned back against the multiple stems of the domesticated plant. It flexed alarmingly, and she hastened to straighten. “Nice place to work. Pleasant view, quiet.”

“Are you offering me support?” Lalelelang asked. “Call it mutual. You see, members of the group I work with have been observing Humankind pretty closely ever since they first joined in the war against the Amplitur. Some of our efforts parallel yours. Or did you think that your work was unique?”

She shuffled uncertainly on her work nest. “I know that it is not. I have had many contacts with non-Wais, off-world scholars with similar interests, but no such correspondence can be all-inclusive.”

The S’van responded with a double clicking of her front incisors only. “It’s not surprising that you wouldn’t know of us. We don’t seek publicity.”

“Then if you people concur with my conclusions, you must realize that assertive intervention is imperative.”

Ch’vis regarded her fingers. “Not necessarily. Many of us are of the mind that so long as Humankind’s destructive energies are directed internally, there’s no real danger to the Weave.”

“That is not a civilized approach.”

The S’van looked sharply at her. “Self-preservation takes precedence over civilized behavior. We agree with your analysis of Human nature. They’ve always fought and they always will fight. Contact with the Weave hasn’t and isn’t going to change that. So long as their conflict doesn’t spread to non-Human worlds, we think they should be permitted to pursue their traditional forms of ‘recreation’ without interference. “At the same time we don’t ignore them completely because, as you correctly point out, we might need them again in some far distant, unforeseeable future to counter some unimaginable threat. So we try to manage them. Keep them aggressive but limit the damage. Let them slaughter one another but not allow them to weaken themselves beyond recovery.”

“Manage Humans?

What a whimsical notion.”

“There are ways,” the S’van insisted diffidently. “We think it can be done successfully as well as unobtrusively. Since they were first contacted we’ve learned a great deal about them. They’re more malleable than you might think. Certainly the Wais, through no fault of your own, could not direct such an enterprise. We S’van, however, are a bit cleverer.”

“Devious and deceptive, you mean.”

Ch’vis screwed a stubby finger into her left ear. “Your mastery of my language is admirable, but not perfect. I must’ve misheard a word or two.”

Lalelelang eyed the S’van in disbelief. “So you could help them, but you’re not going to. You will allow them to war among themselves within parameters that you will magisterially specify, without regard to their welfare.”

“Without our intervention they’d eventually destroy themselves altogether,” Ch’vis argued. “That much of your research we accept implicitly. They were on the verge of doing so when the Weave first contacted them. Recall your Human history. They had actually gone as far as employing nuclear weapons against one another.”

“An isolated incident that was not repeated.”

The S’van sniffed. “Fortunate, but hardly indicative of a permanent change of behavior. If the Weave had not involved them they would probably have obliterated themselves by now.” The visitor’s attitude lightened. “Besides, where’s the harm?

They like to fight. We’ll limit them but let them. Humankind has no proper civilization. They’re a resource, to be managed. Help them to eschew their aggressive tendencies and you destroy that resource.” She slipped off the planter and adjusted the folds of her suit. “Why come all this way to tell me this?” Lalelelang wanted to know. “Your reputation extends beyond Mahmahar, and you make a lot of noise. Meanwhile your work on Human-non-Human social interaction under combat conditions is pioneering. We think it deserves your full attention. You really need to concentrate on it instead of venting loud opinions on that which is already being brought under control.”

She fought to control her instinctive quivering. “Ch’vis, are you threatening me?”

“Dear me, no!” The S’van threw up both hands in mock alarm. “How can you conceive of something so uncivilized?

We are merely, as fellow researchers, suggesting that you narrow your field of endeavor and concentrate on the sub-specialty in which your work is unparalleled.” She waddled toward the doorway. “We have extensive modeling facilities. We’ve plotted numerous possible futures for Humankind and we’re pretty confident that the one we’ve chosen will be best not only for the entire Weave but for them as well.”

“Do you expect me to stand by and do nothing?”

“We don’t expect anything of you, Exalted Scholar Lalelelang. I was not told to expect anything of you. I’ve made no demands here today, issued no ultimatums. It’s a sign of the respect in which we hold you and your independent achievements that I was ordered to come here and deliver to you this information.”

“To induce me to retreat behind a veil of silence, you mean.”

“It’s hard to convey bitterness in my language, but you do it very well,” said Ch’vis admiringly. “It doesn’t become you, and it’s not necessary. Sometime I hope to show you our models. Then you’d understand what we’re doing is for the best, for everyone.”

“The S’van have never been noted for their altruism.”

“Nor have the Wais. We all have our own interests. Believe me, in this instance they coincide. You’re a scholar, and a most remarkable one. Scholars are notoriously impractical individuals.” She reached to activate the door. “Wait!

Are there other organizations like yours?

Among the Hivistahm, perhaps, or the O’o’yan?”

Ch’vis considered. “Interesting thought. Not to our knowledge. As you more than anyone should know, the intimate study of Humankind is not a popular subject.” She thumbed the door control, and the barrier slid aside. “We’d like to share information with you, historian. We can help each other.”

“But not Humankind,” Lalelelang shot back. “Your attitude will change. It might as well, since there isn’t anything you can do about this. It has support from quarters that would startle you.”

With that Ch’vis excused herself. Not elaborately and floridly as a Wais would have, but in S’van fashion, with a click of bright square teeth and a parting joke. Lalelelang stared at the portal. If the S’van were as aware of the problem as she was but wouldn’t do anything to try and solve it, what chance did she have?

More than that, they didn’t want the problem solved. They just wanted to keep it under control. That was not only unfair to Humankind, it was dangerous. Nor did she share their optimism about managing Human aggressiveness. That was something that needed to be permanently modified, not administered, if Humans were ever to be granted full Weave membership and take their rightful and hard-earned place in the mainstream of galactic civilization. Only then could it be certain that they would no longer be a threat to themselves or to any other species. But if the Weave remained indifferent to granting that membership, and a powerful S’van faction was arrayed against her, what hope did she have of making any progress?

She would have to seek the aid of an organization of her own, one powerful and shrewd enough to somehow contravene the efforts of the devious S’van. Everything would have to be carried out in a manner that would not alert Ch’vis and her colleagues. Lalelelang knew of only one such group that might have the requisite resources and determination. Certainly they were powerful. The matter of their shrewdness was still open to question. XVII

“What’s that?” Pila rolled over and tried to get a glimpse of the communicator that Straat-ien was watching as he sat on the edge of the bed. The compact screen he held was eight centimeters square and capable of mock-holo projection. She leaned up against him, slipping her arms around his chest, resting her chin on his left shoulder. “A Wais!

How interesting. I see she isn’t wearing a translator.” She listened intently. “Her gestures are certainly emphatic. Is this the one you told me about, the one you’ve known for so long?” He nodded. They continued listening together until the transmission ended. Straat-ien put the communicator on the end table and lay back down on the bed. His companion snuggled close to him, lying on her right side, her left hand warm on his chest. They were silent for a while, each digesting the contents of the alien’s message. “Do you think she’s right about us?” Pila finally asked. “I don’t know.” Straat-ien stared at the ceiling. “Sometimes I think she knows more about us than we do ourselves.”

“So we’re doomed to keep fighting forever?

These S’van will keep us from destroying ourselves but that’s it?

No help to change old attitudes, no assistance in forging a peaceful civilization.” She frowned. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

“Nor do I,” Straat-ien murmured. “But you and I have the benefit of Core insight. We’re a very small, not especially influential minority. The bulk of Humankind still looks at things differently.”

“It sounds like this Wais expects you to do something about it.”

He shrugged and kicked against the sheets that clung to his legs. “She knows me better than she knows any other Human. She knows about the Core and that we’re trying to find a way to make some changes in Human attitudes. That’s going to be hard enough going without active opposition. From the S’van, no less. They’re dangerously smart.”

“You think she’s safe?”

“She’s managed okay so far.” He looked thoughtful. “When the Core was deciding her fate, I argued that if we left her alone, she’d be useful to us someday. Here’s the proof of it.” He tapped the recorder. “If it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t know about this S’van organization.”

“Right enough.” Pila was mature, and knowledgeable. “Now we can take steps to deal with that. A few suggestions in the right places and we can neutralize their influence without being obvious about it.”

Straat-ien sighed. “I wish we could persuade our own kind as easily. There’ve already been outbreaks of fighting on several of the colonies. The Core Council expects it to spread to Earth any time now. Why people can’t recognize the counterproductiveness of such regressive behavior is beyond me.”

She patted his chest. “As you pointed out, we enjoy the Core perspective, darling. Most of Humankind doesn’t … yet.”

“If we’re not careful, it never will. I know that the genome for the Amplitur-introduced neural nexus is dominant, but it’ll take hundreds of years for it to spread deep enough into the racial pool to make a real difference.”

“Until that happens we must do the best we can, Nevan. We have a great responsibility.” She ran her fingers through the hair on his chest. “I wish I knew for certain if Lalelelang’s projections are right.”

“We have to assume that they are. Assuming otherwise means leaving our fate in the hands of the S’van and the Hivistahm and all the rest.”

“The S’van,” he muttered. “I would have sooner suspected the Hivis, or even the Massood. But not the S’van.”

“They joke and kid around to mask their intelligence,” she reminded him. “They always have.” She was silent for a moment, stroking him. “Nevan,” she inquired somberly, “do you think we have a chance?

To integrate ourselves into Weave society and enjoy a peaceful, participatory future?

Or is your Wais right and we’ll always be doomed to fighting and killing?”

“Lalelelang’s a pessimist, but she hopes we can change. She thinks that because of our unique perspective the Core can be the instrument of that change, that we can be the renovating anomaly her statistics don’t account for.”

Pila raised herself higher and stared hard at him. “I didn’t ask what she thinks. I asked what you think.”

He was silent for a while. Then he turned to envelop her in his arms and draw her down to him. “Right now I think I’m tired of thinking.”

Cataloging the ocean of material she’d acquired, performing seminars, and designing course materials, all this left Lalelelang little time for promoting her theories or, for that matter, any kind of social life. Outwardly her triad sisters supported her efforts, but privately they despaired. Their brilliant, attractive, famous sister was wasting away, devoting her entire life to her studies. They told her repeatedly that her time was ill apportioned, but there was nothing they could do about it. Lalelelang would acknowledge their efforts on her behalf and proceed to ignore them, just as she ignored those males bold enough to approach her. They could not know that she had much more than her own survival in mind. Utilizing the university’s far-ranging facilities, she scrutinized the interworld media with grim conviction, seeking out the kind of information that never reached the general population. One world, even a portion of one continent, generated more than enough news to satisfy their interest. Besides, now that the war was well over, who cared what Humans, or for that matter the Hivistahm or the Massood, did on their own worlds?

The Weave had been created to deal with the Amplitur. With that ancient interstellar threat finally removed the frequency of interspecies contact was already beginning to abate. Her files grew, and with them her concern. On Human-settled Daccar, sustained fighting had broken out between the inhabitants of the eastern and northern portions of the landmass. Though not as severe as the explosive outbursts of violence that had marred the history of Old Earth, it was worrisome enough. A trio of S’van interlocutors who just happened to be on MacKay working on another project energetically offered to mediate a dispute which ignited on that Human colony world. Their offer was accepted, but they had only limited success. On Mauka IV dissension took the form of a group of offshore islanders who, claiming neglect, sought to distance themselves from the central planetary administration on the mainland. As the islands numbered among their inhabitants a large number of recently retired soldiers, the extent of their resistance was out of all proportion to their actual population. There were no S’van present to help dampen either the ardor of the islanders or the reactive resentment of those on the mainland. The worst troubles flared on Barnard’s, the first world to be colonized by Humans from Earth and one that was fast becoming nearly as urbanized. It was home also to a modest population of Massood, who did their best to remain aloof from their bipedal brethren’s uncivilized and rapidly deteriorating behavior. The existence of a large class of Humans who’d grown wealthy from activities related to the war only exacerbated growing tensions, which threatened to involve the Massood in spite of themselves. It was a situation sufficiently degenerative to inspire quiet jubilation among the Amplitur, but though she searched many sources Lalelelang could find no indication of even indirect Amplitur involvement in the growing canon of Human deviant activity. Nor was there any indication of regression or restlessness among their former allies such as the Ashregan and Crigolit. All blithely continued to disarm and to vocally embrace the new peace. Lalelelang knew the Amplitur must be aware of what was happening on the human worlds, but she had no more proof of it than she had to substantiate her other theories. The tentacled ones continued to dismantle their extensive military apparatus while taking hesitant steps toward participating in unrestricted interstellar commerce and communication. If their activities were inspired by ulterior motives, the Amplitur kept them well hidden. Then, near the end of the fourth year following the first such outbreak, and contrary to her ominous predictions, the fighting leveled off. It did not cease entirely. Some inter-Human conflicts continued, new ones flared, but others were settled. Not every potential confrontation reached flash point, not every argument erupted in violence. Several serious commercial disputes were settled by agreement. Having learned a painful lesson on Barnard’s, the Massood stayed out of such skirmishes. Any active S’van role remained invisible. Needless to say, the other members of the Weave ignored the ongoing Human preoccupation with violence as completely as was possible. Maybe she’d underestimated the S’van. She wouldn’t be the first to have done so. Maybe they could keep the Human disease under control without having to cure it completely. Or perhaps the lid was being kept on further outbreaks of violence thanks to the work of Colonel Nevan Straat-ien’s mysterious Core. Or maybe they were working on the S’van. Whatever the cause, the results were encouraging. Was there such a thing, even for an eccentric species like Homo sapiens, as a tolerable level of societal violence?

She pondered the theoretical options. Though distressed by the tumult, the rest of the Weave was more than willing to ignore it so long as it did not spread to their own worlds. Unlike the S’van, now that the war was over the general Weave population didn’t much care if Humankind exterminated itself. In fact, there were many who would have thought such a denouement a good thing. Several hundred years of association with the Weave had wrought some perceptible changes in the fabric of Human society. There were signs that perhaps the first contact, William Dulac, had been at least partially correct in his evaluation of his own kind. Now that the war was over, social interaction between some Humans and their colleagues on other worlds began to expand. If the S’van could be persuaded to change their minds about continuing the cultivation of Human fighting abilities, such progress toward true integrated civilization might be accelerated. If not, she knew it was possible for Humankind to someday revert to the kind of uninhibited homicidal warfare that had originally characterized the species. Lalelelang checked and rechecked her work. The stocky, hirsute humanoids were playing a very dangerous game on an unimaginably grand scale. In any event, the best she could do was observe and monitor. The visit she had received from the S’van years earlier remained clear and sharp in her memory, as did the implication behind it. Occasionally she wondered how her old friend the colonel, Nevan Straat-ien, was coping with peace, or if he was involved in any of the violent flare-ups among his people. There’d been no contact between them for a number of years. Maintaining contact between individuals who lived on different worlds was a difficult, not to mention expensive, proposition. Like most Humans, he was doubtless frantically busy. With his own career, perhaps a new one, or with a family. He had never discussed mating in her presence, but then why should he?

His rituals and dances were not hers. The unusual friendship that had developed between them had been forged of necessity and immediacy. Neither dition any longer existed. Now and then she took a moment to wish him well wherever he was, and flattered herself that he might occasionally do the same in remembrance of her. She wondered if he gave much thought to her theories and decided he did not. Weave civilization was not after all on the verge of being overwhelmed by rampaging Humans. She was greatly pleased that time had proven her wrong. So far. XVIII

Lieutenant Tuan al-Haikim was as ignorant as his fellow officers of the reason for the meeting. Insofar as he knew, it couldn’t have anything to do with the recent troubles in the southeastern provinces. Those had been settled weeks ago and there’d been nothing in the available media about any new flare-ups. Not that something couldn’t have been kept quiet. Perhaps the general wanted to congratulate them on their handling of the situation. Or maybe something new had come up. Al-Haikim hoped not. He didn’t like shooting at his own kind. Of course, those damned impertinent southeasterners thought they were so much better than everyone else simply because their ancestors had settled the planet first, but that didn’t give them the right to—

He caught himself. He’d been thinking like the average city dweller; not like one whose ancestors had suffered under the tentacles of the Amplitur on Cossuut. Such thoughts were unbecoming to one of the Core. He studied his fellow officers. They stood or sat or sprawled around the comfortable room, chatting and joking. Several were due for demobilization next month. Even now, years after the end of the Great War, the military continued its inexorable shrinkage. Al-Haikim had worked hard to stay in the Force, just as he’d worked hard for his recent promotion. It was important that the Core remain well represented in the surviving military, if only to counter ongoing surreptitious S’van intervention in Human affairs. He smiled to himself. While the S’van interfered with Humankind, unbeknownst to them the Core interfered with the S’van. Thus far it had been an equitable trade-off. Though all but two of those present outranked him, he knew most of them personally. They constituted a significant portion of the general staff on Daccar. During the war they had been scattered across a great arc of space. When the troubles had begun on Daccar, they had been brought here. The colony was a particularly fractious place, a hive of innovation as well as a kind of sociological bellwether for the other Human worlds. It was a good place to spot new trends, bad as well as benign. In his capacity as a communications specialist he’d met General Levaughn twice, and then only briefly. It was impossible to form an opinion of someone based on such abbreviated contact, and generals were not in the habit of confiding in or asking advice of their lieutenants. All he knew about his comparatively youthful commanding officer was that his record was distinguished. Levaughn was famed as a dedicated soldier and relentless fighter. It was rumored that he had helped to settle some of the more acrimonious southeastern disputes through personal intervention in the negotiating process. Such musings were pushed into the background as Levaughn entered and waved. Those of his senior advisors who knew him best waved back. As none of those present were in uniform there was no need to maintain the strictures of military formality. A colonel rose and did something at a wall panel. Al-Haikim watched as safeshields slid down over the windows and the single entryway. A couple of the officers acknowledged these defensive preparations with a low murmur, but no one ventured to question them. Surely everything would be explained, including the need for such security. To Al-Haikim’s way of thinking it hearkened back to wartime conditions. He would have been even more surprised if he’d been able to see the armed guard that was taking up grim-faced positions outside the meeting room. Levaughn halted in front of a bookshelf that, astonishingly enough, was full of books. Real books, made of board and glue and paper. A native of Daccar, the general came from a wealthy family. This had helped him considerably in his dealings with the obstreperous southeasterners. Now he stood silently contemplating his hand-picked audience. He was a short man, though stockier than al-Haikim and many others. He wore his hair cut short and flat in the old military style, with his emblem of rank shaved into the sides. His eyes were large, black, and penetrating. They framed a nose that had been broken several times in combat. Below was a soft, rounded chin and an effeminate mouth. The ears were large and laid back, as if trying to hide within his hair. Levaughn’s rise through the ranks had been little short of meteoric. The man who had once commanded half a planetary invasion force was now reduced to overseeing the demobilization of troops on his homeworld while concurrently trying to deal with a string of small but bloody riots. The latter were limited in scope but persistent. Since the end of the war, urban Daccarans had developed a reputation for using old-style violence to settle local disputes. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, be seated.” Levaughn smiled at them, showing regenerated teeth. When they’d complied he continued. “Before we get to the business at hand I want to congratulate all of you on your efforts these past months. The southeast is nearly at peace, a condition it hasn’t experienced in some time. I’m told the education people down there are putting in overtime to see it doesn’t get out of hand again. Maybe we haven’t done as well as our equivalents on some other worlds, but after all, this is Daccar.” A few knowing grins and guffaws greeted this sage observation. “Sometimes I think it’s harder to fight the peace than it was to fight the war.” More chuckling, punctuated by a few softly voiced obscenities. Al-Haikim automatically made note of the latter for future use. “Maybe some of you have noticed that demobilization doesn’t always go smoothly. It’s hard when you and your parents and your grandparents devoted their lives to fighting for a great cause and then that cause is suddenly snatched away. It’s not easy to readjust.” He smiled compassionately. “I’m having a pretty tough time myself. “It’s hard to stand before units that have earned glory in combat and tell them that tomorrow they have to learn how to be statisticians or agriculturalists or assembly personnel. I don’t know about any of you, but I can’t do that without feeling a sense of loss. But let’s face it: If it wasn’t for the occasional troubles that keep cropping up, the problem would be even worse than it is.” There was a substantial but by no means universal muttering of assent. “Those of us here are lucky. We’re all still together, doing what we’ve been trained to do. Performing that which we do best.” His tone turned regretful. “Pity it can’t last. After all, we’re at peace now.” He began to pace in front of the bookshelf, his movements as measured and precise as his speech. “What I’ve always wondered about, soldiers, is what this peace gains us. What do we, as fighting Humans, get out of it?”

“An absence of death, sir,” ventured a perceptive major from the far side of the room. Levaughn nodded. “Can’t argue with that. What else?” There were no other comments. “How about friendship with the Weave?

Except that we’ve never been invited to join that august organization of noble noncombatants. Commercial gain?

Hell, the Hivistahm and the O’o’yan are better manufacturers than we are, the Wais better artists, the Massood more disciplined workers, the S’van cannier innovators, the Motar and Sspari more adroit growers. Where’s that leave us?

And what happens when our former enemies get back on nonmilitary tracks?

Nobody can build anything more efficiently than those damn bug-eyed Crigolit. Seems like anything we can do, some other species can do better. “Course, we’re still the galaxy’s greatest warriors, its toughest fighters. Even our former enemies admit to that. So let me ask you something, ladies and gentlemen: What the fuck good is that gonna do us now?”

The assembled soldiers stirred uneasily. Al-Haikim made a show of participating, but his attention was devoted to recording the reactions of his colleagues. By now it was evident this gathering was intended as something much more than a casual get-together. Levaughn let them bicker, and argue, and finally simmer down before raising both hands for silence. He had their full attention now. No one was laughing. “I’ve known some of you since you began your careers, from Brigadier Higham there—” He indicated a nodding older man seated in a large overstuffed chair. “—to some of you junior officers.” Al-Haikim was glad Levaughn didn’t glance in his direction. “In turn, you know me. I’m no diplomat and I’m lousy at preplanning. Strike straight, don’t deviate: that’s been my motto since I was a field grunt. It’s served me pretty well. I’m still here, still all original issue.” He opened his mouth wide. “Except for these ceramic choppers.” Several of those in attendance laughed in spite of themselves. Levaughn lowered his voice. “O’o’yan manufacture.” The laughing stopped. “The war’s over. We did that. We Humans. Oh sure, we had plenty of material aid from the Weave, and the Massood did their share of the fighting, but we’re the ones who turned the tide. Can’t no species take that away from us. “The thing is, none of ’em want to give us anything in return. What’s our place gonna be now that the service we perform best is no longer in demand?”

Someone else in the back spoke up. “I hear that the Mazvec have already petitioned to join!” There was a general murmur of surprise from the assembled. Levaughn nodded sagely. “Former enemy. We beat the crap out of ’em on Letant Three and Corschuuk. Now they’re going be invited in and we’re still standing around looking dumb, like the ugly wallflower waiting for somebody to ask ’em to dance.” He put his fists on his hips and eyed them evenly. “That’s assuming that there’s still a Weave around in half a century’s time to ask anybody into anything. Without the Purpose to unite against, the whole system may fall apart. It’s already starting to fray. Know what that means?

Without any dependable, traditional interstellar alliances, like those existing between the Hivis and the O’os, for example, every Human-occupied world will become an instant galactic backwater. We won’t have anything anybody else’ll want, and they won’t be compelled to have anything to do with us. Some thanks for a couple hundred years of blood and sacrifice. “Oh, there won’t be anarchy. They’re all too civilized for that. Interstellar distances being what they are, things’ll just become a lot looser. With us floating free on the fringes. No galactic empire for Humankind, like some writers speculated in the early days. Empire, hell!

We won’t even have a minor role. We’ll go back to being ignored. “Maybe there’s worse fates than that, but I’m not so sure. Oh, Humankind’ll get along okay. We’ll have our own little association of worlds, centered on good old Earth. Provided we can keep from exterminating ourselves. The troubles are the first hints of that. Psychosocial specters from our claustrophobic one-world past. Meanwhile the rest of the galaxy will go back to spurning us, which is what they’ve always wanted to do.” He was gesturing assertively with his hands now. For the first time al-Haikim noticed how they’d been torn, and scarred, and repeatedly repaired through regenerative surgery. “As you may have guessed by now, I’ve given a lot of thought to Humankind’s postwar future. Fact is, I’ve been thinking about it ever since the Great Surrender at Ail and Eil, observing and taking notes, and I can tell you that I don’t much like what I see. I can also tell you that I, personally, after having helped to defeat the Amplitur and all their allies, am not prepared to passively accept that future.” Jaws clenched in anger, he shook his fist at them. “We put an end to the Purpose!

We won the victory!

And now we’re expected to meekly hand it over and stagger off unprotestingly into oblivion.”

It was dead silent in the room when he finished. A final protest against mutating times, al-Haikim thought uneasily. A last polemic raised against the changing order. Or was there something more?

A pensive Lieutenant Colonel Otumbo rose. He’d known Levaughn longer than any of them, even Higham. “I assume you’ve got something in mind, Nicholas. Military dictatorship?” A few nervous titters greeted this brazen query. Levaughn’s smile returned. “You always did have a flair for the melodramatic, Rashidi. Even in combat.” The lieutenant colonel grinned thinly. “No, I’m not thinking along lines like that. Notwithstanding my stature, I’m no would-be Napoleon or MacArthur.” This time the laughs came easier. “I’ve no desire to rule any kind of empire, military or otherwise. I just want to see to it that after all we’ve done for the races of the Weave, Humankind gets back what it deserves.”

He had them now, al-Haikim saw. Most of them, anyway. Of course, the men and women in the room had been carefully chosen in the first place, presumably because Levaughn or someone else thought they would be receptive to his message. Al-Haikim wondered what he’d done to qualify. First explanation, then attack, then denial. A very effective technique, which Levaughn delivered persuasively. “The Weave’s been an effective organization for over a thousand years,” Levaughn was saying. “Now me, I dislike chaos. I think the Weave should be preserved. If necessary, in spite of itself. That’s not too much to hope for. I think it can be done, and I think that we can help do it. I also think that we should be given our just place within the final structure. Not only us, but the Mazvec, and the T’returia, and all the others who used to be allied with the Amplitur. Hell, if the poor dim-witted Lepar deserve full membership, don’t we?” This time the chorus of agreement was barely restrained. Levaughn nodded in satisfaction. “How is all this going to be brought about, General?” someone asked. Levaughn looked at her. “I’m just a simple soldier. I started out with field armor and munitions and worked my way up in rank, if not in sophistication. I’m sure as hell no philosopher. I can give orders, but I’m not an innovator.”

“Got a S’van handy?” someone quipped. There were a few desultory chuckles. “No. I don’t think the S’van would look kindly on any attempt to sustain the Weave by Human methods. But there is someone here, a guest of mine, who represents a school of thought that’s their equal when it comes to implementing prognostication. Regardless of your initial reactions, or what you may think personally, I’d appreciate it if you’d give your undivided attention.” He shrugged. “Afterward everybody can decide for themselves how they feel about it.”

He turned to his right. People leaned forward curiously as the door leading to the next hallway opened. Though al-Haikim didn’t see anything immediately, he heard clearly the astonished exclamations of those who could. Then he saw for himself as Levaughn’s guest walked into view. Waddled, rather. It turned to face them and halted, tentacles curled formally against the sides of its face, slitted black-and-gold eyes swiveling independently at the tips of short stalks to regard an entranced audience of former enemies. Silver blotches bloomed and contracted within the orange skin as chromophores reacted to shifting emotions. Container pouches were slung just behind the eyestalks, within easy reach of the flexible tentacles. A translator of unusual design hung below the recessed mouthparts. The Amplitur wore nothing recognizable as clothing. There being nothing appropriate for it to sit or rest on, it stood. Looking at the creature it was difficult to see how the four stumpy legs could support the large, flabby mass. Those knowledgeable about the old enemy knew that it would have been more comfortable in a pool of shallow brine. When it spoke, a lifetime of training caused many of those present to tense, even though they knew it could not affect them mentally the way it did the other races of the Weave. Facts, however, could not entirely banish old fears. The horny mouthparts made a rasping, sucking sound that the translator struggled to transmute into comprehensible Huma. “I bid you all greetings and good health. I am Cast-creative-Seeking, who is grateful to be this day in your company. You will excuse me if I have to leave suddenly. I find the atmosphere in here both too dry and too cool for comfort. This I will temporarily bear for the sake of viable communication.”

“We could turn the heat up,” someone offered, “and try to scrounge a watering can.” Those sitting next to the officer who spoke laughed. “Human humor,” the Amplitur observed unemotionally. “A trait we do not entirely understand. Sometimes we feel deprived.”

Al-Haikim rubbed his mustache, a nervous habit. This was the ancient enemy par excellence, and it was addressing them as matter-of-factly as a juvenile entertainment performer. No matter how much it or Levaughn attempted to put them at ease, al-Haikim still found himself considering the best means of escape and attack. He tried to make himself relax, telling himself firmly that there was no threat here. Only part of him would accept that. What the hell was it doing on Daccar, as General Levaughn’s guest, no less?

Gradually apprehension gave way to curiosity. It was inevitable. This Amplitur was the first of its kind most of those present had ever encountered in the flesh. The desire to listen and learn was irresistible. Al-Haikim was no less susceptible than anyone else in the room. He told himself that the Amplitur could not mess with his mind because he was Human. It was not armed, it rasped words of friendship, and Levaughn had surely had it thoroughly checked out before allowing it into his home, much less onto Daccar. Without a Crigolit or Mazvec or similar armed escort to manipulate, it was virtually helpless. Despite this, and the fact that the war had been over for years, not everyone present was prepared to be quite so understanding. Manifest anger prompted one officer to rise. “What’s this thing doing here, General?

If I want to see biological curiosities, I’ll go to the zoo. What’s it got to do with us?”

Levaughn took no umbrage at the other’s tone. “Maybe nothing. All you need to know right now is that Cast-creative-Seeking is my guest. We’ve been communicating, exchanging ideas and thoughts, for quite a while. Until now our relationship has been entirely private.” His eyes narrowed just slightly as he scanned his visitors. “I’d like to request that knowledge of this meeting and what transpires here does not go beyond this room.” Levaughn was polite, but insistent. “Not long ago I reached the point where I felt that our dialogue had earned a wider audience. It’ll be interesting to see if you agree. Some of it you’ve already heard from me.”

Another lieutenant colonel spoke hesitantly. “General, are we talking here about some kind of alliance between us and the Amplitur?”

“Now, how do you think that news would be received?” said Levaughn. “The other members of the Weave wouldn’t stand for it … not that they could do anything about it,” he added darkly. “Cast-creative-Seeking and his brethren are simply seeking common ground with their former adversaries, so that we can better understand one another and coexist peacefully. Nothing unnatural about that.”

Tentacles unfurled and gesturing, the Amplitur addressed them anew. “For a long time your kind and mine were enemies. A regrettable state of affairs largely due, we now firmly believe, to ignorance on both sides. As you know, we the Amplitur abhor violence because it removes good minds from participation in the Purpose.”

“You didn’t seem to abhor it when you attacked Earth,” someone blurted accusingly. Mutters of assent rose from others in the room. The alien was not fazed by the reminder. “That was a long time ago. It was what we felt had to be done at the time. We were panicked by the effectiveness of the first Human soldiers the Weave had recruited. As subsequent developments proved, our panic was not misplaced.” Somewhat to their own surprise, this drew knowing smiles from several in the audience. “We responded according to the directives formulated by our best minds, functioning in accord with the principles of the Purpose. What is the Purpose, after all?” Someone groaned. “I’m sure you know.”

“Yeah, we know,” said another lieutenant. “We just don’t agree with it, that’s all.”

“I did not mean to provoke. This is, after all, an old argument we clearly cannot win. We hew to the Purpose, you do not. So it shall be. Please believe me when I say that though we have fought one another, the Amplitur have never had anything but the greatest respect for your kind. In your singular determination you are more like us than any other species we have ever encountered.” A couple of those present made as if to object, but the Amplitur hurried on. “You are the only species we cannot influence mentally, cannot persuade by projective suggestion. You possess a unique neurological defense of which you were completely unaware until you encountered us. What does this tell us?

That we are the only two species whose minds operate on a different, higher plane, albeit in disparate ways. You cannot be suggested, and we can only suggest.” Al-Haikim tensed in spite of himself, but the Amplitur paid no special attention to him. What would be its reaction, he wondered, if it learned of the Core and the Ampliturlike abilities of its constituents?

“What wisdom may astute analysts glean from this observation?” There was no immediate response and the Amplitur did not let the silence linger. It waved a tentacle high, the four flexible tips floating like so many airborne worms. “Does it not suggest that despite our disparate histories and evolution we may where it matters have more in common than any other two intelligent species?”

Shouts of disagreement and indignation rose from the gathering. “How can you say that?” someone sputtered. “By now you have been exposed to galactic diversity long enough to know that where true interspecies compatibility is concerned, mere physical appearance counts for nothing. Like it or not, that is an ancient tenet of the Purpose.”

“Even if our minds are similar,” said the elder Brigadier Higham, “and being no biologist I’m not ready to concede that, our aims and ideals are still diametrically at odds with one other.”

“Are they truly?” The Amplitur focused both eyes on him. “For a very long time we, too, thought that. When we first invited you to join with us you refused, as had a number of other species. But this is a disagreement with a long history, which we will not settle here. “What is important is that you defeated us. We admit that, and as you know, we do not lie. I am here only as a supplicant, requesting and not demanding your consideration.”

“Then you’re not asking for some kind of alliance?”

“No. There can be no alliance between victor and defeated because they are by definition unequal. What I am here to do on behalf of my kind is to ask for you, as Humans, to take up the mantle of guidance from us.”

Levaughn stepped forward to deal with the bewilderment and confusion that were the immediate result of the Amplitur’s unexpected declaration. “Ladies and gentlemen, we stand at a crossroads of history. Do we accept the irrelevant status to which the Weave would quietly relegate us, or do we step forward and grasp for ourselves the position of leadership which we have rightfully earned?” His eyes blazed. “A new age beckons Humankind. Why should it not begin here?”

The cynical lieutenant who’d spoken earlier didn’t hesitate. “You speak, General, of leadership. Leadership of what: the Weave … or the Purpose?”

“You do not understand.” The Amplitur entwined its tentacles. “Let me explain. “Since you were buddings you have been taught to hate the Purpose. What, then, is the Purpose?

Little more than a euphemism for sensible cooperation between intelligences.”

“Cooperation dominated by you!” the junior officer shot back. “We did not dominate: we led. Someone must lead. Some must give direction. For a very long time it was the Amplitur. Now it is clear that is no longer to be. This is not something that distresses us. Only the endemically foolish refuse to resign themselves to reality, and we are not fools. “Leadership is a great burden. Even as it can weigh down a strong individual, so also it can an entire species. We are timeworn and tired. The thought of passing responsibility on to a younger, more vibrant species does not distress us.”

“You want us to take over the Purpose?

After fighting to obliterate it?” a major asked. “Call it whatever you will. Galactic civilization, if it pleases you. Someone must assume leadership. Ignore the Purpose for now, if it suits you. As time passes you will find that the Purpose does not ignore you. “Consider the Weave. Until they acquired in the Amplitur a common enemy to unite against, they were at best an indecisive association of mutually suspicious species with ambiguous aims and a parlous future. They bickered and quarreled endlessly among themselves. That is not civilization. Left leaderless as they were before, they will once again degenerate into mutual acrimony and fighting as each species goes its own way.”

“That’s your opinion,” said the irrepressible lieutenant. “We call it independence.”

“Yes, your vaunted independence.” The Amplitur shifted its bulk. “There is a fine line, my young antagonist, between independence and anarchy. Bind together thinking beings in a real consolidation and you preserve civilization. “What if someday another new species is encountered: one with our aims but your regressive behavioral characteristics?

Would it not be better to be able to contest them from within the framework of a great and powerful Weave, instead of one riven and weakened by traditional internal dissension?

The universe is a vast and dangerous place in which too much ‘independence’ might one day prove fatal. “Listen to your own general!

Who better to assume leadership than your kind?

Not the reticent Hivistahm, for all their organizational skills. Not the S’van, for all their dexterous intelligence. Nor the Massood, fighters like yourselves. Who, then, but Humankind?”

“We don’t want it,” said the major earnestly. “No matter the rationalization, we’re not going to fight our former allies.”

“Who spoke of violence?

Not I. The Amplitur spoke always of peace. Do you really think they would resist you as they resisted us, if it was made known that our two species were working side by side for the greater good?

Perhaps only the Massood, and they would not resist long. They might challenge the idea, the O’o’yan and the Lepar and the rest, but they could not resist the reality. What sensible species would try to war against Humans assisted by Amplitur?

There would be no fighting. It could all be done peacefully, and for the greater good.”

“Okay. So what do you get out of it?” the lieutenant asked sharply. “Us?” Cast-creative-Seeking regarded the speaker mournfully out of ancient eyes whose depths could not be plumbed. “We see cooperation preserved between intelligences. We see it expanded and refined. Do not call it the Purpose. Call it common sense. In that is satisfaction enough. “Remember that I cannot lie, and I cannot influence you mentally. We would not seek domination, or leadership. Always we will be present to offer help and advice, as those called viziers and cabinet ministers once offered counsel to individual rulers on your own world. A useful role for an aged, experienced people like ourselves. Or if you prefer, we will do nothing. We will retire to our homeworlds and let you proceed as you choose. “But if you should opt for our assistance, we can begin by guaranteeing you the cooperation of all those who once were allied to us: the Mazvec and Ashregan, the Crigolit and T’returia, the Acaria and Segunians and Korath and all the rest. This I promise you: The true difficulty of your task will become apparent only after your ascension is no longer opposed. “Presently you fight and argue among yourselves. That is because you no longer have an appropriate alternative outlet for your energies. Leadership of a new Weave will provide that. The present Weave only encourages your internal dissension.”

“The Weave has nothing to do with it,” argued the major. “Precisely. They have nothing to do with it. They make no attempt to intervene to help because they are content to let you debilitate yourselves. That way they can keep you under control. They fear you. Bear in mind that we do not. Where friendship is concerned, respect is more to be desired than fear. “Don’t you see?

Leadership is what you have evolved for. You are suited to the task. Now that we have been defeated, you are the only people who can hold a galactic coalition closely enough together to be useful, by enforcing cooperation amidst a multitude of fractious diversity.”

None of those present had anticipated having to deal with matters of profound import when they’d received their invitations to gather at Levaughn’s home. Now they had been given an immense amount to think about. “I am not used to forming vocalizations,” the Amplitur informed his listeners. “It is tiring, and I have said enough. But I will try to answer any questions you may still have. Bear in mind as you ask them that I cannot lie.”

“You really have no intentions other than to act as our advisors?” one of the lieutenant colonels inquired. “Nothing more. We seek stability above all else.”

“But that’s not your Purpose, the melding of intelligences you’ve always spoken of and fought for,” said a voice from the audience. “True. You may be aware of our reputation for patience. In the absence of viable alternatives we will forgo active agitation on behalf of the Purpose because we firmly believe that in a thousand years, or two, or longer, all species will come around to our way of thinking, will see the universe as we see it. The additional wait is to be regretted, but because we have lost at fighting we must now seek to excel at waiting.”

“How can we trust you?

We still don’t know very much about you,” the major pointed out. Cast-creative-Seeking spread tentacles wide. “We are disarmed. Come and study us. Our biologists will work side by side with yours. Learn all that you will. Nothing will be withheld, nothing concealed. We can learn from each other. Examine in depth our minds, as we have tried to examine yours.”

It was a dangerous slip. Uneasy murmurs rose from the assembled as those present who were familiar with wartime incidents of Amplitur dissection and attempted mental manipulation of captured Humans had unpleasant memories jogged. But Cast-creative-Seeking spoke with such openness that the initial agitation soon passed. Except for al-Haikim, whose ancestors had been subject to precisely that kind of Amplitur experimentation. Nothing on his face betrayed what he was feeling at that moment, however. As a member of the Core he’d had to practice reaction restraint since childhood. Levaughn surveyed his guests. “What’ve we got to lose here?

If Cast-creative-Seeking is indeed telling the truth and his people want nothing but to help us take our rightful place in the scheme of things, where’s the harm?

If nothing else, we can learn a lot from them. Me, I think this is our destiny. It sure as hell beats fighting and killing each other. “I’m not asking for a vote of confidence or anything like that now. I know this is a lot to think about. So return to your duty assignments, go home, and think about what you’ve seen and heard here today. All I ask is that you don’t discuss it with anyone you don’t trust implicitly. There are reactionary forces on Daccar and elsewhere who wouldn’t understand what’s transpired here today and who would take steps to try and prevent its recurrence. “It’s our future that’s at stake here, ladies and gentlemen. Not just ours individually, you and I, but that of our entire species. I think our joint proposal,” and he gestured in the direction of the silent Amplitur, “is a good template for future Human development.” He smiled paternally. “I know I can trust each and every one of you to be discreet as well as thoughtful. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here today.”

Cast-creative-Seeking waved a tentacle for attention. “I will remain here some time as General Levaughn’s guest. If you would like to converse with me further, I look forward to such arrangements. Please take advantage of my presence. I am not a holo, not a projection. I think I understand you, your culture and your needs, as well as any of my kind.”

“Weave xenopsychs have been studying us for decades and they don’t understand us,” said the major. “I said I understood you as well as any of my kind.” Cast-creative-Seeking regarded the speaker with both eyes. In the closed room those bulbous orbs seemed open and inoffensive. “It is quite true that no one understands you completely. I would be grateful if you would continue to educate me.”

Obviously exhausted by the need to speak aloud while tolerating climatic differences well outside its comfort zone, the Amplitur turned to its Human host and murmured something beyond range of the translator, in its own language. Al-Haikim noted with interest that Levaughn appeared to understand. Clearly this was not an enterprise the general had embarked upon in haste a few weeks or months ago. “I’ll be available for questions also,” Levaughn informed them. “Don’t hesitate to ask. Discuss it among yourselves.” The sealed door at the back of the room opened to allow the assembled to depart. In twos and threes the officers rose to leave, conversing animatedly among themselves as they filed out. Levaughn watched them go, much pleased with himself. He felt it had gone well, and Cast-creative-Seeking concurred. How many of them would throw in with him?

How many had the vision?

He’d chosen them carefully and he needed their support. One could lead the way to a glorious future, he knew, but one could not forge it alone. Energetically ignoring Levaughn’s strictures, al-Haikim cautiously but efficiently proceeded to disseminate the proceedings of the encounter to the rest of the modest Core population on Daccar. From there it spread both in person and via Underspace transmission to members on other worlds. The reaction among those whose ancestors had been operated upon by Amplitur surgeons was predictably outraged, the more so when they learned that al-Haikim believed Levaughn’s message had gone down well with his audience. Furious debate ensued on how best to expunge the infection before it could spread. Not that it was anything new. The symptoms were all too familiar from Human tribal history. Only the circumstances were different. Dangerously different. No would-be Human despot had enjoyed the services of the Amplitur as advisors. Pleading inexperience, al-Haikim called for assistance. He was more than willing to help carry out whatever plan of action the Core seniors deemed advisable, but felt incapable of fashioning one himself. XIX

She knew what he was before she knew who he was. It was obvious from the manner in which students and scholars scattered with as much decorum as they could muster from the vicinity of the sinuous anodized fountain. She was resting on one of the wading platforms that jutted gracefully out into the central pool, her unshod feet and lower legs dangling in the lightly carbonated water, enjoying on her face and feathers the cooling mist the fountain’s jets propagated on a hot day. Triwinged Pligans roosted on the contorted strips of rainbow-hued metal, fizzing softly to one another as they diligently scanned the water below for drowned or drifting bugs, their equilibrium undisturbed by the fountain’s sedately gyrating components. Hydronacaleths bloomed fecundly in the backwaters of the pool, their star-shaped green pads covering much of the sun-dappled surface. Eyes flashing, bubble-faced Mokers used them for cover as they competed with the Pligans for the same chitonous meals. Naturally, only those whose skin color matched that of the paving which framed the fountain were allowed to reproduce. Into this placid frieze strode the figure which had so unsettled everyone save for a single eccentric female scholar. Strange to see him in civilian attire. That did not mean he had left the military, she knew. There were many who believed that a Human could never completely leave the military. As he drew nearer she studied his face. Though many could speak the comparatively simple language, there were among the Wais probably fewer than a dozen individuals who could instantly and correctly interpret Human expressions without recourse to research materials. Plumage ruffled, attitudes no less so, those who had been relaxing in the company of the fountain continued to retreat, putting as much distance between themselves and the approaching Human as possible. Those who knew about Lalelelang glanced in her direction and whispered to their companions when they thought she wasn’t looking. Since she was physically incapable of smiling outwardly, she smiled to herself. No doubt the Human had cleaved a path through the university grounds as cleanly as ancient ships had parted the waves of the Popememem Sea. He was standing close now, gazing down at her through the self-darkening lenses Humans used to reduce the glare of Mahmahar’s sun. Their eyes were sharper than those of the Wais, and correspondingly sensitive. The best of her friends would have shied fearfully from such proximity. She simply raised a wingtip in greeting. “Been a long time, Lalelelang.”

“Many years. Is your life filled with open sky, Colonel Straat-ien?”

He manipulated his facial muscles to show affection. As always, it was fascinating to watch them work. “You still have a hard time calling me Nevan.”

“I’ve been long back among civilized Wais behavior. I can call you anything you want, Nevan, in as many languages as you can think of.”

“And several times did, as I recall.”

Edging to the far side of the platform, she described a descending curve with her wing. She didn’t know if he recognized the gesture, but he took a seat next to her anyway. His bulk no longer made her nervous, but it provoked astonished commentary from those pedestrians who had not fled entirely the vicinity of the fountain. “It must be something very important to bring you a second time all the way to my homeworld.”

He let his gaze rove the surrounding manicured grounds, with their immaculately sculpted hills and strange trees and undergrowth. When it chanced to interdict any curious Wais, they hurriedly and uneasily looked away. “What I have to say couldn’t be trusted even to secured interworld communications. I may need your help.”

She tensed visibly. “I gave my help prior to the end of the war. Now I pursue my research in peace and quiet, as behooves someone of my age.”

“What about your grand hypothesis?”

“It troubles me less than it once did.”

He nodded. “Some people think that though the war’s over in name, it continues in spirit.”

She pondered this, then drew her feet out of the pool. “Let’s take a walk. I have been sitting in the sun too long.”

Her head crest reached only to his lower chest. She led him to a green-and-yellow meadow shaded by broad-leaved trees. Brightly colored small ornithorps darted and danced in the air above the meadow, their range restricted by the shimmer of a delicate restraining field. A small group of students was observing the caged arboreals when they noticed the new arrivals and made haste to depart. The war was long over. Life for her had settled into a comfortable, predictable pattern. Now here had come this engram from a difficult past, this Human, bashing his way back into her reality with demands the extent of which she could only imagine. Doubtless he didn’t see it half so brusquely, but then what else could you expect of a hairy primate?

Folding her legs beneath her, she sat down beneath the nearest tree, dangling her feet over another pool that was a miniature of the one they had left behind. He made a temporary seat of a fancifully placed broken log. “I’m ready,” she sighed resignedly. “Tell me.”

He explained, in depth and with quiet animation. When he’d concluded she found herself staring at the hedge that formed a greenish purple barrier on the far side of the meadow. It was rife with maturing black berries. She had a feeling she wasn’t going to have time to pick any. The stones in her gut clinked. In a nearby bush a hunting arachnid spat a minuscule globule of sticky mucus at a grazing honeyeater. Entangled and weighted down by the gummy blob, the larger bug spiraled to the ground, futilely fighting to free its wings. Having successfully expelled the combination of compressed air and mucus it stored in its special pouch, the arachnid pounced, smothering the body of its prey with its own striped, streamlined form. It reminded her of something else. “It has to be part of an official Amplitur covenant,” Straat-ien was explaining. “This Cast-creative-Seeking can’t be operating on its own, or on behalf of some small renegade group. Individual initiative is alien to its kind.” Her friend’s expression twisted. “Goes against the Purpose. The Amplitur do everything by consensus.”

“If your information is correct in its particulars,” she declared in measured tones, “then what we have here is nothing less than an entirely new and previously unsuspected Amplitur policy. The truth is sufficiently graphic. They want to help Humankind take control of the Weave and then they will try to control Humankind. They will use your people to gain what they themselves could not.”

“They claim only to want to give advice,” he replied. She gestured actively. “As they advised the Crigolit, and the Mazvec, and all their other former allies.” Her voice dropped. “You have to credit them. This is more subtle. Much more subtle. It is obvious they have devoted a great deal of effort to learning about you. What they have in mind is to appeal not only to your postwar frustrations but to your racial vanity.” Her eyes widened slowly as she connected his presence with her assessment. “Surely you do not think it can happen?”

Straat-ien gazed across the grounds, idly trying to identify something hanging from a low branch. “Not among the educated. But as to the greater mass of Humankind, I frankly don’t know. My people have always been tempted by dreams of absolute power. It’s been a problem since the beginnings of our civilization. Would-be despots like this General Levaughn are usually the trigger.”

Beneath brightly colored strands of metallic fabric, the feathers on her chest fluffed with her breathing. “You know that if Humankind resorts to violence to address ills real or imaginary, the Weave will be compelled to respond in kind.”

“Wouldn’t matter.” He didn’t look at her. “You wouldn’t have a chance.”

“The Massood would fight, and logistically you would be overwhelmed.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But with Amplitur help, and the aid of many of their former allies: I don’t know. It could be a near thing.”

“Regardless of the outcome, the Amplitur would emerge strengthened,” she said bitterly. “They couldn’t control us.”

She made a desultory clicking sound with her beak. “They don’t want to control you. They want to organize you. You are great fighters, but you are not sophisticated in these matters. The Amplitur are ancient, and wise. If necessary I think they would go so far as to sacrifice some of themselves physically to convince you. They will do whatever is required to gain your confidence. Then in a hundred years, or a thousand, or longer, your species will find itself responding to their directions without even being aware of what is taking place. “Because if you give them enough time, their neurological engineers will find a way to counter, or bypass, or otherwise defend against your peculiar mental defenses. When that happens, you will find them suggesting you even as they have suggested the Wais, or the Massood. You’ll become their janissaries, and independence of intelligence will become no more than memory throughout the galaxy. “Worst of all, you will believe that you are still in control.”

“That’s how most of us within the Core see things, but not everyone. Not yet. At such times it’s valuable to have non-Human input.”

“So you come to me.” She watched a dark shape move gracefully through the pool near her feet, concerned with nothing beyond eating and procreation. At that moment all the weight of a lifetime of difficult work pressed down on her, as she envied the swimmer the smothering simplicity of its existence. She could not be so fortunate, being cursed as she was with intelligence. “I am tired, Nevan. Though I fear no less for the future, I am less convinced that I should exert myself on its behalf. In my noninvolvement it neither tempts nor curses me. My surroundings please me, and occasionally I am even confounded by a student who seems genuinely interested in my socially abhorred subfield of expertise. The prospect of non-Wais activity exhausts me.”

“How do you know I was going to ask you for anything more than your opinion?”

She peered straight at him out of large, round blue eyes. “Weren’t you?”

This time it was the Human who looked away. “You have to help us deal with this threat. Your position is unique, Lalelelang. You know more about us than any non-Human alive. That makes your perspective invaluable.”

She didn’t reply. Instead she searched for the dark swimmer in the pool. It was gone, fled somewhere beneath the hydronacaleths. Where she knew that, despite her growing anxiety, she could not follow. She let out a long, lingering trill. Any casual Human listener would have thought it beautiful. Straat-ien knew better what it signified. “How many important or influential Humans have the Amplitur thus far subverted?”

Straat-ien didn’t waste time thanking her. “To the best of our knowledge, which is admittedly limited, this Levaughn and the few junior officers he’s managed to convert are the only ones so far.”

“That much is encouraging.”

“Whatever course of action we eventually decide upon, we have to move very carefully. As you know, Lalelelang, we have our own secrets to preserve.”

She remembered the simple Human gesture and nodded concurringly. “I know you cannot persuade other Humans,” she said thoughtfully, “but could you not, in this instance, appropriately suggest the Amplitur involved?”

“That’s a course of action we’re considering, but it involves additional dangers. The Amplitur mind is similar to our own, but not identical. Unlike us, they have no inbuilt neurological defense against being suggested. But they’re sensitive to intrusion. If we try to suggest to this one that it stop what it’s doing and return to its own world and the procedure fails, they’ll be made aware of the existence of the Core. They could bring Human allies like Levaughn to bear against us.”

“I agree you must use caution in your dealings, but I had in mind something other than compelling them to abandon their attempts to subvert your people.”

Straat-ien was confused. “Isn’t that what we want them to do?”

“Ultimately. But why not make use of them first?”

“I don’t understand your point.” For the briefest of instants he wondered if Lalelelang’s mastery of his language might be less than complete. She flicked her lashes at him. “Instead of simply forcing them to withdraw their efforts, why not suggest that they explain the true motives behind their sudden offer of assistance?”

“That might be difficult to do if they really are, to their way of thinking, telling the truth. Besides, I’m told that among their Human supporters there are a fair number who still suspect the Amplitur’s actual motives. They suspect, but they simply don’t care.”

Lalelelang could not hide her shock. “I have studied many of your kind, but I still find it hard to believe that among them are those who so desperately crave power over others.”

“Believe me, Lalelelang, there are. I get no pleasure from admitting to it, but that’s what we’re dealing with here.”

“These individuals must be stopped immediately.”

“We agree. I think your suggestion about forcing the Amplitur to confess is good sense. It can’t do any harm, and it just might rattle the equivocators in Levaughn’s entourage.”

“How do you plan to proceed?” she asked him. “We’re fortunate enough to have had someone on the inside from the beginning. He thinks he can get an operative close. Me.”

“They would not suspect?”

Straat-ien shrugged. “I’m a senior officer with plenty of wartime experience and no obvious connections to Intelligence. Just the type Levaughn is looking to recruit. I think it can be managed. Once inside, I’ll find a way to get close to the Amplitur. When I think the time’s right I’ll hit it with as convincing a piece of suggesting as anyone’s ever attempted. “As for your suggestion, it’s a good one. I’ll propose it to the Core Council. If they approve, then you know what kind of approach we’ll be trying.” He smiled fondly. “If you hear from me afterward, you’ll know it went well. If you don’t—” He shrugged again. “We can’t foresee everything.”

“I want to be there.”

He blinked, turning away from the landscaped woodland and back to the elegant, fragile form seated by the side of the pond. “What do you mean, ‘be there’?

Levaughn’s on Daccar. That’s a Human world. More unsettling for a Wais than a mixed-species battlefield.”

“Given my experience in these matters, you still presume to dictate limitations to me?

The exercises and medications I originally developed to enable me to cope with combat have been refined. I would regard such a journey as merely an adjunct to my research.”

“Every time I see you I think I know you, and every time you manage to astonish me.” He rose, towering over her, and she fought back the natural impulse to sidle away from his overbearing, threatening bulk. “If you’d been Human …”

“Please, old friend, my insides are unsettled enough by the prospect before me. Do not contribute to the disturbance.” She rose alongside him, disdaining his profferred hand. Turquoise eyes considered his from beneath lashes that today were tinted iridescent green. “If we are for purposes of amusement to speculate on might-have-beens, far better to imagine that you had been Wais.”

“No thanks.” He tried but failed to repress a smile. “Feathers make me sneeze. Why do you think I’m always wrinkling up my nose in your presence?”

Her beak clicked softly. “All these years I wondered about that and never thought to ask. Drawing upon my knowledge of Human expression I believed it to be a reflection of your distaste for my kind, which I politely ignored.”

“No,” he murmured. “Not distaste. At our first meetings, perhaps. But since that time, I’ve had nothing but admiration for you, Honored Scholar Lalelelang.”

“That is kind to hear, however much it is delayed. Please start toward the building. Being confronted with both water and a Human is making me uneasy.”

He hurried to make way for her, believing her implicitly. Not knowing it was an excuse she was using to avoid other thoughts, and other emotions. XX

Six months passed before the communication arrived that caused her to take ship. The ever disputatious government of Daccar was headed not by a single individual but by a duopoly consisting of a president and a premier. Such cross-checks extended throughout the body of the Daccaran government. While serving to prevent abuse, the system also unfortunately tended to foment constant disagreement and legislative stagnation. For nine years the president, a tough but popular woman named Hachida, had dominated the Daccaran Executive. For seven of those years the premier, Daniel Cosgrave, had sought and failed to gain ascendance. Always he was a few votes shy of overriding her legislation, a trend or two behind her proclamations. At first it merely galled him. Then it began to fester. All of this was very much in keeping with Daccaran political tradition. Levaughn and his clandestine intentions were not. First there were calls offering support. These were followed by offers of credit, then several casual meetings, none of which attracted particular scrutiny from the popular media. Hachida and many other leading politicians had their own personal advisors. It was expected that Cosgrave would also. The meetings were held in private, and only the two men knew what was discussed. The two men, and one that was something else. Having been initially recommended by the lieutenant and subsequently made a member of Levaughn’s inner circle, Straat-ien quietly kept the senior representatives of the Core advised of developments. Events did not bode well. With the help of General Levaughn and “unnamed” secondary parties, it appeared that Cosgrave was now finally poised to take control of the Daccaran government. If successful in his maneuvers, he would naturally be deeply indebted to his strongest supporters. Worse, he appeared to have fallen completely under Levaughn’s sway. This was not a matter for concern as much as was the advice of Levaughn’s own “advisors.”

Contentious Daccar was particularly susceptible to reactionary philosophies. An influential world, it had made the standard attempts in the past to extend its influence beyond its orbit. If Cosgrave assumed control, it was probable that, like his voluble, volatile predecessors, he would try to promulgate his own philosophy elsewhere. The members of the Core had become greatly concerned with the direction events were taking. At Straat-ien’s suggestion Levaughn agreed that Lalelelang should be allowed to attend one of the political caucuses as an observer. The colonel’s rationale was that her presence could do no harm and might generate some good publicity for the movement. Her reputation as one of the foremost Wais students of Human behavior duly impressed the general, and over the previous months he had come to value the bemedaled Colonel Straat-ien’s advice. Furthermore, Straat-ien assured his superior that he would take personal responsibility for seeing to it that their visitor saw nothing she wasn’t supposed to see. Once Levaughn agreed to the proposal, he promptly put it out of his thoughts, which were presently inundated with events of far greater import. The actual caucus was scheduled for the wealthy Cos-grave’s private forest retreat, a sprawling complex of single-and two-story structures built on the side of a mountain high up in the great northern range. While Straat-ien found the setting attractive and invigorating, it made Lalelelang uneasy. Despite their avian ancestry the Wais did not care for high, steep places. A fast-flowing river cascaded symphonically through the steep-sided gorge below the grounds, which had been creatively sited among the existing Daccaran evergreens. Higher peaks towered in the distance. Individual apartments were located in a pair of long, narrow buildings set apart from the main complex. One was assigned to Lalelelang. The appointments were recently modified and versatile, having been redesigned with the comfort of non-Humans in mind. After greeting the newly arrived Lalelelang, Straat-ien remarked somberly that there appeared to be as many civilians present as active military. It was a bad sign, suggesting that Cosgrave and Levaughn continued to extend their personal influence among the Daccaran elite. “Levaughn’s very persuasive.” Straat-ien spoke as they strolled along a winding cliffside path. Far below, the river ran its frothing, complaining way toward the distant sea. “And Cosgrave’s vain and ambitious. Bad combination.”

“Then it has begun.” Lalelelang was wrapped in thin but warm multiple layers of clothing. Straat-ien found the alpine climate bracingly cool, but to Lalelelang it bordered on the frigid. “I had hoped circumstances would disprove my theories.”

“They may yet.” His expression was pensive and uninformative. She stopped, keeping well back from the thin plastic guardrail. A waterfall thundered at the head of the gorge. “Do you recall the last time the two of us stood together at the edge of a precipice?”

He looked puzzled. Then recognition hit home and he turned away from her, letting his gaze drift out across the canyon. “It was a different time. I wasn’t sure of you. There were a lot of things I wasn’t sure about.” He was silent for a moment before looking back to her. “You remember that?”

“Natural enough to recall the moment when someone you consider a friend was wrestling with the issue of whether or not to murder you. I am glad you made the choice you did.”

Certain he was missing something, he found himself wishing he were more conversant with the elaborate Wais language of gestures and movements. “You’re prejudiced in the matter.”

“As the Hivistahm would say, truly.” She turned serious again. “How dangerous is this man Cosgrave?”

“By himself not at all. Levaughn’s still the one we have to watch out for. He needs a wider political base before he can make any overt military moves. If Cosgrave can wrest legislative control of the planetary government from the president, he’ll have that. Daccar will become the springboard for Amplitur-inspired subversion of all the Human worlds.”

She stepped farther away from the railing. “They’re here, of course.”

“Yes. At least, one of them is. Reported to have just arrived. I haven’t seen it yet, but I think it’s the same one Levaughn introduced to his original inner circle: Cast-creative-Seeking.”

“That would follow. The Amplitur, too, understand the meaning of specialization.” Her voice fell to an introspective murmur. “An Amplitur specialist in Human behavior. It would be interesting to exchange views with my mind-swaying counterpart. Our theses would be similar but not our objectives.”

“How are you holding up surrounded by so many Humans?” he inquired solicitously. “It is not so bad. There are additionally present a few Hivistahm on the engineering staff of this large facility. We have conversed. There are also several Lepar. We of course do not converse, but it is nonetheless refreshing to see still another non-Human face. I believe I have noticed a single Bir’rimor as well. So I do not feel completely isolated.”

Straat-ien nodded. “Daccar’s a pretty cosmopolitan world. Weave species mix freely here even though the population is predominantly Human.”

“You breed so prolifically.” Her comment was utterly nonjudgmental. “Do you know where the Amplitur is staying?”

“I have an idea. Premier Cosgrave apparently felt it necessary to install facilities suitable for other species.”

“I know. My rooms are comfortable.”

He encompassed the grounds with a wave of his hand. “You probably find all this chaotic compared to home. The Wais prefer to organize nature.”

“We do not organize,” she insisted. “Our aesthetics require that we aid nature in occupying the most amenable channels.”

“Isn’t that what the Amplitur Purpose wants to do with all intelligence?”

“It is all a question of perspective. Certainly the Human Levaughn has in mind rigid organizing as opposed to fluid channeling.”

He looked meditative. “Now it’s up to me to try and ‘organize’ one Amplitur.”

As they walked along in silence something barked high up in a tree. A seedpod bounced at their feet. It was fist-sized, tapered to a point, and reminded Straat-ien of a beige turnip. He did not bother to try and locate the native animal that was responsible for its descent. “When are you going to make the attempt?” she finally asked him. “I’m not sure yet. If I try it while part of a group, I’ll have some cover. The Amplitur may not be able to readily pick me out of a crowd. On the other hand, if I can arrange a private confrontation and the procedure fails and I’m discovered, I can still preserve the secret of my talent and of the Core’s existence by killing it.”

Unprepared, she quavered at the vision he’d conjured up. Having witnessed as much combat as she had, she was angry with her reaction. “You may yourself in turn be slain, and the Amplitur will only send another to take the place of the first. Your loss would deprive your colleagues of your valuable position here, and the information it provides. Having thus discovered one traitor to his cause, Levaughn will be thrice cautious about admitting newcomers to his circle.”

“Then I’d better not get myself discovered.” They turned up a side path, away from the canyon and back toward what passed locally for civilization. It seemed entirely too nice a morning for so momentous an enterprise. Without telling him, Lalelelang had quietly determined to help extricate Straat-ien in the event his attempt failed. How she might accomplish this once the alarm had been raised she had no idea. As a senior Wais academic, violent intrigues were entirely foreign to her. By the same token and for the same reason she knew that she would never be suspected of involvement. Knowing he would ardently disapprove, she said nothing of her intention to Straat-ien. Instead she set vigorously to work making plans without his knowledge. Stealth-steered intelligence would have to suffice since despite her experience she was still, as unremittingly as the most sheltered Wais, quite incapable of wielding a weapon of destruction in her own defense, much less in that of another. Despite what some of her students and colleagues thought, she was not completely deranged. Only slightly. Straat-ien had told her to wait in her own apartment in the residence wing that had been modified to provide for non-Human guests. The rooms that had been assigned to the visiting Amplitur lay at the far end of the same structure. As soon as it was over, he assured her, he would return to apprise her of how it had gone. If after a certain reasonable time he failed to call on her, she would be free to draw her own conclusions. While she waited, she strove mightily not to fixate on the chronometer, throwing herself into the prioritization of the inevitable observations she’d been making since her arrival on Daccar. An obscure anthropological point managed to occupy her for nearly an hour. After that she tried portable amusements, then made attempts to access the compound’s library. She tried everything except leaving the apartment to press an ear opening to the door of the Amplitur’s quarters. Time passed sluggishly until the commotion in the hall roused her from her self-imposed isolation. Stepping outside, she encountered a single, harried male Hivistahm. He wore a slightly paralyzed expression as well as the accoutrements and insignia of an energy engineer. Though she addressed him in calming tones in his own language, he failed to respond immediately. “What happened has?

What going on is?” she pressed him. A Human, she knew, would have grabbed the engineer and tried to shake him bodily out of his stupor. For a civilized Wais to engage in such an action was unthinkable. Had a Human done it, it would only have deepened the shiny-scaled Hivistahm’s paralysis. The double lids finally blinked in succession, and the dark slitted eyes turned in her direction. “There has,” he paused, considering his position as well as his words, “an accident been.” He shifted his attention back to the far end of the corridor. At the same time Lalelelang became aware of a distant, consistent whine. It might be some kind of Human alarm. The passageway was empty now, but she was sure that only a few moments earlier she’d heard the distinctive clump of many Human feet moving fast past her apartment doorway. “What kind of an accident?”

Unable to decide whether to stand or run, the Hivistahm opted to answer her questions. “There an important visitor staying here is.”

“An Amplitur?” He clicked his teeth in a distinctive way, and she recognized the simple acknowledgment. “What about the Amplitur?”

The Hivistahm carefully mouthed a disbelieving reply. “It dead is. By assassination or combat.”

“Details.” She stepped in front of him so that he couldn’t leave without forcing his way past her. The un-Wais boldness of her move surprised her, but it positively astonished her reluctant informant. “Details give me!”

Either as a consequence of her action or growing awareness of the violence inherent in the incident itself, the Hivistahm’s paralysis continued to deepen. Whether he’d actually witnessed the purported violence or had simply heard about it didn’t matter: the effects on his emotional stability were striking. Something was short-circuiting his ability to cope. Leaving the engineer weaving slightly on his broad sandaled feet, she hurried down the corridor, feathers fluttering as she ran. She knew where the Amplitur’s quarters were located; Straat-ien had shown her. But she couldn’t get near the entrance. A milling cordon of Humans blocked the approach. Several carried weapons. All looked nervous and edgy. One briefly noted her arrival and immediately peered past her. He was searching for potential threats, something that a dozen of her kind would not constitute. Moving as close as she dared, she tried to peer between the milling bipedal masses. Other unarmed Humans were packed around a gaping double doorway. Fetid humid air issued from the exposed environment beyond. Those blocking the entrance parted to admit a pair of Humans wearing anxious expressions. A single Hivistahm accompanied them, or rather, was swept along in their wake. Lalelelang thought the slit-eyed scaled one wore the uniform of a universal physician, but she couldn’t be certain. She astonished herself a second time by physically prodding the nearest Human to gain its attention. “What happened?” she asked in fluent, accentless Huma while keeping an instinctive eye on the biped’s activated weapon. “What’s going on?”

The youthful female regarded her indifferently. “I ain’t sure. Some kind of fight or something.” She glanced over her shoulder. Lalelelang persisted. “You must know something.”

The female soldier seemed to see her for the first time. “You speak awfully good Huma. Even for a Wais.”

“It is my profession.” Lalelelang took her time. “I am a scholar.”

“Yeah, well; nothing here that I can see to interest a scholar. We’ve got some corpses in there. You know?

Dead bodies?

Slain violently. The sort of thing, if I ain’t mistaken, to make a Wais faint. Better move along and let us deal with it.”

Lalelelang ignored the well-meaning if slightly condescending advice. “What kind of corpses?”

The soldier hesitated. “Listen, I don’t really know who you are. This is a security situation. I ain’t sure how much I can tell you.”

“I have been a guest here for some days.” Lalelelang fought to restrain her impatience. Fortunately the Human was quite incapable of correctly interpreting the subtle flickering of lashes and fluffing of underbody feathers. “I believe the rooms you are guarding were occupied by one of the Amplitur.”

The woman held her weapon tightly. “I can’t comment on that.”

“But you will not deny it?” The soldier’s expression was sufficient confirmation. “Nor that one of the corpses is Amplitur?” A slight but detectable twitching of facial muscles indicated that Lalelelang had again guessed correctly. She retreated several steps, struggling to moderate her breathing. Good Nevan’s strategy had failed. For whatever reason his attempt to mind-suggest the Amplitur representative had not worked. He had evidently been discovered, his ability revealed, and had been forced to fall back on violence to protect the secret of the Core talent. The scenario was entirely believable. Indeed, Straat-ien had more or less described it to her. What she did not understand and could not imagine was how the Amplitur had in turn managed to kill its Human assailant. It was possible that the guard was more worldly than she appeared. Perhaps she understood the meaning of Lalelelang’s trembling. Regardless, she beckoned the Wais over, bent toward Lalelelang and lowered her voice. “One of ’em’s the squid, all right. The others are Human.”

Lalelelang cocked her head slightly to the left, expressing surprise. “Others?”

“Senior Human officers. One of them’s General Levaughn himself. The other’s a colonel I don’t know.”

She was remarkably composed. The ultimate component of self-control, she thought. Or the beginnings of paralysis. “You are certain both Humans are dead?”

The female gave a curious little shake of her head. Her close-cropped hair was so blonde as to be nearly white. “That’s the report. Shot through. All three of ’em were apparently armed.”

Lalelelang involuntarily dropped her lower beak. “The Amplitur was armed?”

“That’s what the preliminary report says.” The soldier’s brow contracted with the stress of thinking. “Didn’t know any of ’em carried arms. I always heard they hated violence. Course, there’s still a lot we don’t know about the squids. Guess there can be exceptions to any rule.”

“Is there any indication as to what provoked the tragedy?”

“Not that I’ve heard. Somebody must’ve really holed it.” She shook her head ruefully. “Bad business, this. Very bad. I got a quick look inside before they sealed it off. What a mess. Bodies are so badly shot up they can’t tell who fired first, or even who shot who, much less why. Could be we’ll never know.”

“Although the war has been over for years, serious arguments between individuals of different species are not unknown,” Lalelelang ventured lamely. “You don’t have to tell me. Daccarans like to settle things the old way. I been involved in a couple of scrapes myself. But nothing like this.”

“You say all three were badly … shot up. Has the attending pathologist rendered any kind of preliminary report?”

“No idea. No reason to keep me and my buddies up on stuff like that. Having had a look, though, I’ll give you my own opinion on one thing.”

“What is that?”

The soldier’s voice was cold. “None of ’em had a chance. Not even a Hiviphys could do anything with that mess. Got to be able to tell the pieces apart before you can try putting ’em back together again.”

“I am certain you are correct.” Lalelelang took a querulous step forward. “It may be that I can learn something if I am allowed in. Do you mind if I try?

Those in charge can do no more than refuse me entrance.”

Bone and muscle shifted to block her path. “Sorry, uh, ma’am. I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m sure you’re a visiting scholar and all that, just like you claim, but it doesn’t matter. Our orders are that nobody gets inside. ‘Diplomatic incident,’ violation of the integrity of the premier’s compound: you understand.”

Lalelelang did not try to press it farther. “Of course. Can I at least stand here and observe?”

The female shrugged. “Don’t know how much you’ll see, but as long as you don’t get in anyone’s way I guess it’s okay. We’ve been ordered to keep everyone out, not to clear the building.”

“Your kindness commends you,” Lalelelang replied opulently. The finesse was lost on the soldier. She stood and watched, and waited. After a while two shrouded shapes were wheeled out. The forms beneath the enveloping sheets were roughly Human in outline. Certainly neither of them was Amplitur. The remains of that individual were brought out later, in many pieces. From what little Lalelelang could see the helpful Human soldier had been, if anything, conservative in her appraisal. She remained a long while, wanting badly to talk with the attending Hivistahm physician. Besides, she had no desire to go anywhere else. But the Hivi vanished in tandem with the remains of the Amplitur, not to return, and still the guards refused to let her pass. Subsequently she spent a horrible evening in her apartment, acutely conscious of the fact that she was isolated on a Human world, her sole friend having most unbelievably succumbed to the fatal consequences of a botched undertaking. She half-expected that at any moment her part in the enterprise would be discovered, whereupon strapping, stern-faced Human soldiers would arrive to carry her off to be questioned by methods she fought desperately against envisioning. Her door stayed silent. As time passed undisturbed she began to feel a little more confident. After all, how much of a connection could anyone divine?

She and Straat-ien had spent time in each other’s company, but had been careful not to be blatant about it. They had arrived separately at the compound. There was no reason for anyone to suspect some sort of subtle connection between Human and Wais. She knew she would be questioned eventually, though, if only because she had known him. The following morning came and went placidly. An ominous calm pervaded the atmosphere of the retreat. She went for a walk simply to show herself, to prove that she was not being secretive or in hiding. By late afternoon the only one who had activated her door was a service Lepar performing its regular cleaning rounds. It silently freshened her room and changed her nesting material. News of the general’s death did not appear in the daily media. That was understandable. It would not do a politician like Cosgrave any good to have it known that an important guest had died in a firefight while at one of his residences. No one came to confront her. As far as she knew she was free to leave at any time. That was what she desperately wanted to do: head for the nearest shuttleport and book passage homeward, there to retire to the tranquillity of the academic life once more and forever. Unbelievably, unaccountably, her old friend Straat-ien was dead. The Amplitur envoy was dead, and the invidious General Levaughn likewise defunct. It appeared that the manner of their passing was destined to remain forever a mystery to her. Fine and good. She had done all she could. It was time to have a care for herself. Straat-ien’s death had not been in vain. The Amplitur would have to replace Cast-creative-Seeking with one of their own not so well versed in Human psychology. Cautious as ever, they would probably call a halt to their attempts to secure Human allies until they felt they better understood what had gone wrong on Daccar. As for the death of General Levaughn, it should put a serious crimp in the growth of reactionary political forces on Daccar. Presumably the Core would follow up on its complete, if blighted, success. She realized that the supersecretive organization of which Straat-ien had once been an important member would also eventually want to question her. Inwardly she sighed. Try as she might to distance herself from what had happened, she could not eliminate what others thought she might know. Sudden terror sent a ripple through her back feathers. What if the Amplitur also sought her out?

A simple suggestion from any of them and she would find herself helplessly divested of all her secrets. She forced herself to be calm. There was no reason for them to question her. She was a well-known Wais academic. Yes, she was a student of Human behavior, but so were a number of other non-Humans. Yes, she had known one of the two deceased Humans, but she had known many Humans. As far as the Amplitur were concerned there was nothing to connect her intimately with the incident that had occurred the previous night. The Amplitur were perceptive, but they were not prescient. Still, she would take care to avoid them. On Mahmahar that should be a simple matter. She regretted the loss of a friend. Over the years Straat-ien had certainly become that. He could not help his Humanness. Having forgiven him that while he was alive, she could do no less now that he was gone. His passing affected her almost, but not quite, as much as would that of a fellow Wais. Her remorse did not prevent her from making arrangements to leave Daccar the next day. If any of Straat-ien’s associates wanted to question her, they would have to follow the path he had previously taken to her homeworld. There she could arrange to meet with them in secrecy and some confidence. She was able to prepare her nest without listening for the door, and her confidence continued to be justified. No one troubled or questioned her preparations for departure. She stayed up late, watching the local media and burying herself in the casual notes she had recorded prior to the disaster. So relaxed had she become by the time she extinguished the apartment illumination that she fell immediately into a deep and restful sleep, from which she was abruptly and unexpectedly awakened in the middle of the night by the insistent buzzing of her door. XXI

“Go away!” Tenuous uncertainties danced fuzzily at the periphery of her thoughts. “I am sleeping.”

The words that reached her via the door speaker were not Huma, but she recognized them anyway. She wasn’t quite as fluent in the guttural language of her nocturnal visitor as she was in that of the warrior bipeds or the Hivistahm, but even half-asleep she managed adequately. “I reiterate: Go away!”

“Please,” the voice pleaded. “It is urgent that I speak with you.”

Considering the racial identity of the unseen speaker, the statement made no sense. Perplexed and by now more awake than asleep, she rose from the night nest and made her way to the door. The built-in scanner confirmed the species of the speaker but did nothing to alleviate her confusion. The scanner showed an anxious Lepar clad in the shapeless, simple uniform they wore when on duty. Its tail hung motionless on the hallway floor, glistening moistly in the overhead night-lights. A maintenance case dangled from one thick-fingered, half-webbed hand. “What do you want?”

“Some environmental controls were damaged in the big fighting yesterday. The monitors are just starting to light up. If the problem isn’t fixed quickly, no one in this building will be able to adjust heat or cold or humidity to personal taste. It could get very uncomfortable. I know it is late, but if you will let me in I can fix a bypass in your room that will keep you comfortable while we replace the unit that failed.”

She leaned against the door, uncertain whether to try and wake up or go back to the nest. “There is nothing the matter with conditions in here. Go work on someone else’s room.”

“Please.” On the scanner the Lepar’s expression became more mournful than ever, the flat, wide-mouthed face frozen in a gaze of pitiable imbecility. “I have been ordered to put a bypass in every room. If I do not, then I cannot sign off. I must remain here until everyone has let me in, even if I have to wait until sunrise. It will go on my work record as an incompetence and that means I will not get any sleep and will—”

“Enough!

Don’t whine. It is unbecoming to sapience.” Irritably she unsealed the entrance and activated the room’s interior illumination. The heavyset male amphibian shuffled in, and she let the door close automatically behind it. Without a word it turned to the concealed control panel set in the same wall. Opening the case it carried, her unwelcome visitor began to examine the contents as if searching for a particular tool. “I am sorry to disturb you so late at night,” he gurgled. “No matter. I am awake now.” She was unclad and unadorned, but there was no reason to be otherwise in the presence of a Lepar to whom she would resemble nothing more than a large, flightless bird. The sight of her body would engender the same reaction in him as a view of an abstract sculpture. Her visitor had insisted he wouldn’t be long, but given his initial hesitation and knowing well the Lepar she decided she might as well make use of the time. Retiring to the viewer mounted just above the floor, she folded her legs beneath her and sat down in front of the screen. There were always notes to be organized, material to be reviewed. She put the Lepar completely out of her mind until the throaty voice said from behind her, “If I might have your attention for a moment?”

“What now?” Grumbling, she turned to look up from the viewer, and promptly received the greatest shock of her life. Which, considering everything she had experienced over the years, was a qualification of some magnitude. The gun the Lepar held in one slick-skinned, dark green hand was small enough to qualify as toylike. Being far more familiar with such devices than the average Wais, she knew that its size in no way mitigated its potential lethality. Its presence in the hand of a non-Human or non-Massood was astonishing. To see it being wielded by a Lepar simply beggared belief. Her dumbfounded gaze rose to the expansive face. The broad, toothless mouth was shut, the widely spaced, tiny black eyes glinting in the artificial light. She was too stunned to speak. “Please do not be alarmed.” The tone was polite and typically deferential. It gestured with the gun. “I can imagine using this only in the most extreme circumstances.”

If he was trying to set her mind at ease, he wasn’t succeeding. “You are Lepar. Your people have been civilized members of the Weave from its beginnings. While not particularly smart, you are no more inclined to violence than is my kind. I do not understand this.” With twitching wingtip she indicated the weapon. “How can you stand there and threaten me with that?”

“It is a considerable emotional stretch, but I am managing. Know that I will make use of it without hesitation if circumstances require.”

Her initial fear was slowly giving way to anger. This was simply too outrageous. “The people here are already trying to cope with one dead Amplitur and two dead Humans. Don’t you think a Wais dead of a gunshot would be a little hard to explain?”

“It probably would be,” the Lepar conceded. “If I am forced to kill you here and now, it is quite possible that my involvement would be discovered. Since that cannot be allowed, after killing you I will have to kill myself. That should be sufficient to put an end to any questions.”

She thought she was beyond shock. She was wrong. “So you intend to kill me?”

“No one wants to kill you, Honored Scholar Lalelelang. You are a unique and valuable individual. The knowledge you have gathered and distilled concerning how Humankind interacts with the other species of the Weave has proven very useful.”

“Useful,” she echoed. Her lashes jerked. “Surely not to you?”

“We have been accessing your archived material for a long time.” That enigmatic visage seemed perpetually frozen in a skimpy, stupid grin. She reminded herself that the expression was a function of bone physiology, not emotion. “Lepar workers on your homeworld have ready entry to them.”

She thought of the contract Lepar she had noted performing time-consuming, mostly menial tasks around the grounds of the university. The quiet, soft-spoken, obeisant Lepar. Like the rest of her colleagues she’d never given them a second thought. Mentally and emotionally they were suited to such employment, while the Wais and for that matter most other intelligent species were not. The Lepar had always been willing, even eager, to take on such tasks, recognizing their inherent limitations and taking quiet pleasure in carrying out their chosen pursuits to the best of their diffident abilities. Nothing was making any sense. “What,” she inquired dazedly, “are the Lepar doing accessing my files?

What are the Lepar doing accessing any files?

My work is complex and nonspecific. It is beyond the capacity of any of your kind to comprehend.”

“Not beyond. Difficult certainly. But there are among us some of greater intelligence than is generally known. It is hard for them, but they are just smart enough to make sense of such things.”

“This is insane,” Lalelelang muttered aloud in her own sibilant language. “Crazy.”

The translator he wore around his nearly nonexistent neck picked up her words. “The universe is a crazy place. I am told that the physics of it make no sense. Why should those who live within it be any more sensibly organized?”

Realization dawned gradually. There was the very real weapon her visitor held, the absence so far of any other suspect conspirators, and the fact that this creature was, if it could be believed and unbelievable as it seemed, ready to use it against her. She had understood from the first how the Amplitur and the reactionary General Levaughn had died, but until now the cause of her friend Colonel Straat-ien’s death had been a complete mystery. No Amplitur could overcome a Human in individual combat, nor could a single representative of any other species. Not even a Chirinaldo or Molitar. But Human fighters could sometimes be defeated by other, less obvious methods. Complete surprise, for example. “You were there,” she said accusingly. She recognized the simple, straightforward gesture, equally comprehensible above or below the water, that acknowledged her accusation. “I was there.” It was conclusive that he did not ask to where she was referring. “How did it happen?

Can you tell me that much?” She did not add that it was gradually dawning on her that she probably had no future beyond the termination of the current conversation. Resistance was out of the question. In addition to everything else she was too numbed by the incredible reality of the situation. It occurred to her that this might be an isolated condition, that the Lepar confronting her might really be clinically psychotic. As an unavoidable corollary to intelligence, insanity was found among every member of the Weave. Were the Lepar prone to it?

She didn’t know, having concentrated on Humankind to the exclusion of all else. “It was … unpleasant,” the Lepar told her unemotionally. “At the time of the confrontation I was attending to the Amplitur’s quarters. You may know that our taste in environments is somewhat similar, so that I was at ease while carrying out my work. “The human general was not. While oozing salt and water from his skin he engaged in much conversation with the Amplitur. Neither of them took any notice of me, nor did I of them, until the second Human arrived.”

“Colonel Straat-ien,” she murmured softly. “Yes. I heard him request entrance. As an associate of General Levaughn, he was admitted.”

“What ensued?”

The Lepar managed to look thoughtful. “It was extraordinary. The Human Straat-ien made an attempt to mentally overwhelm the Amplitur. Though no sound issued from either individual it was plain to see that both were striving mightily toward some unfathomable end. The strain was evident in their expressions and gestures. The Human’s face passed through the most remarkable series of contortions while the Amplitur thrashed about violently with its tentacles. The rapid color changes its skin underwent astonished me. “As this silent struggle continued, the Human Levaughn grew increasingly alarmed. It was plain he did not understand what was happening, and neither of the mental combatants took the time to respond to his increasingly shrill inquiries.”

Lalelelang spoke very carefully. “Just a moment. How did you know there was a mental confrontation taking place?

You might have guessed what the Amplitur was trying to do, but unless the Human Straat-ien tried to suggest you, there was no way you could know that he was actively involved in responding to the Amplitur.”

“You are owed an explanation. We are capable of detecting such activity.”

“Yes, yes. The Lepar are as suggestible as the Wais, or the Hivistahm, or any of the other sapient species except Humankind. But an Amplitur has to suggest you. You cannot by yourself detect the presence of such activity in them. And you claim that the Human was trying to suggest the Amplitur.” She watched her captor carefully. “That is impossible. Humans can only resist such probing. They do not share with the Amplitur the ability to suggest.”

“The Amplitur does not have to suggest us. While we have no projective talent ourselves, we can quite readily sense when others are using it, be they Amplitur or representatives of that Human group which calls itself the Core.”

“The Core?” Her mind was reeling. “What is that?”

“We have known about it for some time. Collectively we know more about Humankind than any of the other member species of the Weave. Our knowledge is exceeded only by that of a few specialists, of whom you are prominent. “Lepar were with the first contact ship. Lepar were among the first to speak and deal directly with Humans, and we are still the only ones who can interact effectively with them underwater. We were interested in them from the beginning, as we are interested in anything that threatens our security and safety. “A Hivistahm was the first to encounter one of the captured Humans the Amplitur attempted to modify to look and think like Ashregan but fight for the Purpose with the strength and stealth of Humankind. His companion was a Lepar, who immediately recognized the significance of the encounter and made certain that the individual specimen was brought back alive for further study. It was the Lepar who was prepared to resort to violence to accomplish this aim. “As for the Core, it was formed by the offspring of those Amplitur-modified children, whose unique abilities are an accidental and apparently inheritable by-product of Hivistahm attempts to surgically repair the alterations the Amplitur genetic engineers had made. We have been monitoring the activities of these gifted Humans since the time of the one called Ranji-aar.”

Lalelelang was silent for several moments, carefully considering not only what the Lepar had said, but what it had not said. “If you have done all this without interference, then it follows that you can not only detect attempts to suggest, you can, in the fashion of Humans, resist it.”

“That is so. Your perception has not been overrated. Our nervous system acts differently from that of Humans. Theirs is an active defense that fights any attempt at intrusion or manipulation. Ours is passive. We simply are not suggestible.”

“But there have been many documented instances of captured Lepar being manipulated by the Amplitur.”

“Those captured merely pretended to comply with the suggestions of the enemy. It is not difficult to do. Since we are a simple folk, we are given only simple tasks to do. Everyone knows we are no threat. Perceived ignorance is a surprisingly effective buffer. It is sometimes a good thing to be considered an imbecile. “No Core Human ever tried to suggest us. There was no reason to. We had little to do with the conduct of the war. For the same reason the Amplitur have largely ignored us. Given a choice, ignored is what we prefer to be. “This is a terrible shame. Everything was going so well. The war was ended, peace had come, and my people could go about trying to better themselves mentally and in other ways without having to worry about the destruction and disruption that war brings. We knew about the Core Humans and kept a watch on them, but they seemed concerned only with keeping the secret of their existence.” He gestured idly with the gun. “Not for the first time we underestimated the deviousness of the Amplitur. Who would have thought that having capitulated they would subsequently try to ally themselves with reactionary Humans?

Or that some Humans would prove themselves even less civilized than anyone believed possible by agreeing to accept Amplitur assistance and guidance?

“We would have reacted sooner to this threat save for the fact that we are not very smart. It takes us a long time to see things clearly. Your research, for example, is very detailed and sometimes hard to follow.”

Having resigned herself to whatever might come, Lalelelang had grown calm. “If someone had come to me with such a litany as you have just recited I would have thought them addled.”

“We are little more than what we appear,” said the Lepar almost apologetically. “Helpful, subservient, and quite harmless.”

“You will pardon my pointing out that you do not look very harmless just now.”

“Believe me when I say that I am truly sorry for the way this has turned out. It is necessary, to insure the preservation of certain secrets.”

“What happens … after?”

“I will not be suspected in the deaths. As you accurately point out, no one would suppose a Lepar capable of complicity in such violence. We will go on monitoring the activities of the Core, just as we will those of reactionary Humans and obsequious Amplitur. If it again proves necessary to interfere, we will do so as nonviolently and unobtrusively as possible.”

“You appear to have thought everything out.”

“We have no choice,” the Lepar confessed. “We are not clever enough to resist the machinations of species like Humankind and the Amplitur. So we must act before they do.”

“Having told me all this, surely there is no harm in telling me what transpired in the Amplitur’s quarters?” The Lepar hesitated. “Please,” Lalelelang entreated her captor. “The least you can do is satisfy my curiosity.”

“Ever the true scholar. As you will.” Tiny black eyes squinted with the strain of remembrance. “The Human Straat-ien and the Amplitur struggled silently. The Human Levaughn had no idea of the nature of the battle which was taking place in front of him. I did, and tried my best to pretend that I did not. “Neither the Human Straat-ien nor the Amplitur could gain an advantage. The Human probed and the Amplitur resisted. “When he could obtain no reaction to his entreaties from either his fellow Human or his guest, the Human Levaughn grew panicky and prepared to summon aid. Seeing this, the Human Straat-ien moved to stop him. There was a brief confrontation which resulted in the Human Straat-ien slaying the Human Levaughn. “This momentary diversion of the Human Straat-ien’s attention spurred the Amplitur to try and flee. As it had by now been made aware of the Human’s suggestive capability, it was obvious Straat-ien could not permit this. Your friend turned the weapon he had just used on his fellow being toward the Amplitur and fired several times. It made terrible wounds on the Amplitur’s body, butchering it beyond hope of resurrection. “The Human Straat-ien then very cleverly placed his weapon in one of the dead human’s hands, closing the deceased man’s fingers around it. His intent was clearly to make it appear as if the general had slain the Amplitur and then killed himself. To make this strategy work it was necessary for your friend to resolve one final awkwardness. “Me. “I was a witness to everything that had taken place.”

Lalelelang had followed the somber recitation in contemplative silence. Now she looked up again. “What did the Human Straat-ien do?”

“He placed himself deliberately between myself and the doorway, announcing with what I believe to be genuine regret that he was going to have to kill me. He was very surprised when I produced from inside a vest pocket a weapon much like his own with which I carefully shot him between the eyes. I am no expert at understanding Human expression but I am sure I am correct in this interpretation. Also, at the critical moment he projected involuntarily, and his consternation was clear in his thoughts. As he had conveniently put his own weapon in one of the deceased General Levaughn’s hands, I was able to place mine in his. “He seemed to me to be a very decent and concerned creature, for a Human, and I regretted having to kill him.”

The inner edges of Lalelelang’s beak ground slowly against one another. “Everything you have told me I believe, except that you killed him. You, a Lepar, slaying a Human?”

“It was unavoidable. It would have been better to leave Colonel Straat-ien alive, morally as well as for other reasons. But there are other members of the Core, younger than he, who will take up energetically the task of insuring that their own kind remains peaceful and does not succumb to cunning Amplitur blandishments.”

She appeared not to have heard the last. “You really expect me to believe that you shot a Human?

A highly trained soldier like Nevan Straat-ien?”

“There have been times previous where it was nearly required, but not until this incident was it necessary to follow through.”

“The Lepar have never been fighters.”

“That is still so. We hate violence, and are not very good at it. We have to force ourselves. When you are sufficiently frightened you can do many things previously believed impossible, and because we are so insecure we are easily frightened.”

She gestured deliberately at the tiny gun. “Are you pointing that at me because I frighten you?”

“Yes,” said the Lepar with portentous conviction. “The knowledge you possess frightens me terribly.”

“Enough to kill me?

To cause physical violence to another intelligent being who means you no harm?” When the Lepar did not reply she tried another tack. “How will you explain away my death by gunfire?

No confrontation is taking place, no fighting. I am no Human whom others may imagine disposed to madness and fury. I am a peaceful scholar.”

The Lepar raised the compact weapon. “This is not like the weapon that was used to kill Colonel Straat-ien. It does not fire explosive or penetrating projectiles. It is a compressed gas injector that will leave no marks. The drug that will enter your bloodstream will make it appear as though your heart has failed due to natural causes. Though the toxin employed disperses rapidly into the system and breaks down into unidentifiable components soon thereafter, an in-depth forensic analysis performed immediately after death could possibly reveal the actual cause. I will therefore remain here after you expire, to insure that this does not take place and that your body is not disturbed for the proscribed period. “The Wais are known for their delicate constitutions. Your death will arouse no unusual suspicion.”

“What happens then?

I will be dead, along with Colonel Straat-ien, General Levaughn, and the Amplitur representative. What will it have solved?

Other Humans will take Levaughn’s place.”

“Perhaps not and if so, perhaps not for some time. The Human Levaughn evinced an unusual combination of capability and drive. Having failed spectacularly with him, the Amplitur will withdraw to contemplate their failure. This will give the peace time to further solidify. “Meanwhile we will monitor political developments among reactionary-inclined Humans, and keep silent watch over the activities of the Core while they continue to oversee their own kind. Hopefully we will not soon again have to inject ourselves into the affairs of other species. The Hivistahm and the O’o’yan, the Bir’rimor and the Massood, the Yula and the S’van and Humankind and all the rest will be no more aware of us than they are now or have ever been. This is best, because we are and have always been frightened of all of them.”

“If you truly are immune to Amplitur mind-manipulation,” she said, “you could have been great fighters for the Weave. You could have fought alongside the Massood before we discovered and enlisted the Humans.”

“I have told you that we are not fighters. Combat terrifies us, as it does any civilized species. Just because we are not as smart as some does not mean we are any less civilized.”

“I’m not sure you are as dumb as you try to appear, either.”

“We are. Do not doubt it. But it has sometimes seemed to those of us with the capacity to ponder such things that there are differences between being intelligent and being smart, and that too much intelligence may not be such a good thing. Where survival is at stake, sometimes instinct is better. Being stupid forces you to concentrate on what really matters and to live within your limitations. “We do those jobs which more intelligent species disdain. As a result we have prospered and multiplied within the framework of the Weave. While other species quarrel and sometimes even fight, we are ignored. Meanwhile we work hard, and watch, and listen, and try to become a little smarter. When you are given the lowliest jobs, when others ignore you as though you do not exist, you have wonderful opportunities to observe, and to listen. My people realized long ago that it is hard to learn when your own mouth is always open. “Independence is better for such development. So the Amplitur cannot be permitted to resurrect the Purpose. Peace is a better framework for such an existence. So Humans cannot be allowed to resurrect war. Humans and Amplitur working together would result in the worst combination of possibilities. We are not so stupid that we cannot see that.”

Lalelelang sensed that the Lepar was growing increasingly nervous and that she was running out of options. “If in spite of your precautions they find a lethal toxin in my body the local authorities are going to start looking for a murderer.” She used the Human term, there being no exact equivalent in either the Lepar or Wais tongue. “That is possible. No action is riskproof. However, in that unlikely event I do not think they will suspect or question me, a lowly Lepar maintenance worker. Even if they thought one of my kind capable of the act, they would not think us possessed of the necessary smarts. “I do not want to kill you, Honored Scholar Lalelelang, any more than I wanted to kill the Human Straat-ien. But fear and insecurity are powerful motivators for such as my kind. They concentrate even limited abilities wonderfully well.”

The greatest revelation in recorded history, she found herself thinking, more striking even than the existence of the Core among genetically altered Humans, and it was going to perish with her. All because she was dedicated to her studies. “Besides which, we can help the Humans.”

“You?” She was startled. “The Lepar?”

“Humankind knows that of all the intelligent species, the Lepar represent the least threat to them. They consider us mentally as well as physically inferior and inoffensive. Therefore they will listen to us where their natural skepticism would make them wary of such as the S’van. That is the secret to dealing successfully with Humans. Challenge them and you incur their suspicion, as do the Hivistahm and Yula and all the others. Acknowledge their dominance and they become your friends and protectors forever. “In addition, we are the only ones who can swim with them. Deep inside, they remember the water from which they sprang. It is a subtle bond, and it gives my kind an advantage in dealing with them. “The Weave wants to perpetuate but control their fighting ability. We want to moderate it, for our own security. We can do that.”

“By secretly monitoring them?”

“By offering them unthreatening friendship. Now that the peril posed by the individual Levaughn has been ended, the Core can probably deal adequately with lesser Humans of his persuasion. It will be left to us to deal with the species as a whole.”

She knew she was almost out of time. “It’s not for me to criticize your methodology or your goals, but is it really necessary to kill me to protect them?

The modified Humans have trusted me with the secret of their Core. Can you not also trust me with yours?

I can be useful to you as I have been useful to them.”

“I am afraid not. We are not as clever as the modified Humans. You could deceive us without our realizing it. Better to be safe. You see, Honored Scholar, you know the truth about the modified Humans, and about the intentions of the Amplitur and the reactionary Humans, and now about us. You have accumulated so many truths that it has made you very possibly the most dangerous individual alive.”

She blinked long lashes. “In an unusual life I have been called many things, but never dangerous.”

“You underestimate yourself gravely. We do not.”

“I am only a simple scholar, a plodding seeker after wisdom. It is all I ever wanted to be. Mere knowledge is not dangerous.”

The Lepar considered her thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are not so smart after all.”

“I guess you are right, or I would not find myself in this position now. I am not even smart enough to hide all my notes in a safe place.” She turned in the direction of the storage cube next to the nest. He followed her glance. That’s when she hit him with the recorder. It wasn’t very heavy, but it was made well. Cupped tightly within and propelled by the force of her right wingtip, it added just enough mass to make the blow effective. The actual wing motion was drawn from an adolescent mating dance, but it simulated a Human punch well enough. She was familiar with the physical mechanism from her studies. As she made contact, pain exploded up the length of her wing, momentarily paralyzing her right side. The startled Lepar fared worse, the impact smashing a cheekbone and crushing an eye. He staggered on his short legs, the thick tail stiffening reflexively to provide additional support. She saw his fingers convulse on the injector, closed her eyes as she heard it emit a soft phut. The high-velocity dose missed her chest and splatted harmlessly against the wall behind her. By then she was on top of the Lepar, knocking him to the floor. The impact further dazed him and she was able to wrest the weapon from his limp fingers. Though it was designed for manipulation by bony digits, she was able to grasp the simple device with the flexible quill-tips of her left wing. Cyclically reciting her most dynamic control mantra, she rose and stood looking down at her reluctant assassin. The Lepar blinked up at her out of his remaining good eye, his tail twitching convulsively back and forth beneath him. “How extraordinary. Had I not experienced such a thing, I would not have thought it possible. What are you going to do now?”

She was surprised to discover she didn’t know. Everything had happened very fast, and now sanity was returning with a rush. She started to shake violently. Taking note of her reaction, the Lepar started to get to its feet. Blood trickled from the left side of its face, marring the sad, frozen smile. “You cannot kill me. You are Wais, who pride themselves on being the most civilized of all species.” A webbed hand reached toward her. “Give back the weapon. The drug works painlessly. Let us put an end to all this, for both our sakes.”

She stumbled backward. “You, too, are ‘civilized.’”

“Yes. But we are just scared and simpleminded enough to get around it. Having attained a much higher level of civilization, you are not.” The hand remained extended expectantly; fingers open, mottled green-black palm turned upward. “You forget one thing. I have spent years working intimately with Humans. My friends, my family, my triad, and my colleagues have insisted all along that this has had a permanent and deleterious effect on me. Always I disputed them. Now I am afraid I must admit that they were right.”

The Lepar blinked its remaining eye once as the little gun went off for the second time, making a sound like some small cuddly creature sneezing into its own fur. The capacious mouth gaped wide, showing a wet black gullet. No sound emerged. It sat down heavily. “I was correctly informed. There is no pain.” She eyed him insensibly. “What a pity that the toxin is not species-specific.” Slowly it toppled over onto its left side. “Most interesting.” The black eye gazed unblinkingly up at her. She wanted to turn away, to run, but she could not. Horrified fascination kept her transfixed to the spot. “You should not have been capable of doing that.” She had to strain to hear the weakly gargled words. “This will complicate things.” The voice sank toward inaudibility. After that the Lepar said nothing more, nor did any part of its body move again. Shakily she walked around the corpse, not taking her eyes off it for a second, and finally sat down on the edge of the nest. She watched the motionless form for over an hour. Feeling reasonably safe at that point, she put the deceptively innocuous-looking weapon down and walked to the apartment’s hygiene alcove. Inclining her neck and head over the disposal, she proceeded to violently evacuate the contents of her stomach and crop into the pastel, scented receptacle. When she’d finished, she washed and groomed herself as best she could and began to pack her belongings, not neglecting to include the deadly little gun. Whoever encountered the lifeless Lepar would discover that it had died of heart failure. The deception intended to disguise the true cause of her own death would serve equally well for her would-be assassin. The medication that allowed her to work intimately and for extended periods with Human beings served to mask her nervousness as she departed the tense confines of the compound. Wholly absorbed by the inexplicable deaths of the Amplitur and two senior Human officers, none of the staff paid any attention to the decision of a visiting Wais scholar to depart. Amid the confusion she doubted if anyone would even bother to remark on the subsequent demise of a Lepar worker who had clearly died a natural death. Except perhaps his fellow frightened, simpleminded Lepar. The Lepar who watched, and listened, and said little, but who occasionally acted. The Lepar who had never managed to master Underspace on their own and had to be conveyed by more technologically competent species from world to world. The Lepar who in that manner had succeeded in spreading themselves unobtrusively throughout the length and breadth of the Weave. Those Lepar. What had he said?

she reflected from the safety of her room aboard the Underspace liner hovering in orbit. That she, Lalelelang, was possibly the most dangerous individual alive?

The Lepar hadn’t said anything about the traitorous Turlog. Was it possible the amphibians had never discovered that particular duplicity?

Maybe it was true that only she knew all the secrets. All she wanted was to be left alone with her work. As the transship entered Underspace, she felt a pang of regret for the deceased Straat-ien, with whom she had shared many difficulties and much time. He had represented his species admirably. Now she would be forever deprived of his unique viewpoint. No matter. Her research would go on without him. Among the ship’s crew were several Lepar. She kept a wary eye on them, but there was nothing to indicate that she was the focus of any unusual attention on their part or on the part of anyone else aboard. She had made her escape from Daccar with commendable speed. Would they now seek her out on her homeworld?

Lepar worked in the main cities, but they were not a common sight. None presently served at the university. How much would they dare, and how boldly?

Or would they seek allies to carry out her assassination?

A renegade Massood, perhaps, though a Human was a more likely candidate. Wasn’t that how they had originally entered the war, as soldiers for hire?

That would be ironic. A Human would be even more conspicuous in her environs than a lethally minded Lepar. She was neither innocent nor helpless, and her distinctive experiences had taught her much. There were steps she could take to protect herself. XXII

Much time passed and the Lepar did not move against her, nor did they send a homicidal surrogate in their stead. Perhaps it was because they had chosen to go slowly, perhaps because they wanted to be completely sure of themselves before taking such a serious and potentially maladroit step. Certainly they would have wondered, and worried, about the circumstances of their Daccaran agent’s unexpected death. It hinted at a dangerous gap in their knowledge, which they would typically want to fill before acting. She prepared as best she could. Half a year passed from the time of her flight from Daccar before the two Lepar appeared. Attired as sanitation specialists, they went to work on the university’s water systems, something they were uniquely equipped to do. Though she passed by in clear view, neither looked in her direction. Though she harbored no illusions as to their true intentions, she did not vary her routine, maintaining her daily schedule in the face of the unspoken threat. Friends commented on her heightened state of alertness, on the tension she seemed to be under. She thanked them for their empathy even as she dismissed their concerns without elaboration. The visiting workers remained cautious. It was not until the end of the season that her office door trilled one evening when she was working late. The external pickup revealed the simpleminded face of one of the two Lepar, black eyes doleful, its ingenuous expression wholly disarming. Responding to her query, it informed her that their work had brought them to this end of her building, and that in order to proceed they required a few moments’ access to her office. Which, she reflected sagely, was no doubt the truth. “We will not trouble you for long,” it said via the door speaker. Also doubtless a truthful statement. Declining to comply would only delay the inevitable in addition to confirming anything they might suspect. She had completed a general catalog of her research, and both her personal and professional lives had been put in order. In a way she was relieved. She was very tired. She passed a wingtip over a visual switch, and the door slid back to admit them. They were attired for aqueous service. Long vests and belts held sealed pouches that bulged with equipment. The one who had spoken waddled into the office and without a word strode past her, making for the hygienic cubicle located in a rear alcove. His companion followed and adopted a casual stance close to the doorway, gazing with genuine interest at the depth images which decorated the walls. “We will not be long.” Its gurgling voice betrayed no ulterior motive. “We have to check out pressure and flow here before proceeding to the next office.”

Lalelelang had not moved from atop the work nest behind the delicate, sculpted arc of her workstation. “You have to do nothing of the sort. You are here to kill me.”

A flat, bulbous face peered out of the hygienic alcove, ebon eyes shimmering in the lights. Outside her single window a carnivorous Vhastas glider passed just below the rising moon, the fluorescent running lights of the nocturnal flier a flash of lambent green in the darkness. Within the office there was total silence until the Lepar at the door spoke anew. “What a strange thing to say, Honored Scholar.”

“Is it?

You intend to murder me, but you want to be sure of yourselves first. I believe the Lepar never act without first making sure. “Obviously you have sought an explanation for the death of your colleague on Daccar. He had been trying to kill me and instead he was the one who died. In my quarters. Whereupon I left Daccar rather hurriedly. I knew that despite your initial disbelief you would eventually settle on me as the cause through the simple process of patiently investigating and eliminating every other possibility. I am only surprised that you did not arrive here sooner.”

The amphibian stared wordlessly. The first speaker emerged from the cubicle holding a weapon in one hand. She examined it with practiced detachment. Fashioned entirely of nonmetallic components, it was larger than the one she had been threatened with not so very long ago on Daccar. Nor was its shape as subtle. No attempt had been made by its makers to disguise its purpose. As the armed individual stepped to one side, his companion drew a similar device from a vest pocket. What would be the method this time?

More poison, shells, internally explosive pellets, or something she could not imagine?

Not that it would matter. “Your colleague was going to kill me. So I had to kill him.”

“We are curious as to how you managed it.” The second speaker was now blocking the sealed doorway with his body. “It was not believed that any Wais possessed such capabilities.”

“I salute your ignorance.” Death’s proximity inspired her to flights of fatalistic wit. “I may be the only one.”

The gun-wielder emitted a deep-throated grunt of satisfaction. The sound carried as well through the air as it did underwater. “We welcome your confirmation. Now I will kill you.” The muzzle of the weapon rose. “You cannot.”

“Would you end your life on an argument?” But the Lepar at the door made a gesture and his companion paused. “Why not?” he asked. “There are a number of reasons. Did you think I would do nothing but wait quietly for representatives of your kind to locate and kill me at their leisure?

Did you believe that having defended myself once I would never do so again?”

“Since our arrival on Mahmahar we have many times checked this entire building and especially this room. There are no protective mechanisms in evidence. No intricate alarms, no automatic weaponry, no voice or motion-activated transmitters. Nothing. Also, there are two of us and we are both armed. Whatever went wrong on Daccar will not be repeated here. You are defenseless.”

“No, I’m not.” Her beak clicked lightly and even her crest lay passively flat against the back of her head. The two intruders exchanged a glance. “You place much confidence in unsupported words,” the one at the door declared. “And you place too much in procedure and preparation. Ever since you arrived on my world you’ve been monitoring my movements. Did you think I was incapable of monitoring yours?”

She glanced to her right. The door to a rear storage alcove opened and a Human soldier stepped out. The Lepar blocking the door blinked slowly in the manner of his kind while his companion took an involuntary step backward. He carefully lowered his weapon. This was sensible, because the young Human female was fully armed and could go off at any moment. She towered over all of them. “What do you want to me do, Scholar?” she growled in combat Huma. “For now, nothing.” Lalelelang regarded her visitors. “This is Pila. In addition to being a fully trained soldier, she is also a member of the Core. “The Human Core member Nevan Straat-ien was for many years a good and true friend of mine. I knew very little about his family and relations, but I thought I at least owed it to them to relate the circumstances of his death. Furthermore, since I was informed that the Lepar can resist their probes as well as those of the Amplitur, and that your people were aware of their existence and suggestive abilities, I felt that it was only fair to share this information with the Humans of the Core.” She paused to allow everything she had said to sink in. When she felt sufficient time had passed, she continued. “So now you know about them, and they know about you, and everyone concerned can deal with each other from a more equal perch.”

“This is madness.” The Lepar near the cubicle tried to divide his attention between the composed Wais and the edgily alert and very imposing Human. “Do you realize what you have done?

This one will kill all three of us.”

“I told you that the Human Straat-ien trusted me. In volunteering everything I know to his friends, I have gained their trust as well. Pila trusts me. If I were you, I would do nothing to upset her. She was very close to Straat-ien.”

Noting that she wore one of the omnipresent translators, the Lepar at the door directed his attention to the soldier. “Don’t your people recognize the danger that this individual represents?

If we eliminate her we can still preserve our secrets among ourselves.”

The Human only smiled. Both Lepar shuddered instinctively. Lalelelang proceeded to try and reassure them. “There is no need for any more uncivilized bloodshed. The Core does not trust you, and I know that you respect but do not necessarily trust the Core.”

“How could we?” opined the door guard. “They are Human.”

“Precisely. But they do trust me. If you will only grant me equal respect, then both sides will have gained something of great value: a mediator.”

“You?” The would-be assassin goggled at her. “You are a scholar, not a diplomat.”

“What is diplomacy but experience mated to common sense?

I am Wais. I favor neither Human nor Lepar. I am better prepared to assume such a role than any representative of any of the intelligent species. Not that I wish it. I do not wish it. But it has been thrust upon me and I do not see how I can turn away.” She paused for breath. “There are rare, isolated moments in one’s life when one devoutly wishes one could act in an uncivilized fashion. For that much, if naught else, I envy Humankind.” A long, melancholy whistle escaped her. “All I ever wanted was to study. To accumulate knowledge and from that distill wisdom. I do not want to play diplomat or go-between or peacemaker. Circumstances have thrust this on me.”

The Lepar at the door addressed Lalelelang while warily eyeing the soldier. “Are you going to have her kill us?” He made no movement with the handgun he held, knowing that the slightest suggestion of a hostile gesture would visit instant death upon him and his companion. “No!” The violence of her response startled everyone in the room, including her Human protector. “I have been directly responsible for the death of another intelligent being only once in my life. Even though I acted only to preserve my own, I found it an extraordinarily disagreeable experience that I will never forget. I have no desire to endure it again.” Her heavily painted lashes fluttered. “What are the goals here?

You wish to ensure your own security and keep your secret from as much of the Weave and our former enemies as possible. You have no reason to fear the Core Humans because you can resist their suggestions. If you moved to reveal their secret they would turn on you. Maybe you can resist them mentally, but you would still have to deal with their more blatantly Human capabilities.”

“See,” the first Lepar said to the Human. “She is trying to play us off against one another to preserve her own life.”

“My life?

My life?” she repeated more softly. “For the sake of knowledge I have voluntarily put my life at risk of death by violence from actual combat, something no Lepar has ever done. I have been now twice threatened by your kind. I have given up on my life many times over. I am not afraid to put it at risk in this cause.”

“Kill her.” The Lepar at the door addressed the soldier earnestly. “She is a complication. We can work everything out between us without need of a dangerous intermediary. While she lives she holds the threat of revelation over both our kind.”

Never taking its eyes off the two amphibians, the Human spoke for the second time. “No. She’s useful. Nevan … Colonel Straat-ien thought so, and my superiors concur. She’s played linear with us, and she’s fixed things neat.” The soldier regarded the nesting Wais with a mixture of awe and admiration. “You don’t know everything. She’s fixed things so that it’s more dangerous to kill her than keep her alive.”

“I do none of this out of altruism,” Lalelelang explained coolly. “Everything proceeds from necessity.”

“I do not understand all of this.” The door guard wheezed. “We are not clever, and you must explain slowly and carefully so that we will comprehend.”

Lalelelang took a deep breath. “It is not that complicated. After I—killed —your agent, I knew that you might someday try to eliminate me, as a safety measure. I have subsequently caused to have placed a number of high-density storage beads containing everything I know, everything I have learned, in certain locations throughout the Weave. These worlds shall go unnamed.” The Lepar neither spoke nor reacted, listening quietly. “If I die without sending to these locations certain specific transmissions at regular intervals, the scheme I have put in place will be activated. As a result, the beads will be forwarded to a number of incorruptible organizations noted for their independent dissemination of information. The secrets of the Lepar and of the Core will become known to all.”

The Lepar at the door responded. “What happens if you die accidentally?

If you are struck by an out-of-control vehicle or expire of natural causes?”

“Eventually I will send a transmission to terminate the procedure. This will also wipe clean the storage beads. I am in good health—” She stared at the door guard in a most un-Waislike manner, “—and I expect to remain so. Meanwhile it would behoove the representatives of both the Core and the Lepar to see to it that I do not meet with any unforeseen accidents.”

“You ask us to do nothing, to react to this not at all.”

“You have no choice.”

“We are not happy about this,” commented the other Lepar, “but I must express my admiration. You defy all of one species and part of another.”

“I do not do this because I am so enamored of life,” she replied. “I have lived long enough to be displeased by much of what I have seen. But things are better now than when I was born, and may through understanding and awareness of the methods of the Amplitur and the potential regressive nature of Humankind become better still. “I say again that I dislike all of this. I am by nature a solitary researcher.” She indicated the Human. “Pila’s people want the same things as you. It will serve the Lepar well to have a faction among Humankind they can trust. I think you can help each other, work well together. In any event, now you will have to.”

The assassins deliberated. Out of considerable bravery—or stupidity— the Lepar at the door said, “You cannot trust a Human.”

It was the soldier who responded. “You can trust us. We’re different. And we can’t mess with your minds. You’re more equal to us than anyone else, even the Massood.”

Careful to employ its empty hand, the first Lepar gestured toward Lalelelang. “Why do you not simply suggest her?

Order her to reveal the details of the transmission scheme and the location of the threatening storage beads so that we can render it all harmless?”

The soldier grinned. “Don’t you think we thought of that when she first came to us?

She set everything up in advance so that we can’t touch her. Any more than you can. Suggesting her would activate special redundancies she’s installed. That’s assuming it would work in the first place. She’s strong-willed. No, playing with her mind at this point is too chancy. “Besides, what she says makes sense. We can use each other’s help. From my own standpoint as one of the Core, I know how hard it is to be isolated all the time, to always be looking over your shoulder.” She chuckled tersely. “We won’t show yours to anybody else if you don’t show them ours.”

“I believe I follow your meaning if not your syntax,” the Lepar replied. “You will keep the secret of our ability to resist Core and Amplitur mind-probes?”

“Yes. Provided you do the same concerning our existence. Together we’ll monitor my own rowdy kind as well as the activities of the Amplitur. You have easy access to people and places that are often denied to us, and vice versa. I think you’ll find us good friends as well as valuable allies.” She shrugged. “Anyway, it’s the only rational course of action the canary’s left open to us.”

The Lepar looked at one another. “We do not have the authority to sanction such an agreement.”

“Didn’t expect that you did. Convey everything that’s happened here to your superiors.” She nodded toward the contemplative Lalelelang. “You know how to find us, and we certainly know how to find you.”

“We are putting up our arms now.” Very slowly, the two amphibians returned their weapons to their respective pockets. When this was done the door guard performed a strange little bow in Lalelelang’s direction. “You work great things here, Scholar. I personally would not have thought it of a Wais, much less of an academic.”

“Generalization is always dangerous,” she responded. “I am not your ordinary Wais.”

“On this point we are all of us present agreed,” the Lepar replied fervently. “We are all something else,” she added, “or had you not noticed?” This time the Human as well as the Lepar eyed her questioningly. “The four of us here are all female.”

“What of that?” wondered the other Lepar. “In addition to our professions we have the added responsibility of procreation. Leastwise the three of you do. I am too old, and sometimes I mourn for lost opportunities. As you go your separate ways I ask you to consider the future you will be leaving to the offspring you have not yet birthed. Do your utmost to bequeath to them a civilization of diverse peoples that is peaceful and true.”

“It seems we have little choice,” said the door guard. “That’s right.” The Human soldier nodded by way of confirmation. “It’s no longer a matter of whether she lives or dies. She’s pushed everything beyond that. She’s taken herself out of the equation by making herself extraneous.”

“I understand you.” The Lepar at the door considered the Human. “Is it really true that your species has never known happiness or contentment?”

“Not from what I’ve seen of my history,” Pila responded. “We’ve always been good at war, but we’ve never been able to handle peace. Maybe you can give us some pointers. Bearing in mind that we have to keep a wary eye on the squids.”

The Lepar hesitated, then stepped forward and extended a lightly webbed, slick-skinned hand. “While not binding, I believe this is the proper mode of signifying agreement.”

Smiling, the soldier lightly gripped the proffered fingers with her free hand. Unlike the Lepar, she did not put aside her weapon, but this was to be expected and the Lepar was not offended. Lalelelang briefly closed her eyes tight. No one had died, there had been no fighting. All had gone more or less according to plan. “That is better. One thing I have learned from a lifetime of studying Humans is that peace is not a gift. It is like a building that is never finished. Such things are difficult to do without assistance. You will each contribute different talents to the process of construction.”

The Human and the Lepar turned to her as they parted. “What of you?” asked the amphibian. “Will you help?”

“Not in that process. You do not need me and there is little I can do.”

“You can teach us. About Humans. You know more about them than any other non-Human.”

Lalelelang trilled lightly. “Perhaps, perhaps. I am very fatigued. We will see. Meanwhile the Lepar are welcome to continue accessing my research. None of it is hidden.”

“You can interpret it for us,” the Lepar insisted. “Remember that we are not very smart.”

“Only if there are no other options,” she insisted wearily. “Only if you have no other choice.”

“I understand. We will try not to impose on you.”

“Same here,” said the Human. She turned back to the amphibian. “I am not alone on Mahmahar. Now that you and I have established a basis for cooperation, there are others of my organization who would like to talk to you.”

Human and Lepar departed in tandem, making extensive use of their translators. Lalelelang sat on her work nest in her silent office for a long time, not moving, meditating peacefully. After a long while she rose, turned out the lights, and left the building, looking neither to left nor right and not very intently straight ahead. If some Human or Lepar with homicidal thoughts on its mind lay waiting in ambush there was nothing she would be able to do about it. She walked through the covered, soaring atrium with its fountains and flowers, deserted at this time of night, and exited onto the blue-green ground cover outside. Cream-colored night-blooming alarias filled the air with sultry perfume. An occasional worker or student sauntered past in a fog of undulating attire. After a while she reached the crest of a rounded knoll. On her left, carefully trimmed fluel bushes formed a low hedge florid with phosphorescence. Tiny glittering bugs no bigger than dust motes danced among the leaves. Activating the tiny player she carried in her side pouch, she stood perfectly still and listened to the music. The volume was set low and personal. The music was several hundred years old and had been composed by a Human. A very special Human. The first contact Human, William Dulac. It rose and fell, rushed forward and slowed uncertainly. Very much like Humankind itself, she mused. Everything that infuriating, wondrous, terrifying, remarkable species was could be found in their music. Eventually the neurotic cacophony grew subdued, the composition concluding in a whisper of woodwinds and muted strings. Fascinating sounds. Maybe someday she would be able to understand them completely. Emitting a soft, exhausted trill, she let her neck arch backward with a flexibility no Human, constrained by its powerful musculature and heavy bones, could match. Mahmahar’s lone moon had set and the constellations of her homeworld were at their most brilliant. She had no way of knowing what the future would bring, but she did know that she’d done her best. Core Humans and Lepar would cooperate to keep watch, and to protect one another’s secrets. In light of that accomplishment the preserving of her own life seemed very much an afterthought. What matter one Wais more or less?

Her research awaited further codification, annotation, categorization. A lot still to do. At least everyone had been polite, she reflected. Even the Human. Manners were indisputably the one great Wais contribution to galactic civilization. She straightened and stretched, flexing and relaxing her crest and neck feathers before continuing on down the far side of the knoll in the direction of the university internal transport that would carry her home. She walked confident in the knowledge that she had left in her wake if not peace, at least a little understanding. That, after all, was what scholars were for.