Relic

  So it was that when Kel’les informed him that Bac’cul and Cor’rin desired his solo presence in the antechamber of his continuously monitored home, he was actually thankful for a few moments away from the two youthful Daribbian survivors.

  “We appreciate everything you are doing to please the female and placate the younger male,” Bac’cul assured him. “Your participation in acclimatizing them to wholly Myssari surroundings has been invaluable.”

  Ruslan tried not to smirk. “If you mean that I managed to get Pahksen to finally surrender his gun, yeah, I’ll take credit for that.”

  He had eventually succeeded in doing so by convincing the suspicious youth that he could retrieve his weapon whenever he wished, simply by making the request. That was not true, of course. Accommodating though they might be, the Myssari had no intention of allowing a member of another species, however irreplaceable, to go wandering about Myssar in possession of a killing weapon. If a citizen were to be injured by the alien apparatus, even accidentally, it could cause untold damage to the ongoing program of human studies. It was enough that Pahksen believed he could have his gun back at any time.

  “They appear to be adapting quite well,” Cor’rin added. “What is your current opinion?”

  Ruslan considered. “Cherpa doesn’t understand everything she’s being shown or told, but I’m convinced full understanding will come with time. It may matter to you that she adapts to everything immediately, but it doesn’t matter to her. One reason she was able to survive as a lone child on Daribb was that she invented her own private world. She was able to retreat into herself, into her own mind. She still does it on occasion but I can see her resorting to it less and less. The same is as true of human offspring as it is of Myssari: the younger they are, the easier they adapt to new circumstances. I believe she’s doing extremely well and will prove a great help to your research programs for a long time to come.”

  “And the older youth, the male?” Cor’rin pressed him.

  Ruslan hesitated. “He’s still chary of everything. I can’t go so far as to say that he’s less mistrustful than he was on Daribb, but he’s certainly no worse.”

  The three Myssari exchanged a glance.

  “That is less than encouraging. I had hoped for better results to pass along to the Sectionary.” Bac’cul was plainly unhappy.

  “What else can we do to reassure him?” Kel’les asked. “He refuses a minder.”

  “I’ll keep trying to put him at ease.” Ruslan tried to sound optimistic. “The best thing you can do is the same thing you did with me: give him whatever he wants, within reason, and when you have to refuse a request be sure to provide an explanation. The more comfortable he becomes with his surroundings, the more he’ll relax, and the more he relaxes, the more he’ll come to accept his new life here.”

  Ruslan found the next exchange of glances bemusing. The Myssari were hesitating about something. He turned to Kel’les, who could not refuse a question from him.

  “Am I missing something here? Is there something I’m not being told?”

  The intermet started to reply but ended up deferring to Cor’rin. She explained with unusual care.

  “We are under pressure from the General Science Sectionary to begin the resurrection of your species. As you will remember, the project was to proceed with or without your consent, via cloning if necessary.” In the absence of an Adam’s apple, it was difficult to tell if she was swallowing nervously. “The acquisition of two young humans of breeding age renders the need to clone not only superfluous but—”

  “Just a goddamn minute—if you please,” he added, remembering Myssari civil protocol. “First of all, while Pahksen may or may not be of breeding age, Cherpa certainly is not. Second of all, they don’t happen to much like each other.”

  “You will fix that.” Was Bac’cul’s observation a statement of hope, Ruslan wondered, or an order? His tone turned emphatic.

  “I can supply information. I can answer questions. I can’t work miracles. Anyway, it’s far too soon to contemplate the two of them engaging in…” He searched for the right words. “…natural reproduction. You don’t even know if either one of them is fertile.”

  “The male is.” Cor’rin did not hesitate. “An examination was carried out while he slept.”

  Now, that’ll make him less distrustful, a pained Ruslan thought. “I’d keep that particular information from him just now.” He realized he was almost afraid to ask the next question. No, not afraid, he corrected himself. Queasy. “Did you also ‘examine’ Cherpa?”

  “We refrained,” Bac’cul told him. Ruslan was unaccountably relieved. His stomach settled. “Bearing in mind not what you have told us so much as information about such matters that we have gleaned from our years of research into human biology.”

  Kel’les was no less curious than the more highly trained colleagues. “Are you saying, Ruslan, that mutual dislike makes it physically impossible for them to breed?”

  “No,” the human muttered, “I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying that now is not the time. It’s far too early to schedule the process.” His gaze switched back and forth between the two scientists. “I know that when Cherpa comes of age, you can remove eggs from her and sperm from Pahksen whether they agree to the respective extractions or not. What I am trying to convey is that it will be of more interest to you and better for the future of human revivification if you allow the process to proceed naturally.”

  “And if it does not?” Bac’cul was staring at him evenly.

  Ruslan shut his eyes. “Then I can’t stop you from doing what your superiors order you to do. I can object, but I can’t stop it. I know that.” Opening his eyes, he regarded the both of them once more. “There’s a proper way of letting such things eventuate and a wrong way. From a technical standpoint both can produce the end result you wish. I’m just saying it would be better, and more beneficial in the end, to do it the proper way.”

  The Myssari triumvirate was silent until Cor’rin spoke up. “We will relay everything you have said to the Sectionary. I believe Yah’thom, at least, will back you up. Whether that will be enough to sway the majority opinion I do not know.” She eyed her coworkers. “There are those who are impatient to commence this.”

  “Where science is concerned, impatience can work for good or for bad.” Bac’cul’s comforting words notwithstanding, the male researcher was clearly more ambivalent than his partners. “Every suggestion you have made in the course of our research has proven itself worthwhile. We will hope that this latest of yours meets with the same approval when it is communicated to our superiors. Meanwhile you will of course continue your work with the two young humans in helping them to adapt to their new lives on Myssar.”

  As if he had any choice, he thought, despite all the fine words and gifts and promises. But he did not voice his reaction out loud.

  14

  There was no reason for them to visit Tespo. There were better beaches close to Pe’leoek than the one that fronted the extensive coastal scientific complex. Instead, for today’s sojourn Ruslan opted to take his two charges to Velet. Though the group of small, sandy islands lay some sixty kilometers offshore from the capital city, they were as close as the nearest public teleport platform.

  In the five years since they had been rescued (it sounded so much better than “abducted,” the ever-cynical Ruslan thought) from Daribb, both young survivors had matured mentally as well as physically. Pahksen was now taller than Ruslan. With access to proper nutrition for the first time in his life, the once lanky adolescent had also filled out considerably. While still subscribing to a certain degree of the guardedness that had initially defined him, thanks to Ruslan’s efforts and the unending kindness of the Myssari he had mellowed from his feral hunter-gatherer days on Daribb. As for his younger counterpart…

  If Ruslan and Pahksen were minor cel
ebrities within the Myssari Combine, Cherpa was all but venerated. Wherever they went, every local desired to be recorded in her company, or touch the famous auburn follicles that had grown out (though not to knee length this time), or listen to her distinctive human laugh. Something about the melodious sound, so different from the far more subdued Myssari vocalizations of amusement, struck the humans’ hosts as irresistible. Ruslan quite understood. The girl’s laughter had nearly the same effect on him.

  As had Pahksen, she had also matured physically. Her physical transformation was a wonderment to the Myssari, who knew of such changes only from the recordings they had salvaged from now-uninhabited human worlds. While many of those historical records featured perfectly preserved three-dimensional reproductions, they could not in any way begin to match the reality.

  Yet always lurking in the background was the insistence of the Sectionary for Human History and Culture that the resurrection of the species be initiated. Twice a year Ruslan had to go, with Kel’les and Bac’cul and Cor’rin by his side, to plead before Yah’thom’s contemporaries that the time had not yet arrived for natural reproduction to commence and that instigating it via artificial insemination of surgically removed eggs and sperm would likely have deleterious effects on the pair of progenitors. Each time, he and his friends managed to persuade the senior scientists to postpone said proceedings for another half year.

  Such efforts could not succeed forever, he knew. Through their extensive research into human affairs, the Sectionary knew as well as he did when young humans reached sexual maturity and became capable of reproduction. Only his insistence that rushing matters could result in permanent psychological damage managed to sustain an increasingly tenuous status quo.

  It helped that while the relationship between Pahksen and Cherpa had improved since their removal from Daribb, it gave no indication of edging toward intimacy. Ruslan often thought that the two youths had little in common besides their humanity. That could still change with time, he knew. While Pahksen was now in his early twenties, Cherpa was only sixteen or so, their exact ages being unverifiable. Though the young man’s interests had broadened upon his arrival on Myssar and his exposure to Myssari civilization, none appeared to include romance. This simultaneously puzzled and relieved Ruslan.

  Of course, it could all change tomorrow, he told himself. A touch, a glance, a spark, would be all that would be necessary to light the fuse. Then—fireworks. The Sectionary would be pleased.

  Today, however, was all about unvisited islands, warm water, and exotic flora and fauna. Velet was a popular getaway among the citizens of Pe’leoek, but at this time of the year it ought not to be crowded. He told himself the day trip was for Pahksen’s and Cherpa’s benefit, but in reality it was as much for him as for them. As ever, the oceans of Myssar continued to remind him of the slightly less salty seas of Seraboth.

  They dispensed with clothing as soon as they arrived. Neither of the two youths had been inculcated with anything resembling a nudity phobia, and the few locals who saw them regarded the naked bodies no differently from when they were clad. To the enchanted Myssari, both genders of the famous human survivors appeared equally exotic.

  Cherpa was first into the water, splashing and laughing, trying to catch the spongy, nearly transparent bubble-like forms of startled basetch as they rose from the disturbed surface and tried to drift out of her way. Pahksen entered the shallow turquoise sea more deliberately, projecting a dignity that was heartfelt if somewhat misplaced. Seated on the beach of bright pink and green olivine sand, a contented Ruslan leaned back on his elbows and looked on. Beside him, Kel’les had lowered his body down into the center of the tripod formed by his legs. Ruslan smiled at the sight. No matter how many years he lived among the Myssari, he would never be able to think of a squatting individual as anything other than a triangular head in a basket.

  “They have adapted very well as they have grown.”

  Ruslan glanced at his friend. “The young always have an easier time of it.” He indicated the only other pair of human shapes on Myssar. Both were taut of body and sleek with youth. “Pahksen knows more about your technology than I ever would, and Cherpa speaks better Myssari than—well, than most Myssari.”

  “She has a natural feel for linguistics,” Kel’les confirmed. “Did you know that she now speaks the major Vrizan and Hahk’na dialects as well?”

  Ruslan’s eyebrows rose. “I knew she was working with Vrizani. I didn’t know she had been studying Hahk’nan.”

  “Oh. I hope I have not spoiled a surprise.”

  “I don’t think so.” Ruslan turned his gaze back toward the water. The glare moderated accordingly. The aging lenses of his eyes had been replaced by Myssari technicians several years ago. He could override their programming by simply thinking about it. Experts at rejuvenating their own bodies, the Myssari considered the devising of replacement parts for humans an engineering challenge. His left hip was artificial as well, a perfect reproduction built up of calcium- and phosphorus-based organosynth compounds. The resulting construction fooled not only his brain but his circulatory and nervous systems as well. Young and healthy, Cherpa and Pahksen had not yet required any such surgical interventions.

  Kel’les gestured toward an irregular object lying on the sand nearby. “Despite her increasing maturity the female still maintains possession of the effigy.”

  Ruslan regarded the doll. “It’s all she has of her childhood. Probably a gift from one of her parents. I never asked.”

  “Nor will I,” Kel’les admitted. “As you know, the Myssari hold personal privacy in high regard.”

  For other Myssari, Ruslan thought. Not so much for valuable specimens.

  “Your love of immersing yourselves in water continues to astonish us,” his minder continued. Given the Myssari body design, all angles and awkwardness, Ruslan understood their innate hydrophobia. Myssari physicality was admirably suited to numerous activities, but swimming was not among them. They were the antithesis of streamlined.

  “I regret to say that the General Sectionary’s impatience continues unabated.”

  “With regard to what?” Having heard the declaration many times before, Ruslan was sure he knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from Kel’les’s mouth.

  “I think you know,” his minder continued, confirming all suspicions. “It concerns the matter of commencing human repopulation through natural means. With each half year that passes, the forces clamoring for intensive cloning are strengthened. This is especially so since the female has reached reproductive status.”

  It was too beautiful a day and setting to serve as a slave to the inexorable. “Surely we can put off the Sectionary for another year or so.” Something small, green, and many-winged landed on his right big toe. He brushed at it idly and it flew off on a complaining whistle.

  “I was told you would say that.”

  He chuckled. “So the Sectionary has become so expert in predicting human responses that they can now divine what I’m going to say?”

  “They are studious, and the staff has not been idle.” Once again Kel’les indicated the two young, strong humans relaxing in the water. “However, it was decided, once again, not to force the issue.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Ruslan considered the matter settled. But it was not.

  “In their desire to accelerate the course of natural events, the Sectionary has decided that placing the youths in more familiar surroundings might induce—or even inspire—them to initiate the process of natural reproduction.”

  That got Ruslan’s attention. “You don’t mean the Sectionary intends to send them back to Daribb?”

  Kel’les was alarmed. “Nothing so foolish! If nothing else, the Vrizan are still there. But it was noted that there are numerous empty worlds on which the old human infrastructure is far better preserved than on Daribb. Seraboth, for example.”

  ??
?The Aura Malignance—” Ruslan began, only to have Kel’les atypically cut him off.

  “Your homeworld has been thoroughly scrutinized. No sign of the great plague nor its virulent method of dispersal has ever been found on Seraboth. It died out when the last vulnerable hosts—the entire human population except yourself—expired. Seraboth is clean and has been so for some time. The surviving infrastructure there is far better preserved than on Daribb or comparable other worlds.” The intermet gestured toward the young humans frolicking in the tepid sea. “It would be a suitable place to reestablish your kind.” Small bright eyes met Ruslan’s. “You, of course, could opt to remain on Myssar, where your honorary citizenship will never expire.”

  “It’s not my choice to say,” he finally replied. “Will it be their choice?”

  “I am assured by Bac’cul that no coercion is being contemplated. The young humans will be offered the option. Whatever inducements the Sectionary can muster will of course be presented to them, though it is difficult for me to imagine what more can be offered. The same option will apply to you.”

  He did not need to think about it. Having spent much of his adult life never expecting to set eyes on another living human, he was not about to let his two fellow survivors depart to pursue a future in which he would not participate. There was still sage advice to be passed on from an adult to youngsters, and as the only adult, he was bound to deliver it. If Cherpa and Pahksen decided to move to Seraboth, he would certainly go with them.

  Despite all the decades he had spent living on Myssar and among its civilized, courteous people, the thought of leaving it permanently behind did not give him pause. It was a gentle world, and an accepting one, but it was not a civilization that had been developed of and for humans. A return to Seraboth, the world of his birth, would not constitute a hardship. He did not point out to the honestly concerned intermet that he, Ruslan, had never been offered the option to go back and live where the Myssari had found him.