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.