Relic

by Alan Dean Foster

  Indicating that she understood, Twi’win pivoted and led them along the covered walkway. Outside the transparent protective sleeve the drizzle vacillated between mist and sprinkle without ever turning to real rain.

  “Is it like this here much of the time?” Staring out through the curving wall on her right, Cor’rin hinted that she would not be averse to seeing some sunlight.

  “It is like this here all the time.” As they entered the outpost’s headquarters the director turned to their left. Busy scientists and techs paused to regard the newcomers and, despite themselves, gape at the human. That they knew Ruslan was coming did not in any way mute their curiosity. Just as he had advised Twi’win, he took the gawking in stride.

  Seats were taken and refreshments were brought. Disdaining the Myssari furniture, which in any case was of the temporary and barely adequate kind one would expect to find in such a remote extension of the Combine’s research arm, Ruslan leaned back against an insulated wall and crossed his arms. Though she addressed them all, the director’s gaze kept sneaking toward Ruslan. Whenever he met her stare, she would look hurriedly away despite his insistence that such attention did not trouble him. As she grew increasingly used to his presence, he knew, such involuntary gaping would gradually disappear.

  She did not waste words on small talk but went to the heart of the reason they were present.

  “The sighting did not take place here but at an urban location we have not yet explored in person. No staff were available to engage in an immediate follow-up to the automatics’ report. We have since sent people to the site. They found nothing. There are no indications a living human being was present anywhere in the vicinity of the report. Or, for that matter, anywhere else on Daribb.” Using all three hands, she gestured at the damp landscape outside. “As you may surmise, there are no such things as lingering footprints on this world. Nor handprints either, as the constant mist and showers immediately wash such evidence away. It rarely rains heavily here. The sun occasionally banishes the clouds, but never for very long. The climate is a major contributor to the perpetually slick and sodden ground.”

  The exhilaration Ruslan had felt on Treth and during the outward journey was fast draining away. “If your people haven’t been able to produce anything more convincing than a single inconclusive report filed by automatics operating in bad weather, why request that I and my companions be transported all the way here?” He regarded the director evenly.

  A profound gesture executed with all three hands indicated that she appreciated his candor. “I did not make such an appeal. As you correctly observe yourself, based on the available evidence, someone in my position and with my responsibilities would not have made such a request. The decision to bring you here was made by senior advisors on Myssar itself. My modest and admittedly negative input was disregarded.”

  For a long moment silence reigned among visitors and host. The reason for the director’s coolness was now understood. Their presence on Daribb and the need to accommodate them and their search would take away from resources Twi’win plainly felt could be more usefully deployed elsewhere. Being Myssari, she was too polite to display her resentment openly. That did not mean she was prevented from displaying a patent lack of enthusiasm. This was evident in her tone as well as her posture.

  “It is thought by some students of your culture that one of your own kind who might be fearful of us might in contrast respond positively to your appearance.”

  A simple explanation but one that made sense, he thought. Alone and wary of everything, a single surviving individual might well avoid contact with unknown aliens. Not every human had his gregarious personality.

  “When can I go to this other city?”

  “Whenever you wish. I am instructed to place all of the outpost’s resources at your disposal.” Her attitude toward the visitors and their objective stayed just the cordial side of frigid. “I would suggest, though, remaining here a day or so to acclimate yourself to your new surroundings as well as to familiarize yourselves with the layout of our outpost. While the gravity here is virtually the same as that on Treth and Seraboth, the atmosphere is denser and, self-evidently, far more moist. It can make for breathing difficulties, especially if one is called upon to exert themselves.”

  That might be true for Myssari, he thought. As for himself, he found the damp air refreshing. His third lung would not need to engage here. Despite that, the director’s suggestion was a reasonable one.

  “Your advice is welcome.” He glanced at his companions. “Hopefully, my friends won’t have any trouble. Despite your very understandable doubts I think they are still enthused about the report that’s brought us here. I know I am.”

  “As I stated, I believe it remains nothing more than a slight possibility.” Good scientist that she was, Twi’win did not outright deny the prospect lest she be proven wrong. “Despite repeating the scouts’ flyover, we are still left with only the initial questionable sighting.”

  “I think you are being overly negative,” Bac’cul told her. “If the Science Sectionary had not thought highly of the original report, they would not have gone to the trouble of sending us here.”

  Twi’win turned her head halfway to the right before letting it swing back. “It is my hope you may find something to justify their expectations,” she replied dryly, “along with the loss of time, personnel, and material resources.”

  Ruslan hoped to find something more than that. The director’s continued disparagement of her automatics’ findings notwithstanding, he hoped to find a hammer with which to shatter his loneliness.

  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…”

&nb
sp; 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.