The Damned Trilogy Page 5

  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.”

&
nbsp; 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 know
s, 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.