Relic

by Alan Dean Foster

  Sat back, relaxed, and waited.

  No one noticed her right away as she made her way down the last stretch of tunnel up top and approached the exit. But by the time she could feel the colder air from outside on her face, both Myssari and Vrizan had taken notice of her appearance. Walking briskly toward the outside, she smiled and offered a cheerful wave. Idly she observed that the Vrizan standing beside Bac’cul was female and quite tall. At the end of one wave, her left hand descended. As it did so it slid down the interior wall of the tunnel near the exit. In the absence of visible indicators, she hoped she had made contact with the appropriate place. Or perhaps it didn’t matter, she thought. Perhaps the entire length of tunnel was one immense instrument sensitive to the presence and touch of a human being.

  She did not have long to ponder the matter, because as soon as her bare hand made contact with the wall, the thick, heavy barrier began to descend. It came down fast, though not so fast that she failed to observe Bac’cul’s startled reaction and the Vrizan’s angry response. Led by the tall female, several of the visitors rushed toward the tunnel. They failed to reach it only seconds before the base of the dark barrier slid into its matching groove in the ground.

  Myssari and Vrizan alike might have been yelling loudly at her from the other side. They might have been firing weapons at the doorway. She had no way of knowing because she could hear nothing. Pleased and relieved, she spun and retraced her steps at a fast walk, heading for the waiting rank of lifts. To find out if another of the six was functional, she would try a different one this time. She and Bogo were committed now. Even if they weren’t sure to what.

  * * *

  —

  “We’re secure.” Lying flat on the smooth floor, she put her hands behind her head and gazed at the softly radiant ceiling. The inexplicable contentment that had enveloped her ever since she had been freed from the hell that was her childhood on Daribb had bequeathed her the aspect of a tarnished angel. “For how long I don’t know. But the Myssari couldn’t break through the door. I imagine the Vrizan can’t do any better.” Rolling her head to one side, she met his gaze. “I imagine that after a while they’ll both agree to listen to whatever we decide and we can ensure that whatever happens here is done to our satisfaction, not theirs. The Myssari are always willing to accommodate us. The Vrizan are belligerent, but they’re not stupid. I’m willing to bet they’ll fall in line with whatever arrangement we make with the Myssari.”

  Ruslan was less sanguine. “Unless they brought heavy weapons with them. If they did, they’re liable to try forcing an entrance before agreeing to anything. The Vrizan I’ve met turn reasonable only when all their other methods of achieving what they want have failed.”

  From where she lay sprawled on her back on the floor, Cherpa mustered a shrug. “We’ll just have to wait and see. I really think that door will keep them out.”

  “I wonder…” Ruslan’s thoughts were drifting. “Important institutions on Seraboth were protected by mechanized safeguards. Even after most of the population had succumbed to the Aura Malignance, you had to be careful trying to enter certain buildings because their defensive automatics still functioned.” Slowly he scrutinized their silent surroundings, from the slightly arched ceiling to the unmoving figure lying within the single transparent cylinder. “Though we’re still not certain of its purpose, it’s not inconceivable that a place like this is similarly protected.”

  Sitting up, Cherpa wrapped her forearms around her knees and hugged them to her chest. “If it’s not, then maybe it’s not as important as we think.”

  “Maybe there are defenses but they’re not automatic and have to be activated.” He studied the rippling walls and their inscrutable projections. “It would help if we could find something like a switch or haptic contact or other control.”

  She pursed her lips. “Maybe all you have to do is ask.” For no particular reason she gestured upward. “Whatever kind of AI is implanted here is capable of speech. We know it listens because it has already asked for one reply.”

  He remained doubtful. “It asked a short question to which we could supply no answer. That may be all it’s programmed to do.”

  “Only one way to find out.” Rising to her feet, she cupped her hands to her mouth, and before he could restrain her or offer a counterargument, she was yelling at the top of her lungs.

  “HEY! BE CAREFUL! NONHUMAN BIPEDS MAY TRY TO FORCE THEIR WAY IN HERE! DON’T LET THEM IN!” Lowering her hands, she grinned at the look on his face. “That should do it, if there’s anything that can be done.”

  He swallowed before replying. “Admittedly, most of my contact on Seraboth was with administrative instrumentation, but in my experience AI’s tend not to be deaf.”

  Extending her arms out to her sides, she performed a perfect pirouette before bowing in his direction. The woman before him was all grown up, Ruslan knew, but parts of the wild girl with whom he had bathed in the muck of Daribb were still present. They were also liable to rise to the surface at unexpected and sometimes awkward moments.

  “I wanted to make sure that there was no equivocation in any response.” Disarmingly, she giggled.

  “What response?” he countered. “Nothing’s happening.”

  “What about that?” She pointed. Upward again.

  The overhead illumination was changing. The warm yellow glow was taking on overtones of pale orange and carmine. Lowering his gaze, he saw that the walls were coming alive. Swimming through the vitreous material like bioluminescent ocean dwellers, blobs of brighter colors began to congregate at various high points while darker hues concentrated themselves in dips and crevices. While most of the new lights shone steadily, a few surged with recurring pulsations. Looking down, a mesmerized Ruslan saw that the floor beneath him was now likewise alive with dancing luminosities. A subtle vibration filtered upward through his feet. The heartbeat of distant machinery coming alive after a long dormancy was perceptible in the depths. He looked over at an equally enthralled Cherpa.

  “Something’s happening. I wish we knew what.” Remembering his communicator, he attempted to call Bac’cul. His efforts met with silence. He contemplated the information displayed on the readout before glancing up. His voice was grim.

  “We’re being blocked.”

  * * *

  —

  “You cannot do this. We had an agreement.”

  The Vrizan Zizanden did not look down at the Myssari researcher. Her attention was on the tech team that was positioning the shock cannon they had unloaded from their transport.

  “Our agreement was to share information about this archeological site. This will be done. But in order to share information, we must first acquire it. Whether in response to an action by the female human or something else, the entrance to the site is now shut. Since it cannot be opened by pacific means, we will open it by those means that are available to us.”

  “But the doorway itself is an artifact!” A protesting Bac’cul waved all three arms in the direction of the heavy weapon. “ ‘Opening’ it in this fashion will render it useless for study.”

  “It is a door,” Zizanden observed curtly. “It is not unique.”

  Seeing that he was making no progress with the headstrong Vrizan commander, Bac’cul backed away and moved to rejoin his equally aghast colleagues. He did not need the situation explained to him. By forcing an entrance to the site while simultaneously insisting they would “share” any discoveries, the Vrizan hoped to conduct a preliminary survey and exploration of their own before the Myssari could conceal or mask anything of special significance. Had their positions been switched, Bac’cul might have felt similarly. Except no Myssari would resort to so crude a means of gaining entrance to a blocked site. Outnumbered and heavily outgunned, his team could do little except retreat to the vicinity of their driftec. From there they could wait, watch, and wonder if the Vrizan weapon wo
uld succeed in penetrating the barrier when their own less powerful devices had failed.

  Knowing that the two humans inside deserved to know what was going on, he turned away from the Vrizan so that his communicator was shielded by his body. He stared at the device. The signal that had earlier reached to and from the depths without any difficulty was now failing to make contact. Were the Vrizan blocking it? There was no obvious reason why they should be doing so.

  He was trying to decide what to try next when the peculiar half-ring, half-thump of a Vrizan shock cannon letting loose commanded his attention and he put aside his concern over the inability to make contact with the two humans.

  When the blast ring struck the barrier, the resulting concussion stunned the aural organs of everyone present. Bac’cul found himself flinching as he turned his head sharply away from the physically painful reverberation. When he rotated it back, he saw that the barrier had not been so much as dented. It was as if the Vrizan weapon had not fired at all. In the distance the commander was railing at her crew as they prepared to fire again. This time Bac’cul and his team members would be prepared for the consequences. Hearing organs were shielded. A number of the more painfully affected had opted to retreat into the driftec in search of additional protection.

  As he waited for the next burst to be unleashed, Bac’cul was accosted by one of his techs. Silently the intermet held up one of several small field monitors. Though the instrument was highly compact, its floating readouts were bright and easy to see. Besides monitoring such mundanities as temperature, moisture levels, solar radiation, and more, one glowing graphic indicated the strength of any nearby ambient energy. On a developed world like Myssar, it would be displaying a rainbow of colors. On Earth, one or two minimal indications might appear when the instrument was in the presence of not-quite-dead automatics or other machinery. Bac’cul understood the readout he was seeing even though he could not comprehend it.

  The information being displayed indicated that the levels being detected exceeded the device’s measuring capacity. This impossibility was the last thing the researcher remembered seeing before he lost consciousness.

  * * *

  —

  When he regained his senses and was able to finally stand on three shaky legs, he saw that he had been blown off his feet several body lengths from where he had been standing. Whistling in pain, the technician with the monitor was struggling to rise nearby. Similar high-pitched whines of distress came from other mission personnel as they slowly recovered from the shock wave. They were being helped and treated for their mostly minor injuries by colleagues who had taken early refuge on the driftec and had thus been shielded. The driftec itself had been shoved several lengths backward, leaving a shallow trough in the soil and snow.

  Still unsteady on his feet, though far more stable than a human would have been if subjected to similar circumstances, he turned back toward the mountainside. The dark doorway that blocked access to the tunnel and the mysteries beyond was intact and undamaged. The Vrizan weapon was…gone. So was the team responsible for its operation, along with their commander, Zizanden. So was the Vrizan air transport craft. A handful of Vrizan lay scattered about, struggling to recover from the concussion. Some of those who had been standing closer to the shock cannon were missing important body parts. Myssari from the driftec rushed to help them.

  Where the heavy weapon had been emplaced there was now a bowl-like depression in the earth, as smooth as if it had been scooped out and then polished to a high shine. A similar indentation in the ground occupied the place where the Vrizan transport had been parked. There was no dust in the air, no smoke, no evidence of an explosion. Stumbling over to the nearer of the two depressions, Bac’cul sank down and cautiously ran the three fingers of one hand over the edge. The smooth curve was warm to the touch. As he recalled his own team’s initial attempt to blast through the tunnel door, a chill ran down his spine.

  He hurriedly readjusted his communicator’s settings. It was with considerable frustration that he finally set it aside. Communication with the two humans was still interdicted. As he stood surveying the destruction, he could only wonder if the blockage was involuntary or not. Pivoting, he moved to check on the condition of his injured colleagues and the surviving Vrizan. His body was still stunned but his mind was working furiously.

  As a scientist engaged in cutting-edge research, he favored the predictable. It was therefore disconcerting to have to consider the possibility that the subjects of his research might now be in control of it.

  20

  The overriding sensation was as if they were now standing in an amorphous container filled with colored fire. Except the temperature was unchanged and the brilliant lights remained constrained within the surrounding walls, floor, and ceiling. It was a cold conflagration. Feeling his age as well as his ignorance, Ruslan turned to the ever-ebullient young woman nearby.

  “What do we do now?” He indicated his communicator. “We don’t know what, if anything, is happening up top. I can’t get in touch with Bac’cul or any other member of the expedition.”

  Cherpa was grinning anew. Broadly, he reassured himself…not maniacally. “We warned the AI about possible danger,” she said. “I don’t hear any footsteps or voices. Until we do, I imagine we’re still secure down here. If it responded to a warning, maybe it will respond to a question.”

  He frowned. “What kind of question? We don’t want to do anything hasty, Cherpa.”

  “Of course we do. She who hesitates stays immobile. As to what kind of question,” she added teasingly, “you just formulated it.” Once again she raised her voice, though this time not as piercingly as before.

  “Hey, whatever-wherever you are! What do we do now?”

  That a response was forthcoming was gratifying. That it was no more than a repetition of what had gone before was more than disappointing.

  “Install pattern number one?”

  They had no idea what that meant nor to what the unseen AI might be referring, but by now there was no stopping the irrepressible Cherpa. Before Ruslan could caution her further, she had already replied, energetically and authoritatively.

  “Yes!”

  No verbal response was forthcoming—but the pulsating aurora that surrounded them underwent an immediate and perceptible shift in hue. New colors appeared, while old ones faded away. Configurations changed, roiled, darted through the walls. Cherpa did not have to point at their focus: Ruslan saw it, too.

  The capsule containing the static human form had become enveloped in a refulgence so intense they had to squint in order to be able to look directly at it. Searching for change, Ruslan thought he could see the clothed chest within starting to rise and fall, but he couldn’t be certain. Nor was he sure he saw the closed eyelids fluttering.

  Further speculation was rendered moot when the top half of the capsule abruptly opened to one side and the figure within sat up. As soon as it stepped out and away from the transparency, the lid reclosed and a new shape slid into the vacated space. The replacement was female, as were four of the nine figures that now occupied the remaining and heretofore empty cylinders. They reposed face up, fully clothed and unmoving.

  The intense illumination in which the first capsule had been bathed rapidly subsided to its previous state. As an awestruck Ruslan and Cherpa looked on, the individual who had emerged slowly turned a complete circle. Apparently satisfied with his surroundings, he finally focused his attention on the other occupants of the chamber. The unaltered voice of the AI echoed softly through the underground.

  “Install patterns numbers two through eleven?”

  Ruslan was having a difficult time dividing his attention between the revived man and the female shape that now occupied the nearest of the ten capsules. She looked to be about his age, perhaps slightly younger. Long-buried yearnings began to flicker within him. Would she, could she, be revived as ra
pidly and apparently as successfully as her male predecessor? If so, how might she respond to him? How might he respond to her? Save for Cherpa, his whole life had been bereft of female companionship. For an entirely selfish moment the future of his species seemed incidental to long-suppressed personal considerations.

  The resurrected man spoke. His accent was thick and difficult but ultimately comprehensible. It unsettled Ruslan, but not in a bad way. It was as if his insides had momentarily turned to jelly. The man was speaking in the tones, in the highs and lows, of old Earth. Like him, the speech he was employing was an artifact…an artifact brought back to life.

  Something bumped Ruslan’s left side. Wide-eyed, Cherpa had moved to stand next to him. Together they listened raptly to the upright relic.

  “My name is Nashrudden Megas Chin.” Prolongation of the ensuing silence jolted Ruslan into realizing he was expected to respond to this introduction.

  “I’m called Ruslan. I’ve forgotten my other names. When you’re the last of your kind, you tend to shed extraneous information pretty quickly.” He nodded to his left. “This is Cherpa.”

  “Mated?” the revivee asked politely.

  Ruslan wondered if he was blushing. Somehow, when another human voiced it, the query came out sounding entirely different than when it was propounded by a Myssari.

  “No, no. A friend.”

  “A very good friend.” Reaching up, Cherpa put a hand on Ruslan’s shoulder. “He saved me. Saved my life and my mind.”

  “Others?” the man asked. It struck Ruslan that Nashrudden was no more voluble than the AI that had revived him.

  “Some children,” Ruslan told him. “Our offspring, produced through artificial insemination. Our Myssari friends are looking after them.”

  “Myssari?”

  “A nonhuman species.” Ruslan did his best to explain. “One of the alien intelligences humankind always believed were out there. They exist, and there are many of them. They arrived in our area of the galaxy just as the Aura Malignance was killing off the last of us.” Curiosity was turning to empathy. “I’m guessing you have been contained in this place for at least a couple of hundred years.”