The False Mirror Read online

  The False Mirror

  The Damned

  Book II

  Alan Dean Foster

  A Del Rey® Book

  Copyright © 1992 by Thranx, Inc.

  ISBN 0-345-37575-0

  First Hardcover Edition: April 1992

  First Mass Market Edition: June 1993

  Content

  Dedication

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  Dedication

  For Harry E. Fischer, Able-bodied seaman and fellow voyager.

  1

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

  By the tinge of the Trials he had added four years of experience, education, and maturity to a great deal of additional height, weight, and strength. With these came confidence in his abilities, a soft-spoken assurance much admired and valued by the rest of the soldier-trainees in his age group.

  There was no jealousy among them, that being an alien concept shared by the multitude of monsters whose ultimate goal was the destruction of civilization. Why would anyone be jealous of him? Were they not all striving for the sane end, seeking enthusiastically the same results? Achievement among friends was to be applauded, not envied. Who would not wish to have a soldier more skilled in the arts of combat than oneself fighting on his flank?

  So each trainee strove to outdo his or her competitors while simultaneously urging them to greater achievement.

  Until the monsters arrived on the scene, civilization had been advancing steadily across the cosmos, spreading organization where hitherto had been only chaos. The pace had been slow but gratifyingly inexorable. Occasional setbacks were accepted and taken in stride until ground lost could, as it inevitably was, be regained.

  'Then a thousand or so years ago the alliance of monsters had been encountered, and everything had changed.

  Many were unpleasant to contemplate physically as well as intellectually, while others differed little in appearance from Ranji's own kind. The worst were utterly unpredictable, savage and cunning beyond belief, possessed of a feral intelligence that made them awful to encounter on the battlefield.

  With such as these in the vanguard, the alliance of monsters had wreaked considerable havoc. But their recent advances had been halted, the situation stabilized. Soon the civilized peoples would begin pushing them back, rescuing as they advanced those poor, benighted populations who had suffered for centuries under the monsters' dominion.

  Ranji and his friends knew this to be inevitable. Their own training both as soldiers and civilized citizens proved it so. No matter how strong, the forces of chaos could never overcome and defeat those of civilization. Not as long as determined fighters like Ranji-aar and his companions continued to rise through the ranks to take their place at the forefront of civilization's defense.

  While there was no place in true society for jealousy, room was allowed for pardonable pride. In the fifteen-toseventeen-year-old cluster, he and his trainee squad repeatedly graded out at or near the top of their class. In fact, on all of Cossuut only one other squad regularly posted scores matching those of Ranji's. That was a group from Kizzmat Township, which lay just on the other side of the Massmari mountains, near the junction of the rivers Nerse and Joutoula. Near enough for a friendly rivalry of reputations to have been invented by the media. As graduation exercises progressed, both squads qualified easily for the planetary finals in their age group.

  His mother and father took quiet pride in the effortless qualification of their son and his friends, as they had in all his achievements. Their delight was perhaps magnified somewhat by the fact that neither of them had been a soldier. Ranji's father worked in a factory which produced nanotronic components, while his mother was a teacher. Certainly her tutoring abilities contributed to Ranji's success. as well as to that of his younger brother, Saguio, and his baby sister, Cynsa.

  Though jealousy was unknown among the trainees, it was still a good thing that Ranji was not the best at every thing. His friend Birachii-uun was stronger, Cossinza-iiv much faster. But in Ranji was found the best combination of warrior attributes, a fact which was reflected in his individual scores. Certainly he was the smartest of his companions.

  Though only sixteen, he was often nominated to serve as leader during important exercises. This was almost unheard of. Strategy leaders were inevitably chosen from the ranks of seniors: seventeen- and eighteen-year-olds. Fully conscious of such honors, he carried them well. Coupled with exceptional organizational skills, his drive and determination rarely disappointed those who placed their faith in him. His ability was a fact his peers recognized and applauded.

  He took pleasure in his accomplishments because he saw how much they pleased his parents. To him, approbation meant little. He was interested only in the job at hand, and in doing it well. For that reason he looked forward eagerly to the coming graduation finals.

  Until those were passed there was always the chance of failing, of not being awarded full soldier status. Even accomplished students like Ranji had been known to crack under the pressure. No opprobrium attached to such individuals. They simply served the war effort in some other fashion more suited to their actual skills.

  Ranji was calm and ready. He had no intention of failing. He could not fail. Not only did he want, like any healthy member of his species, to be a soldier: he 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 sc
hool 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.