Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The - Notisblokk

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

The Werewolf Principle

Clifford D. Simak

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The creature halted, crouched low against the ground, staring at the tiny

points of light that lay ahead, burning softly through the darkness.

The creature whimpered, frightened and uneasy.

The world was much too hot and wet and the darkness was too thick, There was

too much and too large vegetation. The atmosphere was in violent motion and the

vegetation moaned in agony. Far off in the distance there were vague flarings

and flashings of light, which did nothing to illuminate the night, and somewhere

far away something was complaining in long, low rumblings. And there was life,

far more life than any planet had a right to have - but low and stupid life,

some of it scarcely more than biological stirring, tiny bundles of matter that

could do no more than react feebly to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, the creature told itself, it should not have tried so hard to break

away. Perhaps it should have been content to remain in that nameless place where

there had been no being and no sense nor memory of being, but a knowledge,

dredged from somewhere, that there was such a state as being. That, and

occasional snatches of intelligence, disconnected bits of information, which

whetted the struggles to escape, to be a separate agent, to see where it might

be and learn why it was there and by what means it might have got there.

And now?

It crouched and whimpered.

How could there be so much water in any single place? And so much vegetation

and such boisterous agitation of the elements? How could any world be so messy,

so flamboyantly un-neat? It was sacrilegious for so much water to be in

evidence, running in a stream below this slope of ground, standing in pools and

puddles on the very ground, And not only that, but present in the atmosphere,

the air filled with driven droplets of it.

What was this fabric which was fastened at its throat and which lay along

its back, dragging on the ground, fluttered by the wind? A protection of some

sort? Although that didn't seem too likely. It had never needed protection of

any sort before. Its coat of silver fur was all that it had needed.

Before? it asked itself. Before what and when? It struggled to think back

and there was a dim impression of a crystal land, with cool, dry air, with a

dust of snow and sand, with a sky ablaze with many stars and the night as bright

as day with the soft, golden shine of moons. And there was a haunting half

memory, blurred all around the edges, of a reaching out into the depths of space

to pluck secrets froth the stars.

But was this memory or was it fantasy, born of that faceless place from

which it had escaped? There was no way of knowing.

The creature extruded a pair of arms and gathered up the fabric off the

ground and held it bundled in each arm. The water dripped off it and fell in

tiny drops, splashing in the pools of water that lay upon the ground.

Those points of light ahead? Not stars, for they lay too low against the

ground and, in any case, there were not any stars. And that, in itself, was

unthinkable, for there were always stars.

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

Cautiously the creature reached out with its mind towards the steady light

and there was something there other than the light, a background sense of

mineral. Carefully it traced that background and became aware that a block of

mineral stood there in the dark, too regular in its shape to be a natural

outcrop.

In the distance the mad muttering went on and the flaring of the far-off

light ran frightened up the sky.

Should it go on, it wondered, circling wide around the lights? Or should it

move in upon them to find out what they were? Or should it, perhaps, retrace its

steps in an effort to find once again that emptiness from which it had escaped?

Although there was no knowing now where the place might be. When it had broken

free, the place had not been there. And since the time of breaking free, it had

travelled far.

And where were those other two who also had been in that place of

nothingness? Had they broken free as well, or had they stayed behind, sensing,

perhaps, the mind-wrenching alienness that lay outside the place? And if they

had not escaped, where might they be now?

And not only where, but who?

Why had they never answered? Or had they never heard the question? Perhaps

there were not the right conditions in that nameless place for a question to be

asked. Strange, the creature thought, to occupy the same space, the same sense

of possible existence, with two other beings and never to be able to communicate

with them.

Despite the heat of the night, the creature shivered, deep inside itself.

It could not stay here, it told itself. It could not wander endlessly. It

must find a place to shelter. Although where to look for shelter in a world as

mad as this was something it had not figured out as yet.

It moved forward slowly, uncertain of itself, uncertain where to go,

uncertain what to do.

The lights? it wondered. Should it investigate the lights or should it...

The sky exploded. The world was filled to bursting with a brilliant

blueness. The creature, its sight wiped out, all senses cancelled, recoiled, and

a scream rose keening in its curdled brain. Then the scream cut off and the

light was gone and it was back, once again, in the place of nothingness.

Rain slapped Andrew Blake across the face and the very earth was trembling

with the deadening crash of thunder, the great masses of riven atmosphere

rushing together once again, it seemed, just above his head. The air was sharp

with the smell of ozone and he could feel cold mud squishing up between his

toes.

And how had he got here - out in a storm, with no cover for his head and

with his robe so soaked it dripped, and without his sandals?

He had stepped out after dinner to have a look at a storm that was boiling

up across the western wall of mountains - and here, a second later, he was out

in that very storm, or, at least, he hoped it was that very storm.

The wind was moaning in a clump of trees and from the foot of the slope on

which he stood he could bear the sound of running water and just across the

stream light shone out from windows.

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His house, perhaps, he thought, befuddled. Although where his house stood

there was no slope and no stream of running water. There were trees, but not so

many trees, and there should be other houses.

He put up his hand and scrubbed his head in perplexity and the water he

squeezed out of his hair ran down across his face.

The rain, which had slackened for a moment, began beating at him once again

with a fresh enthusiasm and he turned towards the house. Not his house, surely,

but it was a house and there'd be someone there to tell him where he was and...

But tell him where he was! That was insane! A second ago he had been

standing on his patio looking at the storm clouds and there had been no rain.

He must be dreaming. Or suffering a hallucination. But the beating rain was

not a dreamlike rain and the smell of ozone still was in the air - and who had

ever found the smell of ozone reeking through a dream?

He started walking towards the house and as he swung his right foot forward,

it came in contact with something hard and a blaze of pain flared through his

foot and leg.

In agony, he lifted the foot and waved it in the air, jigging on one leg.

The pain drained down into the big toe of the lifted foot and it throbbed in

agony.

The foot on which he stood slipped in the mud and he sat down suddenly. Mud

spattered as his bottom hit the earth. The ground was wet and cold.

He stayed there. He pulled the foot with the injured toe up into his lap and

probed blindly - and carefully and tenderly - at the toe.

It was no dream, he knew. In a dream a man would not be so stupid as to stub

his toe.

Something had happened. Something, in a second's time, had transported him,

all unknowing, perhaps many miles away from where he'd stood on the patio. Had

transported him and set him down in the midst of rain and thunder and in a night

so dark there was no seeing anything.

He probed at the toe again and it felt a little better.

Carefully, he picked himself up and tried the injured foot. By walking

tensed and slightly spraddled, with the toe stretched upward, he could use the

leg.

Limping and fumbling and slipping in the mud, he made his way down the slope

and across the little stream, which ran ankle deep, then climbed the slope that

went up to the house.

Lightning flared along the horizon and for a moment he saw the house

silhouetted against the flare, a massive pile, with heavy chimneys and windows

set deep, like eyes, into the stone.

A stone house, he thought. An anachronism! A stone house and someone living

in it.

He ran into a fence, but without any hurt, for he was moving slowly. He

followed it blindly by feel and came to a gate. Beyond the gate three little

rectangles of light marked what he took to be the location of a door.

Flat stones lay underneath his feet and he followed them. Near the door he

slowed his walk to a cautious shuffle. There might be steps leading to the door

and one stubbed toe was all he cared to have.

There were steps. He found them with the still tender toe and stood for a

moment, stiff and straight and shuddering, with clenched teeth, until the worst

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pain ebbed away.

Then he climbed the steps and found the door. He hunted for the signal, but

there was no signal - not even a bell or buzzer. He hunted some more and found

the knocker.

A knocker? Of course, he told himself, a house like this would have a

knocker. A house so deep into the past...

A wild fear surged through him. Not space, but time, he wondered. Had he

been moved (if he had been moved) not in space, but time?

He lifted the knocker and hammered with it. He waited. There was no sign he

had been heard. He hammered once again.

A footstep crunched behind him and a cone of light speared out and caught

him. He spun about and the round eye of light held steady, blinding him. Behind

the light he sensed the vague figure of a man, the faint outline of a deeper

shadow against the darkness of the night.

Back of him the door jerked open and light from the inside of the house

flooded out and now be saw the man who held the torch, a kilted figure, with a

sheepskin jacket and in his other hand a glint of metal that Blake took to be a

gun.

The man who had opened the door asked sharply, 'What is going on out here?'

'Someone trying to get in, senator,' said the man who held the torch. 'He

must have managed to slip past me.'

'He slipped past you,' said the senator, 'because you were huddled

somewhere, hiding from the rain. If you fellows have to play at being guards, I

wish you'd do some guarding.'

'It was dark,' protested the guard, 'and he slipped past...'

'I don't think he slipped past,' said the senator. 'He just walked up and

banged the knocker. If he'd been trying to sneak in, he'd not have used the

knocker. He walked in, like any ordinary citizen, and you didn't see him.'

Blake turned slowly to face the man standing in the door. 'I'm sorry, sir,'

he said. 'I didn't know. I didn't mean to raise a ruckus. I just saw the

house...'

'And that's not all, senator,' broke in the guard. 'There've been strange

things out tonight. Just a while ago I saw a wolf...'

'There are no wolves about,' said the senator. 'There are no wolves at all.

There haven't been for a century or more.'

'But I saw one,' wailed the guard. 'There was that big flash of lightning

and I saw it, on the hill across the creek.'

The senator said to Blake, 'I'm sorry to keep you standing with all this

bickering. It's no night to be out.'

'It seems that I am lost,' said Blake, fighting to keep his teeth from

chattering. 'If you'll tell me where I am and point out the way...'

'Turn off that light,' the senator told the guard, 'and get back to your

job.'

The torch snapped off.

'Wolves, indeed!' said the senator, incensed.

To Blake, he said, 'If you'd step in, so I could close the door.'

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

Blake stepped in and the senator closed the door behind him.

Blake looked around him. He stood in a foyer flanked on either side by

floor-to-ceiling doors and in the room beyond a fire burned in a great stone

fireplace. The room was crammed with heavy furniture upholstered in bright

prints.

The senator stepped past him and stopped to look at him. 'My name is Andrew

Blake,' said Blake, 'and I am afraid I am messing up your floor.'

Rain dripping from his robe had made puddles on the floor and a line of wet

footprints led from the door 1o where he stood.

The senator, he saw, was a tall, lean man, with close clipped white hair and

a silvery moustache, beneath which was a firm, straight mouth that had a

trap-like quality. He wore a robe of white, with a purple jigsaw motif worked

around its edges.

'You look like a drowning rat,' said the senator, 'if you don't mind my

saying so. And you have lost your sandals.'

He turned and opened one of the flanking doors to reveal a rack of clothing.

Reaching in, he pulled out a thick, brown robe.

'Here,' he said, handing it to Blake. 'This should serve. Real wool. I take

it you are cold.'

'Just a bit,' said Blake, jaw aching to keep his teeth from chattering.

'Wool will warm you up,' said the senator. 'You don't see it often. Nothing

but synthetics any more. You can get it from a mad man who lives in the Scottish

hills. Thinks much the way I do - that there still is virtue in staying close to

old realities.'

'I am sure you're right,' said Blake.

'Take this house,' said the senator. 'Three centuries old and still as solid

as the day that it was built. Built of honest stone and wood. Built by honest

workmen...' He looked sharply at Blake. 'But here I stand declaiming while you

are slowly freezing. Take those stairs off to the right. The first door to the

left. That would be my room. You'll find sandals in the closet and I suppose

your shorts are soaked as well...'

'I'd suppose they are,' said Blake.

'You'll find shorts, anything else that you may need in the dresser. The

bath is to the right as you go in. It wouldn't hurt a bit if you took ten

minutes of a hot tub. Meanwhile I'll have Elaine rustle up some coffee and I'll

break out a bottle of good brandy...'

'You must not put yourself out,' said Blake. 'You have done too much...'

'Not a bit of it,' said the senator. 'I'm glad that you dropped in.'

Clutching the woollen robe, Blake climbed the stairs and went in the first

door on the left. Through the door to the right ho saw the white gleam of the

tub. That hot bath idea was not too bad, he told himself.

He walked into the bath, dropped the brown robe on top of a hamper and took

off the bedraggled robe he wore and dropped it to the floor.

In surprise he glanced down at himself. He was as naked as a jaybird.

Somewhere, somehow, he had lost his shorts.

Side 5

Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

The senator was waiting when Blake came back to the big room with the fire.

He was sitting in a chair and on the arm of it perched a dark-haired woman.

'Well,' said the senator, 'here you are, young man. You told me your name,

but I am afraid that it slipped my mind.'

'The name is Andrew Blake.'

'I'm sorry,' said the senator. 'My mind does not seem to have the retentive

power that it once commanded. This is my daughter, Elaine, and I am Chandler

Horton. No doubt, from the yammering of that fool outside, you gathered that I'm

a senator.'

'I am honoured, senator,' said Blake, 'and, Miss Elaine, very pleased to

meet you.'

'Blake?' said the girl. 'I have heard the name somewhere. Very recently.

Tell me, what are you famous for?'

'Why, not a thing,' said Blake.

'But it was in all the papers. And you were on dimensino - the live, news

part of it. Now I know! You are the man who came back from the stars...'

'You don't say,' said the senator, heaving himself from the chair. 'How very

interesting. Mr Blake, that chair over there is very comfortable. Place of

honour, you might say. Next to the fire and all.'

'Daddy,' Elaine said to Blake, 'has a tendency to wax baronial, or maybe

country-squirish, when company drops in. You must never mind him.'

'The senator,' said Blake, 'is a very gracious host.'

The senator picked up a decanter and reached for glasses. 'You'll recall,'

he said, 'that I promised you some brandy.'

'And,' said Elaine: 'be careful that you praise it. Even if it gags you. The

senator prides himself as a judge of brandy. And if, a little later, you would

like some coffee, we can have that, too. I punched the autochef...'

'The chef act up again?' asked the senator.

Elaine shook her head. 'Not especially. Got the coffee, just the way I asked

- plus fried eggs and bacon.'

She looked at Blake. 'Want some eggs and bacon? I think they are still

warm.'

He shook his head. 'No, thank you very much.'

'The contraption,' said the senator, 'has been on the fritz for years. One

spell, no matter what you dialled, it served up roast beef, rare.'

He handed around the glasses and sat down in his chair. 'That's why I like

this place,' he said. 'Uncomplicated domicile. It was built three hundred years

ago by a man who cared for dignity and had a certain ecological sense that made

him build it of native limestone and the timber that grew upon the tract. He did

not impose his house upon the habitat; he made it part of it. And, except for

the autochef, it has not a single gadget.'

'We're old-fashioned,' said Elaine. 'I have always felt that living in a

place like this was akin - well, say, to taking up one's residence in a sod

shanty in the twentieth century.'

'Nevertheless,' said Blake, 'it has a certain charm. And a sense of security

and solidity.'

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

'You are right, it has,' said the senator. 'Listen to that wind trying to

get in. Listen to that rain.'

He swirled the brandy in his glass.

'It doesn't fly, of course,' he said, 'and, it won't talk to you. But who

wants a house to fly and...'

'Daddy!' said Elaine.

'You must excuse me, sir,' said the senator. 'I have my enthusiasms and I

like to talk about them and sometimes I let them run away with me - and there

are times, I would suspect, when I have bad manners. My daughter said something

about seeing you on dimensino.'

'Of course, Daddy,' said Elaine. 'You never pay attention. You're so wrapped

up in the bioengineering hearings that you don't pay attention.'

'But, my dear,' said the senator, 'the hearings are important. The human

race must decide before too long what to do with all these planets we are

finding. And I tell you that terraforming them is the solution of a lunatic.

Think of all the time that it will take and the money that it will swallow up.'

'By the way,' said Elaine, 'I forgot. Mother phoned. She won't be home

tonight. She heard about the storm and is staying in New York.'

The senator grunted. 'Fine. Bad night for travelling. How was London? Did

she say?'

'She enjoyed the performance.'

'Music hail,' the senator explained to Blake. 'Revival of an ancient

entertainment form. Very primitive, I understand. My wife is taken with it. She

is an arty person.'

'What a horrible thing to say,' said Elaine.

'Not at all,' said the senator. 'It's the truth. But to get back to this

business of bioengineering. Perhaps, Mr. Blake, you have some opinions."

'No,' said Blake, 'I can't say that I have. I find myself somewhat out of

touch.'

'Out of touch? Oh, yes, I suppose you would be. This business of the stars.

I recall the story now. Encapsulated, as I remember it, and found by some

asteroid miners. What system was it, now?'

'Out in the Antares neighbourhood. A small star - just a number, not a name.

But I remember none of that. They waited to revive me until I was brought to

Washington.'

'And you remember nothing?'

'Not a thing.' said Blake. 'My life began, so far as I'm concerned, less

than a month ago. I don't know who I am or...'

'But you have a name.'

'A mere convenience,' said Blake. 'One that I picked out. John Smith would

have done as well. It seems a man must have a name.'

'But, as I recall it, you had background knowledge.'

'Yes' - and that is a strange thing. A knowledge of the earth and of its

people and of its ways, but in many ways hopelessly outdated. I am astounded

continually. I stumble into customs and beliefs and words that are unfamiliar to

me.'

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

Elaine said, quietly, 'You don't need to talk about it. We hadn't meant to

pry.'

'I don't mind,' Blake told her. 'I've accepted the situation. It's a strange

position to be in, but some day I may know. It may come back to me - who I am

and where I came from and when. And what happened out there. At the moment, as

you may understand. I am considerably confused. Everyone, however, has been

considerate. I was given a house to live in. And I've not been bothered. It's in

a little village...'

'This village?' asked the senator. 'Nearby, I presume.'

'I don't actually know,' said Blake. 'Something funny happened to me. I

don't know where I am. The village is called Middleton.'

'That's just down the valley,' said the senator. 'Not five miles from here.

It would seem that we are neighbours.'

'I went out after dinner,' Blake told them. 'I was on the patio, looking

towards the mountains. A storm was coming up. Big black clouds and lightning,

but still a good way off. And then, suddenly, I was on the hill across the creek

from this place and the rain was coming down and I was soaked...'

He stopped and set down his brandy glass, carefully, on the hearth. He

stared from one to the other of them.

'That's the way it was,' he said. 'I know that it sounds wild.'

'It sounds impossible,' said the senator.

'I am sure it does,' said Blake. 'And there was not only space, but time, as

well, involved. Not only did I find myself some miles away from where I had been

standing, but it was night and when I stepped out on the patio dusk had just

begun to fall.'

'I am sorry,' said the senator, 'that the stupid guard threw the light on

you. Finding yourself here must have been shock enough. I don't ask for guards.

I don't even want them. But Geneva insists that all senators must be guarded. I

don't know exactly why. There is no one, I am sure, thirsting for our blood.

Finally, after many years, Earth is at least part-way civilized.'

'There is this bioengineering business,' said Elaine. 'Feelings do run

high.'

'Nothing is involved,' said the senator, 'except a determination of policy.

There is no reason...'

'But there is,' she said. 'All the Bible Belt fanatics, all the arch

conservatives, all the prissy conventionists are dead set against it.'

She turned towards Blake. 'Wouldn't you know,' she said, 'that the senator,

who lives in a house built three hundred years ago and brags about there being

not a single gadget in it...'

'The chef,' said the senator. 'You forget the chef.'

She ignored him. 'And brags about not a single gadget in it, would align

himself with the wild-eyed bunch, with the arch-progressives, with the far-out

gang?'

The senator sputtered. 'Not a thing far-out about it. It just makes common

sense. It will cost trillions of dollars to terraform a single planet. At a cost

much more reasonable, and in a fraction of the time required, we can engineer a

human race that could live upon that planet. Instead of changing the planet to

fit the man, we change the man to fit the planet...'

'That's exactly the point,' said Elaine. 'That's the point your opponents

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have been making. Change the man - that's the thing that sticks fast inside

their craws. When you got through, this thing that would live upon another

planet would not be a man.'

'It might not look like one,' said the senator, 'but it still would be a

man.'

She said to Blake. 'You understand, of course, that I'm not against the

senator. But there are times when it's terribly hard to make him realize what

he's up against.'

'My daughter,' said the senator, 'plays my devil's advocate and at times it

is a service. But in this instance there is no particular need. I know the

bitterness of the opposition.'

He lifted the decanter.

Blake shook his head. 'If there is some way I can get back home. It has been

quite a night.'

'You could stay the night with us.'

'Thank you, senator, but if there is some way...'

'Certainly,' said the senator. 'One of the guards can take you. We had

better use the ground car. Bad night for a floater.'

'I would appreciate it.'

'It'll give one of the guards a chance to be of use,' said the senator.

'Driving you home, they won't be seeing wolves. By the way, when you, were out

there, you didn't see a wolf?'

'No,' said Blake, 'I didn't see a wolf.'

Michael Daniels stood at the window and watched the ground crew at the

Riverside development across the boulevard bring the houses in. The black

foundation blocks gleamed wetly in the night and the Potomac, a quarter-mile

beyond, was a sheet of inky darkness that picked up and reflected back the gleam

of the landing lights.

Slowly, one by one, the houses came lumbering down out of the cloud-fogged

sky, to stop above their assigned foundations, hovering there and moving slowly

and deliberately to square their landing grids with the foundation patterns.

Patients coming in, thought Daniels. Or, perhaps, staff members returning

from a holiday. Although there might be, as well, others who were unconnected

with the hospital, either as patient or as staff. The town was crowded, with the

regional bioengineering hearings due to open in a day or two. Space was at a

premium and migrating houses were being squeezed in wherever accommodations

could be found.

Far across the river, somewhere over Old Virginia, its lights dimmed by fog

and drizzle, a ship was coming in, heading for a landing at the spaceport.

Following its flight, Daniels speculated from what far star it might have

come. And how long away from home? He smiled ruefully to himself. These were

questions that he always asked - a hold-over from a boyhood when he had held the

hard determination that some day he would travel to the stars.

But in this, he knew, he was not unusual. Every boy, these days, dreamed of

going to the stars.

Side 9

Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The

Streams of moisture ran in jagged patterns down the smooth glass of the

windows and beyond the windows the houses still came floating in, filling up the

few foundations still available. A few ground cars went sliding smoothly along

the boulevard, the cushions of air on which they rode throwing out a wide spray

of water from the dampened surface. It was too foul a night, he told himself,

for many floaters to be out.

He should be getting home, he knew. He should have left long ago. The kids

would be in bed by now, but Cheryl would be waiting up for him.

To the east, almost beyond the angle of his vision, glowing by reflected

light, he could see the ghost-like whiteness of the shaft that rose beside the

river in honour of the first astronauts, who had gone out more than five hundred

years ago to circle Earth in space, boosted there by the raw, brute power of

chemical reaction.

Washington, he thought, a town of mouldering buildings, and filled with

monuments - a tangle of marble and of granite, and thick with the moss of old

associations, its metal and its stone veneered with the patina of ancient

memories and with the aura of once-great power still hanging over it. Once the

national capital of an old republic, now no more than a seat of provincial

government, it still held an air of greatness draped about it like a cloak.

And it was best, he thought, at a time like this, when a soft, wet night had

fallen over it, creating an illusive background through which old ghosts could

move.

The hushed sounds of a hospital at night whispered in the room - the soft

padding of a nurse going down the corridor, the muted rumble of a cart, the low

buzzing of a call bell at the station just across the hail.

Behind him someone opened the door. Daniels swung around.

'Good evening, Gordy,' he said.

Gordon Barnes, a resident, grinned at him. 'I thought you'd be gone by now,'

he said.

'Just about to. I was going over that report.'

He gestured at the table in the centre of the room.

Barnes picked up the file of papers and glanced at it.

'Andrew Blake,' he said. 'An intriguing piece of business.' Daniels shook

his head in puzzlement. 'More than intriguing,' he declared. 'It just isn't

possible. How old would you take Blake to be? By just looking at him.'

'Not more than thirty, Mike. Of course we know he could be a couple of

hundred, chronologically.'

'If he were thirty, you'd expect some deterioration, wouldn't you? The body

begins wearing out early in the twenties. From there it goes progressively

downhill, heading towards old age.'

'I know,' said Barnes. 'But not this Blake, I take it.'

'Perfect,' said Daniels. 'A perfect specimen. Youthful. More than youthful.

Not a blemish. Not a weakness.'

'And no evidence of who he really is?'

Daniels shook his head. 'Space Administration has gone through the records

with a fine-toothed comb. He could be any one of thousands of people. Within

just the last two centuries, several dozen ships have simply disappeared. Went

out and no more heard of them. He could be any one of the people who were aboard

those ships.'

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, TheThe Werewolf PrinciplebyClifford D. SimakVERSION 1.0 (Feb 24 00). If you find and correct errors inthe text, please update the version number by 0.1 andredistribute. 1 The creature halted, crouched low against the ground, staring at the tiny points of...

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The - Notisblokk.pdf

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Simak, Cliffard D - Werewolf Principle, The - Notisblokk

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