Relic

12

The Myssari technician who was running the checkout on the organic recycling system was as relieved as the rest of his colleagues at the departure of the belligerent Vrizan. Though the majority of personnel had suffered no contact with the intruders, everyone knew that they had temporarily taken control of the station. All staff had been instructed to stand aside and not interfere as the Vrizan had conducted an incredibly thorough inspection of the outpost’s facilities, though to what end and for what purpose most of the workers had no idea.

It was not important, the tech told herself. The Vrizan were gone now. All that mattered to her and her associates was that the intruders had left without doing any damage. They had been in a foul mood when they had arrived and had apparently encountered nothing to ameliorate their emotions by the time they departed. Wishing them all infected fundaments, she and her colleagues had resumed their daily work schedule as soon as the Vrizan had taken their leave.

Since no alarm or alert had sounded to indicate that they had returned, the tech was more than mildly startled when the exterior portal just ahead and to the right of her normal inspection track began to open from the outside. She immediately found herself debating whether or not to sound a warning. Surely if the Vrizan had come back, their approach, not to mention their actual arrival, would have been broadcast throughout the outpost? That left few alternative explanations for what she was seeing. To the best of her knowledge, there were no maintenance crews working on the exterior of this side of the facility. Those that were operating outside were doing so on the opposite side of the station from where she was standing. There was no reason for one or more members of those maintenance crews to be on this side. Additionally, if someone was having a problem with reentry, she and everyone else would have been notified to look out for them and to be ready to render assistance as needed.

All her excellent reasoning notwithstanding, the doorway continued to slide sideways into its receptacle. Diluted hazy sunlight poured in through the opening that resulted. She held off sounding an alarm. It was probably nothing. Declaring a false emergency would open her to station-wide ridicule.

Just as she had decided that the door opening was purely accidental, two figures stepped through the gap and into the accessway. Beyond the fact that they stood upright, she could recognize nothing about them. Completely covered in muck from the mudflats, all details of their true shapes were masked. Whatever facial features they possessed were turned away from the tech.

Daribbian indigenes! she thought wildly. If these were anything like their fellow creatures, they were doubtless both dangerous and hostile. She immediately voiced an alarm to her aural pickup. It turned out to be the wrong decision. The ridicule she had hoped to avoid soon followed, though it was all good-natured.

Though the relief expressed by Bac’cul, Cor’rin, and Kel’les, not to mention Director Twi’win, at the safe return of the two specimens was expressive, the humans themselves seemed to care for nothing save access to a mist rinse. Only when they had thoroughly cleansed themselves of the mud that had provided them refuge did Ruslan take the time to explain where they had been and how they had avoided detection by the swarming Vrizan.

“Cherpa deserves all the credit.” Seated in the relaxation lounge with a cold drink at hand, he was happy to relate the circumstances of their survival. “I didn’t want to go outside, unarmed, but it was obvious that if we were going to avoid the Vrizan we had no other choice. So I followed her lead.” He nodded toward the far side of the mood-changing chamber, where the girl was playing with her doll while finger-painting three-dimensional patterns on the wall. That the ever-changing scenes being displayed were of Myssari and not human-settled worlds did not matter to her. She found each and every one new and fascinating.

“But you were outside, and at night.” Bac’cul could not keep the astonishment from his voice.

“The best knowledge is always local knowledge, I suppose. Once we managed to make our way some distance from the outpost—farther than I would have liked, I have to admit—we spent the rest of the night buried in the mud on our backs and being very, very still. For all I know, a hundred predators could have taken our measure and decided that we weren’t worth the trouble, or that we were too alien to be considered digestible prey.” He turned to Cor’rin. “Having spent more hours than I care to remember immersed in alien muck, I suppose the three of us should be checked for possible contamination, although I would think a human body would be an unsuitable host for local parasitic organisms.”

“Still, a reasonable precaution,” she agreed.

Bac’cul gestured uncertainly. “Excuse me, Ruslan: the three of you?”

Once more the human nodded in the direction of the wholly preoccupied girl. “To contribute to the juven— to Cherpa’s mental health, you should at every opportunity treat her doll, the small human effigy she is never without, as a ‘real’ individual. She sees it as such. It’s a function of a lingering traumatic childhood. It’s also the only family she’s got.”

Cor’rin gestured understanding. “The information will be posted forefront in her records.”

They were interrupted by the arrival of the director. It was shocking, Ruslan mused, how fundamentally Twi’win’s attitude toward the visitors had changed since their discovery of Cherpa. It would have boded well for the future development of human-Myssari relations on Daribb… had there been any other humans on Daribb for the Myssari to relate to. Or any humans anywhere else, for that matter. Rejoining them, she settled herself down against a narrow Myssari seat. Her eyes were bright, her speech rapid.

“Details of the Vrizan intrusion have been reported to the appropriate authorities. There will be repercussions, albeit on a modest scale since no one was harmed, no permanent damage was done to the facility here, and nothing—such as invaluable live specimens—was taken.” She glanced in the direction of the happily playing girl before turning to the attentive Ruslan. “Arrangements are in motion to get you and the juvenile off Daribb and to a Myssari world as quickly as possible.”

“And Oola,” Cor’rin added. “Do not forget Oola. She is human family as well.”

The director gave the researcher a hard look but decided to seek explication later. “Ruslan, will you make ready the juvenile? Daribb being the only world she has ever known, it may well be that some significant mental preparation may be required in order for her to acquiesce comfortably to the departure.”

He looked past the sharp-featured alien to where a delighted Cherpa was busily rearranging landscapes on the far wall. “I think your apprehension may be misplaced, Twi’win. She strikes me as extremely adaptable. She’d have to be, to survive here alone for we don’t know how many years. Don’t worry, though. I’ll make sure she isn’t going to throw a fit moments before we board for orbit. She’ll be ready. I know I’ll be.” The unwanted attention of the Vrizan aside, he couldn’t wait to get off this inhospitable, empty planet. He rose.

“In fact, I’ll get started right now.”

Leaving the four Myssari to their consultations, he walked over to where Cherpa, with the use of one finger, was presently sliding mountains into place to serve as the backdrop for an alpine lake. He studied the resultant vista.

“That’s very pretty, Cherpa. Where is it?”

“Planet Here.” She grinned and tapped the side of her head. “I’ve had lots of time to imagine places I’d like to be. This is one of them.”

Unexpectedly, he felt his throat tightening as he surveyed a scene reminiscent of the mountains of Seraboth, and hastened to change the subject. “We’re going to have to leave this place. Leave Daribb and go somewhere where the Vrizan people who just came for you and me can’t find us.”

“Okay.”

So much for the need to prepare acquiescence and ensure mental stability, he thought dryly.

“You’re sure you’re all right with leaving behind… everything?”

“There isn’t everything.” Her tone was somber. “There’s nothing. Not here. There are only things that want to eat you. I’d be real happy to go someplace where nothing wants to eat me.” She hesitated. “Only one thing’s-a-thing elsewise to take along though, maybe, perhaps.”

Another toy to bring, he decided. Or a favorite piece of clothing, or some physical reminder of her family. He waited for the details. They were not what he had been expecting.

“Maybe we should bring the other person, too.”

Confusion swirled his thoughts. “Another? There’s another person?” Realization made him smile. “Oh, you mean Oola. Of course we’re taking her with us.”

Cherpa tucked the doll tighter against her. “Not Oola. Pahksen.”

Pahksen? This was the first mention of any “Pahksen.” Bearing in mind the girl’s fragile mental state, Ruslan found himself wondering if the other “person” she was referring to might be imaginary. It was almost to be expected that someone her age in her condition would have invented an imaginary friend for company. Given ample time, he would have slowly and gently confronted her with the likelihood. With them waiting to be called for departure at any moment, he had no leeway for patience. He asked her straight out.

She shook her head and made a face. “Pahksen’s not imaginary. Though lots of times I wish he was.”

For a second time since he had arrived on Daribb, the faint stirring of a long-held hope was swiftly whisked away. “He,” she had said. Ruslan set about questioning her further.

“Let me make sure I understand, Cherpa. You’re saying there’s another live human here?” It was not impossible that she was referring to a dead body she had named. An isolated child, much less one forced to endure her circumstances, could conceivably make a “friend” of anything. But she nodded affirmatively and without hesitation.

“But,” he continued, “neither I nor any of the Myssari ever saw this person. If there’s just the two of you left, I would think you’d try to stay together and help each other.”

“I guess that makes sense,” she admitted. “Except I don’t make sense and Pahksen doesn’t make sense and if you put the two of us together you’d have double nonsense, wouldn’t you?” The face she had made earlier returned. “I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me, so we didn’t spend much time together. Only when we had no choice. The difference is that I like lots of things and Pahksen, he doesn’t like anything. He’s nasty.” She hugged her doll. “He said for someone my age to keep Oola with me all the time was stupid. Stupid!” She stared up at him. “You don’t think it’s stupid, do you, Bogo?”

“No… of course not.”

Nasty or not, he thought furiously, the existence of a second surviving human would only further confirm the previously underappreciated work of the outpost’s automatic scouts. When informed, Bac’cul and Cor’rin would be delirious with joy. The costly journey to Daribb could be classed as doubly successful. As for this as yet unmet Pahksen’s purported irritability, as someone who had been known to suffer from bouts of unpleasantness himself, Ruslan was confident he could deal with him. What was critical now was to find and recover the second survivor before the Vrizan could do so.

“I’m guessing you and this Pahksen crossed paths in Dinabu, right?”

“Din…?” For a moment she looked puzzled. Then she brightened. “Oh, you mean hometown. Yes, of course. I showed you how to move through the mud. I can move faster than that, but not fast enough to make it safely to another hometown.”

He hardly dared ask, but had to. “If we go back to Dinabu for a, um, last visit, do you think you would be able to find Pahksen?”

With each of the girl’s positive nods, he saw another honor accruing to his researcher friends. For such alien honors, he himself cared nothing. In contrast, the chance to meet with another human being was everything. To see another face, hear another voice, make contact with another person—that was everything. This Pahksen could be as disagreeable as he wished. Ruslan was positive he could eventually effect a change in the other’s personality.

If anything, he underestimated the response among the Myssari. Twi’win and her staff were as energized at the prospect of recovering another live human as Bac’cul and Cor’rin. As a freshly constituted and well-armed team set off once more for the city of Dinabu, their greatest fear was that the ever-attentive Vrizan might already have located and extricated the human Pahksen. Cherpa seemed far less concerned at the likelihood.

“Pahksen’s different from me but also like me. One way we’re a lot alike is that we both know how to hide.”

Cor’rin glanced at the girl across the interior of the masked driftec as it skimmed along above the mudflats. “The Vrizan—the other people who will be looking for him—have very advanced ways of finding people.”

Cherpa stared right back at the Myssari scientist. “Hide we know. You wouldn’t have found me if Bogo hadn’t heard the sounds of me being attacked. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Pahksen had been watching the whole time.”

Ruslan’s expression darkened. “You mean he could have been watching the fight, seen the danger you were in, and still made no move to help you?”

She shrugged as if the imagined scenario was of no consequence. “I told you: Pahksen, he’s nasty. He wouldn’t risk his life for me. That’s okay.” In the context of what she said next, her bright smile was more than a little disconcerting. “I wouldn’t risk mine to save his, either.”

Two surviving human beings on the entire planet, Ruslan thought, and they can’t stand each other. A fitting metaphor for the entire species. For all that, he was looking forward to meeting this reprehensible Pahksen. If they could find him.

Deliberative scans from the slowing driftecs revealed a heartening absence of Vrizan and Vrizan craft, either occupied or automatic. That did not mean, he told himself as he prepared to disembark, that the cunning competitors of the Myssari were not present. But it was better than having alarms go off in the presence of a dozen watching craft.

They set down not far from the port area where Ruslan had first encountered Cherpa. This time all personnel, including the two researchers from Myssar, disembarked with weapons in hand. Twi’win was taking no chances with either dangerous indigenous lifeforms or possible marauding Vrizan. Not with the irreplaceable Ruslan and Cherpa in their midst. With the girl and her doll leading the way, the generous deployment from the outpost pushed past the outskirts and into the depths of the long-silent city.

They spent the day rummaging through collapsing buildings, sites overgrown with crawling gunk, and long-abandoned vehicles. While Daribb’s diminutive but voracious flora and fauna had devoured tens of thousands of bones, there were still numerous bodies scattered about. The sight did not unnerve either Cherpa or Ruslan. Each had grown up on a world littered with the skeletal detritus of their kind. Neither was a stranger to the apocalyptic aftermath of the Aura Malignance.

As night fell they were forced to return to the safety of the temporary shelters that had been set up alongside the driftecs. Though the Myssari outpost was a scientific and not a military installation, its technicians had managed to come up with some convincing camouflage, both physical and electronic, to screen the visitors from possible Vrizan scrutiny. Continued anonymity would be the only way of gauging the effectiveness of the improvised effort.

Despite Cherpa’s best efforts at tracking, in three days of intensive searching they found no sign of another live human being. Ruslan was beginning to wonder anew if her male acquaintance was, as he had earlier suspected, only imaginary. Or if she really wanted them to find someone with whom she admittedly did not get along.

On the fourth day of searching, they still had not found him—but something found them.

It was very large, very active, and repulsively amorphous. Rising out of an expanding breach in a disintegrating city street, it looked at first as if a thick perceptive glob of the surrounding mudflats had somehow acquired sentience and decided to go on the rampage. Only after more of its columnar, elastic body emerged from the gap did Ruslan and the hastily scattering Myssari realize that it comprised a single entity. Multiple brown pseudopods flailed at the evasive, scuttling escorts. The Myssari were not fast, but they were quick, and their trisymmetrical forms made it difficult for a predator to predict which direction they were going to run.

“Mushwack!” Cherpa screamed as she ran. Despite his longer legs it was an effort for Ruslan to keep up with her.

Behind them the Myssari were firing repeatedly into the building-sized body of the creature. As bursts from their weapons struck the twisting, writhing form, gaseous bubbles rose and burst from its epidermis. The smell that arose from the vicinity of these strikes was beyond sickening. Survivors of dead worlds rife with decomposition, the two humans dealt with the miasma better than the Myssari, some of whom were forced to turn away and retch. It was left to their more resilient companions to finally drive the creature back down into the opening from which it had emerged.

There were no deaths, but several of the Myssari had suffered bad falls while avoiding the mushwack’s grasping limbs. Thankfully, none of the injuries were life-threatening. With their injured treated and bandaged, the remaining members of the expedition were soon ready, if not particularly eager, to resume the search.

They were preparing to head deeper still into the shell of the city when Ruslan felt Cherpa tugging on his left arm. Her left, of course, was reserved for cradling Oola.

“He’s here,” she said simply.

Quickly he looked around, scanning their immediate surroundings. He saw nothing but ruins. Taking note, Bac’cul and Cor’rin moved closer to the specimens.

“What is it, Ruslan?” Cor’rin’s own narrower gaze strove to mimic the human’s.

“Cherpa says he’s here.”

Tired from the brief but intense battle with the mushwack, both researchers were rejuvenated by his words. “Where? I see nothing,” a rapidly pivoting Bac’cul declared.

“Nor do I.” Ruslan bent toward the girl. “Where is he, Cherpa?”

Raising an arm, she pointed. “Up there. That open-sided building, second floor.” She raised her voice. “Come out, Pahksen! I see you! These are my new friends. I’m going away with them, away from this place, forever. To a place where there are no bad things. Where nothing will try to eat you.” Reaching over, she put her arm around Ruslan’s waist, startling him. It was a very adult gesture. “Look—another one of us! A grown-up! Come down, if you want this to be the last mushwack you ever see.”

Nothing moved. Ruslan, the researchers, their escorts, all were staring at the gaping second floor where Cherpa had pointed. Squint as he might, he could discern nothing but abandoned furniture and crumbling superstructure. Then part of the superstructure stood up. Without speaking, it jumped from the second floor onto a mound of debris. Emerging from the resultant cloud of dust, a figure came toward them. The nearer it came, the larger it grew, until it stood confronting Ruslan. Indisputably, there were now three live humans gathered on the debris-littered walkway. Bac’cul and Cor’rin were recording like mad, euphoric at the sight of a third live human. Crowding close to Ruslan, Cherpa was clearly less than overjoyed.

Far more than a boy, not yet quite a man, Pahksen was as tall as Ruslan. No more than seventeen or so, Ruslan decided. Youth and adult regarded each other: the latter with appreciation, the former with suspicion. Remembering how it was done, Ruslan extended a hand.

“Pleasure to meet another survivor. My name’s Ruslan.”

“Pahksen.” No hand reached out to accept the older man’s offering. Whether this constituted a deliberate snub, indicated general wariness, or was because both of the youth’s hands were needed to support the very large rifle he was holding Ruslan could not say. He fully intended to find out later.

Pahksen’s blond hair was long, nowhere near as long as Cherpa’s had before it had been cut back at the outpost. He was lanky as a willow tree, all lean muscle and darting blue eyes. These danced methodically over Ruslan and Cherpa before pausing to consider the watching Myssari. Eventually they returned to Cherpa. She did not move toward her fellow survivor but neither did she retreat, comfortable as she was in Ruslan’s presence.

“The man’s a man, sure, but what are all these other ugly things?”

“They’re called Myssari,” she told him. “They’re good people.” Her gaze flicked upward to the face of the individual whose waist she held. “They helped Ruslan. He’s from another world called Seraboth.”

“Never heard of it.” Pahksen continued to hold the power rifle as though he might opt to utilize it at any moment. While Ruslan would have preferred that the youth deactivate it, he did not begrudge him the ongoing tension. Introductions were still in progress, and something like the mushwack or the aggressive natives might put in an appearance at any time.

“He’s been with these funny three-legs for a long time,” Cherpa explained. “He says their homeworld is a nice place to live, they make sure he has anything he wants, and they appreciate all the help he’s given them while they try to learn everything they can about our kind. He says they’ll do the same for me, and I believe him. Anyway, it’s nasty here. You know that. I don’t suppose it could be nastier where they live.”

“Unless he’s lying.” The youth’s gaze, which was inordinately intense, focused sharply on Ruslan. “How about it, old man? You lying?”

Ruslan was not sure which bothered him more: the fact that the youth continued to grip the rifle as if at any moment he might choose to turn it on his rescuers or the fact that he had been referred to as an old man.

“You don’t want to shake my hand, fine. You don’t want to believe me or Cherpa, that’s fine, too. Much as the Myssari want you to join us, no one’s going to force you. You can stay here and deal with the local lifeforms on your own, if that’s your wish. I’m offering you respect and comfort for the rest of your life, free of worry about where your next meal is coming from or about becoming something else’s meal yourself. It’s entirely your choice.”

For the first time, the muzzle of the rifle dropped toward the ground. “And what do they want in return? Every lifeform-to-lifeform exchange is a trade-off.”

“The Myssari desire only information. Like any civilized species, being of a curious nature they seek to learn about the unknown. Until we outsmarted ourselves, humankind was a respectable species. Daribb isn’t an isolated world, you know.”

“I know that.” Pahksen fairly spat his reply. “D’you think I’m stupid?”

Naturally confrontational, Ruslan wondered, or a learned trait? He would hopefully have ample time to find out. Whichever, it was an attitude that could be corrected. Good food and safe surroundings would work to mollify the youth’s hostility.

“We’re all gone. Every last million of us. Except, apparently, for we three standing here, right now, this minute. The Myssari are very curious about us, about our civilization. They’re at least as smart as we are. Or were. But there are aspects to human culture no study of records and artifacts, no matter how passionate, can properly parse. That’s where I’ve come in. I’ve helped with explanations. You can, too, you and Cherpa. You’ll outlive me and be even more valuable to them.” He looked around. “You can join in helping the Myssari to understand us, or you can stay here and retain ownership of… all this.”

A few small, unseen creatures continued their scampering among the ruins. For a long moment their calls were all that was heard echoing among the crumbling walls and pavements. To Ruslan’s relief the youth finally eased his aggressive grip on the rifle, setting the butt down on the ground.

“I’m not sure I believe in any of this,” the younger man muttered. “But I believe in what I can see. You’re real enough, and you look healthy enough. I don’t know if that means that these things are treating you as well as you say or that they’re fattening you for an eventual meal, but Cherpa’s no dummy.” He eyed the girl, who did everything but stick her tongue out at him. “If she’s going with you and voluntarily, then there must be something to what you say.” He shrugged. “Anyway, it’d be a change.”

Cor’rin had edged forward until she was standing very close to Ruslan. Now she whispered to him. “Is the new human coming with us or not? We can sedate him if you think it would facilitate matters.”

“Temporarily it would,” he answered in Myssarian. “It might also mean the end of any eventual cooperation once he was revived. Let’s proceed without such measures, at least for the moment. Yes, he has agreed to come with us, though he is exhibiting a remarkable lack of enthusiasm. I’m hoping time and good treatment will ease his concerns.” Turning back to the frowning Pahksen, who had understood none of the conversation between man and Myssari, he provided an explanation.

“The individual to whom I’ve been speaking is Cor’rin. She’s a scientist.” Turning, he pointed. “That’s Bac’cul, her colleague. The rest of the Myssari work at a scientific station not terribly far from here. We can leave to go there now, unless there are objects of a personal nature you’d like to take with you.”

Pahksen pursed his lips, thinking. “Can I bring my gun?”

“Of course,” Ruslan assured him expansively. “Bring anything you want. The Myssari are not fearful of you, and you have no reason to be afraid of them.”

“I’m alive because I’m afraid,” the youth shot back. “I’m even afraid when I’m asleep. If you had to live like I have, you’d be the same way.”

Though I wouldn’t be as surly toward my fellow humans, Ruslan thought. Patience. The youngster was understandably twitchy. Time and Myssari good treatment would smooth down the rough edges.

“Anything besides the weapon?” Ruslan asked him.

“A few small things. I’ll be right back.”

Moving with the grace of a longer-limbed predecessor primate, he disappeared back into the rubble only to return sooner than Ruslan had expected. A bag of some green synthetic material was slung over one shoulder. Time enough later to inquire about the contents, Ruslan knew. The important thing now was to get him and Cherpa back to the outpost, and both of them off Daribb before Vrizan belligerence had a reason to reassert itself. He smiled at the thought.

The multi-jointed bipeds would be more than upset to know that not one but two surviving humans had been living right under their collective if nearly nonexistent noses. Ruslan had no intention of thumbing his own at them.

As far as he was concerned, everything revolved around securing a comfortable future for three surviving humans. If this provoked a serious clash of science and diplomacy between two alien civilizations, so be it. If he had learned anything at all from the decades he had spent among the Myssari, it was that it was always best, where and when possible, to reduce matters of seemingly great import to the most basic equations.