Алан Дин Фостер - Relic

Letting his muscles go slack, he released his grip on the other man’s wrist and lay back against the wide, circular seat. He had come to a decision with which he was unexpectedly comfortable. He had done enough for the species, he decided. More than enough. Having been given everything by the Myssari, he wanted for nothing, and had not for many decades now. Except the opportunity to see old Earth, and that plainly was not going to happen. Understanding this, he felt it was incumbent on him to allow the resurrection of humankind to proceed to the next level. He wasn’t really worried about Cherpa. She could and would handle Pahksen. Doubtless she would calm him down. With nothing left to fear, with no one however imaginary competing for her attention, Pahksen would probably settle down quickly. If his, Ruslan’s, removal from the scene was what was ultimately necessary to advance the restoration of humanity, it was a sacrifice that he was willing to make.

Tired. He was so tired. He recalled an ancient human tale he had read long ago, during his growing up on Seraboth when he believed himself to be the last living human in the galaxy. Whether it came from an incident true or fictional he did not know, but it had stayed with him.

It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done, he repeated to himself. It is a far, far better rest that I go to than…

Now seated above his erstwhile rival, a grimly triumphant Pahksen started to raise and position the neutralizer. It looked as if he had a few choice last words for the man he was about to murder. And then he fell over. A baffled Ruslan watched the younger man topple forward. In seeming slow motion, Pahksen fell to his right, his eyes closing like tiny shades as he toppled. Near the end of his preternaturally slow descent, the first droplets of blood entered Ruslan’s line of sight.

As the younger man tumbled to one side it was as if one human-sized silhouette was being peeled away to reveal a second that had been concealed behind the first. Having resigned himself to death, a still very much alive but unmoving Ruslan saw that Cherpa had come up unseen behind the pair of combatants. In both hands she gripped a very large rock. As he gaped at her, trying to process what had just happened, she dropped it and stumbled backward a couple of steps.

Slowly he sat up in the rapidly stabilizing chair and looked to his left, over the side of the disc. Pahksen was lying on the ground, facedown and unmoving. Several yellow-orange thushpins that had fled his fall were now crowding cautiously back in search of their hastily abandoned holes in the soil. They would not be able to shift the considerable bulk of the motionless human, Ruslan knew. Swinging his legs over the side of the disc, he stood up. As he did so Cherpa came up beside him. Normally he would have been instantly alert to her proximity, to her warmth, to her smell. Not now. Together they stared at the motionless figure.

Ruslan bent down and lightly touched the prone body’s chest, neck, and face. Spreading rapidly from the skull onto the ground was a dark pool that formed a halo around the skull like those found on ancient religious icons. He straightened.

“I think you’ve killed him.” Ruslan spoke as calmly and quietly as a Myssari. He did not think that, at that moment, they would have been proud. On the contrary, he knew that the death of one of their three prize specimens would be enough to seriously upset even the normally understanding Cor’rin. Holding Oola tight against her chest, Cherpa stared at the dead body.

“I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. But he was going to kill you. I couldn’t let him kill you, Bogo. You rescued me. I couldn’t let him, net him, vet him.” Her apology was bracketed not by remorse but with irritation. “He was mean, Pahksen was. Even on Daribb he was mean. I hoped when we got here that Seraboth and the Myssari would suck some of the mean out of him, but all the attention and fawning and caring just made him puff up with self-importance.” Her regret was perfunctory. “I’m sorry, Bogo. I tried to be nice to him. I really did. I know”—she turned her face away—“I know what the Myssari wanted from the two of us. They didn’t hide it.”

He felt he should say something. “Committed scientists are rarely good at hiding that to which they are dedicated. It—didn’t bother you?”

“What? The constant emphasis on reproduction? No. I understood. I just couldn’t do it. I kept waiting for Pahksen to do something… nice. I studied the old records. I know what romance is. It’s not like I expected flowers, or an invitation to a moonlit walk, or ancient courting rituals.” She eyed the body anew. “I just wanted him to be nice, thrice. And he never could be, he never was. I guess all the bad memories of Daribb and Dinabu never left him, no matter how hard the Myssari tried to put him at ease.”

Ruslan reached for the communicator tab at his ear, then hesitated. The Myssari were going to be very, very unhappy. Doubtless the Sectionary would immediately authorize the cloning program. Given what had happened, he could hardly raise more objections. Quite unintentionally, the events of the previous few minutes would only confirm what hard-line Myssari researchers had long claimed: that humankind could not be trusted with its own rejuvenation. He nodded at the rapidly cooling corpse.

“He was jealous, you know. That’s what finally caused him to eschew reason and lose control.”

“Jealous?” Her brow furrowed. “Of what?”

“Our relationship. You and I.”

“Our ‘relationship’?” She still didn’t understand. Then, abruptly, she did. One hand went to her mouth and she stared, not at the body this time, but at him. “You mean he thought…? That’s crazy! That’s insane!”

“I told him that. He wouldn’t believe me.”

He paused, then went on: “Many elements among the Myssari scientific community will be distraught. Some will believe their worst theories confirmed. All will wonder if this is yet another, probably the last, example of why our species died out. They’ll say anew that it was because we couldn’t control our baser instincts, everything from individual conflicts to intersystem wars. I always felt it was my duty to counter such arguments. Now…” He shrugged. “I don’t have much of a logic leg left to stand on.” He looked back at her.

“You may have saved my life, Cherpa, but you’ve only postponed my death. Myssari science will keep me alive for a long time yet, but all other things being equal, you’re destined to outlive me. When that day comes—and barring accident or the unforeseen, come it will—you’ll take over from me. You’ll be the last human.” He sighed heavily. “It’s not a particularly enjoyable job.”

“Maybe,” she replied softly, “maybe the Myssari will find more of us. I know they’re always looking. Cor’rin told me so.”

He nodded tersely. “Sure. And maybe one day they’ll find old Earth, too. The universe thrives on maybes.” He went ahead and activated the communications tab. “No point in waiting any longer to inform our friends. They have to be told. Their shock won’t prevent them from getting here as fast as possible with the equipment necessary to preserve the body. They’ll want some of it for study and some of it to keep for possible replacement material.” He met her gaze evenly. “They’ll especially want to preserve his sperm.”

She didn’t flinch. There was nothing about the Myssari program to re-create humankind with which she was unfamiliar. “Bogo, do you think there’s a gene in humans that’s responsible for unwarranted aggression?”

“If there is, I sincerely hope it’s highly recessive. We’ll discuss that with Bac’cul and Cor’rin and the others. When the project moves to the next step, they won’t want to make any mistakes.” Once again he indicated the dead Pahksen. “They’ll leave the doing of that to live humans.”