The Howling Stones

  Did universes bicker? he wondered. Oblivious and in­different to what he thought of as life, did light do battle with the darkness? He'd always thought of the cosmos as a fractious place, but never before as a sinister one. The physical revelations and technological enlightenment for which he had embarked on his present journey seemed suddenly inconsequential. Everything seemed suddenly inconsequential.

  Careful, he told himself. That way lies the lassitude that leads to madness.

  Not long after he determined that he was likely to sur­vive the experience, he found himself returned. Plainly visible through the transparent walls, agitated Parramati rushed the emerging ovoid. Many were armed. Towering above them, Fawn was borne along in their midst.

  Moving, the capsule stopped. Sealed, it opened. Trying to rise, he found that he couldn't move. So tightly had he balled himself up that his legs had cramped in position.

  "Help me," he heard himself say. It was a pale shadow of his normal voice, but his voice it was. He was aston­ished at how relieved he was to hear it.

  Several big persons squeezed into the ovoid. Their arms and hands were not strong enough to lift him, but they used their powerful hind legs to gently push him out the aperture.

  "Pulickel? You can get up now." Fawn was there, star­ing down at him with a mixture of mistrust and concern. When she saw that he couldn't move, her misgivings vanished. "He's alive but there's something wrong with him," she said to Ascela, who stood close at hand. As the Parramati bent to assist her colleague, she carefully re­moved his pistol from its holster.

  They carried him away from the terminal and over to the edge of the meadow. With her support and that of the attendant natives, the errant xenologist slowly regained the use of his limbs.

  Behind and around them, the chanting had resumed. Not quite a dirge, it rode on a cadence that was noticeably slower than what had gone before. Boosted by his fellows, a big person from Mallatyah stood atop the glow­ing green terminal. As the others looked on, he removed a large center stone from the summit and passed it down to waiting hands.

  The piercing shaft of emerald light winked out. Near the base, the glassy ovoid sank back into the interior. One by one, the howling stones were detached from the re­markable structure they had formed and were distributed among the gathering, like a sugar cube being dissembled by ants. The resonant whine that had filled the meadow and reverberated through the surrounding trees faded to silence.

  The Goggelai was over.

  Clouds masked the moon, enhancing the importance of lanterns and torches. Fawn eyed her colleague reproach­fully. "Think you can walk?"

  Bending, he massaged his thighs. "I hope so. I'd like to walk. How do I look?"

  She squinted in the intermittent light. "Like you've been through hell."

  "Something like that." He looked behind him. "I see that they're taking the terminal apart. Good."

  "Good?" She frowned in confusion. "That's not what you were saying a little while ago. What made you change your mind?"

  Haunted eyes gazed back at her. "Being through hell. I will explain later, as best I can. There's a lot to explain. I got answers to questions, but they weren't the ones I wanted to ask." Turning, he started purposefully toward the shrinking mound that had been the terminal. "This is taking too long. Let's help them."

  She hesitated. "That may not be such a good idea. A number of them want to kill you. A few would like to kill me, as well."

  He nodded understandingly. "They can't hurt me. I've already died. If they don't do anything to me, I am cer­tain they will not harm you."

  She moved to join him. "You're very sure of yourself. What happened to you in there?"

  "A minor epiphany. I'm pretty sure I'm the same per­son I was when I left, but I believe that the basic model has suffered some improvements."

  They were not allowed to join in the dismantling. Be­fore they could reach the remnants of the terminal, they were surrounded by a cluster of excited big persons.

  "Do not try to talk to us again. We do not wish an al­liance, a treaty, with either you or the AAnn," the leader of the group declared loudly.

  Pulickel's response was an apologetic smile. "I know. We won't try to force one on you anymore." Fawn looked at him sharply but he ignored her. "You must do as kusum dictates, and we will abide by that."

  Clearly his response was not the one they had been ex­pecting. Gradually weapons were put up and much soft barking ensued. It was Jorana who finally spoke.

  "Be warned. You know the stones, but if any others of your kind come to study them, we will throw them into the deep sea."

  The stones, Pulickel wondered, or any newcomers? He hoped to avoid either eventuality. It was evident that the stones could be studied only with the aid and acqui­escence of the Parramati. Any further attempts to push the issue would result in the loss to science of the stones and all they represented. He wanted very much to learn more about them. He just didn't want to use them to go traveling.

  He'd done enough of that.

  The cluster of armed Parramati wavered. Pulickel jumped on their indecision. "I promise that if you let us go, neither I nor F'an will speak of this night to our big persons. No others will coarse‑at least, not for a long time. Let us stay and learn the ways of kusum. Isn't that what you want?"

  "We never tried to prevent it," Jorana responded. "It was only that you and the shiny‑skinned ones thought you knew better, that your ways were superior." Flash­ing, slitted eyes came close to exanune the xenologist's face. "I see that you now know otherwise."

  "I'm not sure about that," Pulickel replied, "but I do know that certain roads are meant to be avoided. F'an and I must follow our own kusum, but that does not mean we cannot learn from yours.

  "We will report that the Parramat Archipelago is not ready for development. Requests for mining concessions will be denied and actively discouraged. We will help you maintain your kusum."

  The Parramati discussed the xenologist's words. Though Pulickel listened intently, he was unable to decipher their overlapping dialogue. But their posture was no longer threatening, and he allowed himself to feel hopeful.

  Conversation ceased and Jorana turned to face the two humans. "We will accept this if F' an will guarantee it." The senior big person looked pointedly at Pulickel. "She has never broken her word to us."

  "Of course I guarantee it." She put a hand on Pulickel's shoulder and squeezed firmly. "I'll keep him in line."

  Now that the tension had been released, he couldn't re­press a grin. "I believe I would like that."

  Jorana's lips curled approvingly. "It is good that you finally recognize the truth of kusum." A three‑fingered hand reached for his own. "Now we can be friends again."

  The xenologist accepted the proffered fingers in the traditional entwined manner, having to strain his less flexible joints to accommodate those of the far more lim­ber seni. "I am sorry for what happened and for what I did. Sometimes if you want something badly enough, it can make you blind and dumb."

  Fatigue and the lateness of the hour led to the gradual breakup of the great gathering. Carrying their respective stones, individual big persons retired to their assigned longhouses and huts. Tomorrow, Fawn knew, the impres­sive armada of outriggers lined up on the beach below would once more put out to sea, swallowed up in ones and twos by the blue horizon on their way back to out­lying alien islands replete with unknown mysteries and exotic names.

  They slept in Torrelauapa that night. By midmorning, Pulickel avowed as how he thought he could manage the hike back to the station. Taking no chances, she moni­tored his vital signs at regular intervals. A couple of times he stumbled, but without injury. By the time they topped the last ridge he was near exhaustion.

  "I wonder," she hypothesized as they started down, "if the Parramati have the only correct view of existence and every other sentient species is wrong. Maybe we should all adopt their belief system."

  "Not if it means having to live by the rules of
the sa­cred stones." Pulickel spoke with feeling. "Learning their properties is one thing, letting them govern your exis­tence is another." He shook his head. "Too many sur­prises there."

  "If we don't report an occasional revelation, we'll be replaced here," she warned him.

  He wasn't worried. "We'll handle it. If we do things right, eventually Ophhlia authority will tire of reading pleasant nothings about the Parramat Archipelago and fo­cus on more fertile and accommodating island groups. We'll bore them with mildly entertaining but commercially unviable discoveries. Meanwhile we'll learn what we can about the stones."

  "And then?" she prompted him.

  He stepped carefully over a slippery spot. "I don't know, but I'm sure we'll find out." He smiled. "Kusum will tell us how to proceed."

  She frowned at him. "You sound like a convert. What happened in there? Did you have some kind of religious experience?"

  To her surprise, he took his time replying. "I don't know. I haven't decided yet if it's quantifiable. But I will let you know if and when I figure it all out."

  He wasn't joking, she saw. A ready quip sprang to mind, and then she remembered the expression that had been frozen on his face when they'd hauled him out of the ovoid. She decided, for now at least, to swallow the joke.

  She watched him carefully all the rest of that day and into the morning of the next. By breakfast time he was nearly his usual imperturbable, infuriating self.

  "How do you feel?" She picked at her reconstituted omelet.

  "Worn out, dizzy, utterly drained." He sipped at his juice. "Thoroughly ashamed of myself."

  "Forget it. The Parramati forgave you. I guess I can, too." She waved a utensil at him. "I understand tempta­tion. I gave in to it once. It wasn't profession‑related, but it did cost me a piece of myself."

  "Want to tell me about it?" he inquired solicitously.

  "No. Let's just say it had to do with the male need to triumph and conquer over all odds." She didn't look up at him.

  "Don't gender‑generalize me."

  "Why not?" Now she did look up. "It's one of those psychological components of human society that we'll never be able to rid ourselves of entirely. Deal with it. I've had to."

  "I think we should start with a growing stone," he said calmly, changing the subject. "A small one. From its study we can hopefully extrapolate and infer a great deal."

  "I'll speak to Ascela about it." Her comment was non­committal. "When the time is right." They ate for a while in silence before he spoke again.

  "I don't think it's going to matter if the howling stones are ever used to reassemble the terminal again or not. Be­cause they were shutting down the tunnel behind me. The engineers."

  "Shutting it down?" She eyed him uncertainly. "How do you `shut down' something like what we experienced? It's too big, it's‑"

  "Small," he told her. "Very small. In the scheme of things. On the scale of mega‑engineering. While they were doing it they sent me someplace else." The dark spot in his mind that wouldn't go away flared like burn­ing oil. "They wanted to show me something."

  "Is that what you meant before, when you spoke about being through hell?" Her tone was gentle.

  "It was the worst thing you can imagine. Universal evil. Or maybe a universe of evil, I don't know. All I do know is that I am glad no one will ever be able to access it from Senisran. The engineers are hiding from it. At least, that's the impression I received."

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  "I am not certain I do, either." He finished the last of his juice.

  "Why put a terminal on Senisran?" she wondered after a pause. "Why this world?"

  "Why not Senisran? Maybe you were right, Fawn, and there are disassembled terminals on other worlds. Now that we know what to look for, we might be able to find them." His voice fell. "I'm just not so sure that would be such a good idea. We might accidentally open a tunnel to the wrong place. To that place. Only when we know more about the stones, about how they function and on what levels, will humanxkind be able to think seriously about collecting howling stones and accessing tunnels."

  She nodded understandingly. "Other worlds will have to be searched, of course. It's the way we're made."

  46I know. But there are all kinds of searches. Vigilant and circumspect is best. To be safe, the knowledge must be restricted and access controlled."

  "I'm certainly not sorry I missed what you went through," she told him.

  "Yes. Be glad that you did. Try as I may, and believe me, I intend to, it's something that will never leave me. Each time I relive it, I will die a little. But there is some­thing I will always wonder about."

  Leaning back in her chair, she deliberately put her amazing legs up on the table for him to enjoy. "What's that?"

  "If the race we've been calling the engineers, with their sun‑girdling artificial worlds and plasma tunnels and black­hole energy vents, moved from here to there‑and why. Or if this galaxy, this universe, was just another way point in their travels. In their search."

  With effortless and unsurpassing grace, she crossed her legs. "Search? What kind of search?"

  Reluctantly he shifted his eyes away from the expanse of exposed flesh. "For a safe place."

  Swinging her feet to the floor and rising from her seat, she walked around the table until she was standing be­hind him. With great deliberation, she put one hand on his forehead and eased him back against her. She could not see him close his eyes, but she could hear him sigh.

  "The Parramati are right about one thing, Pulickel To­mochelor. Each of us picks his or her own road. Me, I choose not to worry about whether one universe is bat­tling for dominance over another, or over several." She stroked his brow, enjoying the slight but solid weight of him against her. "For a long time I wasn't sure that I liked you. Then I wasn't sure what was going to happen to this installation, or to us. Now I'm not entirely sure what I want to do next."

  His voice was easy now, relaxed. "You're not sure of very much, are you?"

  "What do you expect? I'm human." He sensed rather than saw her smile. "It's my kusum."

  Epilogue

  In another space, in another place unimaginably far away and incalculably difficult to reach, the Xunca considered what had happened. They would not interfere, of course. They had fled for reasons that could not be compromised and in the quiet interval that resulted had raised their civilization to heights greater than even they had once thought possible.

  Others were not so fortunate. The Xunca monitored them, and so knew. But they never interfered, limiting their concern to their own safety and well‑being. They could do nothing for others lest they pique the interest of the thing. If that happened, they would be forced to move again, and that was no longer such a simple matter. Be­sides, they had grown fond of their current cosmos.

  They were confident but frightened, assured but afraid. Perhaps some day their science would reach a level that would enable them to deal finally with the ancient neme­sis. Until then they could only live, and strive, and hide. Lesser civilizations would have to fend for themselves.

  In their observations they had made note of one excep­tion. Unpretentious and easy to overlook, it was so ex­travagantly different even they failed to understand it. Whether it could affect the thing they did not know. It seemed unlikely, but it was such an anomaly that nothing could be ruled out. Or ruled in.

  So they continued to watch and monitor and observe. Not out of concern for the survival of the anomaly's species, or out of any elevated sense of altruism, but be­cause despite their grand and unparalleled accomplish­ments, they had not lost the curiosity that had raised them to their present lofty level of accomplishment.

  Also, they were lonely.

  Commonwealth Chronology

  (NOTE: Where "c" is used, the date given is approximate.)

  1 billion B.C.

  The Xunca are at their height. They discover something connected with the Great Emptiness and begin setting up their transmitte
r network.

  400 mill B.C.

  The Xunca create the Groalamason Ocean on Horseye and modify the or­ bits of the planet's moons. They set up a transmitting station in the polar ice cap. A minor relay station is set up on Terra, but is destroyed by con­tinental drift. A Mutable is stationed on every planet set up with a compo­nent of the system.

  950,000

  Hur'rikku begin to explore from the Galactic Center.

  501,000

  The Vom arrives on the last world it will devour. It has destroyed all life on about a thousand worlds.

  500,000

  The Tar‑Aiym Empire is at its height. The Vom, contacted by the Tar‑Aiym, panics and destroys the investigating fleet. The Tar‑Aiym send a robot fleet to contain the Vom. Peot becomes the Guardian and is placed in orbit around the Vom's planet.

  499,000

  Tar‑Aiym contact the Hur'rikku; war is begun.

  480,000

  After enduring several attempts to be forced into the Tar Aiym Empire, the Hur'rikku threaten to use their anti­collapsar weapon on Tar‑Aiym worlds. The Tar‑Aiym begin intensive weap­ons research. The Krang is built on Booster. The fleet guarding the Vom is called away to help in the war with the Hur'rikku, leaving only a few ships and the Guardian.

  479,000

  "Living" photonic storm, released by the Tar‑Aiym as a plague, decimates all intelligent life in the area, includ­ing the Tar‑Aiym and Hur'rikku. A dying race on the edge of the plague area broadcasts a warning, so an in­ formal quarantine is created. This area becomes the Blight.

  97,000

  Alaspinian civilization is at its height. Alaspinians explore more space than that contained by the Commonwealth, but don't establish settlements