Алан Дин Фостер: Relic

“How are you, Ruslan?”

“I’m still alive.”

“And as taciturn as ever.” Yah’thom was by far the senior member of the group. So old that, on occasion, his inherent politeness sometimes gave way to sarcasm. Ruslan liked him a lot.

A whistling sound emerged from Cor’rin’s throat as she cleared the breathing passage. It was a far more mellow sound than a human cough. Beside her, Bac’cul turned his head 180 degrees to study something outside before returning his gaze once more to the non-Myssari visitor.

“Has Kel’les explained why we have asked you here today?”

The human glanced at his minder. “S’he said you had something to present to me.” He wanted to be equivalently polite, but he also wanted the meeting to be over. Beyond the arching bronzed walls of Tespo, the beach beckoned. Its aspect was maternal and not at all alien.

“An offer. We have an offer to make you.” Though Bac’cul would defer to the elder Yah’thom when it pleased him, among those present it was the younger male who held the senior administrative rank. “It has been determined that the project to clone your cells and attempt to reestablish your species is to move forward with or without your consent.”

How refreshingly impolite, Ruslan thought mordantly. “Your position is well known to me. From a scientific standpoint I suppose it makes sense.” He grinned deliberately, knowing it would unsettle the panel. Having no teeth of their own, the Myssari were always shocked when a civilized being chose to flash them. “Aren’t you afraid of what a resurrected humankind might do? We were highly advanced in many ways and thoroughly uncivilized in others. Look what we did to ourselves.”

“If you refer to the biological weapon that resulted in the demise of your kind, we are not afraid of dead science. From the studies of records found on your world, it is plain there is, or was, much good in you. Your people were aesthetically inventive. There is a spontaneity to your art that we, the Hahk’na, and others feel should not be forgotten. Then there is the important philosophical point that no intelligence should be lost. We firmly believe that every species, no matter their individual or collective failings…”

Yah’thom let out an unequivocally loud whistle. Bac’cul chose to ignore him.

“…has by their inherent uniqueness something important to contribute to the ongoing advance of civilizations. This therefore includes humankind.”

“I can’t give you my consent.” Raising the beautiful metal utensil to his lips, Ruslan took another long draft. Alien flavors lacquered his tongue. “The best I can do is promise you my indifference.”

Cor’rin gestured with two of her three hands. “That is why we requested that Kel’les bring you here today. We would prefer to proceed with more than that. And we are prepared to bargain to acquire it.”

The human’s gray brows drew together, another gesture designed to unsettle the inflexibly visaged Myssari, though this time it was unintentional. His gaze traveled warily across the semicircle of scientists.

“What’s this really all about?”

The Myssari scientist did not hesitate. “Ethics.”

He repressed a smirk. “Yours or mine?”

“Ah.” Yah’thom’s whistle was more subdued this time but no less unmistakable. “Always you jest. No matter the seriousness of the subject or lack thereof. A general characteristic of your people?”

Ruslan shrugged. “I couldn’t really say. I always had a tendency to veer to the caustic.”

“The answer is: more our ethics than yours,” the elder Myssari told him. “If you will accede not only to our intention to try to restore your species, which you admit you cannot in any event prevent, but to actively participate in the effort, then we have been given permission to grant you anything you wish.”

The lone human in the room—the lone human anywhere—frowned. “Except permission to live out the remainder of my life in peace and quiet while taking with me the last memories of my kind.”

“We would not prevent that in any case.” Heretofore unmoved, Yah’thom was now staring at him intently. The senior scientist’s small eyes were a startling shade of yellow-gold that made them clearly visible to Ruslan even from where he sat.

The human considered. “Anything?”

“Within reason.” It was Bac’cul who added the hasty caveat. “Our resources are limited. Though we regard the attempted resurrection of your kind as an enterprise as important as it is noble, we are not the only scientific project the Myssari Combine finds worthwhile. We must submit our requests for support like any other group.”

“So you may not be able to deliver on your promise.” This time Ruslan did not grin, even though among the assembled only Kel’les might have interpreted the facial gesture appropriately.

The three scientists were clearly uneasy. “No promise is a fact until it has been requited,” Cor’rin said finally.

“Then I accept, since if you fail to deliver on your end I will be just as happy to withdraw my cooperation as to provide it.”

It took a moment for the triumvirate to ensure they understood his meaning. When they finally decided that he had indeed accepted the offer, their relief passed into gratitude.

“This means much to us.” Cor’rin’s earnestness was palpable.

Yah’thom’s gratitude, on the other hand, rapidly gave way to circumspection. “What is it you would most like, Ruslan? What is your ultimate wish?”

The precision with which the scientist pronounced the human’s name showed how seriously he was anticipating Ruslan’s reply. Carefully the old man set the drinking utensil aside. His big-eyed human gaze passed over each of them individually.

For the second time that day, his thoughts turned to dogs. Wherever mankind had gone, wherever he had eventually settled, dogs and cats had gone with him. It would have been nice to have a dog. It would have been nice to talk in something besides Myssarian again. And there were plenty of wild dogs on Seraboth. But he decided against it. Even though gengineering had made it possible to extend the lives of dogs and cats and other animals much as it had those of humans, those of most quadrupeds still remained brief by comparison. As much as a dog taken from one of the blighted human worlds might bring him comfort, he knew it was entirely possible he could die before it. He would not leave a dog to the Myssari. Kind as they were, advanced as they were, their culture did not include any provision for keeping other creatures as pets. A cat, now, would handle the situation just fine. But he had never been able to talk to cats.

“I want to go home.”

Bac’cul exchanged an unblinking glance with Cor’rin. Yah’thom did not take his eyes off their guest.

“That is all? You want to go back to Seraboth?”

Ruslan shook his head irritably. “No. I want to go home .”

Leaning leftward, Kel’les gently rested the three equally long fingers of one hand on his friend’s arm. “They do not understand, Ruslan. Nor do I. Is not the world your people called Seraboth your home?”

“It’s where you found me.” Ruslan’s voice was taut, though whether with anger or frustration not even he could have said. “It’s where I was born and where I lived. But it’s not ‘home.’ Not the home.” He returned his gaze to the expectant, bemused scientists. “I want to go to the home of my species. The homeworld. Humankind’s equivalent of Myssar. Earth.”

“That is its name?” Bac’cul was plainly amused. “How quaint.”

In contrast to that of his colleague, Yah’thom’s tone was entirely serious. “I have myself studied the great majority of general knowledge that has so far been gleaned by our researchers from the information storage facilities on your world. While we are still a long way from having all of it properly catalogued, far less studied in detail, I do recall mention of this homeworld, this ‘Earth.’ But not its location.”