So he tolerated the presence of escorts where none were wanted and listened to guides who were not sought. Despite this, time passed on Treth devoid of boredom. It was, after all, a world that had once been populated by humans. There was much to see and much to learn. In that, he was in complete accord with the emplaced science team.
He helped where he could. With the identification of found objects, by demonstrating how everything from furniture to still-functioning gadgetry was to be used, even to explaining the taste and smell and rationale behind certain foods. Meanwhile San’dwil’s knowledge-extraction team and linguists did their best, when they had time, to try to search out the small bit of information that had brought the human and his minders all the way from Myssar.
“I am sorry we have not been able to supply the details you seek.”
San’dwil reposed within his indentation on the other side of the irregularly shaped table. Though food and drink were present and amenable, they could not compensate Ruslan for the outpost commander’s news.
“It has to be somewhere.” Ruslan was muttering aloud, discouraged and unafraid to show it. “The location of the original homeworld of an entire species doesn’t just vanish from every last one of that species’ records, no matter how carefully and thoroughly they’re wiped.”
“If it is here, in these local records, my team will eventually find it.” San’dwil did his best to sound encouraging.
“I fear that the keyword for my friend is ‘eventually.’”
A surprised Ruslan looked over at Kel’les. He could not have voiced his feelings any better than the Myssari. True friendship, he thought, is knowing what the other person is going to say without having to inquire.
San’dwil took a long sip from a coiled drinking utensil. “I have excellent people working here. What I do not have is all the equipment I would like. We cannot translate knowledge faster than we can extract it. Although the buried central records facility is in excellent condition, the material it contains is frequently in differing or multiple formats.”
Seated nearby, Cor’rin reached out to put a three-fingered hand on the back of Ruslan’s forearm and another against the back of his neck and another around his waist.
“During their period of expansion your people settled on a great many worlds. The Combine has extensive resources, but not all can be devoted to science—far less to one particular discipline.”
Bac’cul’s words supplemented as well as supported her own. “There are currently four teams such as this one working on four ex-human worlds.”
Ruslan nodded tiredly. Out of his original wishful thinking had come hope, which had soon given way to reality. Dozens of worlds. Four research teams. Trillions of bits of information generated in languages and by technologies not their own. The Myssari were doing the best they could. It was consolation writ small.
And yet—and yet—it was still a wonderment to him that so basic a piece of knowledge should have been utterly obliterated from the general records of any world, much less all of them. Such had been the fear engendered by the Aura Malignance. Had it really originated on and been propagated from Earth, as some legends had it? Without finding that fabled world, he would never know.
Among them all it was Kel’les alone who could clearly see his pain. “There is a very great deal to catalog, my friend, and far more catalog than there are cataloguers.”
“I know, I know.” At a touch, his Myssari chair, functional but uncomfortable as ever, slid him away from the table. “I just have to endure.”
“The most critical quality in good science.” San’dwil pushed back and stood as well. “More important even than insight or intellect.”
Ruslan dredged up a wan smile. “Then I’d make a good scientist, because I sure have more of the former than the latter two.”
Not for the first time swallowing his immense frustration, he informed Bac’cul and Cor’rin that he was going to watch some of the external retractors that were working on the deeply buried knowledge center. Halfway there he told Kel’les that his stomach was giving him the slightest of arguments and that instead he’d better retire to his room. Though it was only late afternoon, he explained that he was going to take some of the medicine that he had brought with him and retire early. Halfway to his room he turned sharply down a different corridor.
The horizontal service shafts brought and distributed power from the energy cube and water from the treatment plant. On a walk-by the previous day, he had noticed that the latter was undergoing repair. Ensuring that for the moment no one was watching him, he bent, lifted the currently unlocked access door, and eased himself outside. Though he was more massive than many Myssari, their wide tripodal lower torso demanded broad portals. He had no difficulty slipping through the gap.
Both of the buildings that housed the outpost’s living quarters backed onto the northern end of the old park. Walking quickly but trying not to draw attention to himself, he avoided the last tubing and conduits only to find himself confronted by a security fence too tall to jump and too highly energized to touch without risk of electrocution. But by climbing up a vertical tank on the base side of the barrier and down a convenient native tree on the other, he managed to surmount the problem.
His knees complaining mightily, he landed on the other side. Save for breathing a little faster, he was intact. For the first time since he had landed on Treth, he found himself truly alone. A glance back the way he had come revealed no minder patiently waiting for him to resume his little expedition. There was not even an automaton. Turning, he struck out through the last remnants of the park.
The density of the vegetation made for slow and difficult going. It would have been easier with a cutting tool, or a dissolver, but requesting the use of either one would have aroused suspicion among his well-meaning handlers. No matter. He pressed on without, enjoying the feel of verdure against his body even when the occasional black thorn nicked his flesh and brought forth blood.
He would not have dared the solitary excursion had the wildly overgrown park been substantial in extent. With much of it having been cleared to permit the expansion of the Myssari base, however, he soon found himself through the thickest flora and able to contemplate the city proper.
What struck him immediately was how familiar it was. The architecture was sufficiently similar to the prevalent urban style on Seraboth to send a momentary jolt of dislocation through him. Years had passed since he had been “invited” away from the world on which he had been born, but he had lived there long enough for memories of even small details to stick. The way professional and commercial buildings were spaced, how defiantly residential towers thrust toward the clouds, the spiderweb of interstructural links designed to convey everything from power to people, the covered pedestrian walkways… all might have been lifted straight from the cities he remembered from his wanderings. There was even a wall formed of material against which an old man might once have slumped.
One thing that was different and reminded him he was not on the world of his birth was the nature of the enveloping vegetation that was rapidly reclaiming the buildings. On Seraboth it had been primarily green. Here on Treth it tended to shades of purple and lavender. Green remained a highlight but was not dominant, though as the local sun set it was growing increasingly difficult to distinguish colors. The intensifying evening sounds were different, too. Buzzes and hums rather than the squeaks and whistles of Seraboth.