Emerging from the arrival booth deep inside one of the buildings, Ruslan saw none of this. If anything, he was more of an object of great, if respectful, curiosity here than he was in the city proper. To those Myssari of a scientific bent, he could not be otherwise. He was fluent enough now to understand even their whispers.
“The last of its kind…Two legs and no tail, how does it stay upright?…Such large eyes, what do they see?…Why is an Ordinary escorting it?…”
An Ordinary. Such was Kel’les’s general professional classification. To Ruslan the Myssari intermet was anything but an Ordinary. S’he was a friend.
The three members of the Humankind Research Sectionary would have liked to be accounted his friends, too, but Ruslan found that he was unable to release his emotions to them. With Kel’les he had gradually gained the feeling that the Myssari was more interested in him than in whatever knowledge of a lost species Ruslan might be able to supply. Whenever he found himself in the presence of the trio of scientists, he felt the reverse. They tried hard enough to be convivial. Probably too hard. Though he realized this, it did nothing to sway his opinion. He had no interest in furthering emotional accommodation.
Nevertheless he was as cordial as any of his hosts as they greeted one another. The chamber he and Kel’les had entered was nearly devoid of furniture. There was no need for it to occupy floor space when whatever was necessary could be summoned with a command. Bac’cul did just that, bringing forth from the floor places to sit, liquids to drink, and a transparency of the far wall that boasted a fine view of green-blue hillside on which could be seen grazing, with infinite slowness, small groups of what looked like dog-sized orange slugs. Beyond the field lay yet another massive, teardrop-shaped structure, and beyond it, another.
Dogs. Ruslan found himself remembering dogs. On Seraboth as well as elsewhere, they had rapidly gone from being man’s best friend to scavengers and predators. In a way, he envied them their simple and straightforward regression. It would ensure them the survival that had eluded their masters.
In addition to Bac’cul he recognized Cor’rin and Yah’thom. Two males and one female. As it did frequently these days, he found his mind wandering. Did they look at an intermet like Kel’les with lust, or purely as a colleague? As it required three Myssari to procreate naturally, were emotional relationships correspondingly far more complicated? Despite all the time he had spent in Pe’leoek, he had never been able to successfully appreciate or analyze Myssari feelings. It was not that they were reluctant to discuss such matters; they were too polite to do so.
In keeping with contemporary Myssari design, there were no sharp angles or corners in the room. This extended from the architecture to the limited amount of scientific equipment on view to personal items. Every surface was opaque. A diurnal folk with sensitive eyes were not fond of reflective surfaces. The view out the back wall would automatically dim as the sun rose.
The cylindrical container from which he sipped a mixture of sweet and bitter liquid posed no difficulty for his simian hand. The dark green metal surface was lightly pebbled to provide a better grip. Though his fingers were shorter than those of a Myssari, he had five on each hand to their three. What they could not understand was why human manipulatory digits varied in length. The evolutionary engineering behind the thumb they could comprehend, but not Nature’s rationale for making each of the remaining four digits a different length, nor why this should vary even among individuals.
“I couldn’t tell you,” he had replied when they had asked him about it. “All I know about anatomy is what I see in a mirror. If it helps, I don’t understand the evolutionary reasoning behind a lot of what I see, either.”
As she regarded him, Cor’rin’s narrow mouth twisted and she blinked. Since the bony orbits in which her oculars reposed were entirely inflexible, she could not narrow her eyes in the human manner. The mouth twist was the Myssari version of a welcoming smile. Though she was female, nothing about her voice was particularly feminine. Save for those who had for entertainment or other purposes deliberately chosen to have surgical manipulation performed on their vocal apparatus, male, female, and intermet Myssari all sounded the same. It forced Ruslan to focus harder on physical discrepancies in order to be able to identify and recognize individuals.
“How are you, Ruslan?”
“I’m still alive.”
“And as taciturn as ever.” Yah’thom was by far the senior member of the group. So old that, on occasion, his inherent politeness sometimes gave way to sarcasm. Ruslan liked him a lot.
A whistling sound emerged from Cor’rin’s throat as she cleared the breathing passage. It was a far more mellow sound than a human cough. Beside her, Bac’cul turned his head 180 degrees to study something outside before returning his gaze once more to the non-Myssari visitor.
“Has Kel’les explained why we have asked you here today?”
The human glanced at his minder. “S’he said you had something to present to me.” He wanted to be equivalently polite, but he also wanted the meeting to be over. Beyond the arching bronzed walls of Tespo, the beach beckoned. Its aspect was maternal and not at all alien.
“An offer. We have an offer to make you.” Though Bac’cul would defer to the elder Yah’thom when it pleased him, among those present it was the younger male who held the senior administrative rank. “It has been determined that the project to clone your cells and attempt to reestablish your species is to move forward with or without your consent.”
How refreshingly impolite, Ruslan thought mordantly. “Your position is well known to me. From a scientific standpoint I suppose it makes sense.” He grinned deliberately, knowing it would unsettle the panel. Having no teeth of their own, the Myssari were always shocked when a civilized being chose to flash them. “Aren’t you afraid of what a resurrected humankind might do? We were highly advanced in many ways and thoroughly uncivilized in others. Look what we did to ourselves.”
“If you refer to the biological weapon that resulted in the demise of your kind, we are not afraid of dead science. From the studies of records found on your world, it is plain there is, or was, much good in you. Your people were aesthetically inventive. There is a spontaneity to your art that we, the Hahk’na, and others feel should not be forgotten. Then there is the important philosophical point that no intelligence should be lost. We firmly believe that every species, no matter their individual or collective failings…”
Yah’thom let out an unequivocally loud whistle. Bac’cul chose to ignore him.
“…has by their inherent uniqueness something important to contribute to the ongoing advance of civilizations. This therefore includes humankind.”
“I can’t give you my consent.” Raising the beautiful metal utensil to his lips, Ruslan took another long draft. Alien flavors lacquered his tongue. “The best I can do is promise you my indifference.”
Cor’rin gestured with two of her three hands. “That is why we requested that Kel’les bring you here today. We would prefer to proceed with more than that. And we are prepared to bargain to acquire it.”
The human’s gray brows drew together, another gesture designed to unsettle the inflexibly visaged Myssari, though this time it was unintentional. His gaze traveled warily across the semicircle of scientists.
“What’s this really all about?”
The Myssari scientist did not hesitate. “Ethics.”
He repressed a smirk. “Yours or mine?”
“Ah.” Yah’thom’s whistle was more subdued this time but no less unmistakable. “Always you jest. No matter the seriousness of the subject or lack thereof. A general characteristic of your people?”
Ruslan shrugged. “I couldn’t really say. I always had a tendency to veer to the caustic.”
“The answer is: more our ethics than yours,” the elder Myssari told him. “If you will accede not only to our intention to try
to restore your species, which you admit you cannot in any event prevent, but to actively participate in the effort, then we have been given permission to grant you anything you wish.”
The lone human in the room—the lone human anywhere—frowned. “Except permission to live out the remainder of my life in peace and quiet while taking with me the last memories of my kind.”
“We would not prevent that in any case.” Heretofore unmoved, Yah’thom was now staring at him intently. The senior scientist’s small eyes were a startling shade of yellow-gold that made them clearly visible to Ruslan even from where he sat.
The human considered. “Anything?”
“Within reason.” It was Bac’cul who added the hasty caveat. “Our resources are limited. Though we regard the attempted resurrection of your kind as an enterprise as important as it is noble, we are not the only scientific project the Myssari Combine finds worthwhile. We must submit our requests for support like any other group.”
“So you may not be able to deliver on your promise.” This time Ruslan did not grin, even though among the assembled only Kel’les might have interpreted the facial gesture appropriately.
The three scientists were clearly uneasy. “No promise is a fact until it has been requited,” Cor’rin said finally.
“Then I accept, since if you fail to deliver on your end I will be just as happy to withdraw my cooperation as to provide it.”
It took a moment for the triumvirate to ensure they understood his meaning. When they finally decided that he had indeed accepted the offer, their relief passed into gratitude.
“This means much to us.” Cor’rin’s earnestness was palpable.
Yah’thom’s gratitude, on the other hand, rapidly gave way to circumspection. “What is it you would most like, Ruslan? What is your ultimate wish?”
The precision with which the scientist pronounced the human’s name showed how seriously he was anticipating Ruslan’s reply. Carefully the old man set the drinking utensil aside. His big-eyed human gaze passed over each of them individually.
For the second time that day, his thoughts turned to dogs. Wherever mankind had gone, wherever he had eventually settled, dogs and cats had gone with him. It would have been nice to have a dog. It would have been nice to talk in something besides Myssarian again. And there were plenty of wild dogs on Seraboth. But he decided against it. Even though gengineering had made it possible to extend the lives of dogs and cats and other animals much as it had those of humans, those of most quadrupeds still remained brief by comparison. As much as a dog taken from one of the blighted human worlds might bring him comfort, he knew it was entirely possible he could die before it. He would not leave a dog to the Myssari. Kind as they were, advanced as they were, their culture did not include any provision for keeping other creatures as pets. A cat, now, would handle the situation just fine. But he had never been able to talk to cats.
“I want to go home.”
Bac’cul exchanged an unblinking glance with Cor’rin. Yah’thom did not take his eyes off their guest.
“That is all? You want to go back to Seraboth?”
Ruslan shook his head irritably. “No. I want to go home.”
Leaning leftward, Kel’les gently rested the three equally long fingers of one hand on his friend’s arm. “They do not understand, Ruslan. Nor do I. Is not the world your people called Seraboth your home?”
“It’s where you found me.” Ruslan’s voice was taut, though whether with anger or frustration not even he could have said. “It’s where I was born and where I lived. But it’s not ‘home.’ Not the home.” He returned his gaze to the expectant, bemused scientists. “I want to go to the home of my species. The homeworld. Humankind’s equivalent of Myssar. Earth.”
“That is its name?” Bac’cul was plainly amused. “How quaint.”
In contrast to that of his colleague, Yah’thom’s tone was entirely serious. “I have myself studied the great majority of general knowledge that has so far been gleaned by our researchers from the information storage facilities on your world. While we are still a long way from having all of it properly catalogued, far less studied in detail, I do recall mention of this homeworld, this ‘Earth.’ But not its location.”
Ruslan nodded somberly. “I didn’t say it was going to be easy. According to the legends on Seraboth, all records as to its spatial location were obliterated or maladjusted or spasmed more than ten thousand years ago.”
Cor’rin’s mouth was too small to gape, but she came close. “Why would that be done? Why would any species deliberately eliminate all traces of its homeworld’s galactic coordinates?”
“I said according to legends. There are many. Some say people were angry that the center of civilization didn’t or couldn’t do anything to stop the Aura Malignance. Some insist that the plague originated on Earth itself and was spread from there. As a mid-level administrator, I had access to a lot of records. Other stories insist that the Malignance did not originate on Earth and that its inhabitants themselves destroyed all references to its location in an attempt to preserve at least the homeworld from the devastation that was afflicting all the others.”
“Ah.” Bac’cul felt he understood. “Erasing their steps backward. If this Earth could not be found, then it could not be infected.” He waved a hand to indicate his excitement as he regarded his colleagues. “Consider what such a scenario might mean. If we can find Ruslan’s homeworld, it might be intact and healthy! Not only would our xenologists then have access to all of human culture and civilization, Earth’s people could help us to interpret and catalog and classify all the knowledge that we have acquired from studying their colonized worlds.”
“Be reasonable.” All three of Cor’rin’s hands were in motion. “If his homeworld escaped the cataclysm wrought by the Aura Malignance, would its people not, when it was subsequently determined to be safe to visit other worlds again, long since have done so?”
Bac’cul was taken aback by her observation. Not so Yah’thom. With his every response, Ruslan’s respect for the elder rose another notch. As he spoke, the senior scientist was gazing at the gleaming, curving ceiling. Or perhaps beyond it.
“Possibly there does still exist a surviving human civilization on Ruslan’s Earth, but one that has not yet determined it is safe to visit other worlds. They may be restraining their explorations out of caution, or uncertainty. Or fear. I should imagine that racial suicide of the kind induced by this species-specific contagion would be enough to keep every means of transport on any unaffected world severely, if not permanently, locked down.”
“Then it is up to us,” Cor’rin declared, “to locate this place and, if such is the case, free them from their concerns.”
I’d just like to see the place before I die, Ruslan thought. As Yah’thom declared, enough generalized information about humankind’s homeworld existed in the records on Seraboth to pique his curiosity, if not reveal its location. Everyone (before they died) knew of and was taught about Earth. It was just that for a very long time no one knew any longer where it was.
Bac’cul was speaking again. “I would think that if anyone on Seraboth had access to your homeworld’s coordinates, it would be an administrator such as yourself.”
“Not necessarily,” Ruslan countered. “I didn’t rise into the higher echelons of my classification. I would think the global astronomy organizations of Seraboth would have had far more such knowledge.”
Yah’thom emitted a soft, sibilant Myssari sigh. “The records of your world’s astronomical societies were among the first to be accessed and translated when the Combine began studying Seraboth. Unfortunately, there was little to be learned from them about the immediate galactic neighborhood that we did not already know, and certainly nothing about a human homeworld that had been safeguarded through deliberate isolation. Our scientists were frankly surprised. One would think that, incl
uded among the description of your species’ homeworld, there would at least have been hints as to its location.”
“There was much that was forgotten.” Ruslan was instinctively defensive. The population of Seraboth had not been composed of the mentally deficient. It was just that knowledge had shrunk in proportion to the population. Now only he remained. Perhaps he was not the brightest or the most educated individual his world had ever produced, but he was no fool. Dying of old age he might be, but he would uphold the honor of Seraboth to the last.
As for upholding the honor of humankind, that did not concern him. As far as he was concerned, that was no longer an issue, the species having forfeited it with the development and dispersal of the Aura Malignance.
There was a long pause on the panel until Cor’rin said, “Then what are we to do? How can we proceed?”
Ruslan had no suggestions, but Yah’thom certainly did.
“If there are no clues as to the location of Earth on Seraboth, then we must look elsewhere. A request for such information will be distributed among the other civilized species: the Hahk’na, the Lelopran, the Kastorii, and any others who might have access to or an interest in such knowledge. Many times one seemingly unrelated fragment of information will lead to another, and another, until greatly to everyone’s surprise all the many broken pieces of knowledge combine to form a useful theorem or fact.”
Present as an escort and handler rather than a participant, Kel’les had kept silent. Now s’he spoke up. “Sending forth such an appeal is certainly a fine idea, but it will take time to be dispersed. The Hahk’na and the Lelopran will not devote to it the resources we would like. This is understandable. They have their own priorities.” S’he glanced sideways at the human. “I doubt that the prospect of fulfilling such a request, even if it is made at the bequest of the last surviving representative of a species, will bestir their researchers to much action.”
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