The Howling Stones

  "As easy as that," she muttered.

  "Yes," he replied defiantly, "as easy as that. We'll use the tunnels to travel wherever we wish. I'm not saying that the process will be simple, or immediate, but it will happen."

  "I'm not so sure." She took a step toward him. "I really think maybe it would be better to let the Parramati take charge of these stones. They'll keep them safe, and some­day the humanx will discover the secrets of the tunnels on its own. When we're ready."

  "We stand on the threshold of the discovery of the ages and you stand there spouting Luddite cliches. " He eyed her pityingly.

  She was not to be moved. "I just believe in taking exis­tence one universe at a time."

  He backed up until he was standing next to the ovoid "Come with me, Fawn."

  "Come with you? Come with you where?" She watched him warily. "What are you thinking now?"

  "We'll go back. Instead of racing about aimlessly we'll find some way to make contact. Draw attention to our­selves. It is the right thing to do. You'll see. I have so many questions ... "

  "Too many questions. I'm sorry, Pulickel, but you're wrong about this. Let the Parramati dismantle the termi­nal. Then we'll talk. I'm having enough trouble trying to deal with this one world without having to worry about thousands. Let's see if the humanx can get a proper handle on this one comer of this one galaxy before we expose it to a few thousand others we know nothing about and may not be able to handle. Somehow I don't think that we and the thranx are the only intelligent species with an agenda for advancement."

  He stared at her in disbelief, tight‑lipped and quivering with anger and frustration. Had she lost her mind or just gone troppo? She'd been too long alone in this place.

  Finally he would get the recognition he deserved. Government‑wide, society‑wide recognition; not just piddling little promotions in the aftermath of each assign­ment successfully carried out. He would have anything he wanted. This would make him the most famous scien­tist in the Commonwealth, placing him on a level with Newton and Einstein and Kurita. And his colleague, his friend, wanted to consign it all to the care of a group of heavy‑legged aboriginal aliens, who in their turn would reduce it to a pile of useless, inert green rocks.

  Absurd, unthinkable, mad. He would not be denied.

  He had only once used the pistol that was part of his field kit. It was intended for defense against Senisran's less benevolent species. But he'd carried similar devices on other worlds and was no stranger to their function. They were tools, nothing more. With‑careful deliberation he removed it from its holster.

  "... and that's why we‑" Fawn was telling Ascela and Jorana when she saw the gun. She stopped in mid­sentence, her eyes widening. Pulickel had seen her surprised before, but never shocked. A first time for everything, he told himself.

  "What ... do you think you are doing?"

  "You know, Fawn, a man waits all his fife for one big chance, one real opportunity to rise above the crowd, to distinguish himself from the herd. To take it and fail is bad, but not to take it at all is a hundred times worse." It felt good to give voice to his feelings. He might not con­vince her, but he was certainly convincing himself.

  "Most people never get that chance. I've spent a career toiling for the Department, doing good work but not great work, receiving commendations but not accolades. When the media want comments on the division's inner workings, I'm never the one they interview. When proce­dural decisions are made, I'm not the one consulted. I'm a valuable functionary, but nothing more. Well, I'm tired of being a cog."

  She did her best to reassure him, but she wasn't smil­ing. "Take away one cog and the whole machine stops."

  "Nice try. Please don't come any closer, Ascela." The big person had taken a short hop toward the diminutive xenologist. Now she retreated. Fawn had demonstrated the effectiveness of modern weapons for the Torrelaua­pans on several occasions. Ascela herself had seen a pis­tol cut a revavuaa in half. She passed a warning along to the increasingly restless big persons nearby.

  Retreating slowly, Pulickel used his left hand to feel behind him for the entrance to the ovoid. "Please keep back. It would distress me greatly if I had to shoot anyone."

  Fawn just stared at him. "Don't do this, Pulickel. You're not feeling well."

  "On the contrary, I feel fine. Very much alive, thank you. Exhilarated, even. I'm going back, Fawn. By my­self, it seems. I'm going to try to make contact, to learn as much as I can, and then I am returning. I will see that you receive due credit for your degree of participation in this seminal exploration."

  Watching the weapon, she chanced a couple of steps in his direction. "You need to come back to the station with me, Pulickel. You need to rest. I'll take care of you." Striking a pose, she bestowed on him the most inviting, sexy smile in her considerable but infrequently unveiled arsenal. "Come with me, and we'll talk it over."

  "Just stay back, Fawn." The pistol didn't waver. "Tell everyone to keep away." This wasn't as difficult as he feared. Unable to see over the heads and ears of their tightly packed brethren, most of the Parramati were un­aware of what was going on.

  Still pointing the gun, he climbed backward into the ovoid and sat down. It was easier now. They could only come at him from one direction. As he tried to watch Fawn and the nearest big persons simultaneously, it oc­curred to him that he was going to look very foolish if this time the device didn't react to his presence and noth­ing happened.

  Her expression a mix of hurt and anger, Fawn moved to converse with Ascela. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but they glanced frequently in his direction. Let them look all they wanted, he thought grimly. He was snug and secure within the ovoid.

  It was all bluff, of course. He couldn't shoot anyone. But the Parramati did not know that, and Fawn didn't know him well enough to count on it. Especially if she thought he'd gone off the deep end. By the time she reached the conclusion that he was incapable of harming another intelligent being, he would be long gone. Or so he hoped.

  As he sat pondering, the pistol positioned loosely be­tween his knees, the entrance sealed over. The sensation of movement returned and the outside world darkened as for the second time the ovoid slid backward into the ter­minal. Outside, he could see Fawn shouting at him and gesticulating. No sound penetrated his shelter.

  He smiled to himself. Throughout his career, his offi­cial reports had been models of precision and organi­zation. The one he intended to file from Torrelau would top them all. It had to, since it was destined to be filed alongside On the Origin of Species, A General Theory of Relativity, and Proposals for a Special Gravitational Al­gorithm for Space‑Plus Routing.

  For a second time that night blackness enveloped the ovoid. Vibration increased.

  He was on his way.

  Chapter Twenty

  It seemed to take a little longer than the first time until the capsule burst out into the realm of fiery plasma tun­nels and rampant rivers of channeled energy. Having some idea of what to expect, he was able to devote more time to studious observation and less to slack jawed amazement.

  After a while the tunnels began to fall from view, ex­actly as before, until only the one down which he was racing remained. Arching sharply to the left, it punched back into the star‑rich region that had so entranced him and his fellow travelers previously.

  Somewhat to his own surprise, he recognized several systems and structures in passing. But then, he'd always been good at recording details for future analysis, and when some of those "details" were the size of entire worlds, they tended to remain firmly in memory.

  He saw new megastructures, as well, and marveled afresh at the skills of those who had fashioned them. Whoever these beings were, they had mastered the art of materials science, for art it had to be called. They had bent matter to their needs. He made notes using the old­fashioned stylus and paper he always carried in his pack, and sketched as best he could. That human technology, at least, seemed to function without difficulty in t
his place.

  Unexpectedly, the incredible starfield began to shift less rapidly around him. He was slowing, much sooner than on the previous journey. Putting up his writing materials, he turned within the ovoid. No immediate changes were visible, but then, the smooth interior offered little that was subject to alteration.

  External motion ceased. All about him, channeled plasma roared silently. The capsule came to, as near as he could tell in the absence of suitable reference points, a complete stop.

  While he did not panic, his curiosity was underscored by a growing tension. What if something had gone wrong? As ancient as the system was, it was not unreasonable to expect that individual components would break down from time to time. It was a dazzling, resplendent place to be marooned, but he could die here as readily as in total darkness. As alone as it was possible for a human being to be, he sat and meditated and waited‑ for something to happen.

  Only the sharp curve of the tunnel allowed him to see the object as it approached. Though a long way off, he was able to determine that it was definitely moving toward him. Immense beyond imagining, the star‑treading torus was fringed with an exotic and unrecognizable assort­ment of protrusions and bulges. It was accompanied by a flotilla of other craft that darted and drifted about it like worker ants attending to their queen. The least of these vessels was far larger than the biggest KK‑drive ship ever built.

  The plasma tunnel down which he had been racing was rapidly vanishing into the exact center of the toroidal wanderer. It did not reemerge on the other side. One did not have to be an alien mega‑engineer to understand what was happening.

  The road‑builders were taking up the pavement.

  Where the tunnel disappeared there flared an aurora the size of the Earth. Energy was not consumed so much as it was shifted. Unable in any way to affect his own destiny, he stared, enthralled, as the torus maintained its methodical advance. If it did not stop before it reached him, both he and the ovoid would vanish in an insignifi­cant puff of ruptured particles.

  Then he was no longer alone. Vehicles too small to be seen at a distance, which had been dwarfed by the torus and its support craft, were suddenly hovering close by, just outside the raging tunnel wall. As the conduit col­lapsed around him, he was able to make out more of the big‑eyed, smooth‑skinned creatures he and his compan­ions had glimpsed so briefly on their previous visit. His earlier impressions were confirmed. Physically, at least, these creatures . were decidedly unprepossessing. Slight of stature, they were small beings with big machines, and they were closing down the Parramati tunnel. All because of him?

  Their aversion to uninvited guests could no longer be denied.

  While several of the small superfast craft remained nearby, allowing their occupants to study him, others vanished, presumably returning to the vicinity of the ad­vancing torus. He found that he was starting to sweat. Though he'd faced death on more than one world, it re­mained a confrontation he did not relish.

  A jolt sharp enough to knock him backward rattled the ovoid. Acceleration resumed. Gathering himself, he saw that the torus had begun to recede. Or more likely, he from it. His sanctuary had been thrust into reverse. At the whim of alien engineers, he was going to live a little while longer.

  Several of the small craft tracked his withdrawal, par­alleling the ovoid as it retraced its path back up the tun­nel. Though he felt he was moving more slowly than before, he soon lost sight of the plasma‑consuming torus. When eventually the starfield vanished to be replaced by the Gordian knot of intertwined tunnels, so did his escort.

  For all their inconceivable physical accomplishments, the engineers had struck him as a timid species. It was an impression, a sensation, that ran deeper than a few brief visual contacts ought to have been able to convey, but no less tangible for that. As tangible as the feeling that they didn't want anything to do with him or with his kind.

  Though he couldn't be certain from what he'd seen, it seemed that they were in the process of closing down the tunnel permanently. Privacy and isolation were one thing, paranoia was another. Had the entire gigantic apparatus required to shut down the tunnel been brought into use only since his prior journey in the ovoid? Had that visit set off some kind of alarm? Certainly these cosmos ­spanning beings couldn't be that frightened of him.

  The corollaries were unsettling. They implied that there was something else to be afraid of. Something that on the basis of a tiny, insignificant intrusion would drive beings like these not just to close off but to break down a construct as complex as the plasma tunnel, to eliminate it from the fabric of existence. From within the safety of the ovoid he had seen many wonders. What was out there that he had not seen?

  What was out there that so terrified these masters of matter?

  The rationale for the terminal's original dissipation was clear enough. Its makers no longer had need of it and did not want it used. Its components had been taken apart and scattered, perhaps in haste. Evolving subsequently, primi­tive Parramati had learned that when combined, certain stones had useful consequences. By far the most complex of these combinations resulted in the auto‑reconstitution of the Senisran terminal. No doubt the engineers hadn't counted on anyone discovering the component stones, much less their inherent recombinant capabilities.

  Among other things, it suggested that they had left in haste. That, too, was not a pleasant thought.

  The blackness returned, blotting out his view of other tunnels and rampaging energies. In contrast to previous journeying, the ride became bumpy and uneven. Once, a violent wrenching to the right slammed him against the opposite wall of the ovoid. Dazed, he lay on the floor, trying to focus on the rose‑hued ceiling. How far behind him the consuming torus lay he did not know, but clearly its operation was affecting the entire length of the tunnel.

  He found himself wondering if it would collapse com­pletely before he made it back to Senisran.

  The ovoid began to slow and he relaxed. Any moment now, he knew, it would start to emerge from the terminal, the end would open, and he would step out to rejoin Fawn and the waiting big persons. Feeling suddenly ashamed, he knew he owed all of them a general apology. Blinded by the light of potential discovery, he had acted in haste and, not to put too fine a point on it, rather badly. He de­termined to make things right with the Parramati as well as with his dismayed associate.

  The capsule came to a halt. Outside the transparent walls, darkness continued to reign supreme. No soft moon­light, no welcoming lanterns illuminated his anxious expression. He could see outside, but only into varying degrees of blackness. A feeling of dread crept over him.

  He had been here before.

  On the fringes, on the edge, on the half‑safe periphery only, he sensed. This time penetration was different, deeper, darker. He had traveled to the place where thrived the worst nightmares of childhood, the threat of oblivion, purgatory, and damnation.

  They had sent him here, he realized as he tried to shrink back inside himself. The alien engineers had put him on course to this place, perhaps shunting the ovoid onto another tunnel. He'd been wondering what made them so uneasy, so apprehensive of visitation.

  Beware what questions you formulate, he thought feebly, for you may get answers.

  Bringing up his knees, he drew himself into a tight fe­tal ball with his soul in the center. Only the faint pink glow that emanated from the capsule walls kept him sane, gave him something to focus on. Though the tunnel that had brought him to this place remained intact, even the burning plasma of its substance was overwhelmed and subdued by the monstrous, invasive darkness that seemed to be everywhere and everything. While his senses fed him perceptions he didn't want, his mind conjured images he was unable to banish.

  Something was out there. A formless form, it was grow­ing curious about the microscopic intrusion in its midst. He wanted to scream but feared provoking more intimate attention. He was also afraid that when he opened his mouth nothing would emerge. While the composition of the Presence
remained unknown to him, he had no doubt as to its active nature.

  It was Evil.

  His mind shrank from confrontation, from contem­plation. Once there might have been stars in this place. Suns, planets, people not unlike humans or seni or even alien mega‑engineers. All gone now, all vanished; beaten down, overwhelmed, smothered by the darkness that oc­cupied this space. There was only one of it, he sensed, and it was everywhere.

  It wanted more. It wanted totality, and was relentless in its search for pathways and conduits to other places. Tunnels, Pulickel told himself. It possessed no directing intelligence, no mindful purpose. It was a disease, a cosmotic pathogen, aimless and blind as a bacterium, and it had to be isolated. Vaster than imagination, it relentlessly consumed galaxies, whole universes, engulfing them like trophies, snuffing out the light of stars and intelligence, leaving behind not so much as a breath of interstellar hy­drogen to begin the life‑reaction anew.

  This, Pulickel knew, was what the engineers were so afraid of. They had used the tunnels to flee. He understood.

  Perhaps his understanding triggered some mental ­mechanical subset of a kind he could not understand, or possibly it had all been carefully timed. The engineers could not only build: they were also capable of compas­sion. They would show him this thing, but they would not leave even one intelligent being to it. To do so would have been to violate their own rationale for existence.

  Besides which, the dead could not lead by example.

  A mindless gibbering Something reached out to flay his soul, but he was already beyond its reach. The ovoid was moving again, carrying him away from that place of aversion and loathing, picking up speed as it fled. The doors of his mind, which had shut tight in self‑defense, began to reopen. Cold sweat plastered shirt and shorts to his skin.

  He'd been exposed to only an insignificant portion of It, he knew, for a minuscule length of time, and that was too much.

  It felt as if days had passed, but in reality it had been only minutes. He'd returned full of questions to the universe of the engineers, and had received one answer too many. Now he wanted only to get away, to go home. Home was Earth, but Senisran would do. Anyplace there was light and life would do.