Howling Stones (17 page)

The first thing he intended to do upon returning to
Mallatyah was institute a thorough survey of all the sacred stones on the island. Then he would initiate careful, nonthreatening discussions with their caretakers. It should be possible to secure additional, nonhostile demonstrations of the stones’ abilities, under conditions that would permit proper scientific study and analysis.

This was big, he knew. Major.
Ra’selah miscaf nye
. Much more important than some trifle of a treaty. And he, Essasu, would be responsible for its discovery and subsequent exploitation. The noble title to which he aspired was no longer a distant dream but an imminent reality. Such a destiny was worth the sacrifice of a couple of technicians. In gratitude, he would incorporate their names into his title.

Their number reduced by two, the group pushed their way back through the storm, up over the ridges, doggedly retracing their path. Essasu found himself glancing back over his shoulder on more occasions than he cared to admit. He suffered from a quiet horror of looking around only to see a glistening disk full of stars bearing down on him, swallowing rocks, trees, and everything else in its circular path as it sustained a remorseless pursuit.

Some kind of transport mechanism, he knew. One that the Parramati could call into existence but not manipulate. That would be for imperial scientists to master. Surely the system was designed to allow travel from one part of the planet to another and not to dump would-be travelers into an empty slice of sky! No doubt it was all a matter of proper alignment, the details of which time and study would resolve.

He wondered if the two unfortunate technicians who had been swallowed up by the disk were still falling, and he shuddered.

The origin of the disk-generating stones intrigued him
almost as much as their operation. Who had manufactured them, and when? Those parts of Senisran that had been explored had revealed nothing in the way of a civilization predating that of the primitive natives. There was nothing; not a wall, not a statue, not a crumbling ziggurat. Nothing to indicate the earlier presence of a technologically advanced society.

That the stones were not recent arrivals but had been on Senisran for some time was clear from the extensive mythology that had been developed around them by the Parramati. The fact that the devices were still functional was yet another testament to the achievements of their designers. Galactic archeology was not a subject that had much interested him, and he knew next to nothing about it, but there was clearly work here for specialists in many disciplines. He had to move with care and caution lest he overload his brain.

Focus on the immediate, he decided. Concentrate on surmounting this wet, slippery slope without breaking a leg. Understanding, great acclaim, and noble titles could come later.

One of the first steps must be to get hold of a stone and subject it to rigorous examination and analysis in the lab. Facilities denied to the station were available at Chraara. Other stones could be sent offworld for study, preferably accompanied by their respective stone masters. It would not matter if their relations with the Parramati suffered. From now on, it was the stones that mattered.

Would he be believed, even with a witness to corroborate his statements? If only they’d had recorders going! It being, of course, inappropriate to make a record of a double assassination, there were only his personal observations and those of the surviving technician to attest to what had happened. It would have to suffice.

Did the Parramati know more about the stones than they were saying, or were they akin to children who knew how to operate a complex machine but could not have begun to explain how it actually worked? Those questions too would yield to future scrutiny.

“Be careful there!” he warned those ahead of him. “Watch your step.” Irony would not be a strong enough concept to describe their situation if, having just made the discovery of the age, they succumbed to the vicissitudes of bad weather.

Whirling abruptly, he saw only wind-whipped trees and sodden ground. The image of the disk swallowing his two technicians was one that was going to be difficult to dislodge from memory. The sight of them stumbling, falling, screaming as they shrank into the starfield …

Angrily, he returned his attention to the trail ahead.

The four big persons squatted comfortably on their haunches. Torrelauapa lay below the slope on which they sat and off to their right, the waterfall and its narrow lagoon to their left. Three outriggers were heading out to sea, their nets draped neatly over their sides, while females came and went from the intricate mountainside gardens.

Ascela, Jorana, Osiwivi, and Massapapu had gathered to discuss the incident of the previous night. Overhead, the tropical sun shone down through a perfectly blue sky storm-swept clean of particulates.

“Are the stones safe?” Jorana inquired of Osiwivi.

“All have been returned to their keeping places,” his friend replied. “To use them together was a difficult decision.”

“But one that had to be made.” Massapapu was employing a middle finger to clean one ear. “We could not
let the two humans be killed. Not while they were living in our space.”

“Bad kusum.” When Ascela grunted, her whole body lifted slightly on powerful hind legs.

“A violation of hospitality,” added Osiwivi.

“But now the shiny-skinned ones, these AAnn, know the power of stones.” As was each of them, Jorana was openly concerned. “They will trouble our Mallatyahan relations and return to harass us as well.”

“Perhaps not.” The others looked to Ascela, who while carrying no more weight in discussion than anyone else, was senior in years among them. “It may be that none of their big persons will grasp the true meaning of what was seen.” She barked gentle amusement. “After all, unless one knows the ways of using, the stones are only stones. Except for what the Mallatyahans choose to tell them, the shiny-skinned AAnn are ignorant of kusum.”

“That is so,” Osiwivi agreed, “but I still think as does Jorana. They will trouble us unless we make them all go away.”

Massapapu considered the problem. “We could send them all down a road from which they would not return.”

Ascela gestured agreement. “That is easily enough done. But from talking with the humans, I believe that others would come to take their place. These who would come after would be more cautious as well as more ready to use weapons.”

“Just as a human male has come to join the female.” Jorana’s nostrils flared slightly. “Do you think they will mate?”

“I do not know. They don’t speak of such things to me. If I think of it, I will ask them sometime. They seem mismatched as to size.”

Massapapu considered. “Maybe among their kind the female is always larger than the male.”

Jorana made a low chittering sound deep in his throat. “It seems that we are going to have to learn how to live with these visitors among us, humans and AAnn alike. But that does not mean we must agree to let them come and dig out what they want from the land.” Double eyelids blinked. “Better for kusum to keep playing them off one against the other.”

“Yes,” agreed Osiwivi. “Contact and trade is supportable—so long as
we
control it.”

“But they will want to manage things.” Ascela shifted on her haunches. “Both believe that they speak from a position of strength, but neither has any stones.” She snorted derisively. “They are not stronger than us, but it is better to let them think that they are.”

“They will continue to harangue us to choose between them,” Massapapu argued.

“Let them.” Ascela let her gaze wander to the relaxing symmetry of the terraced gardens. “We will continue to play no favorites. Access to all islands of the Parramati will be controlled, and we will not allow them to dig on our lands. We will pass judgment on every soft- or shiny-skin who wishes to reside among us.”

“For how long?” Osiwivi was not afraid to let uncertainty show. “They have powerful weapons and machines.”

“But they do not know the right roads.” Jorana half closed his eyes, squinting into the sun as he watched the last of the fishing outriggers vanish around the northern point. “Perhaps if we were to show some of them a true road, they would come to understand what preserving our kusum means to us.”

“Yes!” Massapapu was immediately enthusiastic. “Show the two humans the great road. See then if they do not become more like us, more attuned to true kusum. Show them the great road and they will understand why we do not need their treaty and their trade goods.”

As Ascela mulled over this proposal, she sifted soil through her fingers, studying the small lives it had to offer. Occasionally she nibbled.

“An idea worthy of further consideration, but are these two humans the proper candidates? They do not strike me as big persons among their own kind. Wise, yes. Understanding and sometimes even sympathetic. Intelligent and knowledgeable, or they would not have been sent among us. But after much talking with them, I do not believe that they are persons of influence or power.”

“We can add to their power as well as to their knowledge by showing them the road,” Jorana pointed out. “Once they have seen, then big persons of their own kind will have to listen to them.”

Ascela rocked backward, using her short tail to form the third leg of a tripod on which she could balance. “Well, on one thing we are all agreed: something must be done about these persistent soft- and shiny-skinned visitors. If we cannot drive them away or kill them all, we must make them understand what it is to be Parramati. If that means they must be shown the great road, then so be it.”

Bathed in warm sunlight, their naked skin caressed by the occasional warm breeze off the lagoon, they fell to discussing the details.

Fawn frowned at Naharira, a Torrelauapan big person she knew only by name. Repairs to that part of the station defensive perimeter that had been damaged during the last mastorm were taking longer than she’d calculated. Straightening and wiping sweat from her forehead, she peered across the cleared area to the far side of the defensive fence where Pulickel was methodically checking each newly refurbished stanchion with a hand-held monitor.

So far, only the one she was working on seemed to have suffered any serious damage. It was the first time any part of the defensive fence had failed. Given the fury of the periodic mastorms and the debilitating nature of the climate, it was surprising it hadn’t happened before.

Personally, she thought the energized perimeter excessive. No local predator could force an entry into the station. But it was SOP, and she’d had no say in the station’s construction. Even so, she was making immediate repairs only at Pulickel’s insistence.

Of more interest was the bare piece of land near the main entrance to the elevator shaft. A circular patch of ground had been wiped clean of soil and all plant matter to a depth of several centimeters, right down to exposed rock. She and Pulickel had discussed possible explanations ranging from a miniature tornadic touchdown to a freak bolt of lightning. Most puzzling was the near perfection of the circle.

Save for the single perimeter post, the station itself had come through the mastorm undamaged as always, a tribute to its designers and builders. Despite delays, she expected to have the fence up and running within the hour.

It was while they were out sweating and straining in the heat of late morning that Naharira had come to stand and stare. And to make conversation.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she told the attentive villager. “What are you trying to tell me?”

The big person leaned on his simple hoe, rocking slightly on his huge feet. “We want you and Pu’il to understand what it means to be Parramati. We want you to understand why we don’t want a treaty that will bring others of your kind, or of the shiny-skinned ones, here to dig up our land.”

Fawn was on her knees, peering into the eviscerated
interior of the damaged stanchion. As she listened, she removed a replacement module from its clear plastic casing and carefully snapped it in place. Within the stanchion, a pair of tiny green lights winked to life.

“There will be a treaty.” She snapped connectors back into place. “Either with us or with the AAnn. It’s going to happen, so the big persons in Torrelauapa and the other villages might as well get used to the idea.” She made a face. “It’s called progress.”

Naharira scuffed the ground with his hoe. “Let me put it another way. The Parramati feel that any such treaty would constitute a defacement of kusum.”

Blinking away sweat, she looked up at the native. “I don’t see that it damages kusum at all. The proposals don’t ask the Parramati to change their way of life in any fashion. They simply enshrine an already existing friendship.”

“It would lead to the opening of other roads and other ways. Roads that lead to attractive options and new things that are appealing to youth who have not yet been instructed in the fullness of kusum. Tradition would be eroded. We have heard how this has happened elsewhere. Heritage has been sacrificed for shiny toys that honor no kusum.” He shifted on his hoe.

“You and the shiny-skinned AAnn have knowledge, but the Parramati have life. Knowledge without life is nothing. Everything we have, everything we are, arises from our kusum. Change that, substitute for it, and we will lose that which makes us what we are. Our kusum has kept us safe in war and drought and bad times while many around us were suffering. That is because other seni have forgotten or put aside their kusum in favor of new fads and tempting ideas. Only the Parramati still hew to an unchanged kusum. We have done so for as long as memory serves. We must continue to do so.”

“You don’t need to tell me. I’ve heard the same liturgy from Ascela and other big persons.” She was trying to be polite to the native while concentrating on the repair job. “I see your point.”

“I’m not sure that you do.” Naharira was being very direct this morning. “But we would like you to. We are not like the Eolurro or the Simisant. Only the Parramati know well the roads. It is because of this, because of our kusum, that we see the world as it truly is.”