Relic

by Alan Dean Foster

  While the escort leader relayed the request together with a report on the nalack assault, Ruslan reentered the structure where the girl had taken refuge. He blamed himself. Though his reaction to the predator’s assault had been instinctive, it was no excuse. His first thought should have been for Cherpa. The knowledge that she had reacted and bolted before he’d had a chance to respond did little to assuage the deep remorse he felt. If they didn’t find her, the Myssari would be greatly disappointed. His reaction would be far worse than disappointment. He would be alone. Again. A lone human dwelling among billions of tripodal aliens. An isolated specimen. A miserable…

  “Hi, Bogo!”

  He gaped. There she was, walking in his direction as though nothing untoward had happened. Not only was she unhurt, she was smiling. A big, bold, self-satisfied smile the likes of which he had feared he might never seen again.

  “You must have killed the nalack or you’d be dead by now.” Peering past the stunned Ruslan, her gaze fell upon the curved, tightly wound corpse of the imposing predator. “Yep, you killed it, all right. Good for you. Better for you than being dead.” There was pride in her voice. “Since you all were busy, I went and got what I needed.”

  He noticed that her left hand was holding something behind her. Though masked by shadow, it seemed too big to be a nicslip.

  “You got what you needed,” he repeated uncertainly.

  She nodded vigorously. “We can go now. It’s okay. The three of us can go.”

  She held up the doll.

  It was made of some soft material, though whether natural or synthetic he could not tell. One eye was missing. The hair was a tangle and, interestingly, as long as Cherpa’s. The formal bright green singlet it wore had been torn and crudely patched numerous times. He made a mental nod. Green would be a popular color on a dull-brown world like Daribb. Like most modern toys for children, it had once doubtless been capable of movement, speech, and a modicum of artificial intelligence. Power source long since drained, it hung limp and mute in the girl’s hand. He swallowed hard.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Oola. I think it was something else once but I can’t remember. I don’t know where ‘Oola’ comes from.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “If Oola’s happy with her name, we should be, too.”

  Cherpa nodded and spoke in a small voice. “I couldn’t leave without her. She’d never forgive me. I’d never forgive me.”

  “Of course you couldn’t leave without her. Now there are three humans to be friends with the Myssari, right?”

  For a moment the girl looked confused. Then her voice strengthened. “That’s right. I’ve talked to Oola and she said that the Myssari people can study her, too. I like you, Ruslan.” Her other hand came up to take his. “You’re not just funny. You’re nice.”

  No, I’m not, he thought. But he didn’t correct her.

  * * *

  —

  If Ruslan’s arrival at the outpost had caused a minor sensation, Cherpa’s resulted in something close to a partial shutdown of activity. Everyone wanted a look at the first surviving human juvenile. As a prerequisite of their deployment to an archeological site like Daribb, support personnel as well as researchers were required to study and learn all they could about human history. This included details on biology. None missed the significance of a chance to observe a second live human who was not only an immature specimen but of the opposite gender from the only other known survivor.

  Cherpa tolerated the stares with remarkable equanimity, Ruslan thought. Much better than he had when he had first been brought to Myssar. Perhaps her slightly skewed outlook on existence provided something of a shield, her inclination to mild madness interposing itself between reality and whatever she chose to believe. When fitted with a translator, she proved able to ignore the numerous comments she could now understand.

  At a private meeting with Twi’win and Hoh’nun, the chief of the outpost’s scientific contingent, she examined and touched everything within reach. Other researchers, including Bac’cul and Cor’rin, were also present. Watching the girl as she delightedly studied and fingered everything from furniture to electronic controls, Ruslan decided that she was going to have an easier time adapting to her new Myssari surroundings than he ever had. He had already spoken to his companions about finding a suitable Kel’les-equivalent to serve as her minder. The girl’s rapid adjustment extended even to letting the Myssari handle her precious doll.

  “Oola can take care of herself,” she had explained when Ruslan had tentatively conveyed the request. “As long as I’m close by, she knows she’ll be okay.”

  While Cherpa explored her new surroundings, he was left to contemplate the incongruous sight of the outpost’s senior researcher and two subordinates studying the raggedy remnants of what once must have been a fairly advanced children’s toy.

  “Our offspring do not play with small artificial replicas of themselves.” Hoh’nun was repeatedly turning the doll over and over in his three hands. “A Myssari child would find such a diminutive replicant unsettling.”

  Bac’cul spoke up. “You say the artifact was once capable of speech and movement?”

  Ruslan nodded. “I never played with anything like it myself, but I remember other children on Seraboth being accompanied by similar homunculi. Most were equipped with rudimentary artificial intelligence as well as the ability to perambulate on their own. The human word for it is ‘doll.’ As you point out, there is no Myssari equivalent.”

  Cor’rin gestured her bemusement. “Why would any juvenile wish the companionship of something artificial when they could have the company of others?”

  “Dolls and playmates aren’t mutually exclusive among human children. Sometimes children would play with one another’s toys, or even trade them.”

  She looked horrified. “You mean they would establish a relationship with the device and then voluntarily part with it?”

  He smiled. “You should know from your studies, Cor’rin, that our bonds with objects aren’t as powerful as they are among the Myssari.”

  Hoh’nun held the doll out at arm’s length. Oola stared back in silence. “There is more to this than it appears. I believe further examination of such relationships may lead to greater insight into the human psyche, perhaps even to the cause of the ultimate species self-rejection embodied in the creation of the great plague.”

  Ruslan frowned slightly. “It’s just a doll.”

  The chief researcher lowered the artifact. It hung limply from one three-fingered hand. “Everything that motivates a mature sentient species is latent in the childhood of its individuals. Sometimes such things are only perceptible to distanced outside observers.”

  Ruslan shrugged. “Observe away.” There was no point in arguing with a Myssari researcher. They were going to derive their opinions about humankind irrespective of anything he might say.

  Cor’rin sensed his irritation. “The request has been transmitted for the next ship in the vicinity to detour to pick us up. We have achieved everything here that we hoped would be possible. Prior to our departure you must take time to prepare the juvenile as best you can for her new life on Myssar.”

  Yes, the specimen has to be preconditioned for a healthy life in the zoo, he thought unenthusiastically. It is incumbent on the senior ape to instruct the younger. Despite Cherpa’s slight mental unbalance he did not foresee any difficulty. He had spent enough time on blighted Daribb to know she would be far happier on civilized, sanitized Myssar. In fact, he couldn’t wait to leave, either. He’d seen more than enough of Daribb and its aggressive native lifeforms and its grime-frosted landscape to last him a lifetime.

  Unhappily, there were other aggressive lifeforms who were not native. They soon manifested themselves.

  11

  From the solitary nighttime scout Ruslan had
encountered on his ill-conceived walking excursion to the individual members of the more insistent delegation that had responded to the scout’s report, the Vrizan on Treth had been stiffly correct if not exactly convivial. No such pretensions afflicted the faction that descended on the outpost the following night.

  As he helped Cherpa to dress he reflected angrily on the fact that no one had bothered to tell him that, just as on Treth, the Vrizan also had their research teams hard at work on Daribb. No doubt Twi’win and her colleagues had seen no reason to mention it, since he and his colleagues were unlikely to have any contact with representatives of that competing and competitive species. Well, the unlikely had happened.

  It took the form of alarms and warnings that sounded both on private and general communications. This was followed by a broadcast cautioning that the outpost’s security had been violated and that resistance was being organized. Distant sharp echoes suggested that small arms were being employed. While he was sorry for what Cherpa had been forced to endure while growing up and surviving on her own, at that moment he was grateful for her enforced maturity. He did not have to rustle her awake. The instant he touched her shoulder, she was wide-eyed and alert.

  “We have to get dressed, Cherpa. There’s a problem.” She nodded, watching him intently, and did not try to contradict him or waste time with unnecessary questions. “There’s another sentient species, the Vrizan, who are also studying this world. They—they and the Myssari don’t really seem to like each other much. For one thing, they argue over who should own certain scientific discoveries.” As he talked she was sliding into a singlet that fit like a second skin. “Right now I think they’re arguing over who owns us.”

  Fully clad, she snatched up the doll and held it close. “Are they nice people, too, like the Myssari?”

  He started to reply and found himself hesitating. What, after all, did he know about Vrizan society beyond what his three-legged friends had told him? His brief encounters with them had been nothing if not contradictory. For all he knew, the people of their homeworld might be as accommodating and supportive as those of Myssar.

  The Myssari, however, were a known quantity. He recalled the confrontation on Treth. Regardless of the scout’s blandishments and whatever other racial characteristics they possessed, the Vrizan there, at least, had shown themselves to be interested in him but notably less…polite than the Myssari.

  Snatching up a water dispenser and a couple of sucrose-laden twists—Myssari snacks that were perfectly acceptable to the human digestive system—he took her hand.

  “Where are we going, Bogo?” Taking two steps to his every stride, she kept pace easily.

  “I don’t know yet,” he muttered. “I don’t know.” What he did know was that he did not want to be caught between two violently disputatious groups of aliens. “We have to hide, at least for a little while. And I haven’t any idea where to hide. I don’t know this outpost very well.”

  She smiled brightly. “I know where we can hide.”

  He eyed her in surprise. “You do? Where?” Higher up within the outpost the sound of fighting rose and fell, angry waves of noise crashing on an insufficiently distant shore.

  “Outside.”

  He stared at her. “We can’t ‘hide’ outside. There are dangerous animals outside and…”

  He stopped. How could he presume to lecture someone who had grown up and survived all their life in this hostile environment on the dangers of native fauna? She knew more about what lurked in the mudflats than he could learn if he had years in which to study it. But there was also the matter of her mental imbalance. Did she know what she was talking about, or was she just being innocently agreeable?

  Something loud and metallic went smash in the distance. Bending, he brought his face close to hers. “What does Oola say?”

  Cherpa looked at her doll. “Oola says if there’s danger we should get the hell out of here right now.”

  He straightened. “Come on then.”

  They encountered no one, Myssari or Vrizan, as he led the way down toward the only one of the outpost’s surface-level exits he could recall having passed and identified. It was helpful that it lay on the opposite side of the installation from the driftec landing platform, which by now was possibly under the control of the encroaching Vrizan. Myssari resistance to their intrusion would likewise be concentrated in that area. Indeed, as he and Cherpa descended a stairwell designed to accommodate its three-legged builders, the sounds of fighting receded into the distance.

  It occurred to him that they could remain where they were, hiding in the stairwell, in the hope that the Myssari would beat off the incursion. On the other hand, if he was wrong…

  Beset by circumstances that were nothing if not confusing, he opted to keep moving. Moments later they were standing in the maintenance chamber he remembered from the one formal tour of the outpost to which he and his companions had been subjected. Then he had thought it a waste of time; now he was grateful for it.

  All that was required to get the membrane lock that was integrated into the portal to yield was the touch of his warm hand. Holding on to the side of the opening, he leaned forward and looked out. In the absence of a moon, it was exceedingly dark. Swinging himself out and around so that he was facing the exterior of the structure, he took a couple of steps downward. Other than the fact that the wide individual rungs were spaced more closely together vertically than they would have been on a human ladder, primate hands and feet had no difficulty negotiating a descent intended for Myssari technicians. The close spacing, he decided, would make it easier for Cherpa.

  Tilting back his head to face the portal, he held tight to a rung with one hand and extended the other upward. “Come on, Cherpa. It’s okay. I’ll help you—”

  Scampering past him while still clinging to her doll, she sped down the entire length of the ladder and dropped silently into the mud before he had time to fully react. Her upturned face barely illuminated by starlight, she met his gaze.

  “Hurry up, Bogo!”

  Carefully making his way down the rest of the ladder, he resolved that from now on he would not offer help to the girl unless she specifically requested his assistance.

  It was late enough for the mud to have shucked off most of the day’s accumulated heat. Following her lead, he lay down in it and turned on his back so that only his face was exposed. The dark, clammy ooze immediately began to seep into his clothing, finding openings where he imagined none existed, working its way into the corners and crevices of his body. He tried not to think of the glut of alien microorganisms that were being carried along on the tide of organic sludge.

  “This way,” she urged him. “Like this.”

  Looking to his left, he saw that utilizing a modified back crab crawl, she had begun to work her way away from the outpost. By dint of pushing and shoving, he mimicked her as best he could, though she had to repeatedly stop and wait for him to catch up.

  Traveling on his back had its advantages, he persuaded himself. With all but a portion of their faces concealed by the mud, they were much less likely to be spotted by eager-eyed Vrizan, even if the intruders thought to scan the outpost’s surroundings. Also, he could look back at the buildings as they moved away from them. In the dim light it was possible to make out little more than the integrated structure’s general outline and the lights that gleamed from numerous ports. The sounds of fighting faded as they moved farther and farther away from the complex.

  These were replaced by the natural night sounds of the mudflats. Peeping and hooting, soft squeals and insistent squeaks, chirps and grunts and bellows began to compete for his attention. Occasionally turning his head from side to side revealed intermittent shadows rising above the flat surface only to disappear quickly into the depths. One time, the firmer ground beneath him sank away and he found himself struggling to swim back to more solid footing. The Myssari had co
nstructed their outpost where the mudflats were shallowest. Elsewhere, he knew, the mud was kilometers deep. In such places lived relatives of the nalack: eyeless monsters he preferred not to envision.

  The outpost’s silhouette had grown small when he began to notice the lights around him. Half were comparatively motionless. The rest swarmed at varying speeds around his suspended form. They flickered to life like so many thousands of tiny, individual illuminators. Present in every color of the rainbow and in shapes ranging from the animated to the purely geometric, they brightened his immediate surroundings to the point where he could see Cherpa clearly. With only her face visible above the surface, she looked like a ceramic effigy from an ancient time, when humans had worn masks and makeup to celebrate pagan rituals.

  It was a beautiful thing to see the bioluminescent creatures responding to his and her presence. It was disconcerting to feel them sliding along the bare skin of his arms and neck and wriggling upward against his legs and down past his shoulders. Knowing only the basics of Daribbian ecology, he could only hope that none of the tiny luminescent creatures were parasitic, and that if they were, his alien biology would repel instead of welcome them. Taking a risk, he raised his head and upper body out of the mud.

  The oceanic flats in which they lay were coming alive with lights. Not millions this time but uncountable trillions. Seeing the look on his face, Cherpa clarified.

  “The moglow happens every night. Didn’t you know, Bogo?”

  “No. No, I didn’t know. Every night that I’ve been here I’ve been sound alseep, deep inside the outpost. I never thought to get up after dark to look at mud. None of the personnel assigned to the outpost bothered to tell me there might be something worth looking at.”

  “It’s probably real familiar to them so they didn’t think of it,” she replied thoughtfully. “It’s pretty, isn’t it?”