Алан Дин Фостер - Relic

Ruslan replied with confidence. “You can be certain they’ll find me. And when they do, you’ll wish you…” He halted, frowning. Unsure of what he had just heard, he sought clarification. “Did you say ‘settlement’?”

“I am pleased that my command of a debased language is sufficiently competent for comprehension by a third party. ‘Settlement’ is the correct term, yes.” Rising from his seat, he gestured toward the back of the passenger compartment, his multi-jointed right arm flowing like a wave. “Please, Ruslan the angry, outraged, and uncooperative. Set aside your three harsh modifiers long enough to exit this craft of your own volition. It would displease me ethically and you physically were it to prove necessary to carry you off.”

Ruslan hesitated. Understanding that there was nothing to be gained by engaging in futile obtuseness (at least at this moment in time), he rose and followed the Vrizan. Two especially large examples of their kind fell in wordlessly behind him. He smiled with grim satisfaction. Though he had nowhere to run to, he was pleased by the notion that they feared such a possibility.

In contrast to the smooth architectural arcs preferred by the Myssari, Vrizan structural design favored conjoined shapes that could be sharply angled as well as curved. Startlingly, some of it was strongly reminiscent of buildings on Seraboth. That the structures boasted a more familiar appearance in no way made them inviting. He knew what the Vrizan wanted with him: the leader of the abduction team had told him as much. As a surviving human he was a living fount of information about his long-vanished kind. In return for details, explication, and explanation, they would doubtless treat him as well as Abinahhs claimed. There was no reason to do otherwise.

As had often been the case on Myssar, he would very much have liked to have been less popular.

They entered a building whose interior had been cleverly tailored to match the tinted sandstone in which it was set. An assortment of automatons whisked around them, some gliding along the smooth, patterned floor, others airborne. Every Vrizan they passed paused to stare at the marvelous acquisition that was Ruslan. He ignored them even to the extent of forgoing obscene gestures. They would have been meaningless in any case and he was too tired to engage in a futile exercise in primitive personal satisfaction. He found himself unable to restrain his own curiosity.

“What kind of ‘settlement’ are you talking about?”

“Why, a permanent one, of course.” Stepping aside, Abinahhs allowed the human to enter the room first.

Ruslan inhaled softly. Of all the things he had expected to encounter within the Vrizan outpost, calculated beauty was not among them.

The room duplicated, down to the smallest detail, a waterfall-dominated slot canyon. The original probably was to be found nearby, he decided as he entered. At the base of the musical spill of cool water was a small rock-lined pool. That the permanent rainbow that angled across the artful cascade was artificially generated made it no less beautiful. Native terrestrial plants fringed the pond. Benches that appeared to be hewn from solid sandstone proved to be composed of much softer and more accommodating synthetics. He sat without having to be told.

The dragonfly that appeared before his eyes paused in chromatic contemplation before flitting away. Brief as the encounter was, he could not tell if it was an actual insect or an artificial construct.

Abinahhs had taken a seat opposite—on a cushion much more like a human seat than a Myssari rest bar. The faux sandstone sank beneath his weight. His widely spaced eyes regarded the human. Ruslan did not doubt for a second that his every word, movement, and eye blink was being recorded by unseen pickups for study later. Never having had a live human to examine, Vrizan xenologists would doubtless be salivating over each individual image. Assuming their digestive processes produced saliva. He knew less about their kind than they did about his.

“You can’t have a permanent settlement here,” he said sharply.

“Why not?” Abinahhs was nothing if not straightforward. The formality Ruslan had come to associate with the Myssari seemed absent among the Vrizan. They were almost… affable. Brusque, but affable.

No, he corrected himself. Friendly overtures did not involve abduction. He remained wary.

“You can’t because this is Earth, homeworld to my kind, the place where my species evolved, built a civilization through trial and error, and eventually leaped out to the stars.”

“A commendable progression, to be sure. No one is arguing with that. Let me know when you require food or drink and it will be provided.” One long, nearly flexible arm swept wide to take in the surroundings outside the windowless chamber. “Which brings forward the question: where are your kind?”

Ruslan tensed but tried not to show it. Not that the Vrizan was likely to pick up on any physical clues anyway. “You know the answer to that question. As a human it’s not something of which I’m proud even though I, personally, am not responsible for what happened to my species. I’m a victim of the hereditary forces of rampant hubris.” This last was awkward to translate into Myssari. He managed, though he was not sure his translation carried with it the full weight of intended sarcasm.

Rising from his seat, Abinahhs began to pace back and forth in front of the specimen—anxious pacing being another trait Ruslan apparently shared with his captors.

“This world is, by the definition of any civilization, habitable but uninhabited. Respect for previous dominant species does not preclude replacing them. Your Earth is a beautiful world. Why should it not once again resound to the actions and words and deeds of an advanced civilization? That it would not be a human civilization is regrettable but irrelevant. Others of your kind would of course be welcome to settle here among us, with all rights and privileges. Indeed, they would be greeted with excitement and pleasure—were there any left to greet.”

Realization struck Ruslan hard. “You’ve made a formal claim. The Vrizan are claiming Earth.”

Abinahhs did not bother to deny it. “Of course we have. With a world as welcoming as this, we would have put forth a claim whether a previous civilization existed here or not.” Was that empathy in his voice? Ruslan wondered. “Your kind built a civilization, vast and advanced. And then destroyed it. I am afraid the claim of a single survivor does not outweigh that of a vital, developing species such as my own. What would you do with this world if you contested our claim? Preserve an entire habitable planet for one individual and his memories? Humankind was unimaginably destructive. Your comment suggests that in addition to unchecked aggression, unbridled greed was also encoded in its genes.”

Ruslan found the string of accusations disorienting. The Vrizan was trying to make him feel guilty about wanting to keep Earth from becoming home to another species. No wonder Abinahhs had been chosen to confront him. The alien’s forensic talents extended beyond linguistics.

“There is one thing that might persuade my government to abandon its claim, though you would have to deal separately with the Myssari and all other claimants. And were the Vrizan to withdraw, I assure you there would be others. One thing that we would regard as more valuable than this world.”

At first angry, then frustrated, Ruslan was now bewildered. “I don’t have anything to trade. Everything I have are gifts from the Myssari.”

“Then you affirm you are not a scientist, and avow you know nothing of the science of the great plague that exterminated your kind, or its origins?”