Relic

by Alan Dean Foster

  “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 t
hought. 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.

  13

  To the best of Ruslan’s knowledge, the Vrizan never learned how not one but two human survivors had been spirited off Daribb. There was a moment of tension when the ship that had been diverted to pick up the Myssari scientific team was queried by one of the Vrizanian automated satellites, but it passed swiftly enough when the orbiting station accepted the explanation that the arriving starship was simply engaging in a routine replenishment of supplies and exchange of personnel.

  It was not until he was back on Myssar that Ruslan finally relaxed. Or rather, relaxed as much as Cherpa would permit. From the moment she stepped into the orbital lift, a stream of questions and exclamations spilled from her lips that no volume of responses was able to quench. Striving his best to satisfy her, he achieved only partial success. Between the girl’s boundless curiosity and sometimes convoluted reasoning and Pahksen’s unshakable paranoia, Ruslan had very little time left to himself.