Алан Дин Фостер - Relic

They were examining her as if she were a new genus of arthropod. It was a look he knew intimately, having himself been subject to it on more occasions than he could count. Cherpa appeared to be handling the attention very well. What was actually going through her mind as she withstood the intense alien scrutiny remained unknown. At least, he told himself, she wasn’t running in circles and screaming or coiling into a fetal position. Thus far her madness seemed drawn from a source that, as such things went, was comparatively benign.

“Look at the extent of follicular growth.” Informed that Cor’rin was also female, the bright-eyed Cherpa was allowing the Myssari researcher to handle her long hair. Nine limber, soft-tipped fingers trolled through the auburn tresses. “Contrast it with Ruslan’s.”

“I could have had the same,” he pointed out. “Via simple genetic manipulation or chemical stimulation. I chose to let nature take its course.” He nodded at the now surrounded girl. “That’s what has happened with her. It will have to be trimmed back, if only for hygienic reasons. But not too much.” Moving closer, he smiled down at the girl. Her initial fears now banished by the humorous appearance and gentle touch of the Myssari scientists, she grinned loopily back at him.

“Will you let your hair be cut, Cherpa? I’ll do it myself if you don’t want the Myssari to do it—though I think one of their medical personnel would do a better job than me.”

“Funny Bogo; of course you can cut my hair! It’s just hair. I used to hide behind it. I don’t have to hide anymore, do I?” Looking around, she met many of the small-eyed stares that were openly marveling at her. “I embrace funny, run from nasty. No hasty-nasties here.” Her voice fell slightly as her attitude grew more serious. “We are going away from here, aren’t we?”

He nodded encouragingly. “No hasty-nasties where we’re going, I promise you. Just lots of real food and new clothes.”

“I’d like to have some new clothes.” Her voice faded. “I remember that I had some once, a long time ago. My mo… my mo—”

A great gush of tears erupted from her. Alarmed by the unexpected outpouring, the Myssari hastily retreated. Bac’cul looked downright terrified. Afraid of losing the new specimen, Ruslan mused unfairly as he moved to hold the girl and let her wring out her sobs against him. Even while they were staring concernedly, at least two of the researchers were checking to make certain their automatic recorders were functioning properly. Cherpa’s anguish constituted a unique display, one that outside of studied historical recordings of human children was entirely new to the Myssari. Dedicated researchers that they were, they were not about to miss preserving a moment of it.

Ruslan found himself thinking that the first one of them that mentioned possible reproductive possibilities was going to receive a punch to its facial foreridge. The girl was awakening in him all manner of instincts he thought long forgotten. Ancient genetic information was being roused. It was astounding. It was remarkable. For the first time in decades he felt… protective. Alien though the emotion might be, and unnecessary, he did not reject it.

Taking a small, individual specimen recovery tube from his pack, Bac’cul contemplated obtaining a sample of the lubricating fluid that was spilling from the immature human’s eyes. He was anxious to learn if its composition differed from that of the male mature specimen Ruslan. It was not the human who intervened to prevent him, however, but one of his own kind. Startled, he looked to his left. It was the intermet Kel’les who had interrupted the scientist’s proposed course of action.

“I believe I perceive your intention. I recommend postponement. As was often the case with Ruslan, I am certain there will be ample future opportunity to acquire the sample you wish to take.”

While Bac’cul technically outranked the human’s personal handler, the researcher decided not to make an issue of the minor confrontation. Not without fully satisfying his curiosity, however.

“Why should I not proceed?”

Kel’les gestured toward the humans. “Observe the interaction. Note the intimacy of the respective stances. An elder male is comforting a distraught juvenile. One whose mental state is, according to Ruslan, perilous. From the extensive time I have spent in Ruslan’s company, I deduce that interruption at such a moment could be interpreted as unnecessarily provocative.”

Bac’cul indicated his uncertainty. “I am not sure that I follow your reasoning.”

Kel’les obligingly abridged it. “There are times when Ruslan takes objection to being treated as a thing. Now that he is functioning in caring mode, I believe his reaction to what he might perceive as an insensitive intrusion would be detrimental to your ultimate purpose.”

The researcher was taken aback. “You’re not suggesting he might resist my attempt physically?”

“I am suggesting precisely that,” a tense Kel’les replied.

Bac’cul didn’t hesitate. He returned the collection cup to its holder. He was not fearful that the human might hurt him: he was afraid that the human might hurt himself. As he looked on he realized that there was wisdom in Kel’les’s intervention that could be applied beyond the immediate situation. The history of Ruslan’s presence among the Myssari had shown that it had taken some time to fully gain the human’s trust. Similarly, gaining the girl’s confidence was likely to take at least as long. As with Ruslan, it would be vital to have her full cooperation in order to best advance the field of human studies. As a specimen, she was plainly going to be around for longer than the older male. Bac’cul’s withholding his immediate interest was therefore based entirely on a respect for good science and not at all on empathy for a distressed fellow sentient. It was just good sense, if not good sensitivity.

Having lived long among the Myssari, Ruslan would have understood this reasoning. But that did not mean he would have liked it.

It was as the team was packing to leave Dinabu for the last time that Ruslan felt a tug on his arm. That the touch was slightly but noticeably warmer than that of a Myssari immediately identified the owner of the insistent fingers.

“Can’t go yet.” An anxious Cherpa was gazing up at him. “Won’t go yet. Won’t. I’ll suck in my breath until I turn inside out. I’ll wriggle—”

“Easy, easy.” By now the soothing tone he had adopted whenever he was in her presence came unbidden to him. “What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to leave yet?”

“Need something. Can’t forget.” Turning, she gestured in the direction of the city. “You need to come with me to get it. Three-legs need to come with me to get it.” Her expression was deadly serious. “We’ll need guns. Lots of guns.”

“There’s that kind of danger?” he inquired gently.

Her head turned slightly to one side and she eyed him as if he had suddenly morphed into one of the eel-like creatures that lived their whole lives in the slimier portions of the endless mudflats.

“No. I’m making it all up. I’m crazy, remember? Crazy and ’leven. I want lots of guns because there’s no danger. What do you think?”

Where Cherpa was concerned, he hoped for intelligence. He wished for sanity. He had not expected scorn.

“Lots of guns it is.” He started away. “I’ll tell Bac’cul and Cor’rin and they’ll inform the escort leader. When do you want to do this?”

“Right now. This minute. Yesterday.” She was plainly troubled. “I shouldn’t have come with you without it, but your appearance slapped my brain and it didn’t stop shaking until today.”