Relic

8

Not only was the outpost on Daribb smaller than the research base on Treth, it had been in operation less than half as long. Many of the creature comforts he and his companions had enjoyed on the world they had previously visited were greatly reduced or not available at all. Add to that the perpetual gloom that contrasted greatly with the bright sunshine of the previous station and it was easy to understand why the outpost’s Myssari staff, dedicated as they were, went about their daily routines with considerably less bounce in their tripartite step.

Preparations were made to transport Ruslan and his companions to the ruined city where the scouts had made their dubious sighting. Though Twi’win’s cold appraisal of the possibilities and barely concealed resentment at their presence had dimmed his early excitement, he was still eager to see for himself, as were Kel’les, Bac’cul, and Cor’rin.

While proper attire was available to outfit the visiting Myssari, no such gear existed that would accommodate his taller, narrower, bipedal human frame. Amid grumbling, several sets of the special glider boots that the Myssari used to skate atop the slick, muddy surface were cannibalized to provide him with secure footing.

“How does the creature stay upright on only two legs?” The outpost’s chief engineer was watching as Ruslan experimented with ski-walking on the improvised gliders. Standing beside the intermet, Cor’rin was no less intent on the human’s efforts.

“There is something within the species’ hearing mechanism that aids them in staying upright. Although we have only the one live specimen available for study, examination of numerous cadavers confirms that the internal physiology is common to all and to both sexes. I confess that the process never ceases to astonish me. It is not perfect, however. I have seen him fall.”

“I don’t wonder.” The engineer simultaneously admired and sympathized with the human’s struggles to master the use of the modified gliders. “The possibility appears not to bother him.”

“It depends how he lands. The skeletal structure is sound but, as anyone can see, absurdly top-heavy.” As if to confirm her analysis, Ruslan promptly tumbled forward, overcorrected by flailing his arms and kicking outward with his feet, and landed on his backside with an appreciable splash. Fortunately, the surface on which he was practicing was inside the outpost. While approximating the consistency of the ground outside, it was nowhere near as thick with dissolved soil and organic solids. When he rose, helped up by Kel’les, his pants were damp but not dirty.

“I wonder how long it will take him to master the gliders well enough to walk outside?” The engineer did not sound optimistic. Cor’rin was quick to step to Ruslan’s defense.

“I think you will be surprised. From having studied him for a period of years, I can assure you that the human is very adaptable.”

The engineer made a high-pitched gargling sound. “Not adaptable enough, or they wouldn’t be one individual shy of extinction.” His body pivoted while he continued to gaze at her. “I have work to do. We are perpetually shorthanded here.”

His guest indicated that she understood. “A fact of which your director never ceases to remind us.”

It was midmorning of the following day before everyone, including Ruslan, felt he was competent enough on the gliders to consider commencing their search. It could have begun earlier but everyone felt it was important that the human be able to fully participate. That meant being able to enter narrow passageways and travel down crumbling corridors on his own, without the aid of machinery. He felt as strongly about that as did his hosts.

From the air, the decaying city the outpost’s xenologists had identified as Dinabu was dauntingly extensive. Ruslan regarded the sprawling, decaying metropolis with concern. Even if the outpost’s automatics had seen something worthwhile, it could be anywhere within the crumbling depths below. Just because the pair of driftecs touched down at the exact coordinates that had been recorded by the scouts did not mean that whatever they had seen remained in the vicinity. Searching the city on foot could take years, even with advanced Myssari detection equipment. How many years Ruslan had remaining to him could only be estimated.

Sitting in the driftec, then, he was wasting time. As soon as the disembarkation portal opened, he was outside.

Whatever had prompted his kind to settle such a glum, soggy world remained a matter for speculation. If there were valuable minerals, the mines had yet to be found. Perhaps there were interesting indigenous food sources, he told himself as he stepped down off the battered metal landing platform. Possibly non-synthesizable organics. The answer would lie in the local records that Twi’win’s limited staff of linguists was methodically deciphering.

Walking on instead of in the omnipresent muck involved sliding one’s feet backward and forward, as if skiing on snow. Snow, however, did not gurgle beneath one’s feet. As he followed Bac’cul and their outpost guide toward the nearest large buildings, he wondered how deep the thick brown mud was beneath their feet. Maybe deep enough to swallow a man before he could utter a sound and without leaving the slightest indication he had ever been. It was a sobering thought and he was careful to keep his balance.

There was nothing remarkable about the entrance to the structure where the scouts had seen… something. Save for adaptations to the local climate, the interior was not all that different from the dozens, the hundreds, of abandoned buildings he had explored on Seraboth. There were similar devices, similar layouts, similar furniture. The same forlorn assortment of forsaken personal items. The same vestiges of a vanished people. The same pain.

Nothing moving, though. With the collapse of the city’s infrastructure following the obliterating sweep of the Aura Malignance, there was no possibility of utilizing local power or other facilities. While the necessary machinery was present, it was badly in need of repair and restoration, thanks to the depredations of local flora and fauna. In tandem with his companions he activated the illumination function of the modified Myssari exploration vest he now wore. This enabled him to better see his surroundings and his companions to see him. Looking like a swarm of oversized fireflies, they spread out to inspect each room in the building.

Ordinary Myssari would have been unsettled by the gloom and strange noises. Not the accompanying team of researchers from the outpost. They were familiar with Daribb’s lugubrious moods. Ruslan’s companions, however, were used to brighter, more cheerful surroundings. Even devastated Seraboth had boasted blue skies and sunshine.

Gazing at his present environs, he wasn’t sure he wanted them to be better illuminated. Unclassified scum pooled in the corners of violated buildings, while white-tendriled quasi-fungi climbed the posts that supported aboveground walkways. Where the latter had collapsed, he and his friends had to traverse the mud.

Directional lights mounted on individual vests allowed them to search recesses and crannies within the interconnected buildings. Heat-seeking sensors told the lights where to aim. Ruslan’s picked out a large mass of black fur that, when targeted, dissolved into a mad mob of multi-legged, pink-bellied creatures with top-mounted eyes and oversized teeth. He was not surprised. Similar creatures thrived on Seraboth and on Myssar itself. The frantic dark-furred beings followed a rule of evolution that was standard where higher lifeforms had developed. Breed often, have large litters, dwell in those places that are shunned by more dominant creatures, and your species will be a success. He grunted at the irony. Humans had bred infrequently, had small litters, and chose to live in the most amenable regions. Small furry things survived. Humanity had not.

The structural complex that had been singled out by the outpost’s scouts was a warren of interconnected rooms and chambers. A hospital, he thought as he glided ever deeper into its unidentified recesses and examined his surroundings. Or perhaps some kind of food-processing facility. There were no signs to guide him, print having given way millennia ago to electronic identifiers that could easily be attached to or embedded in walls. Take away their respective power sources, though, and you took away the words. Thousands of years after the invention of printing, there was still something to be said in favor of ink and crushed graphite.

A touch of anticipation sparked through him as he found a cabinet, its transparent doors broken out, that was filled with actual printed books. Some higher-up’s private collection, no doubt, or treasured symbols of the facility through which he strode. He was perusing one, delightedly flipping through the manually operated pages, when he heard the noise.

“Hello?” He placed the book he had been studying back into its home in the cabinet. “Who’s there? Can you speak?”

Had he imagined it? No—the sound was repeated. Something was moving, rustling, deeper within the complex, teasing his hearing, teasing his imagination. A Myssari would have answered him; therefore it was not Myssari. Paralleling his rising excitement, a hundred possibilities flashed through his mind.

If the source of the noise was the subject of the scouts’ disputed report, it might have forgotten how to talk. Or it might have suffered an injury that prevented it from speaking. Forced to subsist alone on a ruined world, a plague survivor might be naturally suspicious of any new sound, even one that was made up of familiar words.

That was it, he told himself. Having for many years now spoken nothing but Myssari, he had called out in that alien language. He immediately repeated his query, this time first in the formal interstellar tongue utilized by all human-settled worlds and then in the colloquial dialect of Seraboth. His lips and tongue remembered the words without effort.

The rustling noises ceased. Whatever was making them had heard him and was responding. With caution, but responding. Had their positions been reversed, he was sure he would have been no less prudent. As he continued to advance he could not keep images so long repressed from expanding in his mind. Would it be a man, perhaps his own age? Or one younger; strong and able to assist him as he grew older? Would it be a woman?

“It’s all right.” He kept repeating the mantra in both formal and colloquial. “I’m human. A survivor of the Malignance like yourself.” Shuffling aside debris with his glider-clad feet, he entered a large, high-ceilinged chamber. The intricate, faceted skylight had long since fallen in. “My name is Ruslan. Ruslan…”

He couldn’t remember his other name. It didn’t matter. “I’m from Seraboth. I’m here with the nonhumans who operate a nearby scientific outpost. They’re friends. They’ve been good to me. They’ve… helped me.” He extended a hand in case the other was watching closely. “They’ll help you, too, if you let them. I’ll help you. They just want to—”

A dark shape exploded from the mound of debris off to his right. It was bipedal and human-sized. The proportions were right. Even the hair was right: light brown and long. But it was not human. A second’s glance, which was about all the time he had, was enough to show that. He felt sudden terror and crushing disappointment all at once. Out of the corner of an eye, he saw two more of the creatures emerging from behind the trash mountain, watching to see how the ambush went before they risked their own hides by joining in the attack.

Reeling, stumbling backward, Ruslan managed to throw himself to one side an instant before powerful four-fingered hands could wrap themselves around his neck. His reflexes were not what they had been as a young man, but they were good enough. As the creature landed and turned, Ruslan fumbled for the sidearm he had been issued. He had argued with Twi’win about the need for him to carry a weapon. If he made it back, he would make it a point to apologize to her in person.

The creature’s wiry hair extended all the way to the backs of its legs. Like the Myssari, it was multi-jointed, though not so extensively as the Vrizan. Two bulging, round eyes were arranged in a pair facing forward, while two smaller orbs protruded from either side of the ovoid of a skull, giving the animal superb peripheral vision on a world noted for its murky atmosphere. With the exclusion of the exceptional mane, its brown, ochre-splotched body was utterly hairless. For all Ruslan could gather from his one hurried glance at its nakedness, it might just as well reproduce by budding or spores as sexually.

All of this impressed itself on his mind as he drew his weapon and took aim at the crouching alien. Before he could depress the trigger, something hard and muscular struck his right side. His impact-shocked fingers released the sidearm, which went tumbling to the damp, grimy floor. As he struggled with what felt like a massive bundle of live wires, the second creature turned to face him. Up close he could see that it had a protruding ridge of bone where a nose would be but no visible nostrils. No such ambiguity clouded the identity of the gaping mouth, whose parted jaws revealed sturdy incisors and molars arranged in double rows. A maw that could both rip and chew, it was presently inclining toward his face.

A part of him realized dimly that from a distance, and not a great one at that, such a being could easily be mistaken for human by even a well-programmed Myssari automatic. The matter of multiple joints aside, the native possessed the requisite number of limbs in approximately the same places, four manipulative digits instead of five, a head in the right location, and similar proportions. The flowing hair could easily conceal the left-skull and right-skull flanking eyes, while from anywhere but up close the central facial bony ridge looked very much like a human nose. Yes, the confusion was understandable. That his demise was imminent in no way affected the disappointment of his realization.

A bright light flashed in his eyes, blinding him. It was due not to the release of his body’s protective endorphins but to a perfectly placed discharge of energy from a weapon wielded by one of his Myssari escorts. As he blinked in furious pain, Ruslan’s vision cleared enough for him to see that where tooth and maw had loomed ever closer to his face, smoke now rose from a small crater where the alien’s head had been. The decapitated body slowly fell to its left. Maintaining their grip even in death, the powerful four-fingered hands that held him now dragged him to the ground.

More shots were fired, driving the remaining pair of frustrated, screeching creatures from the chamber. As the outpost escorts pursued them, familiar figures rushed to Ruslan’s aid. Kel’les arrived first, followed by Cor’rin and Bac’cul. Their largely inflexible faces prohibited expressions of concern, but he could see the apprehension in their eyes and hear clearly the strain in their voices.

“I’m fine,” Ruslan assured them. Balancing on two legs, Bac’cul used his third to brace himself against the headless native corpse. Utilizing all three arms, he soon had the human free from the dead creature’s death grasp. “It was a near thing, though,” he added as he rose to his feet.

“We heard noises.” Cor’rin was staring at him out of her small violet eyes. “Then the sound of a weapon being discharged and we came as fast as we could.” She looked past him, in the direction taken by the fleeing natives and the pursuing Myssari. “Your survival is a tribute to the skill of our escorts. I would not have dared to take a shot while you were held so close in the native’s embrace.”

“Weapons schooling comprises only the most peripheral portion of our field training.” Though Bac’cul had an irritating fetish for elucidating the obvious, an exhausted Ruslan could not find it in his heart to venture even the slightest dollop of his usual sarcasm.

He was exhausted, and crushed. Twi’win’s pessimism had trumped his original zeal. Observed in passing from a distance and from the air, the ferocious native creatures he had encountered could easily pass muster as possible humans. While it was not conclusive that the ones who had attacked him were representative of the same species that had been spotted and recorded by the Daribb outpost’s airborne automatics, neither was it an unreasonable assumption. Discouraged and depressed, he felt that he could hear Twi’win’s acerbic comments already.

He did not have long to wait to hear the actual ones.

“You must allow us to continue searching.” There was as much intensity in Bac’cul’s voice as Ruslan had ever heard from the usually even-toned Myssari.

Strange the situation was. Though he was sitting with his back to the discussion, Ruslan did not miss a word. As he stared out the back of the outpost’s three-sided observation tower, his gaze swept over the interminable sea of shallow mudflats. In the distance a wan sun was setting, its sickly hue unable to render the sunset anything other than ailing. From within the mud a few desultory bubbles rose and burst, signifying the presence of something unwholesome beneath the surface whose sole current activity consisted of breaking alien wind. Nothing that was not artificial rose above the murk; not a tree, not a bush, not a blade of grass. Daribb was a world ruled by suck and slime—sad, smelly, and sinking in upon itself.

Yet his kind had seen fit to settle here, to lift buildings and travelways above the murk, to raise children and expand civilization and find, as always, something to exploit. Now they were gone and all was ruin, falling in upon itself and left to the haunts of local bipeds who resembled their past masters only in the most rudimentary shape and size.

He was very tired. He had helped the Myssari on Seraboth. He had helped them on Myssar itself and most recently on Treth. Surely there was no more they could learn from him. He had explained and demonstrated and utilized and performed. He was done remembering. They could preserve his exhausted body however they wished, alongside the many others they had recovered from the unpremeditated catacombs of a dozen worlds. Dimensional recordings of him talking and moving would live after him to amaze each new generation of Myssari youth. He would not be present to hear their muted equivalent of laughter and endure their stares and gestures.

There was no question that they valued what he had done in helping to explain and preserve something of human culture. Having lived an ordinary life until the coming of the Aura Malignance, he was proud of the fact that he had contributed something special, if only to the knowledge base of another species. Who else could make such a claim? Certainly not any human inhabitant of Daribb: there were no human inhabitants of Daribb. He had already acknowledged as much to the outpost’s director.

Bac’cul and Cor’rin, however, were not so willing to give up. Having traveled a long way from Treth at considerable cost to their department, they were not ready to concede to reality, pack their belongings, turn around, and go home. Besides, Cor’rin was arguing as she confronted Director Twi’win, it would be several sixparts before a ship could be designated to pick them up and take them back to Myssar. Why not utilize the time remaining to continue the search? Smiling tautly to himself as he continued to stare out the window, Ruslan knew the answer. Twi’win’s reply to Cor’rin confirmed it.

“You must think we have no other use for our limited resources here than to escort you around Dinabu. There are other human settlements and cities that cry out for exploration.” She gestured with all three hands, executing a complex pattern in the air in front of her. “Should we return to Dinabu, I am sure there is an excellent chance that we would once again encounter the same welcoming ‘humans’ there that your party did yesterday.”

“Just because our initial search was interrupted by hostile indigenes does not mean there are no surviving humans in the city.” Cor’rin was emphatic. “Absence of proof is not proof of absence.”

“You will need to come up with more than clever words to persuade me to allocate additional resources to what I have regarded from the beginning as a wasteful undertaking.”

Though he paid close attention, Ruslan did not participate in the ongoing debate. It would have been useless to do so. His words would have carried no weight and he saw no point in opening himself to embarrassment. He was an artifact. A highly valued one to be sure, but one that retained precious little control over his own destiny. Where the Myssari were concerned, expediency always took precedence over compassion. Just because he wanted to continue the search, which despite his near-fatal encounter with local lifeforms he very much wished to do, did not mean that his desires would make one whit of difference to the outpost director. Or, for that matter, to Bac’cul and Cor’rin.

Kel’les, now—Kel’les had become friend enough to side with Ruslan against the others. At least Ruslan thought so. He was unsure what the actual result would be if he ever put that friendship to a serious test. He was uncertain he wanted to.

He urged on Bac’cul and Cor’rin’s efforts silently, knowing that to inject himself and his opinions aloud would only be likely to stiffen Twi’win’s opposition. If the outpost director would not yield to the urging of two esteemed scientists of her own kind, she surely would be immune to the entreaties of a single alien.

Having no standing in what was essentially a disagreement involving science and economics, Kel’les sidled over to stand beside the human. “Bac’cul and Cor’rin are making as good a case as they can. I feel that their reasoning is sound.”

Turning away from a panorama that featured endless muck and sallow sunlight, Ruslan murmured softly to his trisymmetrical friend. “I’ve lived among your kind long enough to know that one thing both our species had in common was the inevitable triumph of cost over reason.” He nodded to where the three Myssari continued in passionate but characteristically soft-voiced debate. “Though in this case Twi’win is such a disbeliever in the possibility of finding any human survivors that I think she would refuse our requests even if she had access to ten times the needed supplies and personnel.”

As he finished, something fist-sized, dull red, and multi-legged slammed into the observation tower’s transparent wall. The resulting organic splatter was unpleasant to look upon and he turned away even as the structure’s automated maintenance gear swung into action to remove the stain left behind by the unfortunate leaper.

Kel’les’s small, lipless mouth flexed. “The director is required to accommodate us. The orders came directly from Myssar.”

Ruslan nodded, a gesture his companion knew well. “She’s required to do so only insofar as is practical with respect to local conditions.” He gestured in the direction of the dispute, which, by Myssari standards, was growing positively heated. “Orders or not, it all comes down to a decision by Twi’win.”

As he and Kel’les looked on, the debate came to a sudden end. Feeling that the abruptness of it did not bode well for their continued efforts, Ruslan was apprehensive when his companions ambled over to rejoin him. Twi’win did not join them, disappearing into the lift shaft that would carry her away from the topmost portion of the observation tower. He was not upset that she departed without speaking to him. There was no reason for her to deal directly with what was nothing more than a valuable specimen.

With Bac’cul’s and Cor’rin’s postures conveying a mix of excitement and resignation, he hardly knew what to think. They were quick to enlighten him.

“We have struck a compromise.”

He nodded tersely. “As is always the Myssari way. Is the compromise in our favor or against it?”

The two researchers exchanged a look before Cor’rin turned back to the human. “Twi’win has agreed to authorize one more full-scale visit to Dinabu and to nowhere but that city. That is where the single disputed sighting by the outpost’s automatics took place, and she is convinced there is no reason to look elsewhere. After that, if we wish to continue searching, we will have to request additional resources from Myssar.”

“I understand. In that event, do you think your department will provide them?”

“Difficult to say.” The pupils of Bac’cul’s orange-red eyes narrowed. “Two expensive failures would be unlikely to inspire calls to underwrite any subsequent excursions.”

Ruslan’s mouth tightened. “Then we’d better make the best of this forthcoming outing.”

Cor’rin gestured her agreement. “We have to make our own preparations. The day following tomorrow the weather is supposed to be amenable. We should go then, as soon as possible and before the director has additional time to reflect on options and change her mind.”

She departed with Bac’cul, the two of them moving with commendable speed, their three-legged gait looking as unsteady to Ruslan’s eyes as his bipedal stride undoubtedly did to them. He turned back to his minder.

“Tell me your opinion, Kel’les. Honestly—do you think the outpost’s automatics saw a human?”

His friend demurred. “I am hardly in a position to comment, Ruslan. I am neither scientist nor engineer.”

“But you saw the images. The same ones as everyone else. If I wanted a researcher’s opinion, I’d ask Bac’cul or Cor’rin. I want yours.” He eyed his companion intently.

Trapped by the human’s words and stare, a clearly uncomfortable Kel’les could do nothing but answer. Honestly, as his friend had requested.

“I must confess I found them to be, at best, inconclusive.”

Ruslan was silent for a moment, then nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Kel’les. But we’re going to conduct the second search anyway.”

“Of course we are. One must be certain, and the chance may not present itself again.”

“I know that it won’t,” he replied.

Because by the time any kind of similar opportunity materialized, he told himself, he would in all likelihood be little but a valued memory in the annals of Myssari science.