“Where would I go?” he protested.
Seated in front of him, Cor’rin swiveled her head completely around. “We know you, Ruslan. You like to explore. Another characteristic of your people that you personally possess.”
“Maybe I did once, but not anymore.” He leaned back against soft transparency. “Now I leave the exploring to others. I’ll do mine via readouts and let the Myssari do the heavy work.”
Her responding gesture indicated that she understood the humor underlying his remark. He quite liked Cor’rin. Bac’cul was all right, too, but more somber—as befitted the one in charge of their little hunting expedition. Ruslan did not hold the male alien’s attitude against him. With age comes tolerance.
The headquarters of the Myssari scientific expedition on Treth was situated deep within the city, in the center of what once must have been a park. Or so Ruslan deduced from the density of the vegetation that had taken over the vast open space between high, now vine-covered buildings. Predominant among the flora was an interesting growth with dark purple bark that grew parallel to the ground before extruding numerous vertical trunks that in turn linked together to form yet another horizontal branch. Plant or not, it looked more engineered than evolved. A number of smaller growths aped the fascinating configuration, while innumerable vines ran parallel to one another instead of fighting for space. When tended to, he reflected as he climbed carefully out of the driftec, the luxuriant open space between the buildings must have been some long-dead horticulturalist’s pride.
Despite their innate cultural sensitivity, in establishing their base camp the Myssari had opted for practicality over preservation: the plant growth occupying the center of the park had been vaporized to clear an open space.
To Ruslan’s eyes the outpost was substantial. In typically orderly Myssari fashion there were well-defined locations for vehicle storage, maintenance, living quarters, research, and much more. As his companions disembarked, other Myssari were busy with smaller driftec, unloading supplies from secondary vehicles. An unusually squat Myssari ambled over to greet them, his stout physique lending him an unflatteringly insectoid appearance. Introductions were made. Project supervisor or not, San’dwil could not keep at least one of three eyes from constantly straying toward the only non-Myssari present.
“It’s all right.” Even when it was expected, Ruslan’s fluent Myssarian never failed to surprise new acquaintances. “I’m used to it.”
San’dwil’s reply was marked by a slight respiratory stumble. “Used to what?”
“Being stared at. Especially by children.” The indirect reprimand ensured that in the future the supervisor would strive to treat the sole human as simply another member of the visiting scientific team.
“Chilly here.” It was the tone of her voice that told Ruslan that Cor’rin was already uncomfortable. He could not tell just by looking at her: the Myssari did not shiver. Along with his companions he had already noted the heavier garb worn by the outpost workforce. “Could you not have found a more climatologically amenable part of the planet on which to base operations?”
“We are here because the human science of Treth is to be found here.” Turning, their host started toward a two-story structure of dull whitish construction foam. It had been poured as a solid; holes for windows and doors had long since been cut out and filled. “Not because we like the weather.”
“I find it quite pleasant.” Ruslan inhaled deeply of the fresh air. “Reminds me of Seraboth.”
Cor’rin bobbed her head, a gesture intended to show what she thought of his opinion. Though there were exceptions, Myssari-settled worlds tended to run hotter and dryer than those that had been favored by humans.
The doubled entranceway admitted them to a heated interior. As opposed to the frenetic commotion he had half-expected to encounter, Ruslan was surprised by the lack of activity. It made sense, though, if one thought about it. Those engaged in research had little time to spare for casual chatter. Good science demanded plenty of silence.
Though he had seen similar displays on Myssar, he was still suitably impressed when San’dwil led them through one door and into an unexpectedly large room. It held little other than a massive dimensional visual of Treth that extended from floor to ceiling. Embedded indicators showed the location of outlying study camps, some of which were situated halfway around the globe. Markers could be enlarged to show where the ruins of human cities and towns had been discovered, as well as which had been investigated and which awaited initial exploration. With a wave of one hand, San’dwil brightened the network of orbiting recorders that were working tirelessly to map the planetary surface in ever increasing detail.
“I did not realize your work here had progressed this far.” Bac’cul did not try to hide his admiration. “You have accomplished a great deal.”
“With such extensive facilities, you must have learned much,” Cor’rin added.
Focusing his attention on her, San’dwil dismissed the praise with a wave of two arms. “You asked why despite the less than convivial climate we chose to place our main base here, and I replied that this was where human science was to be found.” He raised his center leg, then brought the booted foot down emphatically. “Deep beneath our feet, beneath this ruined and overgrown public space from which we had to carefully clear many bones, lies what we believe to be the core processing center for Treth global information. In a modern society all information is readily available to the population, but ultimately there has to be a central storage facility, an origination point. On this world it lies, we think, directly below us.
“Our linguistics specialists have been translating data as fast as the technicians can extract it. Some things wonderful, some depressing, much that is ordinary and of no especial importance.” He paused, glanced at Ruslan, and resumed. “As one would expect, there is in the last days much discussion of the Aura Malignance. The results correlate with what is known from other human worlds, including Seraboth. No explanation, no reasoning, and certainly no solution. Eventually information input ceases, to be followed not long thereafter by the cessation of inquiry.”
An uncomfortable silence ensued that Ruslan felt bound to break. “I don’t suppose that in the general course of doing their work any of your translators happened upon any reference to coordinates for a human-populated world called Earth?”
San’dwil’s mouth twisted as much as was possible for a Myssari. “It peers no toplift to me, but as I am responsible for keeping the entire scientific program on Treth functioning, not to mention keeping the scientists functioning, I might easily have heard or seen multiple references. To me such fragments of new knowing are like seeds in the wind: important no doubt, but dispersed before I can have a look at them.” He proffered a formal gesture of welcome.
“You have traveled a long way. Come and have something to eat. Later, if it is important to you, I will pass you along to a database specialist and a search can be run for evidence of what you seek.”
“It is important.” Cor’rin walked alongside their hosts. “Finding that particular human world is the reason we have come here.”
San’dwil gestured back that he understood. Meanwhile his eyes questioned the human.
4
Neither the food nor the accommodations were as pleasant as what he had grown used to on Seraboth. The Myssari base on Treth was a scientific outpost. As was the case with scientific outposts since the beginning of time, food and shelter were suborned to work.
That is not to say that he was uncomfortable. Though he insisted on being treated the same as any other worker in the camp, be they members of the support team or leading researchers, he was all too aware that everyone considered him an irreplaceable commodity, to be respected as such. Beyond the tiny room that had been assigned to him, it was virtually impossible to find any privacy. Someone was always following, leading, flanking, or otherwise looking out for him. He hated it. But it would have been loutish to argue that he was being treated too well.