Howling Stones (3 page)

“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.

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 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. “Hang 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 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 fleratii, 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 life-forms 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 good luck before 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.”