The False Mirror

  "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 Mo tar, he had learned manners. "I remind you that the subject's wishes must also be taken into consideration, and that he energetically supports the proposal."

  "I am to the subject as sympathetic as any," huffed the Hivistahm, "but we must think first of the good of the Weave."

  "As do my superiors. The fact that the Council's desires happen to coincide with those of the individual weaken your position considerably." The Massood leaned forward.

  "As you know, this Ranji-aar is apparently but one of many like him who were in prebirth corrupted and co-opted by the Amplitur. That he wishes to return to his people and reveal the heinous deception to his friends and fellow fighters in order to foment rebellion among them is considered by the Council an enterprise of sufficient worth to make the risk worth taking."

  "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 rea
lized that the soldier's tone was devoid of suspicion.

  The one watching the forest spoke up. "Your special unit has been pulled back and reassigned to operations elsewhere, Unifer." Convinced of their safety, he turned to gaze at the young officer. "How is it you've spent all this time wandering about in this patch of jungle?"

  "Lost my direction finder." Ranji grunted. "Lost about everything. Got hurt and had to hide from enemy patrols. Took time to find food, build temporary shelters . . .I've been too busy just staying alive to try working my way back." He gestured appreciatively. "I knew that if I could just keep calm and stay clear of the enemy, my own people would rescue me eventually. I am sure there will be commendations in this for all of you."

  That observation distracted the questioner sufficiently to interrupt what threatened to become an ominous line of thought.

  "Spent a lot of time in the hollow of a tree," he continued inventively, seeing how enthralled they were with his tale of survival. "Kept me hidden and dry, but impossible to spot from the air by friend or enemy. I needed time for my leg to heal. Hurt my face and hands, too," he added in a sudden flash of inspiration.

  They all touched the backs of their right hand to Ms. "It is good to find you alive, Unifer."

  He could feel his indoctrination, his recently acquired Humanity, beginning to crumble in the presence of 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.