The Howling Stones

by Alan Dean Foster

  Everything was in readiness when the first towering thunderheads appeared on the southwestern horizon. Meteorology confirmed what everyone suspected: the weather was about to turn seriously bad, which for Es­sasu was all to the good.

  He personally supervised the loading of the floater, checking each tech and all the gear himself. The latter was important, since they didn't want to take the chance of alerting the natives to their activities. Manual tear­down of the humanx installation would be harder and take more time than simply blowing the whole thing up, but the results would more closely approximate the kind of severe storm damage Essasu intended to simulate. Re­lying on surprise and expecting no resistance, the techs brought only sidearms and a couple of rifles. Essasu was thorough, and a firm believer in insurance. While not an­ticipating any trouble, he prepared for it anyway.

  Bound, drowned, released, and not found was what he had in mind for the station's inhabitants, but gunshot wounds of any kind were to be avoided, just in case. Re­criminations might fly between diplomats, but he had no doubt that he and his staff would secure absolution early on in the inevitable follow‑up investigation.

  There was only one possible complication: what if when the team arrived, the humans were nowhere to be found? Hard to imagine them not preparing for and taking refuge in their station during a mastorm, but humans were noth­ing if not unpredictable. In that unlikely event, he would have no option but to abort the mission. He didn't expect that to happen. Humans had no more love for mastorm weather than did the AAnn.

  By this time tomorrow he would be free of competi­tion for the hearts and minds of the Parramati. Turning his gaze to the southwest while the technicians settled themselves in the floater's enclosed cabin, he studied the rapidly building storm. The crossing promised to be uncomfortable but not life‑threatening. They would hold to the lee of as many intervening islands and reefs as possible.

  Like any mature AAnn, each of the technicians chosen for the mission were fully conversant with military pro­cedures and equipment. All knew how to handle the weapons they had been assigned. Even if a worst‑case scenario materialized and they forfeited the element of surprise, the humans would still have no chance against his experienced and determined team. As near as he'd been able to discover, neither the female nor the male had received any military training whatsoever. In any event, they would find themselves overwhelmed before they had a chance to react. Eager to begin, Essasu signed him­self several gestures of pleasure and satisfaction.

  They were almost ready. Seated in the pilot's lounge, Technician Turikk had activated the engine and was me­thodically checking readouts. Final supplies were put aboard.

  Already the floater was vibrating slightly in the rising wind. By sunset they would be standing off Torrelau, the floater's stabilizers holding it steady in the midst of the storm as her passengers disembarked. The unsuspect­ing humans would be ensconced in their station, snug in their misplaced security, perhaps even asleep. If all went as planned, they would never even have the chance to wake up.

  He threw Piarai, who had been left in charge of the base, a farewell salute. For an AAnn, this involved half a sweep­ing, intricate pantomime that more closely resembled a dance than a salute. It was returned with reptilian panache.

  The entryway sealed behind him and the transparent shell of the floater misted temporarily as the onboard de­humidifiers sprang to life. At his sign of assent, the pilot fed energy to the engines. The big lifter rose a body­length off the sand, pivoted, and moved out over the still­calm shallows of the lagoon.

  The surreptitious journey to Torrelau could not have been smoother had it been simulated by computer. While continuing to build massively until it obscured the entire southwestern horizon, the fury of the storm remained held in check until the lifter reached Iliumafan. There they waited, running last‑minute equipment checks and enacting procedure, until cloaked in deep night.

  By the time they were ready to move, the mastorm had broken over the archipelago. Despite the pilot's skill and care, it made the crossing to Torrelau, which under nor­mal conditions would have taken five minutes, require twenty. With the floater rocked and bucked by the roaring winds, several of the stolid soldier/technicians were un­able to maintain their internal equilibrium. Wordlessly the others shunned their sick companions. There was nothing they could do for them in any case.

  It was no less than Essasu had expected. Finally shielded by Torrelau's bulk, the transport steadied. Medication settled unsteady innards as the invaders disembarked, their features obscured by protective raingear. Internal suit de­humidifiers struggled to keep them comfortable as they leaped from the ramp to the sodden ground atop the sea cliff. Night‑vision lenses revealed trees and bushes bend­ing and rustling in the wind, colorful blossoms beaten down by the driving rain. Of humans or natives there was no sign.

  Detailed maps revealed every rill and depression on the island,, overlaid with vegetation and moving streams. Preprogrammed markers placed every member of the ex­pedition on the same map. These markers shifted as indi­viduals advanced, enabling every technician to locate their companions' positions instantly.

  A brief, slippery ascent took them over a high ridge, then down the far side to a heavily vegetated plateau. Crossing a less difficult rise found them descending a moderate slope that eventually led to a wide ledge that overlooked the humanx station. As rain drummed on his drysuit, Essasu increased the magnification factor on his night lenses.

  There being no need for privacy shades on an island inhabited solely by locals, he was able to see the interior of the station quite clearly. It was well lit from within and the curving windows that marked its circumference were mostly unobstructed, except for a few places blocked by botanical specimens that seemed to be growing wild.

  Shifting his line of sight to his right, he noted that the humans' skimmer was parked in its shed, inert and pow­ered down. He could find no reason to hesitate.

  "Should we move in now, Commander?"

  He glanced back at the tech who had spoken. "We will wait awhile longer. There are many lights on within the station. Their illumination may be an afterthought, or it may signify that the humans are still awake and active. Let us give them a chance to retire." He shacked the weather station on his wrist. Pressure was still phenome­nally low, indicating that the mastorm wasn't about to abate any time soon.

  "Humans tend to stay awake longer than we do and rise later, though they hew to no hard and fast biological schedule. I do not expect much double, but whenever possible I prefer to minimize it. We will wait."

  The technicians huddled together, dry and reasonably comfortable in their field suits but impatient, waiting for the lights within the station to go out. Ten minutes later, just as Essasu was about to order the advance, the struc­ture darkened. This occurred in stages, a good indication that the occupants were retiring for the night. He was much pleased.

  Voicing the command softly, but with overtones of second‑degree anticipation, the AAnn commander led his group down the slope toward the clearing. No one re­marked on their approach, no one overheard the muttered curses and sibilant hisses of tense techs as they slid and scrambled down the soggy ground. Wind wailed around them and hurled rain sideways with impressive force. Neither slowed their progress. Each member of the group was eager to conclude the matter and return to the floater. More than bloodlust or tradition, thoughts of the sooth­ing, dry heat of their respective sleeping lounges spurred them on.

  While the rest tensely kept watch, a pair of specialists deactivated the station's defensive perimeter without set­ting off any alarms. Designed primarily to prevent the in­trusion of primitive but potentially dangerous endemic life‑forms, the system was efficient but not especially sophisticated.

  In‑suit communicators allowed the invaders to talk despite the storm's unceasing bellow. Thunder rolled through the forest while the almost constant lightning rendered the need for artificial illumination superfluous.
r />   Responding to a prearranged gesture from Essasu, team members poured through the breach in the defensive perimeter and proceeded to prearranged positions. Spread­ing out, they readied themselves to intradict any desper­ate flight from the installation. Ever thorough, Essasu had prepared in advance for the unexpected.

  Taking three techs with him, he advanced on the single entrance at the base of the station. No AAnn would have been comfortable in a structure with only one way in and out, but humans had evolved from tree‑dwellers while the ancestors of the AAnn had come up from interlocked burrows. No matter how advanced the species, certain evolutionary idiosyncrasies were hard to shake.

  Know one's enemy, he told himself.

  Despite their ancient arboreal origins, he didn't expect fleeing humans to come leaping out of any open win­dows. They could climb far better than any AAnn, but they couldn't fly. By now they should be falling asleep. Sur­prised in their sleeping quarters, paralyzed by a couple of short bursts from neuronic pistols, they could be carried out conscious and aware but unable to resist.

  A short if bumpy floater ride would take them out be­yond Torrelau's fringing reef. Dumped overboard, unable to swim, they would immediately attract the attention of eager pelagic predators, who would dispose of his persistent headache once and for all. Torrelauan scavengers were efficient. Not even the bones would be overlooked.

  It would take time for them to be mussed, even longer for a reconnaissance team to be sent out from Ophhlia. By then less than nothing would remain of the fading drama in the Torrelauan jungle.

  The secondary security system that sealed the doorway proved even easier to bypass than the perimeter fence. The techs stepped aside as the door slid clear, making way for Essasu to enter first.

  As he was preparing to do so, a shape appeared on the edge of his vision. Turning sharply, he saw that it was not alone. There were three of them altogether, exposed to the fury of the mastorm, standing there watching. One took a couple of steps toward him. It hopped rather than walked.

  Parramati.

  The voice of the tech on his immediate right hissed over the communicator. "Commander, what should we do?"

  Startled by the unanticipated confrontation, he snapped an order. "Ignore them. Keep arms at the ready but do not fire unless I so order it." His thoughts were churning.

  Disposing of three natives would be time‑consuming and tiring but hardly calamitous. They certainly couldn't be allowed to observe the nocturnal goings‑on and leave. A few local scavengers were going to feed especially well tonight, he mused.

  The one who had stepped forward raised a three­ fingered hand in greeting. Narrow, slitted eyes stared un­blinkingly. The native ignored the rain that coursed in gleaming rivulets down his bare skin.

  "What is it you wish here?"

  Though it was hardly the most propitious time for ex­changing pleasant inanities, Essasu felt obligated to at least try to talk the natives away, as opposed to shooting them outright. Wind whipped their sharply pointed ears sideways as they awaited his reply.

  "Why, to check on our human friends and make certain they are all right. It is a bad storm and we feared for their safety." He was pleased with his practiced fluency in the native tongue.

  The seni exchanged a look. "They have never had trouble during any other storms," remarked the female member of the trio. "Why would they need your help now?"

  Essasu restrained his impatience, not to mention his anger at being spoken to in such a fashion by a member of a lesser species.

  "We are simply paying a courtesy. You wouldn't under­stand. It is‑sssish‑part of our mutual kusum."

  The younger male spoke up. "We have listened often to the humans speak of their relationship with your kind. The road between you is difficult, and broken in many places." Eyes double‑blinked. "You come with many weapons."

  Essasu hissed under his breath but remained polite. Above him, the station's inhabitants continued to evince no knowledge of the AAnn presence. "We must protect ourselves against the creatures of the night. Surely you can understand that."

  The leader of the trio replied. "The creatures of the night are denned up out of the mastorm." His eyes were fixed on the AAnn's.

  Essasu glanced at his wrist. Barometric pressure was starting to rise. The fury of the mastorm was always brief. Lose the storm and they would lose their anonymity.

  The native was right, of course. All sensible creatures took cover at the first sign of an incoming mastorm. So ­what were he and his three companions doing out here, exposed and unprotected? He posed the question.

  "You were seen coming from Iliumafan and it was de­cided to find out what you wanted. The humans did not warn us of your intended arrival."

  "It is only a courtesy call. There is no need to an­nounce such things." Essasu's exasperation was starting to boil over. His finger twitched on the trigger of his pis­tol. "We apologize if we have violated any protocol."

  "Not ours." The female glanced upward, her long snout pointed toward the underside of the station. "You come at night, at the height of a mastorm, with weapons showing. That is not the manner of visitors intent on help."

  He'd had about enough of this aboriginal interroga­tion. "It is really none of your business. You would not understand such things."

  "But we do understand such things," the younger male declared. "Anyone who appears uninvited outside the but of another in the middle of the night with weapons drawn can only mean mischief."

  "Why are you interested? The motivations of our visit remain a matter between us and the humans. It does not concern the Parramati."

  "But it does." The senior male was insistent. "You have come into our space."

  Essasu indicated the station. "The humans live in it."

  "By our leave. You do not have permission to enter. You must apply through the appropriate village. Your people have followed the appropriate procedures before and know them well."

  Barometric pressure continued to rise while Essasu's anger began to soar. For a moment he considered com­posing a formal apology and calling the whole business off. But sooner or later these three were bound to inform the two humans of the nocturnal intrusion. However much Essasu might deny it, upon receiving the informa­tion the pair of softskins would surely intensify their guard. And there was the little matter of the breach his techs had made in the station's security perimeter.

  He took a step forward, gesturing with the pistol. "Let us alone. We have business here that does not concern you." Unlike the neuronic pistols carried by two of his companions, the explosive projectile weapon in his hand would make no fine distinction between human or seni. He didn't want to kill these natives, but he was tired and running out of time.

  The three Parramati took an impressive hop backward and immediately raised objects in front of them. Expect­ing spears or knives, Essasu flinched, then relaxed. The natives held only samples of the familiar, etched glassy stones that formed such an important part of their kusum mythology. If thrown, they wouldn't make much of an impact.

  His voice gentle and reassuring, he addressed the trio's wary leader. "You are not really going to throw those at us, are you?"

  "The sacred stones are not for throwing," the senior native declared with dignity. He held out his own. "This is a road stone, and that‑“ He indicated the irregular mass reverently cradled by the other male. "‑ a stone of the earth."

  "A seeing stone." The female displayed her own mod­est burden.

  "Very interesting." Undertones of third‑degree humor crept into the commander's voice. The subtleties were lost on his audience, of course. "Then you should be able to see the path we intend to take."

  The native leader's lips rippled. "You must find an­other road. Yours does not come through this place."

  "Why do you care? Ah, yes. This business of your space."

  One of the techs impatiently shook water from her headgear. "Enough, Commander. Let us be done with this."

  "I agr
ee." Essasu raised his pistol. "We must finish what we came for, and I regret that your interference re­quires a response. All space is our space, and within it the AAnn go where they please."

  "This is not your road." So saying, the senior male turned his back on the commander. As a threatening ges­ture, it didn't carry much weight. Essasu aimed carefully and assumed that his companions were doing likewise. A single silent shot to the back of the head would end this unfortunate dialogue cleanly.

  All three Parrarnati tossed their stones into the air. They aimed them not at the scaly intruders but at one an­other. There were many times thereafter when Essasu carefully reviewed what had happened. It was very clear. It just wasn't very believable.

  Spinning through the night toward one another, the three stones appeared to slow. Silently they struck. In­stead of tumbling to the ground, they stuck and hovered, the resultant unified mass visibly altering its shape like the parts of a completed puzzle. A pale yellow‑green ef­florescence emanated from the amorphous lump, intensely bright in the darkness of the storm‑swept night.

  A disk appeared beneath the suspended mass. Several body‑lengths in diameter, it formed a translucent barrier between AAnn and Parramati. The reflective surface was bright with stars. Beyond, the natives could be seen huddled together and chanting softly.

  A projector of some kind, Essasu thought in disbelief. How had these primitives come by such a device? One of the techs was jogging his shoulder.

  "Commander? The storm is ending."

  "I know." He gestured. "Step through this. Shoot all three natives but do not damage their interesting device. We will take it back with us and let the appropriate spe­cialists examine it."

  Did the humans know anything about this? he found himself wondering. If so, all the more reason to eliminate them. An upward glance showed the station still quies­cent, its inhabitants still oblivious to the little drama be­ing played out below them. It wasn't surprising. The violence of the storm would have smothered the sounds of a small war.