Howling Stones (15 page)

The sacred stones were the key, he suspected. Understand the stones and you would understand the roads. Understand the roads and you would know what bound the Parramati together. Learn that and you might get them all to agree on something. Perhaps even a formal treaty.

Medicine stones, love stones, fishing stones, planting stones. Weather stones and birthing stones, blessing stones and building stones. Stones of war and stones of sleeping. Tired, he shook his head. Maybe what was needed here was not a xenologist but a mason.

Stones and the roads that connected them. Imaginary lines of power linking all of Parramat and Parramati society. What was his stone, what was his road? The Parramati couldn’t tell him and he couldn’t tell himself.

Whichever road leads to a treaty, he thought. That’s the one I want to find. He smiled to himself. It was there: of that he was certain. It was just in poor condition, full of ruts and potholes, forcing him to go slowly and carefully instead of speed along.

If only he could be as facile with solutions as with metaphors, he mused.

The hell with it. Slipping on mask, rebreather, and fins, he flopped over the side. Fawn ignored him, intent on her work. As he slipped blissfully beneath the surface he felt the warm water envelop and refresh him.

Curious creatures surrounded him, staring and touching. His mask dimmed the glare from the glistening pseudocorals. Reaching the sandy bottom, he sat down and contemplated his utterly alien surroundings, hoping to find inspiration somewhere among the sea-dwellers.

Not long thereafter, a long, lithe shape shot past him, trailing blond tresses. The hydrojet attached to Fawn’s rebreather pak allowed her to keep pace with many of the lagoon’s denizens. Rolling over like a porpoise, smiling beneath her mask, she beckoned to him.

All thoughts of treaties, cultures, and serious contemplation fled, as he activated his own unit and pushed off the bottom to join her.

The business had been carefully organized and rehearsed, so that when the first signs of an approaching mastorm manifested themselves, each AAnn who had been chosen for the expedition knew just where to go and what to do.

A single floater was all that was necessary. With three to choose from and stability more critical than speed, Essasu had settled upon the largest. Designed for ferrying bulk cargo, it was capable of transporting far more than the small group of fully equipped technicians Piarai had assembled from the pool of willing volunteers. It would
make the run from Mallatyah to Torrelau with ease while remaining stable even in the heaviest weather.

The plan was to finish the work on Torrelau as quickly as possible and then retreat to the shelter of Iliumafan, a small high island located not far offshore. There the cleansing expedition would wait out the worst of the mastorm hidden from view of any possible Parramati witnesses. When the unpredictably violent weather began to settle down, the AAnn would retrace the rest of their steps back to base.

It would be a quick, invigorating, surgical strike, carefully designed to leave no evidence and no witnesses. They would go in under cover of the mastorm and be out before it abated. Just rerunning the details over and over in his mind left Essasu feeling better than he had in months.

He found himself paying more and more attention to the weather reports, anticipating the abrupt drop in pressure and increase in wind speed that traditionally portended the buildup of the next mastorm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we move in now, Commander?”

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

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

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

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

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

In-suit communicators allowed the invaders to talk despite the storm’s unceasing bellow. Thunder rolled through the forest while the almost constant lightning rendered the need for artificial illumination superfluous.

Responding to a prearranged gesture from Essasu, team members poured through the breach in the defensive perimeter and proceeded to prearranged positions. Spreading out, they readied themselves to intradict any desperate flight from the installation. Ever thorough, Essasu had prepared in advance for the unexpected.

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

Know one’s enemy, he told himself.

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

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

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

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

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

Parramati.

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

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

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