Relic

5

From the first day he had arrived on Myssar, Ruslan had been asked to explain something, or elaborate on something, or identify a missing element of human history or culture, be it physical, philosophical, or verbal. While his hosts had managed to decipher the necessary codes and now had available to them the entire bulk of knowledge that had been stored on Seraboth, there were still times and places where Ruslan, with the simple everyday knowledge of an ordinary human, was able to save time and resources by merely pointing at something and saying, “This is what this does,” or “It’s intended for that purpose.” He knew perfectly well and had long since accepted that he was as much an explicatory shortcut as he was a specimen.

This inherent facility, this basic uncomplicated essence of extant humanness, made his presence even more valuable on Treth, whose Myssari researchers did not have instant access to all the information that had been garnered from Seraboth’s storage facilities. While specialists processed his wish and did their best to find any reference to the actual spatial location of Earth, there was a steady stream of experts in other fields confronting him with impatient requests.

“What is this?”

“A device for preparing food,” he would explain.

“How did it work? By burning combustibles in this chamber?”

He smiled. “It cooked by means of propagating radiation.”

“What was the source of the radiation?”

His hands rose. “I don’t know. I’m not a scientist or an engineer. One would voice a request of the machine and wait for the food preparation to be completed. I remember how to use one; I never knew how to build one.”

And so it went—with machines, tools, clothing, decorative items, construction materials—until repetition led to boredom and the feeling that while he might be helping his hosts, he was doing nothing to help himself.

Though any further unescorted strolls were now out of the question (he was watched—surreptitiously but continually), he did at least have the prospect of attendant local travel to look forward to. The desire to have him explain or expound upon new archeological finds required that he be transported to various digs around two of the nine continental land masses. After a while even those trips began to bore, one skeletal city looking much like another. The weather changed, and the topography, but not the ruins. They looked little different from those among which he had spent lonely years wandering on Seraboth.

Occasionally he would be struck by the appearance of an edifice whose design lifted it beyond the ordinary. The bridge spanning the strait that divided the two continents, a graceful, once golden and now tarnished thread of spun fibers. A still-standing tower three kilometers high that had been all but hollowed out from within and in a high wind bent like a reed. Lush fields of crimson and sapphire flowers sprouting from horizontal stems that overran an ancient airport as beautifully as if their planting had been the architects’ original intention.

It rained modestly on Treth, but enough to counterpoint melancholy and remind him of the grayness that was slowly overtaking the last of his life. Even the best efforts of Kel’les, occasionally abetted by Bac’cul and Cor’rin, failed to cheer him.

It was on such a morning that San’dwil entered the relaxation room where Ruslan and his minder were gazing out the wide, sweeping window. The visibly energized outpost commander delivered an announcement whose import to the slumping human eventually drowned out even the echoing thunder of the fast-moving storm outside.

“We have found an intact human cemetery!”

Ruslan and Kel’les regarded him calmly and without astonishment. “Many human cemeteries have been found on Seraboth,” commented the intermet.

“Too many,” added Ruslan.

San’dwil’s mouth flexed with his excitement. “Not like this. It is a cryocemetery. And when I say it is intact, I mean that the power source is still functioning.”

Ruslan sat up immediately. “Then those who were interred…?”

“Are still frozen, yes!”

Ennui fled as the human rose to his feet. “Am I… When can I see it?”

The commander was enjoying himself. “A transport awaits even as we speak. I came to get you.” He gestured in the direction of the building’s private living quarters. “Do you need to gather anything before we depart?”

“Only my expectations.” Ruslan was moving past San’dwil and heading for the portal. “Let’s go.”

Even with three legs Kel’les had to hurry to catch up to his charge. “What about Bac’cul and Cor’rin?”

“Cor’rin is already there.” San’dwil hastened to keep pace with the human. “Researcher Bac’cul is occupied elsewhere but can join us if needed.” A three-fingered hand reached out to gently squeeze Ruslan’s left shoulder. “I have not seen you this animated since you arrived on Treth, not even after your unauthorized excursion.”

Ruslan ignored the observation. His thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only. “You said the facility is still drawing power and those interred are still frozen. Can your people activate the resurrection instrumentation?” He wanted to say restore them to life but he was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the possibilities posed by the commander’s announcement.

“Such is not my area of expertise. I am hoping that by the time we arrive at the site…” He left unspoken the answer to dreams Ruslan had long since ceased to contemplate.

They were outside now and moving fast toward the open, cleared corner of the base that was reserved for transportation. Several vehicles hove into view. Most were designed to provide only ground transport, but Ruslan saw two driftecs among them. San’dwil steered him and his handler toward the nearest. In moments they were on board. As the commander had promised, the craft had only been waiting on their arrival. By the time Ruslan had settled into his liquid seat, the driftec was lifting off. Peering out the transparent wall, he could see the base recede rapidly beneath them.

Leveling out at cruising altitude, the nearly noiseless driftec headed toward the ragged line of lavender-clad mountains that formed the western horizon, accelerating hopes Ruslan had long since forgone.

Only the presence of a roughly cleared landing pad surrounded by temporary self-erecting structures marked the location of the find. There was no visible evidence to suggest a human presence. Where bare rock did not predominate, alien forest covered the hillside. As the driftec touched down, Ruslan gave voice to his curiosity.

“How did your people find this place?” The thickly vegetated slope into which the landing pad had been cut was unremarkable, in appearance no different from a hundred they had just flown over.

San’dwil pointed to one section of hillside that was slightly darker than the rest. “The entrance was overgrown. A routine automated survey picked up emanations that suggested the presence of functioning electronics. As we have no ongoing operations in this area, a follow-up was ordered. Located, as it is, well below the surface, the efflux was too weak to be detected by our two orbiting sensors, which is why it was not discovered before now.” His mouth flexed to indicate humor. “The follow-up proceeded with caution, as one possibility held that the emissions might emanate from a clandestine Vrizan installation.”

They were met at the cleared entrance by the xenologist in charge of the excavation. An exceedingly slender representative of her kind, the scientist resembled a triangular box mounted on three angled sticks to Ruslan. For a Myssari she had eyes that were almost soulful.

Her manner was a model of efficiency, however. Despite this being her initial contact with Ruslan and despite her unconcealed interest in the human survivor, she did not let her gaze linger nor did she waste words.

“Follow me, please. Your name/personal identifier is ‘Rus’lann,’ I believe?”

“Just ‘Ruslan.’ No epiglottal break in the middle.”

“I am Wol’daeen. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. I will answer as best as I am able based on the available evidence we have managed to uncover and interpret thus far. In turn I hope that you will answer any questions I may pose.”

Not discourteous, he reflected, but for a Myssari decidedly cool. It didn’t matter. The friends he desperately hoped to make here did not include the members of the on-site scientific team.

A small mobile transport was brought over, into which piled Ruslan, Kel’les, San’dwil, Cor’rin, and the xenologist. As was usual when he was compelled to adapt his bulkier bipedal shape to the Myssari norm, he had trouble finding a comfortable place to fit. Giving up, he opted to sit on the floor.

The reason for the transport soon became clear. Lit by lines of luminescence hastily slapped onto the walls by Myssari technicians, the corridor ran deep into the mountain. It eventually terminated in a series of linked chambers whose contents the Myssari researchers were busy recording and cataloguing.

Guided by Wol’daeen, the visitors made their way to the last room. At its far end was a single elevator. That it still functioned was a tribute to its builders and to the self-sustaining power system they had buried inside the mountain. It had been many, many years since Ruslan had seen a piece of functioning human technology. Simple as was its design and function, when it started downward he found himself near tears. He struggled with his emotions.

If this is how you react to a working lift, he told himself, how are you going to handle seeing intact bodies?

Since the elevator shaft penetrated solid rock and there were no floors by which to judge distance, he had no idea how far they had descended when at last the lift came to a stop. Led by Wol’daeen, they exited into a sizable hall. Like the access tunnel, it was lit by luminescence that had been added by the first Myssari investigators. The floor underfoot was slightly ribbed to provide better footing in the presence of condensation, of which there was more than Ruslan had expected. He was estimating the water’s depth when they rounded a corner.

There they were. Other humans. Naked, intact, entirely whole, unravaged by starvation or the aftereffects of the plague. A long row of them, each sealed in an individual transparent tube. Their eyes were closed, their lips pressed together and sealed by an organic binder. Each floated, suspended in a slightly bluish liquid, as if asleep in a vertical bath. Their number apparently equally divided between men and women, young and old, their appearances were heart-wrenchingly normal. Though her words completely shattered the mood of the moment if not his hopes, he was glad they came from Cor’rin and not San’dwil or Wol’daeen.

“Hopefully, one of the females will contain fertile eggs.”

His mouth tightened but he said nothing. There was no reason to expect even a well-mannered Myssari xenologist to react to the discovery in anything other than an entirely scientific manner. If they could remove fertile eggs, perhaps they could also extract viable sperm. If one or both proved unusable, there remained the option of drawing intact cells from multiple sources. The full import of her detachment rolled over him.

They didn’t need him anymore.

No, that was not entirely true. They might no longer need him to clone and preserve his species, but when it came to answering questions and supplying explanations, he was still invaluable. He berated himself for wasting time on such thoughts. None of that mattered here and now. What mattered was the possibility of revivification of others like himself.

Wol’daeen did not object as Ruslan walked over to the nearest tube. Whether it was the first or the last in line he could not say. Hovering in the liquid within was a woman who looked to be only a few decades younger than himself—no more than eighty, possibly younger. Her flesh appeared firm, her skin smooth and unbroken. Periodic electrical stimulation of some kind had kept her muscles toned. Still discernible as blond through the blue, her hair was cut short and restrained by a restricting net. Tubes connected to her body circulated fluid that kept cells alive while she drifted in a state of suspended activity.

Stepping back, he let his gaze travel the length of the corridor. The neat line of tubes held no less than a hundred preserved humans.

“I don’t know for certain why this was done to these individuals, or by them, but I can hazard a guess.” He regarded his nonhuman companions. “Unable to find a cure for the Aura Malignance or a way to slow its advance, they had themselves put in suspension in the hope that one day a treatment would be found and they could be revived.” He shook his head slowly. “I doubt any one of them imagined the plague would die out by itself.”

Kel’les placed all three hands on various portions of his friend’s torso. “This must be very difficult for you to see.”

He nodded. “Difficult and exciting all at once. I’m trying very hard not to get my hopes up.” His attention shifted to the site supervisor. “You are going to try and revive some of them before you consider dissection, aren’t you?”

Wol’daeen tensed visibly. “Linguists are already deeply engaged in translating the relevant surviving operational materials. As soon as they and our engineers feel they have a reasonable grasp of the necessary science, we will certainly attempt resuscitation.”

“So we wait.”

Cor’rin joined Kel’les in embracing the lone human in their midst. As a demonstration of characteristic Myssari empathy, it was typical, but with six hands on him he felt unreasonably restrained. Cor’rin blew his edgy concerns away with a new thought.

“If resuscitation proves successful, what will you say to the revived? Seeing you will reassure them. Seeing us may have a counter-effect.”

He blinked. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I suppose I’d better think of something.”

“I am sure anything you can say would prove comforting.” Having introduced the human and those accompanying him to the great and wondrous discovery, Wol’daeen stepped past them as she headed back toward the lift. “If you wish, you may remain to carry out further observations. I ask only that you touch nothing lest you possibly damage some of the artifacts.”

Artifacts, Ruslan told himself. Like me. What was amusing was that, having come to terms with such descriptions of himself during his time on Myssar, he was not half as offended by the appellation as were San’dwil or Cor’rin. In voicing the admonition, the xenologist in charge of the find had mildly called into question their competency as field researchers. He observed his companions’ reactions with amusement. The caution was hardly necessary where he was concerned.

If the next moment of life was to be his last, the last thing he would do was risk damaging the revivification of another human being.

Far more time passed back at the main base than he would have liked, far less than he surmised. Though he strove to busy himself with whatever distractions he could find or invent, his thoughts were never more than a moment or two away from the damp crypt. When the call came to return to that underground mausoleum, he had to fight to contain his excitement.

Bac’cul was with him this time as well as Cor’rin, San’dwil, and Kel’les. Little was said on the flight to the site. They had not been prepped on the reason their presence had been requested. Only that a matter of some importance was to be discussed. Ruslan found that his hands were trembling. When a surprised Kel’les remarked on the phenomenon, his charge explained it away as a normal reaction to impending excitement. While the intermet seemed reluctant to accept this explanation, s’he didn’t challenge it, no doubt out of politeness.

For the majority of the return journey to the site, it was silent inside the driftec. Touching down on the mountainside, they were met not by Wol’daeen but by one of her subordinates. Without volunteering any information, he led them inside. Ruslan could barely contain himself as the compact transport vehicle carried them down the access tunnel and into the depths of the mountain.

Though she had not come out to greet them, Wol’daeen was waiting for them in the most sterile work chamber Ruslan had seen since he had originally been embraced and examined by the Myssari. Prior to entering, the four visitors were required to don filmy, transparent overgarb. Membranes integrated into the attire allowed them to breathe without additional equipment, filtering the air they took in as well as their potentially contaminating exhalations. Ruslan was not surprised to find that suitable garb had been prepared for him. Myssari efficiency in all things had long since ceased to surprise.

Despite believing he had prepared himself mentally for anything he might see, a soft gasp of amazement escaped his lips as Wol’daeen led him and his friends to a long, silvery platform. Lying on it on their backs, head to feet, were a man and a woman. They looked to be middle-aged, perhaps just shy of eighty. They were as naked as they had been in their respective suspension cylinders. Every detail of their bodies down to the pores in their skin was on display in the carefully climate-controlled room. Structural integrity appeared not to have been violated, though he knew that Myssari scientists and technicians had the ability to enter a body and withdraw without leaving behind any visible evidence of their incursion.

Anticipation inexorably gave way to concern and then to dismay the nearer he drew to the bodies. Neither betrayed any sign of consciousness. Chests gently rose and fell but eyelids did not flutter. Closer inspection showed slight movement of air and skin in the vicinity of the nostrils. Tubes and conduits supplied nourishment. Links to pale blue liquid drawn from their respective capsules kept the bodies from collapsing in upon themselves.

For several minutes no one said anything. Though their interest in the display was purely scientific and they had no emotional stake in the outcome, his companions were every bit as intrigued by the sight as was Ruslan. Finally the site’s lead scientist spoke. A female of few words, her commentary was even more brusque than usual, though no less explanatory for its brevity. Her words hung cold in the underground chamber.

“We tried.”

Death, which had retreated to a tolerable distance ever since the Myssari had removed Ruslan from Seraboth, jumped unbidden into the room beside him. He could sense it, cool and proximate, against his back. Despite the sudden constriction in his throat, he managed to make himself heard.

“You’ll—you’ll try again.”

“Of course.” For a moment Ruslan thought the awkward situation had mellowed the gruff scientist. Then she added, “We have plenty of specimens with which to work.”

His lips tightened but otherwise he kept his fury and frustration close. Wol’daeen was a scientist and a Myssari whose specialty was xenoarcheology. But she knew nothing of human emotions, and he had no reason to expect her to be sensitive to them. Kel’les, who knew a great deal more about such things, had turned sharply to the human as soon as the words had been spoken. The intermet was relieved to see that Ruslan was coping as well as could be expected with the researcher’s chilly indifference.

Cor’rin pushed her center leg forward. “What went wrong?”

“With the attempt at revivification?” Wol’daeen sounded resigned. Which, Ruslan reflected, was better than sounding defeated. “It was more a matter of not enough going right. We prepared thoroughly. The translations of the relevant human manuals, procedures, technologies were checked several times before we began. In addition we have access to our own Myssari attempts at long-term preservation.” She looked back toward the platform.

“The primary difficulty with such a process is the same as it has always been. While the technology for long-term preservation of a physical corpus has clearly been familiar to humans as well as to our own people, no known means exists for reviving thought.” A hand indicated the woman. She was still beautiful, Ruslan thought. He preferred to think of her as sleeping rather than brain-dead.

“Stored separately in cylinders behind each preservation tube were quantities of blood specific to each individual. Using this, we carefully filled veins and arteries. Next we succeeded in restarting the natural heart pumps. Restoring respiratory function was more difficult but in the end proved satisfactory.” She gestured. “That is as much as we were able to accomplish.”

“Electrical cortical stimulation?” Cor’rin wondered.

Wol’daeen signaled understanding. “When the specified drugs that were also stored behind each cylinder failed to produce the hoped-for response, such stimulation was indeed attempted: light at first, then increasing in graduated increments. Muscle stimulation was achieved, but nothing else. It is possible to manually expose the eyes to daylight. This too was tried in the hope that it might initiate a recognizable response where all other attempts had failed.” For the first time there was a hint of genuine sadness in the scientist’s voice. “Not one of our various efforts produced anything that could be called a cognizant response. The neural readings for both brains are completely flat.”

It was left to San’dwil to sum up the totality of the attempt. “So you can make the bodies live but cannot bring back consciousness.”

Wol’daeen gestured affirmatively. “It is most exasperating. The resurrected forms have all the appearance of life but none of the necessary cognitive functions. The conclusion to be drawn is that while humankind mastered the means necessary to preserve physical form over the long term, they failed at finding a way to preserve memories in the organic mind. They went as far as they could with what they knew. Perhaps they hoped that whoever eventually resurrected them would have learned of a way to release or revive memories stored within the cerebral cortex. Sadly, we also recognize that such knowledge is nothing more than a flurry of electrical connections and pertinent stimuli. If it is shut down for any reasonable period of time, it vanishes.” Her attention fixed on the silent Ruslan.

“Nonetheless, we will try again, and keep trying, in the hope that there may be some critical factor we have overlooked or otherwise neglected to implement. The potential rewards of success are too great to be dismissed by a first failed attempt.”

Having heard it before, this time a devastated Ruslan was not shocked by the question Cor’rin posed next. “What about the female’s eggs?”

“As our initial interest has been focused wholly on the prospects for revivification,” Wol’daeen replied, “we have not proceeded with vivisection. Having failed to revive these two specimens, we will certainly not waste that which can be learned from—”

“Out.” Ruslan made repeated gestures in the direction of his mouth. “I need to get out.”

An anxious Kel’les confronted him. “Out of your suit?”

“No.” The human was looking around wildly. “Out of here. Out of this mountain. Away from this place.”

San’dwil looked concerned. “You are feeling uncomfortable at the prospect of work continuing here?”

It was only one of many things he could not run away from: the Myssari proclivity for understatement. He did not even bother to respond directly to San’dwil’s question.

“Out, now.”

Wincing at the volume the human was projecting, Kel’les helped him toward the portal through which they had entered the operating theater. Ruslan looked back and searched the assembled Myssari until his gaze once more settled on the site’s senior scientist. “If you don’t think you can bring any of them back, I’d prefer you didn’t do anything else with them.”

Wol’daeen glanced at San’dwil, who neither said nor gestured a response, then turned back toward the human. “I of course do not have the final say in such matters, but I believe that given the expense and difficulty involved in the carrying out of scientific work on this world, such a request will be denied by those who are in charge of the Combine’s scientific fieldwork.”

“I know,” Ruslan muttered disconsolately. He and Kel’les were nearly to the exit where the first of three hermetically sealed barriers was preparing to open and let them pass through. “But I felt it had to be said. If you can’t bring back the dead, respect them.”

Wol’daeen called after him. “I would think that being able to contribute to the advancement of science would be as virtuous a sign of respect as any intelligent being could wish for. I know for certain that I would feel that way.”

The portal was open and Kel’les was trying to help him through. There was time for Ruslan to offer only a few final parting words.

“So would I. But you and I are in a position to make such a choice.” He nodded in the direction of the two mindless bodies lying on the gleaming platform, who continued to breathe uselessly. “Not so either of them.”

The first barrier closed tightly behind them. Air was exhausted, to be treated elsewhere and swiftly replaced. The second doorway parted, the process of cleansing was repeated, and then they were out in the brightly lit prep room. A trio of technicians who were preparing to enter the restoration chamber eyed the live human curiously in passing.

Slumping onto an awkward and uncomfortable Myssari seat, Ruslan let Kel’les begin the process of extricating him from his visitor’s sterile suit. He paid little attention, not caring and not helping. Having returned to the excavation site in hopes of encountering revived fellow humans, he had instead been confronted with living but empty bodies. He had no doubt that the dedicated if diffident Wol’daeen and her colleagues would try their utmost to successfully revive some of the other cold-stored humans. It would be a scientific triumph for them if they could do so. But having seen what he had seen and heard what he had heard, he was not sanguine.

As for Cor’rin’s comment, he couldn’t halt the Myssari in their efforts any more than his parting words would prevent the senior scientist and her counterparts from digging into more and more bodies in hopes of finding the means necessary to revive conscious human beings. Failing that, they would seek to extract the means necessary to create new ones. Artificial insemination into an artificial womb would be simple enough. All the Myssari needed was the necessary raw material.

He could at least refuse to help with that. He had agreed to cooperate in a process of cloning; nothing else. The thought of what might be asked of him if Wol’daeen and her team succeeded in extracting viable human eggs from one or more of the frozen non-revivable bodies left him feeling queasier than when he had asked to leave the chamber. He wouldn’t do it. They could force him to cooperate, but he doubted it would come to that. Desirous as they might be of attempting such a procedure, he did not think they would compel his participation. Given his age, any such effort might well fail anyway.

Cloning. Impersonal and distant. Let them stick with that if they insisted on restoring humankind. If they did try to force him to assist with any other procedure, he’d… he’d kill himself.

No, you won’t, he thought tiredly. The drive to survive was more powerful than any abstract sense of ethical outrage. He might resist, but in the end he would probably comply.

He knew himself well enough to know that he was too much of a coward to do otherwise.