Howling Stones

by Alan Dean Foster

  But nothing happened.

  A few uncertain mutterings began to be heard among the assembled. Pulickel found himself echoing them. Was there anything to be learned here, or was it all a colossal bust? Perhaps the device was designed simply to put out a shaft of green light, possibly as some kind of unknown navigational aid. Or maybe it was no more than an elaborate marker.

  Frustrated, he walked up to it, shielding his eyes from the evanescent glare. No one stopped him.

  Up close, he found that he was able to see into the mass to a surprising depth. A network of complex internal striations was clearly visible. They appeared to link slightly darker masses buried deep within the body of the construct. Reaching out with one hand, he lightly traced the lines nearest the surface. Like the light it put out, the object itself was pleasantly cool to the touch.

  Behind him he heard Fawn call out sharply, “Watch yourself, Pulickel. There’s something coming out.”

  As he stepped back, the construct began to exude something very like a large, transparent egg, as if the glowing green lump was giving birth. The voices of the assembled big persons rose in unison, chanting loudly.

  Approaching this new and unexpected phenomenon with caution, he saw that in contrast to the rest of the mass, the protrusion had a faint reddish tinge, like an excited fiber optic. He was unable to gauge its thickness or even if it was hollow or solid. Already, three-quarters of it had emerged from the howling green lump. Indifferent to urging or chanting, suspicions or hopes, the remainder resolutely refused to ooze free of the construct. From a tactile standpoint it felt no different from the rest of the green mass.

  Fawn joined him, along with Ascela and Jorana. As they inspected the faintly reddish ovoid, the curving, tapered end facing the circle suddenly opened. There was no door, no hatch. One moment the end of the object appeared solid; the next, it displayed an opening.

  Together, Pulickel and Ascela peered inside. The interior of the ovoid was floored with what seemed to be a layer of dense fog. Ignoring Fawn’s admonitions, he reached in and down. His fingers sank a centimeter or so into the frothy substance before encountering an unyielding surface.

  He straightened. “Interesting stuff. It looks like you could brush it aside with one hand, but it doesn’t move. There’s initial give, and then it turns solid. What do you suppose this thing is?” His ears were filled with Parramati chanting and the high-pitched whine of the construct.

  Hands on hips, she studied the mysterious protrusion. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’m inclined to think that anything that has a floor, walls, and an entrance is designed to be entered.” Blue eyes speculated on the protrusion. “The big persons have been saying all along that the Goggelai is supposed to open a different sort of road. This could be some kind of transportation device.”

  He nodded contemplatively. “Uh-huh. Or an oversized alien food processor. Right now we are somewhat lacking in information.”

  She was studying the ovoid intently. “If it’s a means of transport, it’s odd that it didn’t emerge completely from its surroundings.”

  “Is it? When did we become specialists in alien transportation systems?” Bending low, he put both hands on the exposed rim of the ovoid and leaned inward.

  “And where the hell do you think you’re going?” she challenged him sharply.

  He glanced back with that fey, confident smile she’d come to know so well. “Not there, I pray. Hopefully just down another road, as the Parramati would say.”

  She was less than encouraging. “I’d think that after your last experience with the vagaries of stone-impelled transport you wouldn’t want to try it again. The Parramati might not be able to bring you back a second time.”

  He tapped the ovoid’s outer rim. It gave back no sound. “We’re not dealing with a couple of loose stones here. If this is indeed some kind of device intended to transport individuals down a particular road, then it quite likely is designed to also transport them back. Otherwise why design and build something this elaborate? Why not just use a couple of the transportation stones? I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that the more intricate the device, the more complex and varied its function.”

  “You’re assuming a lot,” she insisted.

  Again the smile, a little wider this time. “I certainly am, but I have a feeling it’s the only way we are going to divine this object’s intended function.”

  “It could take you someplace,” she brooded, “and not bring you back.”

  “There is that possibility,” he conceded. “But the liturgy of discovery is rife with explorers who never looked over the next cliff or climbed the next mountain because they were afraid they might fall off.”

  “Or run into something with a bad attitude and lots of teeth,” she added dourly.

  He nodded knowingly. “Either way, we can expect to get some answers.”

  “Before we go stumbling off in search of them,” she countered, “let’s see what the Parramati think.”

  He hesitated, then reluctantly deferred to common sense.

  “Histories insist that the howling stones open new roads.” Ascela exchanged a look with Jorana. “But they do not say what kind of roads, and I have never seen a road open like this.” She indicated the beckoning, enigmatic ovoid.

  “This is a new thing,” Jorana agreed.

  Fawn framed her question carefully, not wanting dialect to get in the way of meaning. “Do the histories of the Goggelai say anything about returning back along any roads that are opened?”

  “No,” the big person admitted, “but it is well known that the clearer the road, the easier the return. I believe we should go and find out.” Pulickel was a little startled to find his position so readily supported.

  “If it looks like anything,” Jorana put in, “it looks like a boat.” He was studying the ovoid’s exterior. “It is covered to keep off the rain, but there are no outriggers.”

  Pulickel essayed a seni bark indicative of low-key humor. “If you are right and it is some kind of boat, Jorana, then I think it will have outriggers—but of a kind we cannot see and cannot imagine.”

  The senior big person indicated agreement. “No matter their kind, so long as they work. We will go together, friend Pu’il.” He straightened on his powerful hind legs. “It is the responsibility of big persons to investigate any new roads.”

  Fawn’s attention shifted from alien to fellow xenologist. “You’re determined to go through with this, aren’t you?”

  Pulickel nodded. “Most assuredly.” Peering into the device, he added off-handedly, “There is room enough for all of us.”

  A three-fingered hand gripped his shoulder. “It is good,” Ascela told him. “Each of us may see things only another will understand. Knowledge can be shared.” Slitted blue-black eyes gazed deeply back into his own, the bond of curiosity linking their two species more effectively than any words.

  “Nothing may happen.” Fawn eyed the ovoid uneasily. “Or it may collapse in on you.”

  “Or fill up with water, or toxic gas.” Pulickel looked up. “Possibilities will remain nothing more than possibilities unless we do something. There’s nothing for it but to try it. Either way, the results will be recorded. Despite all its claims to precision and exactitude, great science often boils down to a leap of faith.”

  “That’s a fine sentiment for a book, not a life.” The line of her mouth tightened and she took a couple of steps back. “So go ahead and leap.” She raised the forearm to which her recorder was strapped.

  Jorana touched his side and he turned. “Let us find out what the howling stones do, friend Pu’il. Let us learn together.”

  “Yes, together.” Knowing that the memory of his recent transgression still burned hot in Parramati memory as well as his own, he was touched by the sentiment.

  Ascela had conveyed their intentions to several other big persons. Now, as she entered the ovoid, they explained what was happening to the rest of the assembled. Everyone retrea
ted to the edge of the meadow as every eye focused on the luminous green mass. Fawn found herself surrounded by warm-bodied, heavy-hipped alien forms.

  Jorana followed his fellow villager into the device, moving toward the rear and making room for Pulickel. While the seni squatted, he was forced to assume a cross-legged position on the foglike floor. Arrayed in single file, they faced the opening, the emerald brilliance at their backs.

  “Just a minute! Wait!” came a frantic shout. Breathing hard, Fawn crawled in next to him.

  “Of course we’ll wait,” he told her. “We don’t have any choice, since we don’t know how to go.” At that moment she was closer to him than she’d ever been before—and not just physically. “I thought you were going to stay behind?”

  Scrunched up against the curving, transparent wall, she did not have enough room to cross her long legs but had to stretch them out in front of her. “I’ve always been an avid mountain climber, and I’m not afraid of heights.”

  “Good. I am.”

  They sat silent and motionless within the ovoid, listening to the howling whine of the device and the distant, submerged but still audible chant of the assembled big persons. After a while, Pulickel began to feel foolish.

  “It’s not responding to our presence. Maybe we’re overlooking some means of activation. Look for a depression, a discoloration—any kind of imperfection in the structure of the inner surface.”

  Fawn translated for the two Parramati. Together the four of them commenced a section-by-section search of the ovoid’s interior. Except for the fog floor, it proved to be as featureless as it looked.

  “It has to be here,” Pulickel muttered. “There has to be something.”

  “Does there?” Fawn was less assured. “We’re dealing with the technology that made the stones. Stones that stimulate instant growth in plants, affect the weather, send a curious xenologist god knows where but lets local aborigines bring him back, and merge to form glowing green searchlights the size of a skimmer hangar. We don’t have a clue how any of this works, what powers them, or why they’re here. I have yet to recognize so much as an on-off switch on the least of them, so why should we expect to be able to find one in here? Face it, Pulickel: the Goggelai’s a no-go.”

  “Thank you for those encouraging conclusions,” he replied dryly.

  “Hey, I say what I feel.”

  “Perhaps we must use the proper chant,” Ascela suggested.

  Pulickel didn’t laugh. In the absence of any obvious method of physical activation, who was to say that an oral variety might not prove more effective? It certainly couldn’t be less so.

  As it turned out, the correct thing to do proved to be to do nothing at all, a dynamic in which they were at present actively engaged.

  Before the Parramati could commence any new chants, the open end of the enclosure shut. As with its opening, this took place in utter silence and without warning. Again, no door or hatch appeared. One moment egress to the outside world was readily available, and the next a red-tinged barrier as transparent as the rest of the ovoid had silently taken its place.

  Perhaps it had finally detected the presence of living creatures within and responded appropriately. Possibly it self-activated after an indeterminate but predetermined period of time. Perhaps a sniff, or an especially deep breath, or the exact intonation of a word had activated some hidden mechanism. It was impossible to tell what had done the trick, and quite likely they would never know.

  Light, warmth, and a flow of fresh air emanated from the fog beneath. How the machine knew what of which the occupants required, Pulickel couldn’t imagine, so he settled for being grateful instead. In finally sensing and reacting to their presence, the device had also sensed and reacted to their needs.

  Perhaps something outside changed as well, because a number of big persons were hopping frantically toward the ovoid. Their mouths were open and they were gesturing emphatically. Within the transparent egg, however, all was composed and surprisingly quiet. They could no longer hear the Parramati chanting or the howling of the stones.

  Leaning forward, Fawn pushed gently, then firmly, on the end of the new enclosure, on the place where they had entered. Unsurprisingly, it did not yield to her efforts. She sat back.

  “Won’t budge,” she reported tensely. “Whatever happens next, we’re sealed in tight.”

  “Something must be happening.” Her colleague leaned close and pointed.

  The Parramati who had leaped so anxiously toward the ovoid had halted abruptly. All were staring while a number had begun to retrace their steps as fast as they had advanced. It looked like they were conversing loudly among themselves—Pulickel could clearly see their mouths moving—but the two xenologists and two big persons within the device could hear nothing beyond the ovoid wall.

  Ascela and Jorana were utterly calm, resigned to whatever might happen next. They were no less curious about this than their human companions—simply less concerned.

  As the world outside began to vanish, it took a moment for Pulickel to realize what was happening. The ovoid was sinking, or retreating, or being absorbed back into the efflorescent green mass from which it had partially emerged. He kicked experimentally at the front of the egg. It yielded no more readily to his foot than it had to Fawn’s hands.

  Satisfied that they were safe—or trapped—he settled back to await whatever Fate and an ancient alien technology had in store for them.

  19

  Though they were being sucked into the very heart of the emerald radiance itself, the light outside actually dimmed slightly. While the composition of the transparent material encasing them did not appear to have changed, the potent efflorescence no longer fully penetrated their sanctuary.

  As the ovoid continued to be absorbed into the pulsating mass, their window on the outside world shrank proportionately. Soon only a small circle of visibility remained through the forward tip of their enclosure, and then that, too, was gone.

  It was black outside the ovoid. Black, but not threatening in the manner of the darkness Pulickel had experienced previously. Unlike that abomination, the current absence of light did not carry with it the flavor of evil. Within the device, the lambent fog beneath their feet provided enough pink-hued illumination for them to see one another without straining.

  There was also the slightest sensation of movement. Fawn found this especially interesting, because if the original pace of absorption had been maintained, they should long since have come out the other side of the main green mass. That they had not yet done so suggested that they had either halted somewhere in its depths or else moved on—somewhere else.

  The impression intensified. Nor was it restricted to the two humans, for Ascela and Jorana felt it equally. There was a definite sense of being impelled forward, though in what direction no one could say.

  Something gave them a sharp jolt, the ovoid rocked, and Pulickel instinctively grabbed for a handhold. There were none available, unless one counted his companions. Sound once more began to reach them, steady and unvarying. Only mildly surprised, he recognized it.

  The stones were howling afresh.

  Just when he didn’t think he was going to be able to take it any louder, the whine leveled off. Beneath his feet and posterior, the ovoid vibrated like a well-tuned violin string. It was impossible to escape the feeling that they were going somewhere.

  Ascela confirmed it. “We are set upon a road—though by my grandmother’s tail I cannot say what road that may be, or where it may lead.” She rested back on her haunches in a position that would have painfully cramped any human but that the seni found most relaxing.

  Jorana tried to lighten the atmosphere within the ovoid. “I know this road. It is the road to wherever.”

  “To wherever the howling stones lead,” Ascela agreed.

  With nothing to see, nothing to do, and no control over either, Pulickel saw no reason why he should not emulate the attitude of their nonhuman fellow travelers. Shifting his body, he put
his hands behind his head and leaned back against the pale red transparent wall. This was now slightly warm to the touch. Fawn attempted to do likewise, but the length of her limbs made it difficult for her to find a comfortable position. She was expectant, but not particularly happy.

  “So you have no idea where this ‘road’ leads?” she queried their companions.

  “No,” Jorana confirmed. “But I think we are going to find out.”

  “Look here.” Pulickel held out his wrist. “My chronometer’s stopped.”

  Fawn glanced down at herself and nodded. “Mine, also.” She checked her other wrist. “Recorder’s not working, either. Readout says the cell is drained, but I put in a fresh one before I joined the rest of you.”

  “Mine read half charged before I climbed in here.” Removing the protective backplate, he slipped a fresh cell from his belt into the appropriate receptacle and snapped it shut. The readout did not change. “Dead, also. I have a feeling they’ve all been drained, or discharged, or Tesla knows what else.”

  She nodded confirmation after checking her own inventory. “Then we’ll just have to rely on the only recorders left to us.” She pointed two fingers at her eyes.

  He nodded. “Let’s hope nothing drains that power source.”

  Time passed without measure. They were still discussing the mystery of the depleted power cells when it happened—so suddenly no one had time to react or prepare. Subsequently, they were too overwhelmed to remember the exact moment when everything changed.

  Gone was the all-pervasive darkness as the ovoid burst out into a gigantic tunnel composed of brilliant streaks of excited plasma. Yellow, red, and blue flares darkening to deepmost purple twisted and writhed around them, raw energy disciplined and held in check by immense unseen forces. It was an electric pipe, a piece of hollow lightning, down which they were being sucked at inconceivable speed. The ovoid was channeling an aurora.