Relic

15

“One shot from this will cause all the electrical activity in your body to cease.” Pahksen held the weapon firmly in both hands: a necessity since it was designed to be gripped by three sets of Myssari fingers. “Your brain will cease to function and your heart will stop. It will be quick and there should be very little pain.” His mouth twisted slightly. “I’m a survivor, not a sadist. It’s very Myssari in its way. They’re real problem-solvers.”

A stunned Ruslan chose his words carefully, aware that any one of them might be his last. “They’re also exceedingly civilized. What you intend is not… polite.”

Pahksen shrugged again. As he did so the muzzle of the neutralizer wavered slightly—but not enough for Ruslan to rush the younger man. The distance between them was too great, and despite his increased size and corresponding loss of conditioning, Pahksen’s reflexes were still those of a young man who had been forced to survive alone on a world emptied of humans and populated by dangerous creatures. His tone remained bitter.

“You want Cherpa for yourself. I can see that she’s waiting for you and that’s why she won’t have anything to do with me. The solution is pretty straightforward.”

Ruslan did not take his eyes off the muzzle of the gun. “How do you think she’ll look at you when it’s made known that you’re responsible for my death?”

“Won’t happen.” The younger man was utterly self-assured. “As I told you, I’ve put together a sequence of events that will convince anyone you took your own life.”

“Why would I do that?” Stall, Ruslan told himself, stall, stall, in the hope that he could come up with something to change the troubled young man’s mind.

“You’re old. You’re tired. You’re bored. There are plenty of commonsense reasons. You want Cherpa and me to carry on the species without your interference, even if it’s unintentional. Don’t worry—I’ve worked everything out in great detail. I think you’d be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you, Pahksen. You’ve adapted very well both to a new world and to Myssari supervision. Don’t throw all that away on behalf of a false conviction. There are only three of us left. There’s no reason to reduce that by a third.”

“You mean by a turd. With you removed from the picture, Cherpa will have no one else to talk to, no one else to confide in, except me.” Once again the tip of the neutralizer shifted as its wielder waved it for emphasis. “The Myssari won’t care. You think they care about you? All they’re interested in is their human studies, and they want more humans to study. Well, Cherpa and I will give them a handful to study. And if she’s still unwilling after you’ve been removed from the scene, then I’ll just explain to the Myssari that a certain amount of force is sometimes required in order to ensure successful procreation. I’m willing to bet they’ll take my side of the argument. Anything to produce offspring to commence repopulation of their favorite nearly extinct species. If she needs someone to confide in and she continues to shun me, she can always talk to that stupid doll of hers!” He spat to one side. “That’s a piece of rag that needs to find its way over a cliff at the first opportunity.”

On the word “opportunity” the beleaguered Ruslan saw his last chance. Having tensed his muscles while Pahksen ranted, he now threw himself forward. The suddenness of the gesture caused the hovering chair to heave him outward and away from its comforting curve.

He felt a brief sting in his left shoulder as he slammed into the seated Pahksen. Trying to balance the seating needs of two individuals, the disc on which Pahksen had been reposing began to rock and swerve wildly, threatening to dump both men to the ground. Desperately gripping Pahksen’s wrist with both hands, Ruslan sought to wring the neutralizer free from the younger man’s grasp. Untrained in matters such as personal combat, all he knew to do was hang on as tightly as he could while keeping the muzzle of the weapon pointed away from him.

A far more toughened survivor, Pahksen had a much better idea what to do. But he was in poor shape, his survival days from Daribb many years behind him. Additionally, the rocking, contorting, hovering seat constituted an awkward platform on which to try to execute any kind of close-combat maneuver. As they fought for possession of the gun on the violently gyrating disc, Ruslan knew that whoever finally wrested control of the weapon would be the only winner.

It was then that he had a small epiphany.

Letting his muscles go slack, he released his grip on the other man’s wrist and lay back against the wide, circular seat. He had come to a decision with which he was unexpectedly comfortable. He had done enough for the species, he decided. More than enough. Having been given everything by the Myssari, he wanted for nothing, and had not for many decades now. Except the opportunity to see old Earth, and that plainly was not going to happen. Understanding this, he felt it was incumbent on him to allow the resurrection of humankind to proceed to the next level. He wasn’t really worried about Cherpa. She could and would handle Pahksen. Doubtless she would calm him down. With nothing left to fear, with no one however imaginary competing for her attention, Pahksen would probably settle down quickly. If his, Ruslan’s, removal from the scene was what was ultimately necessary to advance the restoration of humanity, it was a sacrifice that he was willing to make.

Tired. He was so tired. He recalled an ancient human tale he had read long ago, during his growing up on Seraboth when he believed himself to be the last living human in the galaxy. Whether it came from an incident true or fictional he did not know, but it had stayed with him.

It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done, he repeated to himself. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than…

Now seated above his erstwhile rival, a grimly triumphant Pahksen started to raise and position the neutralizer. It looked as if he had a few choice last words for the man he was about to murder. And then he fell over. A baffled Ruslan watched the younger man topple forward. In seeming slow motion, Pahksen fell to his right, his eyes closing like tiny shades as he toppled. Near the end of his preternaturally slow descent, the first droplets of blood entered Ruslan’s line of sight.

As the younger man tumbled to one side it was as if one human-sized silhouette was being peeled away to reveal a second that had been concealed behind the first. Having resigned himself to death, a still very much alive but unmoving Ruslan saw that Cherpa had come up unseen behind the pair of combatants. In both hands she gripped a very large rock. As he gaped at her, trying to process what had just happened, she dropped it and stumbled backward a couple of steps.

Slowly he sat up in the rapidly stabilizing chair and looked to his left, over the side of the disc. Pahksen was lying on the ground, facedown and unmoving. Several yellow-orange thushpins that had fled his fall were now crowding cautiously back in search of their hastily abandoned holes in the soil. They would not be able to shift the considerable bulk of the motionless human, Ruslan knew. Swinging his legs over the side of the disc, he stood up. As he did so Cherpa came up beside him. Normally he would have been instantly alert to her proximity, to her warmth, to her smell. Not now. Together they stared at the motionless figure.

Ruslan bent down and lightly touched the prone body’s chest, neck, and face. Spreading rapidly from the skull onto the ground was a dark pool that formed a halo around the skull like those found on ancient religious icons. He straightened.

“I think you’ve killed him.” Ruslan spoke as calmly and quietly as a Myssari. He did not think that, at that moment, they would have been proud. On the contrary, he knew that the death of one of their three prize specimens would be enough to seriously upset even the normally understanding Cor’rin. Holding Oola tight against her chest, Cherpa stared at the dead body.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. But he was going to kill you. I couldn’t let him kill you, Bogo. You rescued me. I couldn’t let him, net him, vet him.” Her apology was bracketed not by remorse but with irritation. “He was mean, Pahksen was. Even on Daribb he was mean. I hoped when we got here that Seraboth and the Myssari would suck some of the mean out of him, but all the attention and fawning and caring just made him puff up with self-importance.” Her regret was perfunctory. “I’m sorry, Bogo. I tried to be nice to him. I really did. I know”—she turned her face away—“I know what the Myssari wanted from the two of us. They didn’t hide it.”

He felt he should say something. “Committed scientists are rarely good at hiding that to which they are dedicated. It—didn’t bother you?”

“What? The constant emphasis on reproduction? No. I understood. I just couldn’t do it. I kept waiting for Pahksen to do something… nice. I studied the old records. I know what romance is. It’s not like I expected flowers, or an invitation to a moonlit walk, or ancient courting rituals.” She eyed the body anew. “I just wanted him to be nice, thrice. And he never could be, he never was. I guess all the bad memories of Daribb and Dinabu never left him, no matter how hard the Myssari tried to put him at ease.”

Ruslan reached for the communicator tab at his ear, then hesitated. The Myssari were going to be very, very unhappy. Doubtless the Sectionary would immediately authorize the cloning program. Given what had happened, he could hardly raise more objections. Quite unintentionally, the events of the previous few minutes would only confirm what hard-line Myssari researchers had long claimed: that humankind could not be trusted with its own rejuvenation. He nodded at the rapidly cooling corpse.

“He was jealous, you know. That’s what finally caused him to eschew reason and lose control.”

“Jealous?” Her brow furrowed. “Of what?”

“Our relationship. You and I.”

“Our ‘relationship’?” She still didn’t understand. Then, abruptly, she did. One hand went to her mouth and she stared, not at the body this time, but at him. “You mean he thought…? That’s crazy! That’s insane!”

“I told him that. He wouldn’t believe me.”

He paused, then went on: “Many elements among the Myssari scientific community will be distraught. Some will believe their worst theories confirmed. All will wonder if this is yet another, probably the last, example of why our species died out. They’ll say anew that it was because we couldn’t control our baser instincts, everything from individual conflicts to intersystem wars. I always felt it was my duty to counter such arguments. Now…” He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a logic leg left to stand on.” He looked back at her.

“You may have saved my life, Cherpa, but you’ve only postponed my death. Myssari science will keep me alive for a long time yet, but all other things being equal, you’re destined to outlive me. When that day comes—and barring accident or the unforeseen, come it will—you’ll take over from me. You’ll be the last human.” He sighed heavily. “It’s not a particularly enjoyable job.”

“Maybe,” she replied softly, “maybe the Myssari will find more of us. I know they’re always looking. Cor’rin told me so.”

He nodded tersely. “Sure. And maybe one day they’ll find old Earth, too. The universe thrives on maybes.” He went ahead and activated the communications tab. “No point in waiting any longer to inform our friends. They have to be told. Their shock won’t prevent them from getting here as fast as possible with the equipment necessary to preserve the body. They’ll want some of it for study and some of it to keep for possible replacement material.” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ll especially want to preserve his sperm.”

She didn’t flinch. There was nothing about the Myssari program to re-create humankind with which she was unfamiliar. “Bogo, do you think there’s a gene in humans that’s responsible for unwarranted aggression?”

“If there is, I sincerely hope it’s highly recessive. We’ll discuss that with Bac’cul and Cor’rin and the others. When the project moves to the next step, they won’t want to make any mistakes.” Once again he indicated the dead Pahksen. “They’ll leave the doing of that to live humans.”

By the standards of contemporary interstellar communication, reaction was swift.

Like much of the main research installation on Seraboth, the room was suspended over the Halafari River, which ran through the center of the long-uninhabited human city of Chalfar. Wishing to preserve the human city in as original a condition as possible, the Myssari had thrown their own imported facilities from one shore to the other in a succession of parallel arches over the river. Select study modules boasted transparent floors, both for research and aesthetic reasons. Such was the floor in the room in which he and Cherpa presently found themselves. Looking down between the furnishings, he could see the cataracts of the Halafari raging below. The boiling waters were only a little less angry than the Myssari who were presently glaring at him.

Though he felt he had prepared himself for the expected confrontation, Ruslan was still taken aback by the perceptible chill. Among the assembled, only Kel’les seemed his usual self, though pointedly subdued. Gathered in the chamber along with Bac’cul and Cor’rin were several senior members of the Seraboth research staff. While their faces were largely inflexible, Ruslan had learned over the decades that something of a Myssari’s state of mind could be inferred by the rapidity and frequency of their eye blinks. At the moment, he felt he was the subject of numerous stares that were totally absolute in their unblinking. If there was any sympathy for him among the assembled besides that of his minder and old friend, Kel’les, he was not detecting it. He decided not to wait for formal introductions.

“Look, I’m sorry for what happened. It should have been avoided and I wish it had turned out differently. I know how hard you’ve tried to accommodate my individual interests and outlook, and the encounter probably could have been handled differently.” He finished lamely. “It was a human thing.”

Cherpa then proceeded to undo every iota of his careful diplomacy.

“I wish Pahksen hadn’t died but I’m not sorry I hit him.” She nodded toward Ruslan. “It was him be stopped or Bogo be died. So I acted. I’d act again if I had to.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe next time I’d use a smaller rock, but I didn’t have time to look around and choose. Growing up on Daribb, I learned to always go with what was readily available even if it wasn’t my first choice.”

As chief of the Seraboth study bloc, Gos’sil was the one who replied. His tone was not sympathetic. “One-third of the galaxy’s surviving human population is now extinguished, and at the hands of one of its own kind. Although I serve more in the capacity of administrator than scientist, I begin to comprehend how a supposedly intelligent species was capable of utterly annihilating itself.”

Lowering his gaze, Ruslan let his thoughts wander to the rush of white water beneath the transparent floor. “Do what you want with me but leave Cherpa out of it. She came to my defense. Instinctively, not with forethought. The unfortunate demise of Pahksen was an accident.”

A confused Cor’rin responded. “Are you implying that some sort of punishment might be forthcoming, Ruslan? What would we gain by that? The resurrection program has suffered a serious blow. The last thing anyone connected with the process would wish to do is damage it further. We have no choice but to continue to deal with you as we have done previously.”

He lifted his head. “Then what are you going to do?”

Gos’sil and his colleagues were focused on Ruslan. “The restoration process will commence as soon as you and Cherpa are returned to Myssar. Natural, viable reproductive components will be utilized. Fertilization will be induced and offspring nurtured.”

It was as Ruslan had feared. He addressed the pronouncement quickly.

“You can’t do that.”

“Of course we can.” Ruslan was surprised but not shocked to hear from Bac’cul. Friend or not, he was as much a Myssari scientist as Gos’sil or any other representative of the Sectionary. “I tell you that from many years of study our specialists in the matter are more familiar with the process than would be the average human. Certainly more so than yourself and a young, inexperienced, uneducated female.”

“It’s not right,” he shot back.

“What obscure moral issues you may attempt to cite are subsumed in the far greater need to resurrect your species.” Cor’rin was empathetic but unyielding. “You may choose to deny yourself a future, but we will not allow you to deny it to your kind.” She leaned back on her two rearmost legs and crossed the third over her left side.

“What if I refuse cooperation?”

“You have already agreed to cooperate in the process,” Bac’cul reminded him. “You agreed to do so when we made the bargain to search for your original homeworld. Nothing was said about the need to find it: only to commence a search. We have upheld and continue to uphold our part of the agreement.” Pausing, he added in a less strident tone, “I am sorry that the seeking has proved fruitless. None would have wished it to be successful more than I.”

Unpersuaded, Ruslan fought back. “The bargain referred to involved my agreeing to provide cells for cloning. Nothing was said about mimicking natural human reproduction. As far as that goes, I choose not to cooperate.” He crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture whose meaning only a few of those present would recognize.

It didn’t matter. Bac’cul politely but coolly explained why. “I repeat: the process will commence upon your return to Myssar. It has been decided that your cooperation in the matter is not required.”

Ruslan’s jaw tightened. “I won’t let you do it to her. You can’t force her to bear Pahksen’s offspring!”

“We have no wish to risk damage to our sole female specimen,” Gos’sil assured him. “Founded on human biology, the construction and maintenance of a number of artificial wombs is a simple matter of organic engineering. As to the other…”

As Cherpa stepped forward she placed an open palm over her lower abdomen. “You don’t have to do anything by force. I’ll volunteer my eggs. Take what you want.”

Startled and hurt, Ruslan turned to her. “Cherpa, you don’t have to agree to this! Even though we’re not Myssari, there are legal-ethical edicts available to us on Myssar that we can invoke. You don’t have to see your eggs fertilized with the sperm of the man you killed, someone you didn’t like and who tormented you through—”

Cor’rin interrupted him. As usual, her highly restrictive expression was unreadable. “Who said we were going to use genetic material from the deceased specimen?”

“I assumed that because—” He broke off as realization hit home. “You’re not referring to me, Cor’rin. Surely not to me.”

“Unless there is another human male of whose existence we are unaware—yes, we are referring to you, Ruslan.”

He swallowed and started to say something, only to find the words bunching up unintelligibly in his throat. Moving close, Cherpa put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Bogo. It’s not only okay, it’s special okay.”

They were all staring at him, waiting for a response. So many Myssari eyes. So many inhuman eyes. He was being asked to consider a possibility that had barely, if ever, impinged on his consciousness.

“I don’t—I think of Cherpa as a distant daughter, not as a mate.”

“No ‘mating’ will be involved, Ruslan.” Bac’cul was once more the phlegmatic scientist. “Not in the traditional sense. You have only the most tenuous genetic connection to each other. You are not even from the same world. You are both human. Where basal matters of reproduction are concerned, the age difference is immaterial. All that matters is biological viability.”

Looking down past his feet toward the surging river, Ruslan wished he were in it. “What if my ‘genetic material’ isn’t viable any longer?”

“Then we will have no choice but to use the corresponding reproductive components salvaged from the body of the deceased Pahksen.” There was neither apology nor hesitation in Cor’rin’s voice. “If it eventuates that we follow that course of action, we will have to deal with the possibility of inherited psychological abnormalities when and if they manifest themselves in the course of the resultant offsprings’ maturation.”

The Myssari were plainly adamant. Given no choice, a reluctant Ruslan decided it was better to concede than to flail fruitlessly against something that had already been decided.

“Since Cherpa’s willing to contribute, I suppose I might as well also,” he sighed. Thick with satisfaction, a group susurration filled the room. A compliant specimen, the assembled researchers knew, always produced better results than one that was study-averse. “But it will be via a strictly controlled and deliberate laboratory methodology, as you say.”

Among the Myssari only Cor’rin and one or two other of the scientists were noticeably disappointed. To the rest the method of reproduction was a sideshow. A potentially interesting one from a scientific and cultural-historical standpoint, to be sure, but unimportant compared to the far greater desire to see humankind brought back as a viable species.

With the matter settled, the gathering dispersed; the researchers to their work, Gos’sil and his assistants to their administrative duties, Cherpa to resume her ongoing perusal of surviving human entertainment sounds and visuals. Only Ruslan was left aimless, unsure what to do next.

Wandering out of the research complex, he made his way down to the riverside. Much of the original vitreous but rough-surfaced promenade had survived, allowing him to walk safely beside the foaming, roaring waterway. Cleverly diverted streamlets threaded their way like aqueous tentacles through the material of the walkway itself, lending a dynamic, almost organic feel to his stroll as streams of rushing water danced beneath his feet.

He had put off the business of human reproduction as long as he could. Then Cherpa and Pahksen had come into the picture, reinforcing the determination of the Myssari to commence restoration of his species. Pahksen was likely out of it now, but the manner of his passing had pushed the Myssari beyond politeness. Ruslan knew there was nothing more he could do. His hosts were going to begin bringing back humankind no matter what he said or did.

He hoped they knew what they were doing.