His confident response, wholly as articulate as Bac’cul had promised, sparked an animated babble among the Vrizan. Calling for quiet, their leader turned back to the assembled Myssari.
“For myself I would be content to leave with the evidence of my eyes, but there are scientists among us teetering on the verge of giddiness who have threatened me with all manner of incivilities if their request is denied. So I must ask again: may several of us be permitted to approach the survivor?”
“Survivor.” Not “specimen.” For all that one of their number had threatened to shoot him on that frantic night when Ruslan had taken his unauthorized stroll, he found himself softening toward the Vrizan, only the second intelligent species with whom he had exchanged more than a passing glance.
As San’dwil’s head swiveled to regard the human, Kel’les leaned close and whispered, “I do not think this is a good idea.”
Ruslan rejected his minder’s appraisal. “Why not? All they want to do is touch me. Where’s the harm, if it inspires them to leave quietly and satisfied?”
Kel’les’s small eyes were scanning the waiting, impatient visitors. “What if they have something else in mind? Something more?”
“What, like trying to carry me off?” The image this speculation conjured was so absurd that he had to struggle not to laugh. “I’d fight back. San’dwil would not permit it—it would mean the ruination of his career.” He nodded toward the Vrizan. “There aren’t many of them, some are self-proclaimed scientists, and they’re inside a Myssari base. They don’t strike me as fools.”
“They are not.” Kel’les’s worry remained. “That is why I am concerned.”
“Let’s put an end to that.” Walking toward the visitors, he lowered his arms and spread them wide. “Approach and satisfy yourselves, if this is what you want.”
While it was evident that San’dwil was unhappy with his prize guest’s willingness to accommodate, there was little he could do about it. Alien and sole survivor of a vanished species, Ruslan was too valuable to risk injuring. It never seriously occurred to San’dwil to try to prevent the encounter by calling for the use of sudden physical force. So he stood where he was and looked on apprehensively.
While it was plain that the Vrizan were sexually dimorphic, Ruslan was unsure which was which. Fearing it might be undiplomatic to inquire, he resolved to ask Kel’les to settle the question later. Meanwhile Vrizan of both sexes took their time inspecting his frame, from running small, narrow, and many-jointed fingers through his brown hair, to marveling at the flexibility of his ears, to trying to understand how his arms and legs could efficiently carry out their apparent functions utilizing only three joints and such heavy bones. As they grew more comfortable in his proximity they began asking questions.
“This stiff but bendable flesh behind your aural openings…what is its purpose?”
“You have two kinds of teeth—pointed and flat. Why?”
“There is no proper separation between the upper and lower halves of your torso. How do you keep waste material in the lower half from corrupting and poisoning the organs in the upper half?”
It went on like that for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Eventually Kel’les relaxed. The Vrizan gave no indication of wanting to hit Ruslan with anything more damaging than a flurry of questions. San’dwil, on the other hand, did not relax, nor did those around him. While occasional glances flashed the way of the visiting researchers, far more of the Myssari supervisors’ attention was focused on the Vrizan military personnel who had accompanied them.
As Ruslan stood surrounded, the questions kept coming.
“Your head is impossibly round but you have two eyes. Do you have binocular vision?”
“What is the purpose of the small divided organ in the center of your face? Doesn’t it interfere with your consumption of food?”
“How do your limbs function in the absence of a proper number of joints?”
He was growing tired, both of the endless queries and from having to stand in one place for so long. When he expressed his unhappiness, one Vrizan researcher rushed to bring him a Myssari seating bench while the others held their questions until he was again ready to reply. It was not at all what he had anticipated; certainly not from his previous single encounter with the Vrizan scout. Admittedly the circumstances were decidedly different this time. What he had not expected, especially based on the concern expressed by Kel’les and San’dwil, was the respect being shown to him by the visitors. It bordered on awe. In contrast, with the exception of Kel’les, the Myssari treated him as something valuable to be preserved rather than as an individual to be regarded as an equal. Granted, it was possible he was misreading their attitude. More time spent on Myssar did not necessarily breed familiarity.
After he informed them, as he took his seat, that they could continue to ask questions—but please, not too many more, for he really was growing weary—the Vrizan scientists resumed their excited interrogation. This time they did not talk over one another and they gave him more time to respond thoughtfully to each query.
What came next he did not expect at all.
As he was replying to a question relating to an obscure aspect of human culture, one of the heretofore less active interviewers moved very close, leaned over with a multitudinous popping of joints, and whispered.
“Why do you remain in the company of these insipid tripods? You and I, we are both bipeds. We Vrizan are normal bisexuals, like humans. Like you, each of us has more than three digits on our hands. Although they are positioned differently on our heads, our eyes are like yours, large and equipped for marginal night vision as well as excellent sight during the day. Though you have far fewer joints, our means and method of vertical locomotion are similar. We are more straightforward and honest in our dealings. We are bold, as was humankind before its fall. We do not simper and neither did your people. Human and Vrizan have far more in common than human and Myssari.”
As Ruslan digested this extraordinary disquisition the speaker straightened. The eyes at the ends of his flattened, elongated skull swiveled inward to face the human.
“Come with us. The Myssari have learned much from you. Why should we not have the same opportunity? They cannot possibly treat you as well as we will. There are more similarities between humankind and Vrizan than I can enumerate in a short time. You will see for yourself if you come with us.”
Ruslan was aware that all questioning had ceased. Insofar as he could tell, none of the Vrizan researchers looked surprised by the offer that had just been extended. Their plan of action—respectful questioning followed by unexpected offer—had doubtless been rehearsed and agreed upon long before the science team had left its base. They were all staring at him now, a progression of widely separated alien eyes. Waiting for his reply.
A nervous Kel’les rejoined him. “Is everything all right, Ruslan?” The intermet eyed the now expectant visitors worriedly. “It has gone quiet. Are they finished with you?”
“Everything’s fine, Kel’les. Just one more question to answer and then we’ll be done here.” Given the extraordinary separation of the Vrizan’s oculars, Ruslan tried to meet the gaze of the alien who had voiced the offer as best he could.
“You are absolutely right. On the face of it, my people and yours have much more in common than they do with the Myssari. In many ways the Vrizan do appear to be far more humanlike.” A startled Kel’les started to say something but Ruslan forestalled his friend. “That is why I will not go with you.”
While unhappy murmuring rose from among the visiting researchers, it was left to their spokesman to respond. His bemusement appeared genuine. “I—we—do not understand. If we are more like you, then would you not find yourself more comfortable among us?”
“Quite the contrary. As I have inferred, by your words and your actions, you do share many features with my kind. The last thing I w
ant is to be reminded of them. You remind me of failure, of hubris, of arrogance. Of the death of millions upon millions of innocents.” He lowered his eyes. “I already have far too many memories of such things.” He gestured toward Kel’les, and beyond, to the other intently staring Myssari. “All my disturbing reminiscences will trouble me less if I remain with them, I think. Because they do not remind me of my kind at all.” He raised his gaze anew. “I hope you can respect that.”
The senior alien researcher paused for a long moment. Then he made a gesture. It was a forceful gesture, delivered in the manner of the Vrizan—or a human.
“Yes, we can respect that.” He started backward, the numerous joints in his legs crackling harmonically. “We cannot understand it, but we can respect it. However, we need not agree to it.”
His retreat accelerated. Not with as much agility as a Myssari, a tight-lipped Ruslan thought. More like a human struggling not to trip and fall. Weapons appeared in the hands of the researchers’ turquoise-garbed military escort. The human sighed resignedly. So the instinctive defensive, antagonistic reaction of the nocturnal scout he had surprised had not been an aberration after all. What a pity. But not a surprise. Faced with a similar situation, representatives of his own kind might well have reacted similarly. He might have done so himself.
What he was seeing now only confirmed that he wanted to live out the remainder of his life among the Myssari. Provided the Vrizan would let him. Their hand weapons were impressively advanced, their determination almost…human. The only one in the room who didn’t care a great deal what happened next was the subject of the confrontation.
Die today, die tomorrow—what’s the difference? On reflection he realized that he had actually enjoyed, as opposed to merely tolerated, all the years he had spent on Myssar. Aliens Kel’les and the other Myssari might be, utterly nonhuman in appearance, reproductive matters, and much of their culture. But they possessed one element that overrode all the others.
They were nice.
That intrinsic niceness did not prevent them from drawing weapons of their own, however. That this was done in defense of property more than of an individual did not trouble Ruslan. He was used to it. He was not only valuable: from a scientific standpoint he was irreplaceable. How far the Myssari were prepared to go to retain him and how far the Vrizan were prepared to reach to try to take him would be known within a minute.
As he sat speculating, Kel’les stepped in front of him. Bac’cul and Cor’rin crowded close at his sides. At the moment, the Myssari in the room were outnumbered and outgunned. That would not last long. A quick sideways glance out a nearby transparent panel showed movement in the base’s central plaza. Someone in the room had managed to sound an alarm or relay word of what was happening. Very soon all exits would be blocked and the Vrizans’ options would be drastically reduced. They would have to decide what to do in the next few seconds.
In a single smooth swooping motion made possible only by an arm composed of dozens of individual joints, one of the escorts raised his sidearm. Ruslan stiffened.
So this is how the last human in the galaxy dies, he thought calmly. Being fought over by representatives of two alien species. The central prize in a scientific tug-of-war. Thinking of the ancient children’s game made him smile. It would be good to go out focused on such an antiquated image. Just like his entire species. He did feel sorry for Kel’les and the others. His death would not do their career prospects any good, although the Myssari viewed such things differently than a human. He closed his eyes. The leader of the Vrizan research team was speaking. Kel’les translated for him.
“Do not fire! You might hit the human.”
Blinking, Ruslan saw the speaker push down on the arm of the military escort who had started to take aim. A bit, though far from all, of the tension seeped out of the room. Beyond the transparent section of wall, Ruslan could see that the small open area outside that had been carefully landscaped with native Trethian plants was filling up with armed, restless Myssari. It seemed possible that he might live. He was happier for his Myssari companions than for himself.
“No knowledge is to be gained by those who seek it from fighting among themselves.” The Vrizan leader stood tall on his slender legs. “I ask your forgiveness for this awkward attempt. My orders to make the attempt came from a higher authority. From off-world, to be exact. I explained that it was unlikely to meet with success but I was overruled. Having complied with our pointless instructions, I assure you that we will now depart quietly.” For a last time his gaze fell on Ruslan. “If you should change your mind, human, I hope you will not hesitate to contact us. Since I doubt that your hosts will allow me to provide you with a means of doing so, I trust that should you ever wish to do so you will find a way of managing that communication. Studies show that your species was wonderfully resourceful. I can only hope its last representative is equal to any task to which he may set himself.”
Ruslan followed the Vrizan as they were escorted out. There was certainly much to admire about them. He had admired the native predator that had tried to eat him, too, but that did not mean he wanted to live with it or its kind. His relief obvious, Bac’cul turned to him.
“Are you all right, Ruslan?”
“I’m fine. I just want to rest.”
The researcher indicated his understanding. “I believe we all need a break after that confrontation. It could have turned calamitous.”
Nodding agreement, Ruslan rose and started in the direction that would lead him back to his assigned living quarters. The three Myssari who knew him best watched him go. Cor’rin was first to comment.
“What do you think?”
“The human has always been as good as his word,” a thoughtful Bac’cul observed. “Though it is oftentimes difficult to tell what he is thinking, his speech is invariably straightforward. I do not think he will try to contact the Vrizan. If he was so inclined, I believe he would have stepped across the room to join them here and now.”
“I agree,” added Kel’les. “I have spent more time in closer contact with him than anyone, and I have never known him to prevaricate. Nevertheless, I believe that as long as we remain on Treth he should be watched, especially when I am unable to accompany him. I will explain our conclusion to San’dwil.”
Cor’rin indicated that she was in agreement. Then, bearing in mind Bac’cul’s earlier observation regarding the need for everyone to rest, they departed the room as a group.
7
Work at the outpost continued as usual, with the only change being the instigation of greatly enhanced security. San’dwil and his assistants had been leery of the contending Vrizan presence on Treth prior to their attempt to abduct, and then to persuade, the human. Subsequent to those efforts, they initiated security procedures that bordered on the paranoid. No one was allowed off-base without being armed. Duplicate hardened emergency beacons were installed on all driftecs. Researchers who had never encountered, much less handled, a weapon in their lives were put through a course of hasty instruction. It was all very distracting to the scientists, who wished nothing but to concentrate on their work, but San’dwil was insistent.
Having now met multiple Vrizan, Ruslan would have chanced taking them at their word that they would not try anything untoward again, but it was not his career that was at stake. He would have chanced it partly because he was honestly curious to learn more about the Myssari’s rivals and partly because his hosts considered him far more valuable than he did himself. Respectfully but firmly deprived of the opportunity for interspecies contact, he had to content himself with learning what he could about the alien bipeds by searching through the research materials available on the base.
These told him that the Vrizan were a bold, space-traversing species who competed with other races as well as with the Myssari for new knowledge and new worlds. Like the Myssari, they had entered the virtually unpopulated galactic
arm that contained Treth and Seraboth from well-developed star systems located many thousands of light-years distant. While more aggressive in their expansion than the Myssari or the O’lu, the Chaanoss or the Hahk’na, the Vrizan were not flagrantly warlike. Among civilized species, fighting was a last resort, one extremely difficult and costly to wage between star systems. Far better to find other ways and means to settle disagreements. The extreme behavior exhibited in their effort to acquire Ruslan in support of their research demonstrated how much they coveted the sole surviving representative of humankind as well as how highly they valued that vanished civilization itself. Ruslan did not feel flattered. He felt objectified.
Nevertheless, the enticing words of the Vrizan representative remained in his mind, and refused to fade away.
They were still nagging at him the next day as he stood outside in the sun in the central plaza that formed the physical nexus of the base. Giving Kel’les a break from the task of continuously monitoring the human, Cor’rin had temporarily taken the intermet’s place. She was leaning back on one of the tubelike inclined benches that provided a resting place for the tripodal Myssari frame. Ruslan had chosen to sit on the ground nearby, his back against one of the curiously horizontal native growths, his forearms resting on his pulled-up legs, his chin propped on his interlaced fingers.
She found the human’s persistent silence personally as well as professionally troubling. “It has been observed that your behavior of late has trended to joylessness.”
Glancing up at her without shifting his position, he commented sourly, “Truly nothing can be hidden from the penetrating eye of Myssari science.”
She flinched. “I only meant that—”
“Forget it.” He waved a hand at her and, by implication, the cosmos in general. “I’m tired and discouraged, and I shouldn’t inflict that on you.” A hint of a smile crossed his features. “That was very impolite of me.”