Relic

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Makes it all the more interesting, then,” Ruslan agreed by way of parting. “I’ll tell Cherpa. She’s ready for another break from dealing with the children, I think. When is this outing scheduled?”

  “Not for several days next.” Ambling easily on all three legs, Jih’hune headed back toward the recently finished administration building. “There is nothing in the finding to suggest that haste is indicated.”

  * * *

  —

  Their destination lay a considerable distance from the outpost, but not so far that suborbital transport was required. A boosted driftec was sufficient. Staying within atmosphere also allowed Ruslan and Cherpa to drink in the planetary panorama that unfolded beneath them. Seas and mountains, once fertile plain now completely overgrown by native vegetation, and the shredded geometric patterns of empty cities blended into a sumptuous visual whole that was as much a feast for the eyes as it was sorrow for the soul. All lost, all wasted, all slowly sinking back into the folds of the planet from whence humankind had drawn the original sculptures, he thought, with only himself and Cherpa left to try to uphold the memories of a once great civilization. And the children, he reminded himself. Not to forget the children.

  The terrain where they finally descended was beautiful but not welcoming. Cold and tectonically warped, it had been diced by glaciers whose retreating footprints took the form of permanent slaps of ice and snow. Temperature-wise it was a radical departure from where the outpost was located. That they were properly dressed and prepared was thanks to the information that had been sent back by the Myssari probes in orbit.

  Appropriate attire notwithstanding, the humans found themselves shivering slightly as they emerged from the driftec. Myssari did not shiver, but with their especially sensitive extremities overbundled, they were awkward and graceless. With the representatives of neither species willing to risk frostbite, it was evident from the start than any in-depth work would have to be done by weather-immune machines.

  Hard country, Ruslan thought as he and Cherpa followed the pair of techs toward the nexus of the orbiters’ discovery. Not the place one would expect to find something of survivable significance. The terrain was striking, but it was not nearly as convivial as the outpost. Certainly Pe’leoek on Myssar was more amenably sited. He hoped the Myssari researchers would not want to stay too long.

  There was nothing encouraging to see. No crumbling city towers, no expansive urban development, no suggestions of vast, mysterious industrial enterprises. Only rock and snow and a sky that was, admittedly, bluer than any he had yet viewed from the planetary surface. Blueness wasn’t enough to keep him interested. At least Cherpa had flowers to fawn over. Petite and brightly colored, they poked their colorful heads up everywhere a roothold could be found in the rocky soil.

  “There.” Having come up behind his friend, Kel’les was pointing with two hands. Ruslan noted that the flesh of his mentor’s face and neck was tightening like drying leather, a sure sign of aging among the Myssari. With a start he realized that he had never seriously contemplated what his life would be like without Kel’les around to counsel him at every turn. He had just assumed the Myssari would outlive him. That was clearly not necessarily the case and he would have to find a way to deal with it. For now he preferred to think that the epidermal contractions he was seeing on his friend were due to the midday cold and not the vagaries of advancing age.

  The techs had stopped. Or rather, their forward progress had been halted. Beneath a lip of overhanging granite and sunk within a cliff face was a single door. Perhaps three times Ruslan’s height and equally wide, it was a simple square slab of remarkably unweathered metal. Perhaps early terrestrial steel, he thought, though it was imbued with a faint golden hue he had never seen before. Leaving Cherpa to her flower gathering, he joined the techs, Bac’cul, and Kel’les in examining the barrier. Having grown adept over the decades at anticipating researchers’ questions, he answered the first before it had to be asked.

  “No, I don’t know what it is or what it’s made of. I can’t imagine what lies behind it or why such a doorway happens to be located here, in such an inhospitable and inaccessible place.”

  Having temporarily removed his gloves, one tech was intent on the flat pane of instrumentation he was manipulating with all three hands as he made slow passes over the door with the device. “I am having trouble obtaining a compositional analysis. Certainly there is iron present in quantity.”

  “That is not surprising.” The tech’s companion resolutely kept her hands and sensitive fingers bundled in protective material. “As we were on approach, scans recorded the presence nearby of an iron mine of exceptional dimensions.” She indicated the mute barrier before them. “Perhaps this is a storage facility for pure, refined product from that mine.”

  “Except that we detected no evidence of such a refinery.” Her colleague continued to study his readouts. “Which is not proof one did not exist here in earlier times. The machinery may have been removed for use elsewhere.”

  “I would say it is a repository.” Everyone turned to look at Bac’cul. “Similar in design and purpose to others we have found scattered around human-settled worlds. A place intended to safeguard and conserve important relics and materials. The Vrizan boast of having found one far to the northwest of here that was filled with preserved seeds and animal parts.” He indicated the barrier. “I suspect we may find something similar when we enter here.”

  “Enter how?” The still fully clothed tech used one thickly gloved hand to gesture at the barrier. “Other repositories that we have found and inventoried had physical handles built into the doors, or electronic sensors awaiting input.”

  Bac’cul indicated his understanding. “The smaller ones, yes. All human entrances of this size were originally controlled by electronic recognition devices. I admit I see no such inviting panels or optics here. They would of course no longer be functional in any case. So we will have to force an entrance. It will hardly be the first time.” He glanced at Ruslan.

  “No objection,” the human advisor told him. Why should he care if the scientists blew the door? He was not especially interested to see what lay on the other side. Compared to what was easily accessible on a planetary surface, the contents of similar repositories on Seraboth had been of only marginal interest. He doubted it would be much different here. And the sooner they learned what was within, the sooner they could return to the warmth and comfort of the outpost.

  An optical cutter was brought from the driftec. Not wishing to damage the portal any more than was necessary to gain entrance, its operators activated it on low power and turned its beam on the lower right-hand corner of the entryway. The coherent beam lanced out and struck the barrier, layering irresistible energy onto the featureless material.

  Nothing happened.

  The metal, if that’s what it was, did not even grow warm. Conferring, the device’s operators gradually increased the strength of the cutting beam until it was at maximum. A small circular glow appeared as a halo where the beam was contacting the barrier. But no hole was cut and no material melted. The frustrated operators continued to pour power into the attempt until Bac’cul called a halt. He walked up to the unharmed doorway and ran a gloved hand carefully over the spot where the beam had been aimed.

  “We have something new here.” Though his tone was unchanged, there was an undeniable touch of excitement in his voice. “This is the first time we have encountered an obstruction our field gear could not penetrate.” He looked back at the small group gathered behind him. “We will have to go back to base and return here with more powerful equipment. Ruslan? Any suggestions?”

  The human shook his head. “I don’t have any idea what it’s made of, and I agree we should return to the outpost. I’m cold.”

  “We are all suffering from the climate.” No less ready than Ruslan to leave the place, Kel’les was already starting bac
k to where the driftec had set down. “Though I am no scientist, as far as I see, for all the promise this location holds we might as well wait for the seasons to change before we return.”

  “It is true there are easier sites to study,” the female researcher said. “Though I am always curious to see that which is hidden from me.”

  “We need not return with a full scientific complement,” her companion said. “It might be better to let one of the materials scientists study the obstruction before a second attempt is made at penetration.”

  They continued to discuss the discovery and how best to proceed as they walked back toward the driftec. Carrying their equipment between them, the operators of the cutter led the way. No one thought to call to Cherpa to cease her flower gathering and hurry up to join them.

  Preoccupied with her botanical collecting, she had not joined the others in studying the barrier. Now she lingered behind in order to conduct her own brief examination. Curious, she removed the protective warming glove from her right hand and let it slide down the face of the remarkably unpitted, uneroded barrier. Ruslan had already performed the same gesture. But his hand had remained gloved.

  “Cold,” she murmured.

  Something like a rising wind whispered in her ears. It was not the wind. It was far away and deep down, a sigh from the past.

  Startled, she stepped back as the barrier rose almost silently in front of her.

  Hearing the surprised exclamations in Myssarian, Ruslan turned in time to see the last of the barrier disappear into the roof of the overhang like a claw being retracted into a cat’s paw. Setting down the cutter, the two operators joined the human and the researchers in rushing to the unexpected opening. Clustering together just outside the now revealed entrance, humans and Myssari alike found themselves staring down a perfectly cylindrical tunnel. The walls were of bare rock that had been polished to a decorative shine, though whether as a consequence of a deliberately decorative touch or the process of digging none of them could say. The entrance was not vast, but it was impressive.

  Ruslan stared at her. “What did you do?”

  She spread her hands. “Nothing. I just ran my palm down it. My bare hand.” She mimed the motion. “And up it went.”

  “What now?” Bac’cul asked, staring at him. So were the other researchers. As if merely by being a human confronted with an enigmatic human relic, he would instinctively know what to do next. He smiled ruefully. In such a situation his ignorance probably exceeded theirs.

  Less vexed by informational deficiencies, Cherpa started down the tunnel. As she did so successive segments of the walls, ceiling, and floors flared to light. Ruslan turned to Bac’cul and shrugged. “Old human game. Follow the leader.”

  “She is not a leader,” Bac’cul insisted as he joined Ruslan in entering. “She has no idea how she is doing what she is doing.”

  “Are you interested in explanations or results?” Ruslan challenged him. The researcher said no more.

  They walked for quite a while, until even the beauty of the polished granite that surrounded them grew tiresome. Bac’cul was about to call for a return to the driftec so they could unload powered ground transportation, when the tunnel took a sudden bend to the left. Confronting them were half a dozen identical mechanical complexities. Here at least Ruslan could supply some useful information drawn from his early years on Seraboth.

  “Those are lifts. The design is a little different from what I’m familiar with, but I don’t think there’s any mistaking the purpose.”

  The lead male researcher considered. “Do you think they are functional?”

  “No,” Ruslan replied, “but I didn’t think the outer door was functional, and there was no reason to expect internal illumination in this place to be functional, either. The door responded to Cherpa’s touch. So has the interior lighting.” As he spoke he was removing the glove from his right hand. “Let’s try a gender variant.”

  Eying her colleague, the second researcher hesitated. “Do we really want to do this now, here? Should we not return to the driftec and first seek wider concord?”

  “From whom?” Her companion gazed back at her. “Sat’shan? Jih’hune? Sectionary advisors on Myssar? We are here; all others are elsewhere.” He looked to Bac’cul. “Any worthwhile discovery embodies an element of risk. But as superior, the decision is yours to make.”

  Bac’cul hesitated. Then he turned to Ruslan and Cherpa. “No. This is their heritage. The decision on whether or not to proceed is theirs.”

  While the Myssari waited, Ruslan looked over at Cherpa. Her collection pack was overflowing with wildflowers. “What do you think? I’d prefer that you go back to the driftec and wait. You can always come in later and have a look at whatever we might find.”

  She smiled back at him. “I’ve never been the one to come in later, Bogo. You know that.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say.” He turned back to Bac’cul and the other Myssari. “I think the first sentient sentiment voiced by my species may have been, ‘Let’s see where this goes.’ ”

  Bac’cul gestured appreciatively. “A little boldness frequently yields worthwhile rewards. But I would try one small experiment first.”

  Removing one of his three gloves, he stepped past Ruslan and entered the nearest of the multiple lifts. Three Myssari fingers trailed down the interior wall, over what looked like a bare panel, and across several metallic extrusions. When nothing happened, he replaced the glove and stepped aside. Kel’les, the two cutter operators, and the pair of researchers joined him. With Cherpa looking on, Ruslan repeated Bac’cul’s stroking. Touching the interior wall produced no reaction, but sliding his palm over the naked panel produced a humming noise. Without further sound and as smoothly as if it were a piece of wood settling onto still water, the lift began to descend. As it did so, lights came on to illuminate the shaft around them. Smooth and gleaming, it was a perfect vertical facsimile of the tunnel through which they had entered.

  And seemingly just as interminable…

  19

  There were no intermediate floors or levels: only surface and abyss. Individual instruments capable of measuring depth all agreed the descent was considerable.

  Despite having no idea what to expect when the lift finally slowed, stopped, and allowed them to disembark, it is fair to say both humans and Myssari were initially disappointed. The chamber that illuminated as they entered was exceptional only for its state of preservation. Little but dust marred the vitreous surfaces of walls and floors. Of visible instrumentation there was none. But, Ruslan reminded himself, the impressive surface portal that had barred the way inward had similarly been devoid of recognizable tactilities but had proven to have hidden functionality. Might not the same be true of here…whatever “here” was?”

  Other than being a deeply buried and not especially large open space, it was impossible to tell. The apparently empty chamber was hardly awe-inspiring. Maintaining a brisk but not stressful pace, they soon reached the far end. This consisted of a wall of solid black glass, though whether of synthetic composition or something akin to natural obsidian Ruslan could not tell. Aware that from a scientific standpoint he was completely out of his depth, he prudently offered no opinion. There was one thing he did feel reasonably certain of: whatever still-functioning system had turned on the illumination was also providing fresh air. A perceptible breeze caressed his face, and it had been pre-warmed.

  In contrast to his hesitation the Myssari were bursting with speculation. That was all they could do in the absence of written or engraved material that they might have interpreted. In the entire amorphous space there was not a single sign, warning, or instruction. Other than the bumps and protrusions that marred its otherwise smooth walls and ceiling, the chamber was a blank slate. Both humans confessed ignorance of their surroundings.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Ru
slan’s eyes roved the roof and its integrated lighting system. “It has to be a place of some importance. The depth at which it’s located and the impenetrable doorway speak to that.” Lowering his gaze, he indicated the places where instruments ought to be but where only shimmering blank curves of flowing metallic glass gleamed in the subdued light. “My first guess would be that it’s a place to store data of some kind. My people often used deep places to keep valuable information.”

  Bac’cul was running the three fingers of his middle hand over one of the nearby wall’s featureless protuberances. “If that is the case, then there should be a way to access whatever is stored here…if indeed anything is. I see nothing resembling a control or even an aural pickup.”

  “The outer door.” Excited to be able to contribute an idea, Kel’les sidled up next to Cherpa and put a hand on her shoulder. “It responded to her touch.” S’he gestured meaningfully at the nearest wall protrusion. “Perhaps…?”

  The young woman glanced at Ruslan, who nodded encouragement. Kel’les and Bac’cul made way for her as she stepped forward. Reaching out with her right hand, she boldly stroked the lustrous material. Applying varying amounts of pressure, she repeated the gesture several times…all to no effect. Bac’cul consoled the intermet.

  “It was a worthy thought and a worthwhile attempt.” His gaze swept the silent chamber. “If anything here besides the facility of illumination is still functional, there must be another way to stimulate activity. Now that we know the location, we can return with specialists who are better equipped to conduct an analysis.” When the intermet did not respond, the researcher added, “Kel’les? Has all the time you have spent in human company rendered you incapable of responding politely to a compliment?”