Another thought, this one considerably wilder than its predecessors, entered Ruslan’s mind. “What if I, as the last human, claim Treth? Then it will go neither to the Vrizan nor the Myssari.”
Ambling on three legs, San’dwil was about to turn a corner and head up another corridor. “In a contest between ethicality and numbers, numbers invariably win. I am very much afraid that to prevail with such a claim, there would need to be considerably more than one of you… however enthusiastic you may prove to be.”
5
From the first day he had arrived on Myssar, Ruslan had been asked to explain something, or elaborate on something, or identify a missing element of human history or culture, be it physical, philosophical, or verbal. While his hosts had managed to decipher the necessary codes and now had available to them the entire bulk of knowledge that had been stored on Seraboth, there were still times and places where Ruslan, with the simple everyday knowledge of an ordinary human, was able to save time and resources by merely pointing at something and saying, “This is what this does,” or “It’s intended for that purpose.” He knew perfectly well and had long since accepted that he was as much an explicatory shortcut as he was a specimen.
This inherent facility, this basic uncomplicated essence of extant humanness, made his presence even more valuable on Treth, whose Myssari researchers did not have instant access to all the information that had been garnered from Seraboth’s storage facilities. While specialists processed his wish and did their best to find any reference to the actual spatial location of Earth, there was a steady stream of experts in other fields confronting him with impatient requests.
“What is this?”
“A device for preparing food,” he would explain.
“How did it work? By burning combustibles in this chamber?”
He smiled. “It cooked by means of propagating radiation.”
“What was the source of the radiation?”
His hands rose. “I don’t know. I’m not a scientist or an engineer. One would voice a request of the machine and wait for the food preparation to be completed. I remember how to use one; I never knew how to build one.”
And so it went—with machines, tools, clothing, decorative items, construction materials—until repetition led to boredom and the feeling that while he might be helping his hosts, he was doing nothing to help himself.
Though any further unescorted strolls were now out of the question (he was watched—surreptitiously but continually), he did at least have the prospect of attendant local travel to look forward to. The desire to have him explain or expound upon new archeological finds required that he be transported to various digs around two of the nine continental land masses. After a while even those trips began to bore, one skeletal city looking much like another. The weather changed, and the topography, but not the ruins. They looked little different from those among which he had spent lonely years wandering on Seraboth.
Occasionally he would be struck by the appearance of an edifice whose design lifted it beyond the ordinary. The bridge spanning the strait that divided the two continents, a graceful, once golden and now tarnished thread of spun fibers. A still-standing tower three kilometers high that had been all but hollowed out from within and in a high wind bent like a reed. Lush fields of crimson and sapphire flowers sprouting from horizontal stems that overran an ancient airport as beautifully as if their planting had been the architects’ original intention.
It rained modestly on Treth, but enough to counterpoint melancholy and remind him of the grayness that was slowly overtaking the last of his life. Even the best efforts of Kel’les, occasionally abetted by Bac’cul and Cor’rin, failed to cheer him.
It was on such a morning that San’dwil entered the relaxation room where Ruslan and his minder were gazing out the wide, sweeping window. The visibly energized outpost commander delivered an announcement whose import to the slumping human eventually drowned out even the echoing thunder of the fast-moving storm outside.
“We have found an intact human cemetery!”
Ruslan and Kel’les regarded him calmly and without astonishment. “Many human cemeteries have been found on Seraboth,” commented the intermet.
“Too many,” added Ruslan.
San’dwil’s mouth flexed with his excitement. “Not like this. It is a cryocemetery. And when I say it is intact, I mean that the power source is still functioning.”
Ruslan sat up immediately. “Then those who were interred…?”
“Are still frozen, yes!”
Ennui fled as the human rose to his feet. “Am I… When can I see it?”
The commander was enjoying himself. “A transport awaits even as we speak. I came to get you.” He gestured in the direction of the building’s private living quarters. “Do you need to gather anything before we depart?”
“Only my expectations.” Ruslan was moving past San’dwil and heading for the portal. “Let’s go.”
Even with three legs Kel’les had to hurry to catch up to his charge. “What about Bac’cul and Cor’rin?”
“Cor’rin is already there.” San’dwil hastened to keep pace with the human. “Researcher Bac’cul is occupied elsewhere but can join us if needed.” A three-fingered hand reached out to gently squeeze Ruslan’s left shoulder. “I have not seen you this animated since you arrived on Treth, not even after your unauthorized excursion.”
Ruslan ignored the observation. His thoughts were focused on one thing and one thing only. “You said the facility is still drawing power and those interred are still frozen. Can your people activate the resurrection instrumentation?” He wanted to say restore them to life but he was still having trouble wrapping his mind around the possibilities posed by the commander’s announcement.
“Such is not my area of expertise. I am hoping that by the time we arrive at the site…” He left unspoken the answer to dreams Ruslan had long since ceased to contemplate.
They were outside now and moving fast toward the open, cleared corner of the base that was reserved for transportation. Several vehicles hove into view. Most were designed to provide only ground transport, but Ruslan saw two driftecs among them. San’dwil steered him and his handler toward the nearest. In moments they were on board. As the commander had promised, the craft had only been waiting on their arrival. By the time Ruslan had settled into his liquid seat, the driftec was lifting off. Peering out the transparent wall, he could see the base recede rapidly beneath them.
Leveling out at cruising altitude, the nearly noiseless driftec headed toward the ragged line of lavender-clad mountains that formed the western horizon, accelerating hopes Ruslan had long since forgone.
Only the presence of a roughly cleared landing pad surrounded by temporary self-erecting structures marked the location of the find. There was no visible evidence to suggest a human presence. Where bare rock did not predominate, alien forest covered the hillside. As the driftec touched down, Ruslan gave voice to his curiosity.
“How did your people find this place?” The thickly vegetated slope into which the landing pad had been cut was unremarkable, in appearance no different from a hundred they had just flown over.
San’dwil pointed to one section of hillside that was slightly darker than the rest. “The entrance was overgrown. A routine automated survey picked up emanations that suggested the presence of functioning electronics. As we have no ongoing operations in this area, a follow-up was ordered. Located, as it is, well below the surface, the efflux was too weak to be detected by our two orbiting sensors, which is why it was not discovered before now.” His mouth flexed to indicate humor. “The follow-up proceeded with caution, as one possibility held that the emissions might emanate from a clandestine Vrizan installation.”