With the matter settled, the gathering dispersed; the researchers to their work, Gos’sil and his assistants to their administrative duties, Cherpa to resume her ongoing perusal of surviving human entertainment sounds and visuals. Only Ruslan was left aimless, unsure what to do next.
Wandering out of the research complex, he made his way down to the riverside. Much of the original vitreous but rough-surfaced promenade had survived, allowing him to walk safely beside the foaming, roaring waterway. Cleverly diverted streamlets threaded their way like aqueous tentacles through the material of the walkway itself, lending a dynamic, almost organic feel to his stroll as streams of rushing water danced beneath his feet.
He had put off the business of human reproduction as long as he could. Then Cherpa and Pahksen had come into the picture, reinforcing the determination of the Myssari to commence restoration of his species. Pahksen was likely out of it now, but the manner of his passing had pushed the Myssari beyond politeness. Ruslan knew there was nothing more he could do. His hosts were going to begin bringing back humankind no matter what he said or did.
He hoped they knew what they were doing.
16
In addition to being accounted the last man alive, once back on Myssar Ruslan found himself embarking on the strangest fatherhood in human history.
Focusing on twenty of Cherpa’s carefully extracted eggs, Myssari scientists who had spent a good portion of their professional lives analyzing records relating to human reproduction succeeded in successfully fertilizing sixteen of them utilizing Ruslan’s sperm. Implanted into artificial wombs designed and built with as much care as any equivalent Myssari device, they rapidly developed into viable embryos. After endless years of collapse thanks to the now extinct Aura Malignance, the human race was once more on the road to regeneration.
Ruslan had mixed feelings. Not about restoring humankind: having been interminably exposed to Myssari determination, he had long since come to accept the project’s inevitability. No, his concern revolved around being an actual father. While other dedicated and highly trained Myssari would of necessity take on the responsibility of raising the hoped-for sixteen infants, there would come a time when his physical presence, not to mention his actual direction, would assume an unavoidable and important role in their development as humans. Cherpa would naturally assist as well, but considering that her upbringing had deviated far more from the norm than had Ruslan’s, it would fall largely upon him to help ensure that the children developed normally.
Healthy, active, and as intrigued by the world around them as any human infants had ever been, the sixteen had reached the uniform age of three when news arrived that jolted his world. Fittingly, it was not a scientist or administrator who delivered it but his old friend and minder, Kel’les. They had remained in contact even though Ruslan was so familiar with and integrated into Myssari culture that he no longer required an interlocutor. Instead of needing one himself, he had taken on the same duties with regard to Cherpa.
The two humans were leaving the crèche for the day when the intermet confronted them near the exit. So obviously excited was Kel’les that s’he was swaying on all three feet. Unlike a human who rocks from side to side or front to back, when a Myssari sways they make small circles around the axis of their central spine. A concerned Ruslan reached out a hand to steady his former mentor.
“Something’s wrong, Kel’les. Tell us.” He nodded back the way they had come. “Hopefully it doesn’t involve the children.” Knowing that a change of heart or direction within the Myssari General Sectionary could shut down the entire project was a fear he had carried with him since the birth of his multiple unexpected offspring.
“Nothing is wrong,” Kel’les told him. “On the contrary, everything is right.”
Taking a cue from her mentor, Cherpa relaxed. “Then what is it?”
Gazing intently at Ruslan, Kel’les blurted his response. “Your Earth. They have found your Earth. The human homeworld.”
So completely immersed had he become in the new experience of fatherhood that Ruslan had all but forgotten about the presumably failed search upon which he had originally made his full cooperation with the project contingent. To hear from Kel’les that it had not only not been forgotten but was now apparently successful served to upend his cosmos yet again. Every time he thought it stabilized, the universe smacked him in the face with some new and unexpected revelation. This time, for once, it was not unwelcome. He also found it hard to believe.
“This is a joke.” Yes, that had to be it. Though more restrained than humankind had been, the Myssari were not without humor of their own. Kel’les, perhaps with Cor’rin’s or Bac’cul’s connivance, was playing a joke on Cherpa and him.
The intermet’s reaction belied Ruslan’s suspicions. “The announcement is not made to provoke laughter, friend Ruslan. It is the truth, delivered direct from the Exploration Sectionary.”
Ruslan lapsed into a daze. Having no emotional involvement invested in the revelation, a curious Cherpa could only stand and observe the byplay between the two old friends.
“How—how can they be sure?” Was that his voice doing the questioning? Ruslan wondered. It was such an old voice, such a cynical voice. Although the children did not think so. Poking at sensitive spots, pulling on his nose and ears and hair while laughing at his discomfort, they were never less than delighted to be near to their papa Ruslan.
“You forget,” Kel’les told him. “There are records. From Seraboth, from Daribb, from a hundred other now empty human-settled worlds. In the absence of coordinates, we have thousands of detailed descriptions of the human homeworld. Thousands of descriptions and thousands of images. I am told there can be no mistake. Too many of those thousands are excellent matches.” S’he was joyous. “It is some considerable distance away, but nothing that cannot be negotiated.”
Ruslan had to sit down. He was joined by a concerned Cherpa. Though tending at times to the complicated, their relationship since the death of Pahksen had been wholly platonic, more father and daughter than father and mother. Theirs was surely a partnership passing strange, though no more so than the unique set of circumstances in which they found themselves.
“Earth.” When properly enunciated, the one word itself carried more significance than a hundred complete sentences. His gaze wandered before once again finding the intermet’s face. “What—what is it like?”
“Quite pleasant, according to the initial reports. Perfectly habitable, with no sign of any Malignance-related organisms. Deprived of hosts in which to live, that genetically engineered virulence died out more than a hundred years ago on Seraboth and far earlier than that on your homeworld. It is once more a safe place for humans to live. Is that what you would like to do now that it has been rediscovered, Ruslan? Live on your Earth?”
Never having expected to be offered such an option, he had nothing prepared in the way of a clear-cut response. “I… don’t know. I suppose the first thing is to go and have a look at the place. You said it was distant. Do you think a visit can be arranged?”
“Arranged?” Kel’les’s tone grew even more expansive. “They are all but straining to hold back the follow-up expedition in hopes that you would consent to participate.”
Ruslan nodded once and looked to his left. “Cherpa?”