Alan Dean Foster - Humanx 6 - The howling stones

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Author: Alan Dean Foster
Title: The Howling Stones
Series: A Novel of the Humanx Commonwealth
Series No: Flinx 08
Original copyright year: 1997
Genre: Science Fiction
Date of e-text: 12/23/2000
Prepared by:
Last Revised: / /
Revised by:
Version: 1.0
Comments: Download both lit and txt version.
Please correct any errors you find in this e-text,
update the txt file's version number and redistribute.
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By Alan Dean Foster : Published by Ballantine Books:
The Icenggger Trilogy
ICERIGGER
MISSION TO MOULOKIN
THE DELUGE DRIVERS
The Adventures of Flinx of the Commonwealth
FOR LOVE OF MOTHER-NOT
THE TAR-AIYM KRANG
ORPHAN STAR
THE END OF THE MATTER
FLINX IN FLUX
MID-FLINX
BLOODHYPE
THE HOWLING STONES
The Damned
Book One: A CALL TO ARMS
Book Two: THE FALSE MIRROR
Book Three: THE SPOILS OF WAR
THE BLACK HOLE CACHALOT
DARK STAR THE METROGNOME and Other Stories
MIDWORLD NOR CRYSTALTEARS
SENTENCED TO PRISM SPLINTER OF THE MIND'S EYE
STAR TREK@ LOGS ONE-TEN VOYAGE TO THE CITY OF THE DEAD
WITH FRIENDS LIKE THESE . . . ... WHO NEEDS ENEMIES?
MAD AMOS PARALLELITIES*
* forthcoming
Books published by The Ballantine Publishing Group are available at quantity discounts on bulk
purchases for premium, educational, fund-raising, and special sales use. For details, please call
1-500-733-3000.
*******************************************************
Sale of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may
have been reported to the publisher as "unsold or destroyed" and neither the author nor the
publisher may have received payment for it.
A Del Rey(c) Book Published by Ballantine Books Copyright O 1997 by Thranx, Inc.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the
United States by Ballantine Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously
in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
http://www.randomhouse.com
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 97-92418
ISBN 0-345-40645-1
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Printed in Canada
First Hardcover Edition: January 1997
First Mass Market Edition: January 1998
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3
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Chapter One
People tended to overlook Pulickel Tomochelor in a crowd. It was something he'd grown used to.
He'd always been overlooked: in academia, in sports, at social gatherings. Only a few unusually
perceptive instructors had taken note of his singular abilities. These he'd paid close attention
to, and by cleaving to them, he had been correspondingly raised up.
His accomplishments were never spectacular but always solid, satisfying without standing out. He
was, in short, that most valued of all commodities in both business and government: the reliable
employee without a personal agenda.
And yet there was enough there, determination compensating for lack of brilliance, for him to be
called upon more than once to deal with problems that others could not solve. Where they could not
succeed, Pulickel Tomochelor invariably produced results. From this he took, as was his manner, a
quiet instead of boisterous satisfaction. Not for him a plethora of medals or awards, not for him
applause during multiple personal appearances or the rapt attention of the media. A commendation
in his official record was recognition enough. Nor did he disdain the occasional bonus.
There had been a woman once, too, to offer praise and support. She had moved on, leaving behind a
confusion of memories leavened with vague dissatisfaction. Domesticity was the sole task at which
he had failed; the only matter left inconclusive in his life. It rankled and left him unfulfilled
inside. As with the responsibility, the fault was not entirely his, but it ate at him nonetheless.
He stored it in a far recess of his mind and moved on, concentrating on his work and his career,
which by all accounts were far more successful than any selective component of his personal life.
Keeping busy was part of it. His schedule allowed little time in which to develop a social life,
much less raise a family, and the nature of his work mitigated against longterm relationships. It
was hard enough to sustain intimacy when one was sent to different parts of the same world and
well-nigh impossible when constantly on the move from world to world.
Other men and women managed to establish and maintain long-term unions, but they usually worked
together. Pulickel preferred to operate alone, with his thoughts his sole companion. Or so he
frequently strove to persuade himself. While the sociology of other beings opened for him like
ripening fruit, the actions and reactions of representatives of the opposite gender of his own
species remained as impenetrable as the core of a neutron star, and often weighed on him equally
as heavy.
There was a lurch as the shuttle skewed sideways and the pilot's voice sounded apologetically over
the cabin speaker. A couple of passengers grumbled. Senisran being a frontier world, there weren't
many of them. Save for a few barely developed diplomatic communities and a smattering of isolated
scientific outposts linked by satellite relay, the world expanding in the viewport off to his left
was populated solely by a substantial but scattered native population. The locals raised no
objections to the relay system because they couldn't see it and didn't know it was there anyway,
their knowledge of astronomy being limited to that which could be observed by the naked seni eye.
Pulickel shifted in his seat as much as the landing harness would allow. He was shorter than the
Commonwealth average, slim but well built, his olive-hued skin reflective of his ethnic heritage.
His features were small, fine even, and distinctly non-threatening. Similar in appearance to the
superb wood carvings his Javanese ancestors had turned out in quantity, he revealed his inner
humanity only when he smiled, his teeth a slash of perfect white like an ivory inlay set among
paduk wood. He did not turn the eyes of attractive women, but neither did they find him
displeasing to look upon. His desert-dry personality generally took care of any initial interest,
filtered through speech that was always proper, polite, and reflective of an advanced education.
His eyes were small, black, and active, his hair black, long, and combed straight back. Pressed as
if in preparation for a formal dinner, his field shorts and short-sleeved shirt collapsed in a
jumble of angles against the less disciplined curves of his body. An experienced traveler, he'd
brought one case only. It rested snug in back, in the cargo bay, and if properly looked after
contained everything he would need no matter the length of his stay.
He spared yet another glance for the attractive middleaged woman seated on the aisle two rows in
front of him. It was always difficult when they were taller than you, he reflected, and many were.
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Unfortunately, he did not possess the drive necessary to overcome his perceived handicap. As a
result, he had not spoken to her since boarding, and doubtless would not speak to her when they
disembarked. Experience had shown him that attractive single women preferred their men tall,
muscular, slightly uglified, and dangerous. He was none of those things.
With a sigh he turned to the port and studied the atmosphere through which the shuttle was
dropping rapidly. One day he'd find someone, he told himself. One day when he had time to look and
his work didn't interfere. Meanwhile he would have to content himself with the accolades of
superiors and colleagues, which he received in ample quantity.
The sky outside darkened and Pulickel thought immediately of inclement weather. Again the shuttle
bounced and for a second time the pilot was apologizing.
"Sorry. We just ran past a flock of cemacerotic gliders. At least, that's what I'm told they were.
Minor evasive maneuvers were in order. We're descending and now they're slightly above us and to
port. Those of you on that side may still be able to see them."
Everyone on the left side of the shuttle leaned up against their respective ports. Among the thick
clouds overhead could be seen rapidly vanishing flaps of vast membranous wings. Pulickel recalled
his weeks of study prep on Senisran and its natives, flora, and fauna. The cemacerotic gliders
were enormous aerial fliers who lived by skimming the surface of Senisran's seas for plankton size
life-forms, straining them through gigantic beaks that were lined with a substance not unlike the
baleen of a whale. Living in small colonies on the peaks and crags of the highest islands, they
were inoffensive, harmless creatures-unless one happened to run into you. Such accomplished
soarers were they that some biologists suspected they often circumnavigated the globe without ever
touching land.
Recently discovered Senisran was an ocean planet, not unlike the long-settled and well-known
Cachalot. In lieu of any continental landmasses, the globe-girdling seas were spotted with
thousands upon thousands of islands: some isolated, some clustered tightly together, most strung
out like the strands of broken necklaces in hundreds of individual archipelagoes. A few were
sizable but none especially impressive, the largest being about half the size of Earth's
Madagascar. All save the northern- and southernmost were hot, though the humidity varied with
location and latitude. There were no polar ice caps on Senisran.
On these innumerable island groupings dwelt the native population, organized into hundreds of
different tribes, clans, associations, and alliances, each with its own government, social system,
religion, and morality. It was this riot of cultural diversity that made formal contact between
offworlders and locals a difficult and time-consuming proposition. Not only was a planetary
government nonexistent, the aboriginal seni had yet to conceive of the idea of nation-states. In
some cases, on small isolated islands, visitors making contact were reduced to signing treaties
with the representatives of individual extended families, whereupon they would have to begin
negotiations all over again with the inhabitants of the next island.
As if things weren't complicated enough, Senisran had been discovered simultaneously by the
Commonwealth and the AAnn Empire. The result was that both sides had representatives on the
planet, each attempting to secure covenants of friendship and alliance with as many of the native
governments as possible. On a number of island clusters, contact teams operated in direct
competition with one another. It was a frustrating, time-consuming process made all the more
difficult by the sense of competition that existed between contact teams.
Local arrangements complicated matters even further. Humanx and AAnn representatives sometimes
found themselves expected to go to war with neighboring islanders as soon as they formalized a
treaty with a set of new friends, who, it subsequently developed, had formal alliances with three
other island groups, but not the one just over the horizon. Or ancient family quarrels entered
into the negotiating process. There was nothing straightforward about any of it.
Which was one reason why Pulickel had been sent for.
Neither the Commonwealth nor the Empire would take up arms on behalf of any native. That was
strictly against the rules of contact agreed upon by both sides. They could only stand by and
watch helplessly as treaties settled through arduous and difficult negotiation frequently came
apart under the strain of local conflict, whereupon all would have to be completely renegotiated
from scratch. It was a diplomatic nightmare, none of which would have had any ramifications beyond
those tribes immediately involved save for two things: Senisran was strategically located in a
region claimed both by the Commonwealth and the Empire, and it offered an assortment of valuable
commodities actually worth transporting through space-plus. It was valuable both from a politico-
military and commercial standpoint.
Certainly the natives were willing to cement formal contracts and to open trade, he mused as the
shuttle began its final approach. According to all the reports he'd perused, only a few island
groups were openly hostile to outside contact. Since these more hostile natives expressed an equal
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dislike for humans, thranx, and AAnn, they could for now be passed over. They, too, would come
around once they saw the advantages that accrued to- their neighbors through contact with more
technologically advanced off-world civilizations.
With Senisran boasting a planetwide insufficiency of flat, dry land, the shuttle set down on
unsinkable pontoons, momentarily disappearing within a traveling fountain of its own making. As
the craft slowed, Pulickel considered how best to acquire an assortment of the remarkable native
handicrafts for which the semi were rapidly becoming known. He'd promised at least a dozen
colleagues back home a representative sample each. Original art was one commodity that technology
had yet to supplant and was therefore an item highly amenable to interstellar trade.
It being an ancient truism that commerce treads hard on the heels of exploration, many of the
great Commonwealth trading houses already had representatives at work on Senisran. Dozens of
others pressed the appropriate government departments for access credentials, eager to trade with
the locals for their exquisite wood, shell, and bone carvings, necklaces, and sculpture. It seemed
as if every island group had its own distinctive style, each more striking and beautiful than the
next. The acquisitive AAnn were no less enthusiastic. Such trade was carefully regulated, lest the
semi procure technology too advanced for their society to absorb.
In addition to an astonishing range of handicrafts, Senisran also offered an expanding selection
of unique comestibles. The well-off of Earth, New Riviera, and other sophisticated worlds were and
had always been willing to pay outrageous prices for new tastes, new sensations. Any dozen half-
competent companies could introduce new electronic gadgets onto the market, but a new fruit or
vegetable was infinitely more valuable.
It was endlessly frustrating to the backlog of commercial interests to have to wait for official
contact to be established with each island or island group, but it was the responsibility of
Commonwealth authority to see to it that trade and interchange proceeded smoothly and without
acrimony. Commerce was not allowed to proceed until a point scout had established formal relations
with the group of natives in question. First-person first-contact was a delicate and sensitive
undertaking that called for highly trained individuals with plenty of experience.
Individuals like Pulickel Tomochelor.
He was a specialist's specialist, whose talents were in demand throughout the frontier. As there
was only one of him, his time had to be rationed. He had devoted his career to unraveling
seemingly insoluble conundrums. As a consequence of his success, it was going on ten years since
he'd been given anything resembling an easy assignment. He didn't mind. It made his personal sense
of satisfaction all the greater.
He smiled to himself as the shuttle turned to port and entered the harbor at Ophhlia, the
principal Humanx base on Senisran. In exchange for its use, the increasingly sophisticated locals
received a hefty monthly fee. A ridge of high mountains ran from east to west along the midline of
the sizable island, protecting the harbor and its thriving facilities from the daily cloudbursts
that blew up out of the south.
Personally, Pulickel always sympathized with the confusion that was common to undecided native
groups, who were by far in the majority. Beset by endless requests and frequently contradictory
promises from two different sides and species, whom were they to believe: human or AAnn? From the
native viewpoint, who held the real power and offered the most benefits? With whom should they
ally themselves? In such critical negotiations, the skill of each side's on-site negotiator was
paramount.
Where Pulickel shone was in his ability to understand alien cultures and an alien point of view.
He might never reach the exalted rank of Counselor, but in another ten years or so he could see
himself in charge of the entire xenology department, passing judgment on the reports of others and
handing out assignments from a spacious office high atop the Science Tower in Denpasar. Solving
the problem for which he'd been sent to Senisran would serve to carry him a few steps farther
toward that goal.
The distant whistle from the shuttle's engines faded as it coasted to a stop inside the enclosed,
climate controlled landing dock. Though they were now in a sealed environment, the climate
processors could only mute the heat and humidity, not eliminate them entirely. Suitable comments
were exchanged among the passengers as they disembarked. Pulickel kept silent, measuring the
conditions against what he'd been led to expect.
Through the transparent tube that encased the walkway, disembarking passengers could see the
shuttle floating behind them on brilliantly clear water. Beyond the polarized, diffusing material,
tropical sunlight illuminated the jumble of low-rise buildings that comprised orderly Ophhlia. It
flashed green off the mountaintops beyond. Even within the disembarkation lounge, the pervading
smell was of damp green growing things: the musk of fresh soil. Inside, the treated, mechanically
massaged atmosphere was cool but heavy.
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He gave a mental shrug. He'd spent time on more than a dozen alien worlds, some hotter, some
colder, a few where the atmosphere would kill anyone who tried to breathe it. Compared to the
average, the air of Senisran felt like home. After the long journey out from Earth, he was eager
to leave the shallow trappings of imported civilization behind and get out into the field. He
looked forward to it much as another man might look forward to a date.
"Tomochelor?" A rough-looking, stocky, heavily bearded individual broke from the small crowd to
block Pulickel's path. He wore a duty uniform of green shorts, shirt, and sandals. Insignia
decorated his sleeves and shoulders. "Eric Train. On behalf of the department, welcome to
Senisran." He extended a hand and flagged Pulickel's up and down. "No hand luggage?"
"No. I just have the one case."
"That'll be waiting for you in the baggage area." He turned and Pulickel fell in step alongside
him. "I've seen your schedule. You have a couple of days here in town before you have to head out
to the site. I'd be glad to show you around."
"I'd enjoy that." Actually, Pulickel wasn't sure that he would, but he'd learned early on in his
career that when traveling, no amount of research, no matter how thorough, could substitute for
the knowledge of someone local. While Train was exposing him to the few simple pleasures Ophhlia
had to offer, Pulickel would patiently pump him for more practical information.
"How was your flight?"
"Like any KK-drive journey. Pleasant enough. Quiet and busy. I had plenty of time to study and to
work with the language synapse. It's a long way from Earth." They left the busy main atrium and
turned down a side corridor. "I must say that based on everything I've read I don't quite see why
my presence is so actively required."
Train put a comradely arm around the other man's shoulders, a gesture that Pulickel disliked but
had grown used to. "Let's just say that Parramat's a special problem that needs a specialist's
attention." The newly arrived xenologist knew as much but politely allowed Train the pleasure of
explication.
The terminal was busier than Pulickel expected. Though Senisran was a far-off, recently discovered
world, Ophhlia was a busy place. Things were happening here.
"After the initial contacts," Train was saying, "the xenology department was able to put together
a few basic contact templates. With minor variations for individual island groupings these have
worked pretty well-until Parramat. "
"So all the reports say." Pulickel commented only to show that he was paying attention.
"But these Parramati, they're different." Train was shaking his head dolefully. "Not physically,
of course. As far as appearance, physical ability, and intelligence, they're no different from any
of the other seni. By the way, except for the overtly warlike tribes, the natives are nice folks-
for semihumanoid aboriginal aliens. And even the most aggressive tribes are usually ready to sit
down and have a chat or share a meal before they paddle off to bash somebody else's heads in.
"Generally speaking, we're getting along well with them. Staying a few jumps ahead of the AAnn.
You know the lizards: they tend to be kind of impatient, whereas the seni are a species that likes
to take its time. It reflects the nature of their environment. That's not to say that if we
weren't here that every one of them wouldn't readily align themselves with the AAnn."
Pulickel nodded. The AAnn were always in a hurry, expecting a yes-or-no answer to a question the
first time it was asked. Establishing formal relations with new species often required a good deal
more patience. This the AAnn had learned, but their natural instincts still had a tendency to
frustrate their own efforts in that area. As a result, the Commonwealth had forged ahead in its
efforts to secure alliances with Senisran's scattered and highly individualistic tribes.
Struggling to catch up, the Empire had poured considerable resources into its local efforts. In
territories where the locals remained uncommitted, such as the Parramat Archipelago, they were
just as active as the representatives of the Commonwealth.
The Parramati had shown themselves to be wary of the offers from both sides, as was to be
expected. Like primitive sentients anywhere, they didn't want to make the mistake of allying
themselves with a weaker party. So they listened patiently to the presentations of both visitors,
human and AAnn alike, and asked questions, and debated among themselves, and put off making any
kind of final decision. Pulickel was being brought in to hurry things along.
"You know, of course, why we're making a greater effort than usual to bring the Parramati quickly
into the Commonwealth fold." Train preceded Pulickel through a security door.
The slight newcomer nodded. The efforts to which his host was referring had less to do with the
welfare of the inhabitants of the Parramat Archipelago than with what lay beneath their several
dozen islands. Specifically, an unknown number of rare earth deposits of exceptional commercial
value, from niobium and yttrium to obscure minerals with names even Pulickel couldn't pronounce.
Train was patting him on the shoulder. "You know, I envy you, going out to Parramat. Resolve this
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one and you'll really make a name for yourself."
"I have a name," Pulickel replied quietly. He wanted to shrug the other man's arm off his
shoulders but restrained himself. False conviviality always made him queasy. He hated attending
parties, even parties of two.
Instead of being offended by his guest's rejoinder, Train's grin expanded. "All right, so this'll
help you enhance it. Obviously, I don't have to tell you how important the assignment is." He
lowered his voice and his bushy eyebrows did acrobatics. "There's also the matter of your local
support, someone who's already on site. I could tell you how many local xenologists clamored for
this duty just because of that, but I don't want to intimidate you when you've just arrived." He
chuckled. "Last poor schmuck I had to send out on contact duty ended up with an old thranx for
company. That'd be okay for a few months, but for a year ... " He let the implication trail away,
then added, "Your position will be ... different."
Pulickel made himself smile at his host. "Do not worry about me. I don't intimidate easily. What's
the problem? Is the support individual in question particularly disagreeable?"
Train gave him a funny look. "You'll see."
"I find I'm able to get along with just about any personality type. It's a necessary skill when
one is working for long periods of time in comparative isolation. I'm sure this individual and I
will come to an accommodation. Could we pick up my case now, please? I'm anxious to see if
everything's arrived in one piece."
Train was still grinning. "It should be waiting for us at Transport."
Pulickel debated whether to press his guide for additional details about his field support but
decided he'd find out soon enough. As he'd told Train, he wasn't concerned. Young, old, male,
female, thranx, or human, he'd worked with them all, often under far more difficult conditions. It
came naturally to him. He was such a nonthreatening personality that even initially hostile
colleagues ended up adopting a protective attitude toward their new colleague. While he wasn't
exactly a barrel of laughs, it was hard to pick a fight with someone who always attended strictly
to business. The result was a mutually productive working environment, which was what the
xenologist always strove for no matter where he was assigned.
Train's underlying urgency was no surprise. Pulickel had read the relevant reports, every one of
them. Commonwealth commercial interests wanted the vacillating situation on Parramat resolved so
they could move in and exploit the exceptional ore deposits that lay beneath the archipelago as
soon as possible-in an environmentally and socially sensitive manner, of course. It was emphasized
that the Commonwealth and not the AAnn should be the ones to do this.
Though he thoroughly understood the situation, Pulickel had no intention of hurrying his work. He
would take his time and do his job properly. Not that he expected it to prove especially
troublesome. A couple of months at most, he'd decided when he'd finished the last of the field
reports. A couple of months and the commercial interests in Ophhlia would have their treaty of
agreement and he would be on his way back to Earth, awash in accolades and official commendations.
It had always been thus. Mentally he was already readying himself for his next assignment.
Meanwhile he expected as well as hoped to enjoy his stay on Senisran. New worlds and new alien
cultures were endlessly fascinating. While certain patterns held true across the cosmos, every
sentient species was different and presented its own unique problems to those charged with
establishing formal contact. It would be interesting not only to meet the Parramati but to see how
their culture differed from that of their fellow seni. Certainly he would acquire enough material
for one or two formal papers, which when published would only add to his growing reputation.
The compact transport vehicle was waiting just outside the terminal, and his travel case, intact
and unbreached, had been stowed securely in the rear storage compartment. Using a remote key,
Train opened the single door and followed him inside. Cool, dehumidified air blew from several
vents.
"I'm looking forward to showing you around." Train nudged his guest in the ribs. "Ophhlia ain't
fancy, but with all the money that's pouring in here we've managed a few amusements."
"I can imagine," Pulickel responded amiably. He was more than familiar with the kinds of
"amusements" common to newly contacted worlds-which was why he couldn't wait to be on his way.
Chapter Two
Though he'd believed himself fully prepared, the journey from Ophhlia to Parramat still took
longer than he'd expected. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Distances on Senisran were
substantial, and Parramat was located several thousand kilometers from Ophhlia.
As the low-altitude transport jet screamed through cloud-flecked sky, he watched the landscape
change beneath him. Given the inherent limitations of Senisrani terrain, the panorama varied
considerably. There were low islands and high islands, islands with marked volcanic craters and
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islands with heavily eroded ridges and peaks. He saw islands with deserts and islets so cloaked in
green growth that no bare earth was visible. There were blindingly white atolls and blue holes,
sandbars aligned like folds of pale skin beneath shallow turquoise waters, tiny islets strung like
pearls on a necklace, and isolated exposed seamounts devoid of life. All were corpuscles aswim in
blue blood. The largest took no more than a couple of minutes to overfly.
It was impossible to count them all, and indeed, ongoing surveys added dozens of new landmasses to
the Senisran total every week. By no means were all inhabited, or even visited by the natives, but
even the most inconsequential found its way onto the list. Geo-Survey was very thorough.
The AAnn were compiling their own overview. Chraara, their main base, was fortuitously located on
the opposite side of the planet from Ophhlia, on a low, sandy island only an AAnn would find
attractive. From there contact parties fanned out, attempting to secure the friendship of manifold
native societies. Occasionally they found themselves competing with human scouts for local
affections. At such times a frosty politeness was established and maintained. It was all very
formal, very restrained, and deadly serious. Beneath the diplomatic etiquette lay a brutal
competition for influence with the locals.
In the race to conclude treaties, neither side had any natural advantages. The seni were perfectly
happy to listen to the supplications of both. As to local conditions, the AAnn handled the heat
better while humans enjoyed a greater tolerance for the high humidity. Physiologically, the thranx
were better suited to Senisrani conditions than either human or AAnn, but their dislike of open
water rendered them unenthusiastic when it came to accepting assignments on an island world, and
the semihumanoid natives found them unpleasant to look upon. So it fell upon humans and AAnn to
compete in the face-to-face negotiations.
"There it is." Even as he pointed, the pilot banked to starboard and descended to give his
passenger a better view. "Parramat."
Pulickel had been on many similar craft, but while seasickness held no worries for him, aerial
maneuvers always left him feeling slightly queasy. He would be relieved when they were down.
The mass of islands and islets rising from the azure sea was in no way remarkable. As near as
Pulickel could tell, it differed only slightly from the thousands of similar islands they had
overflown on the long flight out from Ophhlia.
The pilot proceeded to circumnavigate the entire archipelago, pointing out the thirty-six main
islands and the occasional important minor group that had been dismissed by Survey with a
collective name. Pulickel did his best to pay attention. To the north lay the archipelago of
Ririroarak, to the west Mosiniatan, to the south Bebat, and to the east the close-packed island
groups of Komapau, Seriseri, and Apla. Other clusters lay farther afield. All were inhabited, but
thus far only Ririroarak and Seriseri had been visited by representatives of the Commonwealth. The
Department of Xenology had many demands on its time and resources. Senisran received its fair
share of attention, but no more.
"You know that the AAnn have a station here, too." As the pilot maintained their descent, Pulickel
did his best to match the view outside with the survey map of Parramat he'd committed to memory.
The two lined up adequately in his mind, except that the reality was far more beautiful than the
recordings he'd been given to study.
"I've seen the prospectus," he informed his guide. "It doesn't matter. Their base is on an island
in the far north of the group. I don't expect their presence to affect my work."
The pilot grunted softly. "Hope not. I reckon trying to make sense of one island culture after
another is hard enough without the lizards making things more difficult than they already are.
Personally, the less I have to do with them, the better I like it." In response to a nudge on a
switch, there was a whine from the belly of the craft as her landing pontoons deployed.
"They're not lizards." As the g-forces on him increased modestly, Pulickel shifted uneasily in his
harness. "They're far more closely related to the extinct order dinosauria, being warm-blooded and
possessing distinctive characteristics of their own. The resemblance to terrestrial lizards is
purely superficial."
"Yeah, right." His attempt at casual camaraderie thus rebuffed, the pilot's voice returned to
neutral. "I-Lang on. Might be a little bumpy setting down. The lagoon's ten kilometers wide and
the water inside is flat calm, but afternoon winds can be tricky."
Pulickel went silent, wondering if the pilot was being honest or if he was simply tired of trying
to make friends with his stuffy passenger. Not that it mattered one way or the other. They
wouldn't be seeing one another again for some time, if ever.
Banking sharply, they made one overfly of the landing site to check local conditions. Pulickel's
view filled with water in a dozen amazing shades of blue and green, all enclosed within a huge
lagoon ringed with low islets composed of largely uncolonized sand. Although a fair proportion of
the material was a familiar white, in many places it was a startlingly bright red or yellow. This
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reflected its origin in aqueous alien growths that, while analogous in form and lifestyle to
communal Terran corals, contained a high proportion of silicon as opposed to the more common
calcium. The result was sand that was not only differently and more brightly colored but
extraordinarily reflective, and reefs whose component structures tended to be sharp and angular
rather than soft and rounded.
A single sharp bounce and they were down. Garrulous the pilot might be, but he knew his business.
Backjets roared, fighting to reduce the ship's speed and making conversation impossible. Ahead of
the slowing craft, several dozen silvery, nearly transparent fleratii exploded from the surface of
the lagoon, fluttered fluted fins, and dispersed toward the eastern horizon. From a distance they
suggested a fistful of fairy dust scattered upon the sea.
Pulickel knew that Senisran's single world-girdling ocean boasted creatures that in variety and
numbers put those of Earth to shame. Not all were as beautiful as the feratii, whose glistening
transparent skins scattered rainbows in their wake. There were thousands of forms glimpsed but as
yet undescribed, and millions more to be discovered. The preparatory materials he had studied so
assiduously prior to arrival had acquainted him with only a minimum of the most notable examples.
What stood out foremost in his mind about Senisran's ocean life was that unlike on Earth and
Cachalot, here invertebrate lifeforms were dominant. One could fish but would do better with a
basket than a hook.
As they slowed, the pilot aimed for a small, sandy cay located inside the lagoon. A second craft
was already drawn up on the picture-perfect beach, its silvery-gray exterior at odds with the
reddish-white surface on which it rested. Green crowns burst from the tops of three gently
curving, blue-black boled trees. Their stiff, starlike crests provided the only shade on the
little islet.
Beneath the largest of these hearty growths, Pulickel noted as the pilot cut the engine and they
coasted into the shallows, was some kind of fold-up lounge. On the lounge lay a figure, which due
to their angle of approach seemed to be mostly legs. The pilot chuckled.
"Your field support."
Mentally organizing his neatly packed gear, the xenologist turned to him. "Something funny about
that?"
"Funny? Naw, nothing funny about that." And he chuckled again. "I guess there's worse fates than
being stuck on an island for months on end with only Fawn Seaforth for company."
"Why? Does she have a reputation for inhospitableness?" The pilot pursed his lips before replying.
"I expect you'll find out, since you're the first person who's been assigned here to do more than
temporary construction or delivery work." Both men lurched slightly forward as the ship's pontoons
grounded on smooth sand.
"Yes, I suppose I will. I'm not worried, you know. No matter how obstinate or difficult they are
at first, I've always been able to ingratiate myself with whomever I've been assigned to work
with." For some reason this prompted the pilot to chortle even louder.
"Let's go." Grinning at some private thought, he wiped at one eye. "I'll unload that precious case
of yours."
As the cockpit canopy slid back into the body of the transport, the landing ramp automatically
deployed, coming to rest on a patch of dry, red sand that glittered like powdered rubies. Pulickel
preceded the pilot, who was busy removing his passenger's travel case from the cargo hold.
As the xenologist marched down the ramp and into the heat, the figure reclining on the lounge
raised up to get a better look at him. A hand waved in greeting. He ignored it, his first concern
being for his kit.
He helped the pilot position the heavy plastic box on the sand. It contained everything of a
personal and professional nature that he expected to need for the next six months. If anything had
arrived damaged, it would take at least that long to replace it.
The one thing he wasn't concerned about was clothing. You didn't need much on Senisran. Though
he'd been outside the air-conditioned cockpit for only a few minutes, he was already beginning to
sweat. After weeks on a climate-controlled KK-drive ship in space-plus, it would take him a while
to get acclimated anew to tropical surroundings. As soon as they arrived at Parramat station he
intended to shed as much of his attire as possible.
From a small pool in the sand he splashed a little water on his face. Warm on contact, it cooled
him as it evaporated. What slipped into his mouth, while not drinkable, was mild to the taste,
Senisran's world ocean having a lower salt content than those of Earth. There were no continents
here to erode and replenish the seas with rivers of dissolved minerals.
Once the travel case was placed to Pulickel's satisfaction, the pilot looked longingly toward the
lounge and its single occupant, who showed no inclination to leave her shady spot and come to
greet them. Obviously disappointed, he bade his ex-passenger farewell and goad luck before
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returning to his craft.
Pulickel stood just above the water's edge and watched as the stubby transport's engine whined
back to life. Backing out of the shallows, the compact craft pivoted until it was facing
southward. The jets roared, water rooster tailed, and in a moment it was lifting clear of the
glassy surface, climbing steadily into a cloudless sky. It circled once over the islet and, like a
fleeing dragonfly, vanished into the distance.
Pulickel stared at the place where it had disappeared until he could no longer hear the fading
rumble. As his eyes dropped, a dozen shafts of dark blue erupted from the water some thirty meters
out in the lagoon. Averaging two meters in length, they looked like Olympic javelins equipped with
multiple exhaust pipes. They were followed by something that resembled a flattened disk of barbed
wire. It landed just short of where the javelins had reentered the water. In this hopscotching
fashion, prey and predator made their way across the lagoon.
Only when all was quiet again did he kneel to inspect the lower half of his case. It was wet, but
only on the outside. The unit was air- as well as watertight.
Straightening, he turned his attention to the three trees and the lounge beneath. Since his
support seemed less than eager to make his acquaintance, he started up the gentle slope to
introduce himself. She ought to come down to meet him, he thought. This wasn't the best way to
begin a long-term working relationship. Mindful of his self-assured boast to the pilot, he
resolved not to make an issue of this minor breach of protocol. At least, not right away.
He halted beneath the shade of the first tree and studied the portable flex-lounge. Fashioned of
an aerogel composite, it looked as if its occupant was lying on an illusion. As his eyes adjusted,
he saw that she was something of an illusion herself. Having worked with hundreds of specialists
and contact personnel on a dozen alien worlds, he was prepared for almost anything.
He was not prepared for Fawn Seaforth.
But then, no one ever was.
Putting aside the chill-cup she'd, been holding, she swung her legs off the side of the lounge and
rose to greet him, hand extended. As she turned from the sun, her wraparound eyeshades lightened
from dark to neutral so that he could see her eyes. They were bright blue.
"Hi! I'm Fawn Seaforth. And unless Dispatch has fouled up again, you're Pulickel Tomochelor."
He swallowed. "Pleasure to meet you, Seaforth. You you're out of uniform."
She laughed, a wonderful, melodious sound that the breeze caught and cast out over the lagoon, as
if she were trolling for poets. For an instant, the air in the immediate vicinity was as full of
life as the sea below.
"Actually, as you can see, I'm just about out of everything." She spread her arms wide to reveal
what he could already see: that the bathing costume she was wearing would fit comfortably in any
pocket of his shorts.
"When I'm by myself, which is all of the time except when I'm making a supply pickup, I rarely
wear anything. It's just too damn hot. Of course, I wouldn't think of wearing anything remotely
like this in Ophhlia, but this isn't Ophhlia. This is Parramat. The natives, naturally, could care
less." She paused, waiting for a response. When none was forthcoming, she added, "Don't worry. I'm
not going to drive the skimmer like this. I have a wraparound."
"That's good." He knew he was staring, but he couldn't help himself. Doubtless she was used to it,
and too polite to point it, out. But what else was he to do? A full head taller than himself, well
over the ancient six feet in height, she was a physical amalgam of Hera, several vit heroines, and
the female bull dancers of ancient Crete. Her face reminded him of the famous bust of Nefertiti in
the Berlin Museum archive. In addition to the sapphire blue eyes, she had shoulder-length blond
hair wrapped in four tails. Her skin was the color of new-forged bronze. She was utterly and
completely overpowering.
No wonder the pilot had been amused. Where "local support" was concerned, his unknowing passenger
had been displaying ignorance on a global scale.
It wasn't Pulickel's fault. No one had informed him, no one had warned him that he was going to be
working with a goddess. What was someone like Seaforth doing running a xenological contact station
in the wilds of a frontier world, even as comparatively benign a frontier world as Senisran?
Socioanthropology being what it was, he expected he would find out.
It would be exceedingly rude to ask her, having just been introduced. Meanwhile he would treat her
exactly as he would any other colleague, except that he would have to watch where he let his eyes
linger rather more than was usual. No doubt she was used to that, as well.
She laughed again. "Well, I'm glad `that's good.' Bet you're tired. We're a long way from
Ophhlia." Stepping past him, she headed for his travel case. "What do I call you? Senior officer
on site, Pulickel. Mr. Tomochelor, or just Pu, as in Winnie the?"
Following her, he discovered, was no less distracting than talking with her face to face. He made
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an effort. "Pulickel will do fine, since we'll be working together for the foreseeable future." He
glanced to his left. "I'm sure there's plenty of room for my stuff in your skimmer."
"You travel light." Her tone was approving, which shouldn't have mattered to him but inexplicably
did.
"Experience. The controls for the built-in hoist are located in a recess on the other end."
"Glad to hear it. I'm not in a lifting mood." She held out the chill-cup as they reached the case.
"Want a sip?"
He eyed the protruding siphon. Mindful of her admonition to relax, he tried to make himself sound
less officious. "What's in it?"
"Fructosoid specimen number one twenty-six. Suaswana in the local lingo. There are about a
thousand regional varieties of fruit and juice, some with conflicting names depending on the
maturity or location of the relevant tree or bush. I'm still cataloging." She thrust the container
at him.
He shrugged internally. So long as it was cold and wet...
The frosty liquid detonated against his palate, blasting out reminiscences of lime, pomegranate,
and something almost intolerably sweet. Another exotic trade item, he thought as he passed the cup
back. No wonder the big trading houses were salivating over development permits for Senisran.
"Very nice," he admitted readily.
She downed a swallow. "There's plenty more, some of it even better. You'll taste for yourself.
Come on."
Using the case's integral hoist, they maneuvered his gear up and into the open cargo bay of the
skimmer. It had no canopy, only an adjustable windscreen forward.
"Don't use the top much," she replied in response to his query. "It's back in the shed. I can
reattach it when necessary." Vaulting up into the open cockpit, she turned and reached down. "Need
a hand?"
Shaking his head, he put both hands on the gunwale and pulled himself up and in. Nodding
approvingly, she slipped a dirty, stained mechanic's shirt on over her suit, settled into the
pilot's seat, and flicked contact pads. Humming with restrained power, the skimmer lifted off,
leveled itself, and hovered a meter above the crimson sands.
He eyed his precious case. "What about clampdowns?"
She looked back over her shoulder and shook her head. "Shouldn't need 'em. It's heavy, enough that
it won't blow out. You, on the other hand, might want to hang onto something." She indicated the
seat next to her own.
Moving forward, he gripped an available handbar and braced himself. "I've been sitting down most
of the way from Earth and all the way from Ophhha. I'll stand, if you don't mind."
"Just hang on. Over open water this baby can fly."
With a rising whine they rose to a height of three meters. Seaforth pivoted the craft until they
were facing the lagoon and gunned the engine. Sand flew and Pulickel nearly stumbled as the
skimmer shot out over the water, accelerating rapidly. Beneath their shadow the placid surface of
the lagoon rippled slightly.
Seeing him squinting into the wind, she helpfully raised the transparent windscreen to a height
sufficient to shield his face. The gesture went unremarked upon and she shrugged inwardly. Prim
sort of chap, she thought. If that was the way he wanted it, it was fine with her. Deity knew
there was plenty to be done.
She was mistaking his indecision for stiffness. An attractive woman he could have dealt with, but
Fawn Seaforth was as much beyond attractive as a diamond was beyond coal. She was representative
of the type one saw on the vit, a human being who existed only in virtual reality and not in real
life. Yet then, she was, sitting in the pilot's seat not an arm's length from where he stood and
doing her best to relax him by making small talk. At which he was failing miserably.
He was only being realistic. He was not the sort, physically or personality-wise, who appealed to
goddesses. It was a law of nature. Better that she see him as a tool sent to facilitate her work.
His worst fear was that she would prove even friendlier than she seemed. In that case he was
terrified he would freeze completely.
This is ridiculous, he told himself firmly. She was a contact xenologist, just like
himself only with less experience and a shorter resume. If he was going to let her mere
appearances-though there was little mere about it bother him, he wasn't going to get any serious
work done and his journey all this way would be accounted a failure. In his whole career he'd
never had a failure, and he wasn't about to start now. Exhorting himself thus made him feel
better.
The wind was brisk and cooling against his face as they crossed over the reef. Glancing down as
they made the transition, he saw a waterscape alive with jewels. Once beyond the protective
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摘要：

file:///F|/rah/Alan%20Dean%20Foster/Allan%20Dean%20Foster%20-%20Humanx%2-%2006%20-%20The%20Howling%20Stones.txt***************************************************Author:AlanDeanFosterTitle:TheHowlingStonesSeries:ANoveloftheHumanxCommonwealthSeriesNo:Flinx08Originalcopyrightyear:1997Genre:ScienceF...

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