Alan Dean Foster - The Damned 02 - The False Mirror

The False Mirror

The Damned

Book II

Alan Dean Foster

A Del Rey® Book

ISBN 0-345-37575-0

First Hardcover Edition: April 1992

First Mass Market Edition: June 1993

Content

Dedication

1

2

3

4

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9

10

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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 fromKizzmatTownship , 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. Hecould not fail. Not only did he want, like

any healthy member of his species, to be a soldier: hehad 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 fromKizzmatTownship 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 inthis competition. Things will happen quickly. The Kizzmati are fast." He stared

hard at them. "I am counting on you to be faster."

He was silent for a long moment. "These are the planetary finals. There will be no opprobrium attached

to losing, no disgrace in defeat. To finish second among thousands is the grandest of accomplishments."

"We're not coming in second!" someone shouted from the back. Kouuad tilted his head slightly and

smiled anew.

"You have already exceeded the achievements of the majority of your contemporaries. Despite the

knowledge that the greatest prize of all is within your grasp, you should not forget that." He checked his

chronometer.

"I have nothing more to teach you. I suggest you all go home and try to get a good night's sleep.

Tomorrow morning we leave for the competition site in the Joultasik foothills. "

A buzz of conversation rose from Ranji's friends. Until then they had not been told where the

competition was to be held. Secrecy insured that neither side would be able to spy in advance on the

competition matrix and thus gain an unfair advantage over the competition.

Ranji was pleased. The Joultasik would provide variations in terrain, and he usually performed best in

multiple environments.

"What do you think our chances are?" he asked his father that night. They sat at the dining table; mother

and father at opposite angles, Ranji, his brother, and his baby sister at the foot of the triangle.

"You're gonna kill 'em, wipe 'em out, massacre 'em! Just like you have all the others! " Bereft of

weaponry, Saguio waved an eating utensil instead. Ranji gave his younger sibling a tolerant look.

"I want you to fight hard, but also to be careful, dear. I don't want you or any of your friends to get hurt."

His mother was refilling their glasses with cold fruit juice. "The Kizzmatis' reputation rivals your own.

They're going to be hard to beat."

"I know, Mother."

"You'll kick the crap out of 'em. " Saguio tried to speak and shovel food in at the same time.

Ranji regarded his sibling fondly. If anything, Saguio was going to be a little taller, a little stronger than his

older brother. But not smarter. Testing had already been extensive enough to show that. Still, he was

going to be a credit to his family line.

Not his present family, Ranji reminded himself darkly. The one that had been brutally extinguished by the

monsters. They would win tomorrow. All he had to do was picture the Kizzmatis as monsters.

"We will, Saguio."

His father gestured with his glass. "Beware overconfidence, Ranji. Never chance overconfidence. Not

because it might cost you tomorrow, but because it will certainly cost you in combat. I don't care if you

win tomorrow or not. Just reaching the finals is a supreme achievement. Where I don't want you to lose is

on the real battlefield. "

"Don't worry, Father. I would never go into battle overconfident against the monsters." He picked at his

food. "It's striking how close in appearance they are to us. Many times I've sat studying the files and

wondered if I was looking at my own kind, until the differences became apparent. "

"Physical similarities mean nothing," his mother said softly. She touched her forehead, then her chest.

"Here and here they are radically different from us, programmed to kill, to have no mercy, to destroy

civilization wherever they find it. They cannot build; they can only destroy."

"That is why they must be stopped." His father grunted. "If you and your friends can contribute to that,

you will gain the gratitude not only of your own kind but of all civilized beings everywhere."

"Tear 'em up tomorrow, Ranj," his brother growled.

"I'll do my best, Sagui.”

"You always have." His mother turned to Cynsa, who had begun squealing and pounding on the table.

Ranji's baby sister was a terror. He smiled to himself. When she matured she'd probably be a tougher

fighter than either him or his brother. All three of them would do their adoptive parents as well as their

original lineage proud.

Trial finals first, he reminded himself. Graduation before combat. He'd been pointing toward tomorrow

ever since awareness had claimed him. He and Birachii and Cossinza and all the rest. Now the ultimate

goal lay within their grasp. Only one more challenge to turn back, one more group to demoralize and

defeat. One more height to scale.

He dug into the remnants of his meal. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he was going to need the fuel.

Everyone knew about the Finals Maze. If you were training to be a soldier, you heard about it at least

once a month all your life. Externally its appearance differed little from similar competition mazes. What

might be found inside was a different matter entirely.

There would be partitions, of course. Sheer, nonreflective, smooth-sided walls of impenetrable ceramic

that would tower over the tallest team member. These divided the Maze into corridors and arenas,

passageways and pits. Each partitioned region differed in size and shape from those immediately tangent

to it.

The Maze contained differing habitats, each of a type undeclared in advance. Those attempting to pass

through might encounter burning desert, frozen tundra, steaming jungle, or temperate forest. The Maze

might be filled with water, fresh or salt. In addition to doing battle with their competition, they would have

to adapt instantly and successfully to whatever local or alien biota had been programmed into the test

field. A squad could defeat its armed opponents only to be wiped out by a mock avalanche or flood.

You took your people and advanced through the Maze with the aim of wiping out your opponents or

capturing their headquarters position before they could reach yours. Goals were easy to envision but

difficult to achieve.

The sun was out and a few clouds marred the pale blue sky. Not that it made any difference. Local

conditions were meaningless inside the Maze, which could generate its own internal weather. Ranji

ignored the bustle around him as he ran through a detailed final check of his own equipment. The special

competition pistol he carried would register mock injury or death if its beam struck an opponent. In all

respects except its nonlethality it was identical to real military hardware.

Though access to the test area was limited, a fair crowd was present. The Finals attracted interested

observers and media recorders from all over Cossuut. No family members were allowed to attend. They

would have to content themselves with watching the action at home, on visual.

It was much remarked upon that the two final teams lived so close to one another yet had never before

met in competition. A quirk of scheduling had started them competing in opposite directions, in effect

forcing them to battle through a world's worth of opponents before the time came when they would be

allowed to test one another.

As he continued with the. necessary preparations Ranji regulated his breathing, trying to keep it slow and

steady, using the biocontrol techniques he had learned to moderate his adrenaline level. He could see his

companions doing likewise. No one said much. This was the last opportunity any of them would have

until the end of the competition to indulge in private thoughts. Once in the Maze, their attention would

become focused and they would have to act and think in unison.

They were twenty-five to a team. Fourteen boys, eleven girls. On the far side of the laze twenty-five

young men and women fromKizzmatTownship were at this very moment going through the same motions

and thinking many of the same thoughts as Ranji and his friends. Afterward there would be a celebration,

a party, where victor and loser could meet in an atmosphere of genuine conviviality and friendship. But

before that happened they would do their very best to mock-murder each other.

Ecozones occupied Ranji's thoughts. He hoped the laze wouldn't be full of, say, arctic tundra. Tundra

simplified things too much. There was nowhere to hide, not enough variables. Dense jungle would suit

him better. Or maybe desiccated granite. Hopefully there wouldn't be a lot of water. Ire didn't like,

fighting wet.

Whatever they encountered, he and his friends were prepared. They had trained in all conditions:

He was one of five squad leaders. Birachii was another, Cossinza a third. Pretty blond Gjiann from the

outskirts of the township was a fourth, and Kohmaddu the fifth. Heavyset and slow, she compensated for

physical deficiencies with a brilliant mind and undisputed courage and daring. No matter how tough the

competition, her squad rarely suffered a loss.

They were ready for the Kizzmatis, all right. Victory lay on the far side of the laze. All they had to do

was enter and take it.

2

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 hadtraining . 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

Alan Dean Foster - The Damned 02 - The False Mirror

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