“Pahksen’s different from me but also like me. One way we’re a lot alike is that we both know how to hide.”
Cor’rin glanced at the girl across the interior of the masked driftec as it skimmed along above the mudflats. “The Vrizan—the other people who will be looking for him—have very advanced ways of finding people.”
Cherpa stared right back at the Myssari scientist. “Hide we know. You wouldn’t have found me if Bogo hadn’t heard the sounds of me being attacked. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Pahksen had been watching the whole time.”
Ruslan’s expression darkened. “You mean he could have been watching the fight, seen the danger you were in, and still made no move to help you?”
She shrugged as if the imagined scenario was of no consequence. “I told you: Pahksen, he’s nasty. He wouldn’t risk his life for me. That’s okay.” In the context of what she said next, her bright smile was more than a little disconcerting. “I wouldn’t risk mine to save his, either.”
Two surviving human beings on the entire planet, Ruslan thought, and they can’t stand each other. A fitting metaphor for the entire species. For all that, he was looking forward to meeting this reprehensible Pahksen. If they could find him.
Deliberative scans from the slowing driftecs revealed a heartening absence of Vrizan and Vrizan craft, either occupied or automatic. That did not mean, he told himself as he prepared to disembark, that the cunning competitors of the Myssari were not present. But it was better than having alarms go off in the presence of a dozen watching craft.
They set down not far from the port area where Ruslan had first encountered Cherpa. This time all personnel, including the two researchers from Myssar, disembarked with weapons in hand. Twi’win was taking no chances with either dangerous indigenous lifeforms or possible marauding Vrizan. Not with the irreplaceable Ruslan and Cherpa in their midst. With the girl and her doll leading the way, the generous deployment from the outpost pushed past the outskirts and into the depths of the long-silent city.
They spent the day rummaging through collapsing buildings, sites overgrown with crawling gunk, and long-abandoned vehicles. While Daribb’s diminutive but voracious flora and fauna had devoured tens of thousands of bones, there were still numerous bodies scattered about. The sight did not unnerve either Cherpa or Ruslan. Each had grown up on a world littered with the skeletal detritus of their kind. Neither was a stranger to the apocalyptic aftermath of the Aura Malignance.
As night fell they were forced to return to the safety of the temporary shelters that had been set up alongside the driftecs. Though the Myssari outpost was a scientific and not a military installation, its technicians had managed to come up with some convincing camouflage, both physical and electronic, to screen the visitors from possible Vrizan scrutiny. Continued anonymity would be the only way of gauging the effectiveness of the improvised effort.
Despite Cherpa’s best efforts at tracking, in three days of intensive searching they found no sign of another live human being. Ruslan was beginning to wonder anew if her male acquaintance was, as he had earlier suspected, only imaginary. Or if she really wanted them to find someone with whom she admittedly did not get along.
On the fourth day of searching, they still had not found him—but something found them.
It was very large, very active, and repulsively amorphous. Rising out of an expanding breach in a disintegrating city street, it looked at first as if a thick perceptive glob of the surrounding mudflats had somehow acquired sentience and decided to go on the rampage. Only after more of its columnar, elastic body emerged from the gap did Ruslan and the hastily scattering Myssari realize that it comprised a single entity. Multiple brown pseudopods flailed at the evasive, scuttling escorts. The Myssari were not fast, but they were quick, and their trisymmetrical forms made it difficult for a predator to predict which direction they were going to run.
“Mushwack!” Cherpa screamed as she ran. Despite his longer legs it was an effort for Ruslan to keep up with her.
Behind them the Myssari were firing repeatedly into the building-sized body of the creature. As bursts from their weapons struck the twisting, writhing form, gaseous bubbles rose and burst from its epidermis. The smell that arose from the vicinity of these strikes was beyond sickening. Survivors of dead worlds rife with decomposition, the two humans dealt with the miasma better than the Myssari, some of whom were forced to turn away and retch. It was left to their more resilient companions to finally drive the creature back down into the opening from which it had emerged.
There were no deaths, but several of the Myssari had suffered bad falls while avoiding the mushwack’s grasping limbs. Thankfully, none of the injuries were life-threatening. With their injured treated and bandaged, the remaining members of the expedition were soon ready, if not particularly eager, to resume the search.
They were preparing to head deeper still into the shell of the city when Ruslan felt Cherpa tugging on his left arm. Her left, of course, was reserved for cradling Oola.
“He’s here,” she said simply.
Quickly he looked around, scanning their immediate surroundings. He saw nothing but ruins. Taking note, Bac’cul and Cor’rin moved closer to the specimens.
“What is it, Ruslan?” Cor’rin’s own narrower gaze strove to mimic the human’s.
“Cherpa says he’s here.”
Tired from the brief but intense battle with the mushwack, both researchers were rejuvenated by his words. “Where? I see nothing,” a rapidly pivoting Bac’cul declared.
“Nor do I.” Ruslan bent toward the girl. “Where is he, Cherpa?”
Raising an arm, she pointed. “Up there. That open-sided building, second floor.” She raised her voice. “Come out, Pahksen! I see you! These are my new friends. I’m going away with them, away from this place, forever. To a place where there are no bad things. Where nothing will try to eat you.” Reaching over, she put her arm around Ruslan’s waist, startling him. It was a very adult gesture. “Look—another one of us! A grown-up! Come down, if you want this to be the last mushwack you ever see.”
Nothing moved. Ruslan, the researchers, their escorts, all were staring at the gaping second floor where Cherpa had pointed. Squint as he might, he could discern nothing but abandoned furniture and crumbling superstructure. Then part of the superstructure stood up. Without speaking, it jumped from the second floor onto a mound of debris. Emerging from the resultant cloud of dust, a figure came toward them. The nearer it came, the larger it grew, until it stood confronting Ruslan. Indisputably, there were now three live humans gathered on the debris-littered walkway. Bac’cul and Cor’rin were recording like mad, euphoric at the sight of a third live human. Crowding close to Ruslan, Cherpa was clearly less than overjoyed.
Far more than a boy, not yet quite a man, Pahksen was as tall as Ruslan. No more than seventeen or so, Ruslan decided. Youth and adult regarded each other: the latter with appreciation, the former with suspicion. Remembering how it was done, Ruslan extended a hand.
“Pleasure to meet another survivor. My name’s Ruslan.”
“Pahksen.” No hand reached out to accept the older man’s offering. Whether this constituted a deliberate snub, indicated general wariness, or was because both of the youth’s hands were needed to support the very large rifle he was holding Ruslan could not say. He fully intended to find out later.