Relic

6

One did not need to possess Kel’les’s level of expertise and experience in dealing with a live human to see how depressed Ruslan was on the return journey to base. At Cor’rin’s suggestion the driftec detoured to pay a visit to a newly discovered geological phenomenon. The presence of scattered human ruins near the base of the thousand-meter-high waterfall was proof that the spectacular sight had long been appreciated by Treth’s inhabitants. Now the vertiginous panorama was the sole province of a small group of Myssari scientists. Even its undeniable magnificence, however, failed to rouse the disconsolate Ruslan from his bereavement.

The pool of depression in which he felt himself foundering was his own fault, he knew. It had been wrong of him to raise such expectations. To imagine that the Myssari were any more adept than humankind in reviving the long preserved. Such techniques had been little more than theory in his own time. But desperation leads people to take desperate measures. It was difficult to imagine anything more desperate than having oneself voluntarily committed to cryostorage, knowing that the technology for revivification did not exist at the time the process was carried out, and might never.

The exhibition of failure he had just witnessed was proof that never was still now and might well be forever. Better to try to store human personality and memories in a fluxbox than in the fragile, fleshy form in which they originated. Possibly somewhere, on some unknown human-settled world, desperate citizens had tried to do just that. Given his age, he was unlikely to learn whether anyone had ever been successful in such an attempt. Even if they had been, any such effort could only be considered a partial success. The resultant revived individuals might be capable of speech, and remembrance, and conversation. But they would not necessarily be truly human. The warmth that was likely to be missing would be more than physical.

While he appreciated the effort on the part of his Myssari friends to distract and revitalize him, he was glad when they reached the base and he could isolate himself in the small cubby he had been allotted. Alone with his thoughts, he was more attuned to his kind than when in the presence of multiple Myssari, however considerate they might be. Kel’les, for one, could not understand how Ruslan could handle so much solitude. In such a situation a lone Myssari would become mentally unbalanced far more rapidly than any human.

“I talk to myself,” he had once explained to his minder. “I have conversations with myself. I debate with myself.” He remembered smiling. “Sometimes I even win the arguments.”

They did not understand.

The door chimed softly for his attention. Responding to his query, it went transparent on the inside so that he could identify his visitor. A sigh of resignation escaped his lips. It was Kel’les again. That much he expected. Seeing to the human’s health and happiness was the intermet’s responsibility. Despite that, Ruslan would have sent the minder away except that s’he was accompanied by another. Cor’rin was with him. The xenologist had been particularly struck by the human’s despondency. Further flinging his depression in her face would be impolite. Not that he much cared. Not at this point. If he died leaving the Myssari thinking his frequent cynicism and disdain were typical of all humans, so be it. But he liked the young scientist. So he directed the door to admit them.

They had not come to offer additional sympathies. There was no need. Empathy had been proffered all the way from the archeological site back to the base. The xenologist got right to the point.

“We have just received word that Wol’daeen is going to try another double resurrection tomorrow, and we need to know if you wish to attend. An alternative procedure will be employed. We are informed that she has a list of several varying techniques, ranked in order of descending theoretical success.”

He did not stir from the special improvised bed on which he lay. “When she runs one that has real instead of theoretical results, let me know. Otherwise I’d rather not go back there.” Memories of wandering the silent, death-filled streets of Seraboth’s cities rushed through his mind, an unavoidable tsunami of sorrow. The early decades of his life had been spent stepping over or around the dead and decaying. He had no wish to relive those moments now, not even if surrounded by the cool white comfort of advanced Myssari technology.

“What’s the purpose of it all, anyway?” Rising from the edge of the bed, he walked over to a food dispenser. The liquid he called forth took a moment to brew. He credited the Myssari with accepting without question his insistence that he required the periodic ingestion of alcohol to function properly. Taking a too-long draft from the modified fluid container, he regarded his visitors.

“I’ve said it before and this seems a suitable time to say it again, no matter what the Science Sectionary feels. Why put so much effort into bringing back a species that’s responsible for its own extinction?”

“You know why.” Kel’les held his stance as well as his stare. “You have been told repeatedly. The knowledge of and about your kind is important.”

“Why, why? Remind me again.” He took another heady swallow of the drink that had been concocted to his specifications.

“Because all knowledge is important,” Kel’les told him.

“Yeah, right. Lot of good it did my kind.”

“Motivation, right or wrong, exists separate from knowledge.” Cor’rin was unexpectedly forceful. “It is the knowledge that matters, not what motivates the acquiring of it.”

Ruslan grunted, swaying slightly. “Knowledge for knowledge’s sake.”

“If you will,” she shot back. “On one thing, I believe we can agree.”

“What’s that?”

“You are not the most qualified individual to decide on the validity of that conclusion.”

A broad smile creased his face. “Why, Cor’rin, I do believe there are those of your kind who would consider that frank assessment to be borderline uncivil!”

Kel’les stepped forward. “I am more aware than anyone, including probably yourself, of the effect the too-rapid ingestion of alcohol has on the human system. Already you are having difficulty cogitating clearly.” The intermet turned to the other Mysarri present and, with as much firmness as Ruslan had ever heard from his minder, said, “Please leave now, Cor’rin, in order to deprive our plainly troubled human charge of any opportunity to further embarrass himself.”

She hesitated, then as she turned to leave executed a gesture that managed to convey both compliance and understanding. In a moment she was gone, leaving Kel’les to cope alone with behavior that only further underscored Ruslan’s frequent lamentations regarding human fallibility.

He was unsure what woke him first: the distant mechanical hum that suggested the presence of large machinery operating in an area of the base where it ought not to be present, or the subtle but insistent chiming of the door. Verbally activating the one-way view showed Kel’les standing outside. That the intermet looked more agitated than the human had ever seen motivated Ruslan to swiftly rise from his sleeping platform. Without taking the time to dress, he admitted his handler.

Having viewed it on numerous occasions both in person and via detailed biological schematics, Kel’les paid no attention to the biped’s nakedness. Nor did s’he comment on what to a Myssari would be the difficulty of dressing oneself with only two hands instead of three. S’he had scarcely allowed the door, which automatically opaqued once more, to close before s’he began speaking.

“I hope you are fully recovered both mentally and physically from your physiological diversion of the previous day, as this morning brings with it a potential awkwardness.”

Ruslan frowned as he wrestled a lightweight shirt down over his chest. “What kind of awkwardness? Don’t tell me Wol’daeen insists that I watch another potentially botched revivification?”

Further emphasizing that something out of the ordinary was in prospect, his minder’s responding gesture involved simultaneous movement of all three hands.

“This has nothing to do with Wol’daeen or the human cryostorage facility. The Vrizan are here.”

The vestiges of sleep that were pawing at Ruslan’s thoughts vanished like mist caught in sunlight. “The scout who encountered me is here?”

“Not the scout. Many Vrizan.” Kel’les glanced back in the direction of the doorway. “There was talk by San’dwil and the other base supervisors of spiriting you away, but there was not sufficient time. The Vrizan arrived without notice. Their craft came in using military-grade concealment and revealed itself only when ready to touch down.”

Now fully awake, Ruslan’s mind was awhirl with possibilities, most of them disagreeable. “I don’t understand. Are we under attack?”

“Not overtly, no. At least, so I have been led to believe. No hostile gestures have been made and no weapons have been brandished. Oppositely, those bent on friendly concourse tend not to arrive under cover of military-rated camouflage.” S’he whistled significantly as s’he inhaled. “These are Vrizan, not Myssari. It is difficult to comprehend their reasoning in coming here in such a fashion.”

“Maybe they’re shy.” Sitting on the edge of the sleeping platform, Ruslan eased his feet into the special sandals that had been fashioned for him.

“Whatever else they may be, the Vrizan are not shy.” Kel’les’s tone was reproving.

“You think they’re here after me?”

“Doubtless we will learn their purpose shortly. San’dwil and the others have been theorizing. As you are the most valuable asset at this location, and quite unique, the intent was to move you to a place where your presence could not become an issue. That now cannot be done. Any driftec departing the base would immediately come under scrutiny by the Vrizan.”

“I suppose it’s flattering to know that I’m still considered that important.” He rose from the platform. “I don’t want to be the cause of any fighting.”

Kel’les’s expression, such as was permitted by his less flexible face, did not change. “That decision is not up to you.”

Ruslan’s lips pressed tightly together before he replied. “I see that something else hasn’t changed, either.” He nodded toward the door. “Since I am not the master of my destiny, what happens now?”

“We wait.”

He could only fume quietly while wondering if he would be allowed to hear whatever decisions were being made concerning his welfare or if they would simply be forwarded to Kel’les to convey to him. He might be nominally independent, but he was also property. Of one thing he was certain: the Myssari would not surrender him easily.

Now he was the one hypothesizing. Notwithstanding the Vrizan’s stealth arrival, his alien minders and mentors might be overreacting. The unexpected Vrizan visit might have nothing to do with him.

Via a tiny communicator, Kel’les was listening to words that were not being sent the human’s way. The minder eyed him evenly. “We are to make our way to the central meeting chamber. The Vrizan know you are here. They insist, rather forcefully, on seeing you.”

Ruslan frowned. “Seeing me? That’s all?”

“That is all they have requested. San’dwil has consulted with his aides. It has been decided that under the circumstances, refusing would risk more potential harm than good. Neither the Myssari nor the Vrizan have succeeded in codifying a final claim to Treth. Until ownership has been granted to one or the other, our respective scientific teams must share this world. It is better that this be done on a cordial basis. Also…”

“It would be impolite to refuse, given their insistence that they know I’m here,” Ruslan finished for the intermet.

Kel’les gestured affirmatively. “With the exception of your regrettably inadequate physique, you have acquired all the makings of a good Myssari.”

S’he was trying to be encouraging, Ruslan knew. In return he offered up a smile of his own that was as reassuring as it was fake. As the door opened and they started out, he tried to prepare himself for whatever might come. Somewhat to his surprise he found that it didn’t matter. On the heels of Wol’daeen’s failed efforts to resurrect any of the preserved humans, it seemed that nothing mattered much anymore. Not to him, anyway.

To the Myssari his continued existence among them still mattered very much indeed.

In contrast to the single individual he had encountered under dark and difficult circumstances, the half dozen Vrizan who awaited him in the meeting room were patently of a different standard indeed. In place of the lone scout’s camouflaged field attire, the majority of the visiting aliens were resplendent in silklike garb of some electric-blue material. A few were differentiated from their comrades by garments fashioned from an intense turquoise-hued fabric that shimmered whenever their wearers took a step. The latter also featured a vertical line of rotating gold orbs embedded in the upper left shoulder of their clothing. The optical effect was striking. Despite San’dwil’s change of attire into something more suited to a formal meeting, the duty dress and uniforms of the assembled group of Myssari were dull by comparison.

Daylight defined the external anatomy of the Vrizan sharply. Bipedal, they were basically two conjoined ovoids topped by a severely flattened sphere. Bright eyes glistened at either end of the wide skull. The exceptional multiplicity of joints in their legs was matched by a similar number in their arms. These limbs were not quite human, not quite tentacles. Studying them as they moved, an intrigued Ruslan reflected that a Vrizan snapping its joints would generate a veritable symphony of pops and crackles.

The few gasps that came from them as he entered the room were unsettlingly humanlike.

A Myssari technician was about to pass out translators when one of the taller Vrizan clad in the brilliant turquoise garb stepped forward.

“Conversational instrumentation will not be necessary. I and several of my colleagues speak Myssarian.”

“Quite well, too.” Grateful of the opportunity to respond with a cost-free compliment, San’dwil advanced to meet his counterpart. The wariness with which he approached was well considered.

“I don’t suppose any of you speak Vrizan?” the visitor added before his host could continue with an official greeting.

San’dwil maintained his poise. “Several of us are fluent in your language. However, the human is not. I am assuming that in addition to seeing him and verifying his existence for yourselves, it would please you to speak to him. Absent translation equipment, this can only be done in Myssarian.”

Startling Ruslan, the Vrizan’s long, narrow mouth parted at opposite ends while the center section remained tightly closed. Even though the lone human in the room could not properly interpret its meaning, from an anatomical standpoint the alien expression was fascinating. Was it the equivalent of a smile? A grimace? Or something unknown?

“When working in the field, all scientists must adapt to the circumstances of the moment,” the Vrizan murmured. This time only one corner of the extended mouth opened. “We will speak in your language.” The widely separated eyes shifted to focus on Ruslan. He met them evenly—or as evenly as he could given their remarkable degree of physical divergence. “How conversant is the… creature?”

Bac’cul spoke up. “Fully fluent. He has resided among us for some time now.” If the Vrizan recognized the scarcely muted pride in the Myssari scientist’s voice, the visitor gave no sign.

“We desire physical contact.” One of the other turquoise-clad visitors was unable to restrain herself. “If only to know for certain that the creature is not a cleverly constructed artifice designed to mock us.”

“I’d think that the scout I encountered who reported my presence would be able to give you confirmation enough of that,” Ruslan told the anxious researcher.

His confident response, wholly as articulate as Bac’cul had promised, sparked an animated babble among the Vrizan. Calling for quiet, their leader turned back to the assembled Myssari.

“For myself I would be content to leave with the evidence of my eyes, but there are scientists among us teetering on the verge of giddiness who have threatened me with all manner of incivilities if their request is denied. So I must ask again: may several of us be permitted to approach the survivor?”

“Survivor.” Not “specimen.” For all that one of their number had threatened to shoot him on that frantic night when Ruslan had taken his unauthorized stroll, he found himself softening toward the Vrizan, only the second intelligent species with whom he had exchanged more than a passing glance.

As San’dwil’s head swiveled to regard the human, Kel’les leaned close and whispered, “I do not think this is a good idea.”

Ruslan rejected his minder’s appraisal. “Why not? All they want to do is touch me. Where’s the harm, if it inspires them to leave quietly and satisfied?”

Kel’les’s small eyes were scanning the waiting, impatient visitors. “What if they have something else in mind? Something more?”

“What, like trying to carry me off?” The image this speculation conjured was so absurd that he had to struggle not to laugh. “I’d fight back. San’dwil would not permit it—it would mean the ruination of his career.” He nodded toward the Vrizan. “There aren’t many of them, some are self-proclaimed scientists, and they’re inside a Myssari base. They don’t strike me as fools.”

“They are not.” Kel’les’s worry remained. “That is why I am concerned.”

“Let’s put an end to that.” Walking toward the visitors, he lowered his arms and spread them wide. “Approach and satisfy yourselves, if this is what you want.”

While it was evident that San’dwil was unhappy with his prize guest’s willingness to accommodate, there was little he could do about it. Alien and sole survivor of a vanished species, Ruslan was too valuable to risk injuring. It never seriously occurred to San’dwil to try to prevent the encounter by calling for the use of sudden physical force. So he stood where he was and looked on apprehensively.

While it was plain that the Vrizan were sexually dimorphic, Ruslan was unsure which was which. Fearing it might be undiplomatic to inquire, he resolved to ask Kel’les to settle the question later. Meanwhile Vrizan of both sexes took their time inspecting his frame, from running small, narrow, and many-jointed fingers through his brown hair, to marveling at the flexibility of his ears, to trying to understand how his arms and legs could efficiently carry out their apparent functions utilizing only three joints and such heavy bones. As they grew more comfortable in his proximity they began asking questions.

“This stiff but bendable flesh behind your aural openings… what is its purpose?”

“You have two kinds of teeth—pointed and flat. Why?”

“There is no proper separation between the upper and lower halves of your torso. How do you keep waste material in the lower half from corrupting and poisoning the organs in the upper half?”

It went on like that for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Eventually Kel’les relaxed. The Vrizan gave no indication of wanting to hit Ruslan with anything more damaging than a flurry of questions. San’dwil, on the other hand, did not relax, nor did those around him. While occasional glances flashed the way of the visiting researchers, far more of the Myssari supervisors’ attention was focused on the Vrizan military personnel who had accompanied them.

As Ruslan stood surrounded, the questions kept coming.

“Your head is impossibly round but you have two eyes. Do you have binocular vision?”

“What is the purpose of the small divided organ in the center of your face? Doesn’t it interfere with your consumption of food?”

“How do your limbs function in the absence of a proper number of joints?”

He was growing tired, both of the endless queries and from having to stand in one place for so long. When he expressed his unhappiness, one Vrizan researcher rushed to bring him a Myssari seating bench while the others held their questions until he was again ready to reply. It was not at all what he had anticipated; certainly not from his previous single encounter with the Vrizan scout. Admittedly the circumstances were decidedly different this time. What he had not expected, especially based on the concern expressed by Kel’les and San’dwil, was the respect being shown to him by the visitors. It bordered on awe. In contrast, with the exception of Kel’les, the Myssari treated him as something valuable to be preserved rather than as an individual to be regarded as an equal. Granted, it was possible he was misreading their attitude. More time spent on Myssar did not necessarily breed familiarity.

After he informed them, as he took his seat, that they could continue to ask questions—but please, not too many more, for he really was growing weary—the Vrizan scientists resumed their excited interrogation. This time they did not talk over one another and they gave him more time to respond thoughtfully to each query.

What came next he did not expect at all.

As he was replying to a question relating to an obscure aspect of human culture, one of the heretofore less active interviewers moved very close, leaned over with a multitudinous popping of joints, and whispered.

“Why do you remain in the company of these insipid tripods? You and I, we are both bipeds. We Vrizan are normal bisexuals, like humans. Like you, each of us has more than three digits on our hands. Although they are positioned differently on our heads, our eyes are like yours, large and equipped for marginal night vision as well as excellent sight during the day. Though you have far fewer joints, our means and method of vertical locomotion are similar. We are more straightforward and honest in our dealings. We are bold, as was humankind before its fall. We do not simper and neither did your people. Human and Vrizan have far more in common than human and Myssari.”

As Ruslan digested this extraordinary disquisition the speaker straightened. The eyes at the ends of his flattened, elongated skull swiveled inward to face the human.

“Come with us. The Myssari have learned much from you. Why should we not have the same opportunity? They cannot possibly treat you as well as we will. There are more similarities between humankind and Vrizan than I can enumerate in a short time. You will see for yourself if you come with us.”

Ruslan was aware that all questioning had ceased. Insofar as he could tell, none of the Vrizan researchers looked surprised by the offer that had just been extended. Their plan of action—respectful questioning followed by unexpected offer—had doubtless been rehearsed and agreed upon long before the science team had left its base. They were all staring at him now, a progression of widely separated alien eyes. Waiting for his reply.

A nervous Kel’les rejoined him. “Is everything all right, Ruslan?” The intermet eyed the now expectant visitors worriedly. “It has gone quiet. Are they finished with you?”

“Everything’s fine, Kel’les. Just one more question to answer and then we’ll be done here.” Given the extraordinary separation of the Vrizan’s oculars, Ruslan tried to meet the gaze of the alien who had voiced the offer as best he could.

“You are absolutely right. On the face of it, my people and yours have much more in common than they do with the Myssari. In many ways the Vrizan do appear to be far more humanlike.” A startled Kel’les started to say something but Ruslan forestalled his friend. “That is why I will not go with you.”

While unhappy murmuring rose from among the visiting researchers, it was left to their spokesman to respond. His bemusement appeared genuine. “I—we—do not understand. If we are more like you, then would you not find yourself more comfortable among us?”

“Quite the contrary. As I have inferred, by your words and your actions, you do share many features with my kind. The last thing I want is to be reminded of them. You remind me of failure, of hubris, of arrogance. Of the death of millions upon millions of innocents.” He lowered his eyes. “I already have far too many memories of such things.” He gestured toward Kel’les, and beyond, to the other intently staring Myssari. “All my disturbing reminiscences will trouble me less if I remain with them, I think. Because they do not remind me of my kind at all.” He raised his gaze anew. “I hope you can respect that.”

The senior alien researcher paused for a long moment. Then he made a gesture. It was a forceful gesture, delivered in the manner of the Vrizan—or a human.

“Yes, we can respect that.” He started backward, the numerous joints in his legs crackling harmonically. “We cannot understand it, but we can respect it. However, we need not agree to it.”

His retreat accelerated. Not with as much agility as a Myssari, a tight-lipped Ruslan thought. More like a human struggling not to trip and fall. Weapons appeared in the hands of the researchers’ turquoise-garbed military escort. The human sighed resignedly. So the instinctive defensive, antagonistic reaction of the nocturnal scout he had surprised had not been an aberration after all. What a pity. But not a surprise. Faced with a similar situation, representatives of his own kind might well have reacted similarly. He might have done so himself.

What he was seeing now only confirmed that he wanted to live out the remainder of his life among the Myssari. Provided the Vrizan would let him. Their hand weapons were impressively advanced, their determination almost… human. The only one in the room who didn’t care a great deal what happened next was the subject of the confrontation.

Die today, die tomorrow—what’s the difference? On reflection he realized that he had actually enjoyed, as opposed to merely tolerated, all the years he had spent on Myssar. Aliens Kel’les and the other Myssari might be, utterly nonhuman in appearance, reproductive matters, and much of their culture. But they possessed one element that overrode all the others.

They were nice.

That intrinsic niceness did not prevent them from drawing weapons of their own, however. That this was done in defense of property more than of an individual did not trouble Ruslan. He was used to it. He was not only valuable: from a scientific standpoint he was irreplaceable. How far the Myssari were prepared to go to retain him and how far the Vrizan were prepared to reach to try to take him would be known within a minute.

As he sat speculating, Kel’les stepped in front of him. Bac’cul and Cor’rin crowded close at his sides. At the moment, the Myssari in the room were outnumbered and outgunned. That would not last long. A quick sideways glance out a nearby transparent panel showed movement in the base’s central plaza. Someone in the room had managed to sound an alarm or relay word of what was happening. Very soon all exits would be blocked and the Vrizans’ options would be drastically reduced. They would have to decide what to do in the next few seconds.

In a single smooth swooping motion made possible only by an arm composed of dozens of individual joints, one of the escorts raised his sidearm. Ruslan stiffened.

So this is how the last human in the galaxy dies, he thought calmly. Being fought over by representatives of two alien species. The central prize in a scientific tug-of-war. Thinking of the ancient children’s game made him smile. It would be good to go out focused on such an antiquated image. Just like his entire species. He did feel sorry for Kel’les and the others. His death would not do their career prospects any good, although the Myssari viewed such things differently than a human. He closed his eyes. The leader of the Vrizan research team was speaking. Kel’les translated for him.

“Do not fire! You might hit the human.”

Blinking, Ruslan saw the speaker push down on the arm of the military escort who had started to take aim. A bit, though far from all, of the tension seeped out of the room. Beyond the transparent section of wall, Ruslan could see that the small open area outside that had been carefully landscaped with native Trethian plants was filling up with armed, restless Myssari. It seemed possible that he might live. He was happier for his Myssari companions than for himself.

“No knowledge is to be gained by those who seek it from fighting among themselves.” The Vrizan leader stood tall on his slender legs. “I ask your forgiveness for this awkward attempt. My orders to make the attempt came from a higher authority. From off-world, to be exact. I explained that it was unlikely to meet with success but I was overruled. Having complied with our pointless instructions, I assure you that we will now depart quietly.” For a last time his gaze fell on Ruslan. “If you should change your mind, human, I hope you will not hesitate to contact us. Since I doubt that your hosts will allow me to provide you with a means of doing so, I trust that should you ever wish to do so you will find a way of managing that communication. Studies show that your species was wonderfully resourceful. I can only hope its last representative is equal to any task to which he may set himself.”

Ruslan followed the Vrizan as they were escorted out. There was certainly much to admire about them. He had admired the native predator that had tried to eat him, too, but that did not mean he wanted to live with it or its kind. His relief obvious, Bac’cul turned to him.

“Are you all right, Ruslan?”

“I’m fine. I just want to rest.”

The researcher indicated his understanding. “I believe we all need a break after that confrontation. It could have turned calamitous.”

Nodding agreement, Ruslan rose and started in the direction that would lead him back to his assigned living quarters. The three Myssari who knew him best watched him go. Cor’rin was first to comment.

“What do you think?”

“The human has always been as good as his word,” a thoughtful Bac’cul observed. “Though it is oftentimes difficult to tell what he is thinking, his speech is invariably straightforward. I do not think he will try to contact the Vrizan. If he was so inclined, I believe he would have stepped across the room to join them here and now.”

“I agree,” added Kel’les. “I have spent more time in closer contact with him than anyone, and I have never known him to prevaricate. Nevertheless, I believe that as long as we remain on Treth he should be watched, especially when I am unable to accompany him. I will explain our conclusion to San’dwil.”

Cor’rin indicated that she was in agreement. Then, bearing in mind Bac’cul’s earlier observation regarding the need for everyone to rest, they departed the room as a group.