
Author:

 Alan Dean Foster

 Title:The Howling Stones

 Series:

 A Novel of the Humanx Commonwealth

 

 

 

 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&#8209;nigh

 impossible when constantly on the move from world to world.

 Other men and women managed to establish and maintain long&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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. 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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;settled

 and well&#8209;known Cachalot. In lieu of any continental landmasses, the

 globe&#8209;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&#8209; 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&#8209;consuming proposition. Not only was a planetary government

 nonexistent, the aboriginal seni had yet to conceive of the idea of

 nation&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;plus. It was valuable both from a

 politico&#8209;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 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&#8209; their neighbors through contact with

 more technologically advanced off&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;person first&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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.

 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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;or&#8209;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 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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;altitude transport jet screamed through cloud&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;to&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;forces on him increased modestly, Pulickel

 shifted uneasily in his harness. "They're far more closely related to the

 extinct order dinosauria, being warm&#8209;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&#8209;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

 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&#8209;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&#8209;perfect beach, its

 silvery&#8209;gray exterior at odds with the reddish&#8209;white surface on which it rested.

 Green crowns burst from the tops of three gently curving, blue&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;conditioned cockpit for only a few

 minutes, he was already beginning to sweat. After weeks on a climate&#8209;controlled

 KK&#8209;drive ship in space&#8209;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&#8209;passenger farewell and goad 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&#8209; 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&#8209;term working

 relationship. Mindful of his self&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;length blond hair wrapped in four tails. Her skin was the color of

 new&#8209;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 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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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 barrier, she angled north and pushed the

 skimmer's speed up another notch.

 The reigning silence was becoming painful. "Interesting hairstyle," he ventured

 lamely. "What's that you've woven into the braids?"

 She glanced over at him. "Kiswaa and socolo fibers. The plants are natural gold

 concentrators. As opposed to food, gardening Parramati grow them for decorative

 purposes like this, though they have no hair."

 He blinked. "Gardening?"

 "Wait till you see a Parramati garden. They're genuine works of art. Growing

 food is almost secondary to appearance."

 "I look forward to seeing in person everything I've only had the opportunity to

 study." He turned to face back into the wind.

 They'd long since left the huge atoll behind and were speeding along above open

 water. Islands sizable and small were visible in all directions, but Seaforth

 maintained their northerly heading, changing course only to avoid those islets

 that protruded a meter or more above the water. In the open passages between

 landmasses, strong ocean swells occasionally reached for the speeding skimmer,

 but none dampened its underside. High, chiseled, and overwhelmed by green, a

 cluster of larger islands loomed ahead.

 "I didn't expect full field uniform, but do you always meet the supply shuttle

 from Ophhlia that way?"

 Seaforth glanced down at herself. "Something wrong with the way I'm dressed?"

 "I didn't say that. I just wondered."

 "Sure you did." She kept her gaze forward and her attention on their course.

 He struggled to recover. "It's just that it's been my experience that

 indifference to casual detail leads to sloppy work."

 "Does it, now?"

 He gave up. "If you're going to respond to everything I say with another

 question, we're going to have trouble communicating."

 "You mean we're not already?" Her gaze narrowed. "Tell you what, Pulickel. Wait

 till you've been here for a few weeks. Then talk to me about protocol, okay?"

 "Fair enough." He returned his attention to the view forward, blinking

 repeatedly. The tropical sun reflecting off the water was harsh against his

 pupils, and his eyeshades were still packed inside his travel case.

 She was silent for several minutes, then sighed and reached into a side storage

 compartment. The goggles she handed him were similar to his own.

 He accepted them gratefully. "I have several pair, but they're packed away. I

 didn't expect so long a ride from the pickup point to base."

 "So they didn't tell you everything back on Earth."

 "There wasn't much time. Normally I'm given more advance notice. I had to

 complete basic preparatory studies on the journey out from Earth."

 "Yeah, well, everyone's in a hurry to get the situation here resolved."

 He nodded knowingly. "The mineral rights."

 "Among other things." She swerved to avoid a coral pinnacle that rose high above

 the water. "Smell that air, Pulickel! Everything's unspoiled here. Fresh,

 unpolluted, natural."

 He eyed her thoughtfully. "Is that why you're here?

 I'd think someone like yourself would miss the excitement of a developed world,

 or at least the comforts of Ophhlia."

 She turned to him so quickly that he started. "Someone like me? For a guy I met

 less than an hour ago, you presume a lot." Her darkened eyescreens prevented

 him from seeing her eyes. "For a supposed specialist with a fancy reputation,

 you show a disappointing tendency to fall back on unsupported assumptions."

 He hastened to make amends. "I'm sorry. Let's start over, okay? I'm Pulickel

 Tomochelor. It's nice to meet you."

 "Pardon me if I don't shake hands. I've got to steer this air skate." But she

 smiled, and he was relieved.

 "It's not that I dislike parties and civilization," she went on, "but you can

 get used to peace and quiet. Even," she added coolly, "someone like me." After a

 moment she added, "Leastwise, it's peaceful and quiet most of the time.

 "Trouble with the locals?"

 "More frustration than trouble. You'll see." Reaching down, she pulled the hem

 of her overshirt out in front of her and eyed the stains. "I guess you're right.

 This could use a wash. Especially now that I have company."

 If she was waiting for him to demur, she'd have a long wait. It was unfortunate

 if his attitude put her off, but he felt it necessary to establish from the

 start who was in charge and whose work philosophy was to prevail. She might be

 the one with on&#8209;site experience, but within the Department he easily ranked her.

 Convincing her to do some personal laundry was a relatively painless way of

 reminding her of their respective positions. Once she accepted that, their

 working relationship would improve.

 Maybe she enjoyed going native, or playing beachcomber, or whatever it was that

 had happened to affect her attitudes but relaxation and indifference weren't

 going to solve the problems at hand. She might be in love with Parramat, but

 all he wanted was to fix what he'd been sent out to fix, receive his

 commendation, and get out. Goddess or no, he wasn't about to let her stand in

 the way of that goal.

 About then she took a deep breath and stretched, causing him to temporarily

 forget everything related to his admirable work ethic.

 Ten minutes on found them weaving between the larger, heavily vegetated islands.

 The southernmost reaches of the Parramat archipelago, Fawn informed him.

 Thereafter they were never out of sight of high peaks and their cosseting

 clouds. The sheer sides of many of the islands and the. heavy waves breaking on

 their fringing reefs showed why she had traveled to the sandy cay in the lagoon

 to pick him up. There was no protected touchdown site here for the aerial

 transport.

 One especially striking crag was. several hundred meters high, a jungled spire

 rising sheer from the ocean floor. Flocks of unidentifiable flying things

 roosted in its hollows and ledges. Showing no inclination to reduce their speed,

 Seaforth guided the skimmer skillfully past.

 As they entered an area of open water between two smaller islands, he found out

 why the spectacular beauty through which they were traveling needed to be taken

 with a grain of sea salt.

 Something beeped on the instrument panel. Moving faster than he'd yet seen,

 Seaforth sat up straight and began checking her readouts.

 What?

 Before he could finish the query, she slammed the steering guide hard aport and

 yelled out, "Hang on!" Water rooster&#8209;tailed to starboard, an artificial geyser.

 Following which she shouted something so unexpectedly obscene that he found

 himself rocked from two quarters. If nothing else, it permanently killed the

 goddess image he'd assigned to her.

 "Damn! There's a whole school of the slimy bastards. They've come in from the

 deep ocean. Passing between islands." The skimmer lurched heavily to starboard

 as she threw it in the opposite direction.

 "A whole school of what?" Making sure of his grip on the hang bar, he turned and

 leaned over the side to have a look at the sea.

 "Hey, are you crazy? Don't do that!" A hand reached out and grabbed the

 waistband of his shorts, yanking him backward.

 As he stumbled awkwardly in her grasp, a narrow stream of water shot skyward,

 passing through the space where he'd been leaning over the side. The fountain

 glittered in the bright sunshine, intense enough to suggest the presence of

 something more than just water.

 Trying to maintain his dignity, he stumbled as he spun out of her grip. "What

 the devil do you think you're doing?"

 "Saving your ignorant life, Tomochelor." She flung the steering guide hard over

 and he nearly fell down. Her gaze was focused on the instrument panel as well as

 the water ahead. "When passing over something dangerous, you don't lean over for

 a closer look at it."

 He steadied himself as the skimmer twisted beneath him. He was more upset at the

 ease with which she'd pulled him away from the side than the manner in which

 she'd addressed him.

 "An explanation night help. I didn't see anything dangerous." Without

 approaching the edge, he glanced cautiously over the side. As far as he could

 see, the water was undisturbed by anything out of the ordinary. "For that

 matter, I still don't see anything dangerous."

 "If you're a predator, that's the idea." She glanced back over a shoulder.

 "We're clear of them now. I counted more than a dozen of the squishy

 monstrosities when they were on the screen."

 Leaning against the front console, he crossed his arms and eyed her tensely.

 "I'm still waiting for an explanation. And I don't recognize `squishy

 monstrosities' as an applicable taxonomic classification."

 "They were apapanus. "

 He frowned. "I don't recall that name from any of the lists of local fauna."

 "They're not in the catalog yet. Remember, Bioscan is accepting a dozen new

 species a week here. An apapanu is a big, fat, ugly pseudocephalopod. It likes

 to sit just under the surface in shallow water. In ambush."

 "Ambush

 "It ejects a stream of water under pressure. Many of the local oceanic

 life&#8209;forms propel themselves by squirting&#8209;water through tubes on the sides of

 their bodies or at the tips of fins&#8209;from just about anywhere you can imagine. A

 few use similar high&#8209;pressure jets for predation."

 He rubbed at his forehead. "What's the intent? To drown intended victims?"

 "Are you familiar with the Terran archer fish?" Pulickel shook his head. "It

 lies in wait just beneath the surface of ponds and rivers and shoots a thin

 stream of water at insects poised on overhanging branches and leaves. Knocks

 them off into the water and eats them. The apapanu does something similar,

 utilizing a much higher volume. What distinguishes it is that it doesn't shoot

 just water." She put her feet up on the instrument panel.

 "When it's not feeding, it nibbles on particularly tough quasi&#8209;corals. Instead

 of digesting, it passes this groundup detritus into a special sac located

 behind its cranial ejection spigot. The solid material consists primarily of

 indigestible silicates. What it's firing at its prey is a stream of water under

 extremely high pressure that contains a high proportion of sharp&#8209;edged

 silicaceous aggregate. Think of it as a water cannon packed with ground glass.

 "When you were leaning over the side, you were in danger of catching more than a

 faceful of seawater. An apapanu the size of the ones we passed over could have I

 sheared your head off." One sandaled foot nimbly ad&#8209;

 justed a minor instrument.

 "Once when I was out fishing for eleuu, a flock of uluritei flashed right past

 the front of the skimmer. They're low&#8209;level gliders that fish the surface

 waters."

 "Like fleratii," he commented.

 She nodded approvingly. "Yes, like fleratii, only much smaller. Wing&#8209;span

 of less than three meters. Anyway, one of them had just snapped something out of

 the water when an apapanu brought it down. Blew a hole clean through it.

 Apapanus have excellent diffraction compensatory vision and can see anything

 above the surface while lurking beneath it." She eyed him meaningfully.

 "Could've cut your visit here real short. So to speak."

 "It won't happen again," he assured her stiffly. "I suppose I should thank

 you."

 "Why not? I adore novelties." There was silence for a long moment. "Well?"

 "Well what?" His attention was on the large, high island directly ahead.

 Absently he added, "Thank you for saving my face."

 "As opposed to saving face?" Her smile, never, absent for very long, returned.

 "Don't take it to heart. You just got here. I didn't expect to run into any

 trouble between the landing cay and Torrelau myself."

 "How do the locals avoid such creatures?"

 "As best they can. When they don't someone usually dies." Her tone was fiat.

 "The design of their outriggers is unique and they can turn quickly. The

 Parramati are skilled at avoiding the dangers of the sea, but they're not

 omnipotent. Sometimes the predators are faster."

 He nodded slowly. "How do they cope?"

 "High birthrate. And magic."

 His eyebrows rose. "I beg your pardon?"

 She lowered her voice, trying to make herself sound as mysterious as possible.

 "Magic."

 He smiled thinly, doing his best to go along with what was obviously a joke. "Do

 they employ any particular divinations? Or perhaps special powders and

 incantations?"

 She didn't miss a beat. "Absolutely. Superficially, it sounds a lot like the

 magicks of Aluwela, Tesiratupa, Curusisim, and a hundred other island groups.

 The only difference is, here it works."

 "Not all the time, according to what you've just told me."

 "Parramati magic isn't absolute. It just seems to improve the odds."

 He shrugged. "Chants and incantations are inherently superficial, but native

 herbs and powders can have powerful physiological effects. Something they might

 sprinkle on the water to numb the nervous systems of dangerous predators, for

 example. I could give you a hundred possible explanations for what you think

 you've seen, many from personal experience."

 She leaned forward slightly, peering through the windscreen. "Pretty soon

 you'll have the chance to judge for yourself. We're almost there. That's

 Torrelau dead ahead."

 

 Chapter Three

 

 Seaforth swung the skimmer around a wave&#8209;swept point of rocks and into an

 exquisite natural harbor. Walls of green closed in on both sides. The fjordlike

 inlet would easily have accommodated a large cargo boat, but it was deserted

 save for their comparatively tiny craft. The cries of alien fauna rose from the

 surrounding forest.

 "I understand," he said absently as he studied the dense foliage, "that the

 Parramati show little interest in contemporary technology. Whereas elsewhere on

 Senisran, the natives have taken to trading for simple Commonwealth

 manufactures with enthusiasm."

 She nodded. "Not here they haven't. They say it goes against their kusum. Also,

 they think magic is better. Of course, they don't really use magic. Everything

 they do, everything that happens in Parramat has a logical and rational

 exegesis. I just haven't had time enough to study it. I've been too busy trying

 to get them to make treaty with the Commonwealth." She smiled up at him. "I'm

 expecting you to explain it all to me."

 "I'll do my best," he replied without a hint of guile. "But as you say, a treaty

 is paramount. The section in my study guide on Parramati customs was slim. I

 expect you to warn me where not to step, what not to say, and how not to act."

 "Don't worry, Pulickel. I'll take good care of you."

 He tensed, but she didn't reach over to pat him on the head. Intellectual

 condescension he could handle, but not the physical kind. Especially not frown

 an attractive woman. If that was irrational, so be it.

 The skimmer slowed as they approached a narrow stretch of yellow&#8209;white beach at

 the head of the inlet. Beyond the sand he could see where jungle had been

 cleared away, leaving a wide path through the forest. Something in shades of

 blue equipped with multiple legs scurried piglike across the clearing and into

 the trees.

 She drove the skimmer off the water and up onto the beach, rising to clear a

 large berm that was anchored in place by a peculiar, corkscrewing green&#8209;red

 vine. Purple fruiting bodies burst from conelike structures that emerged at

 random from each shiny coil. Without being obvious, he paid careful attention to

 everything she did. Unbeknownst to her, one of his ancillary tasks in accepting

 the Parramat assignment was to render and report a formal job evaluation on one

 Fawn Seaforth.

 It was early, but so far his opinion was equivocal. Not that he was grading out

 at the top of his form since his arrival, either. How could he have known about

 the apapanus? Senisran was rich in unknown and undescribed inimical species. He

 was confident only in what he knew. He decided that her lapses in protocol could

 be overlooked in view of the fact that she'd saved his life&#8209;and might well do

 so again.

 Of one thing he was already certain. This assignment could go one of many

 ways&#8209;&#8209;but "by the book" wasn't going to be one of them.

 Well, he'd improvised before. Adaptability was the hallmark of the truly

 successful.

 A hundred meters from the water's edge, the skimmer hangar came into view. It

 was a large, unlovely, wholly functional structure: a roof, three walls, and a

 sliding barrier. Fawn pulled inside, cut the engine, and monitored

 instrumentation as their vehicle settled onto its mounting pad.

 "The station's just up ahead." She jumped over the side. "Pass down your case

 and we'll walk the rest of the way."

 Using .the integrated hoist to control the heavy baggage, they walked the

 remaining meters along a narrower path that ran in a straight line through the

 trees. Pulickel was enveloped by the rich, musky aroma of growing things. Alien

 odors assaulted his nostrils. The majority, though not all, of them were

 pleasant.

 Ideally, a contact station should blend harmoniously with its alien environment

 without challenging the position or preeminence of native structures or

 religious icons. This was not a problem on Torrelau since the nearest Parramati

 village was located several kilometers distant, over an intervening ridge.

 It was important that the installation reflect the technological superiority of

 its builders without being overawing. The idea was to impress without

 terrifying. Nor could it be too elaborate or expensive; not with a world like

 Senisran requiring dozens of such installations. It should also be relatively

 quick and easy to assemble.

 Therefore it wasn't surprising that Seaforth's habitation was of a design

 Pulickel recognized. It looked like a fat wheel mounted on an axle that had been

 shoved into the ground, with the body of the wheel parallel to the earth. Ascent

 to the main body of the station, whose rim was ringed with windows and

 observation ports, was via a lift located in the supporting axle. In the event

 of power failure, a spiral stairway encircled the elevator shaft.

 With the wheel&#8209;shaped body of the station ten meters above the ground, it

 offered occupants safety as well as a pleasant view of the encroaching forest.

 The main work areas faced the exquisite, narrow bay, muting instead of

 encouraging hard work. A circular defensive perimeter consisting of charged

 posts that would deal unpleasantly with any living thing that attempted to pass

 between them ensured a safe outside working zone beneath the overhang of the

 station itself.

 With its prominent reds and blues, the surrounding jungle was more colorful than

 its relentlessly green Terran counterparts. Pulickel recognized variations of

 the star&#8209;crowned trees beneath which Fawn had awaited the arrival of the

 transport. Among the other botanical standouts was a medium&#8209;size bush armed

 with scythelike spines. It looked like a refugee from some desert clime but was

 obviously happy to be growing deep within the forest. Flowers flared in

 abundance and in odd places.

 Beneath the shady wheel of the station and within the defense perimeter was a

 junkyard of empty packing crates, storage containers, and unidentifiable debris.

 It stained the ground just as grease and soil marred Seaforth's overshirt. Its

 presence was strictly against general regulations and guidelines for the

 maintenance and operation of such an outpost. All nonrecyclable trash was

 supposed to be properly disposed of or neatly packaged for removal at some

 future date.

 As they drew near, half a dozen small scavengers of unknown type burst from the

 mess and scattered into the trees. He could hear them banging through the

 underbrush. Several had neither feathers nor scales and appeared to be little

 more than fleshy blobs on legs.

 He found himself gesturing. "It would appear that the station's defense system

 is not turned on."

 She nodded slowly. "So it would appear."

 "That is a violation of regulations." He gestured at the flagrant pile. "What do

 you call that disgusting mess?"

 "Convenient. The Parramati get a kick out of poking through it. They use some of

 the smaller discarded packaging to store water or carry pickings. Impermeable

 plastic leftovers are highly regarded here."

 "Letting natives scavenge a station's trash is counter to proper procedure." He

 eyed her disapprovingly.

 She paid no attention. "I don't think letting them have a few scraps is going to

 disrupt their cultural equilibrium. The Parramati are a pretty stable society.

 Besides, I've found that trash can make you a lot of friends." She waved

 casually at their surroundings. "Welcome to Torrelau. It means `the land' in

 Parramati."

 "I know." The local dialect was one thing he had mastered during his studies.

 An accomplished linguist and a natural mimic, he believed firmly that you

 couldn't really convince an alien of anything unless you could speak to it in

 its own language. Whether they required chatting, whistling, clicking, harsh

 glottal stops, or signs, he'd been able to master them all. In fact, it was much

 easier for him to converse with aliens than with his own kind. Take the speech

 of frigid Tran&#8209;ky&#8209;ky, where he'd been stationed for a while. Rigid in

 inflection and boasting a highly formal grammar, it had been easy for him to

 master. Neither fluid, conversational seni or the local Parramati dialect had

 posed a problem for him.

 Something induced him to look sharply to his left. "I get the feeling we're

 being watched."

 "We are. They'll introduce themselves in due time. The Parramati aren't fearful,

 but they're cautious. You're new to them. Not that you're the second human

 they've ever seen. There was the crew that erected the station, though they

 never had any contact with the locals. Among other features, they're fascinated

 by our individual size variations. Mature seni are all pretty much the same

 height."

 How tactful of you to mention the subject, he thought, then realized she

 probably meant nothing by it. He was far too sensitive on the subject.

 Something that looked like a purple boa constrictor with feathery external gills

 running half the length of its body emerged from the trash pile and slithered

 out of their path as they approached the support cylinder. An irrational

 feeling, perhaps, but Pulickel felt more secure once they stood beneath the

 circular shadow of the station's bulk.

 Fawn had to yell at the door several times before it would open. Whether the

 delay was due to an internal fault or poor maintenance he couldn't tell. She

 grinned apologetically back at him. It would not be so amusing, he thought, if

 something was chasing them. He wondered what else needed fixing.

 "Been meaning to work on that," she told him as the door finally slid aside. At

 least, he mused, it did not make a grinding noise as it did so.

 "Station upkeep is the responsibility of those working on site," he reminded

 her, "irrespective of specialty."

 "Hey, I do what I can. The climate here is rough on electronics. My priority is

 the treaty, not janitorial work."

 Not wishing to start another argument, he withheld the continent that was

 teetering on his lips and followed her into the lift. It was just big enough to

 accommodate the two of them and Pulickel's self&#8209;hoisting travel case. The door

 closed smoothly behind them.

 The interior of the station was a revelation, but not the kind that inspires.

 Clothes were scattered about both the living and work areas. A few hung from the

 ceiling. Empty food containers clung to furniture like giant, brightly colored

 fungal spores. The tiny carcasses of dead arthropods spotted the softfloor.

 Fashioned of native fibers, a hammock hung suspended in the portal that

 separated the main living area from kitchen and sleeping quarters. Several water

 bottles in various stages of consumption occupied unlikely&#8209;and in at least one

 instance, unsanitary locations within the room.

 Lining the sweeping windows that ran around the station's circumference was a

 small jungle of native plants. Each chosen for its beauty or uniqueness, they

 flourished in improvised pots that were as much a product of Fawn Seaforth's

 imagination as they were of her resourcefulness. Empty food containers, cut&#8209;down

 powercell packs, cleaning and maintenance tubes: all had been ingeniously

 pressed into service. Alien perfume and color filled the room.

 Pulickel found himself drawn to what looked like a longitudinally sliced water

 carrier potted with miniature black roses. It was beautiful to look at, but the

 streamers and leaves and tendrils blocked windows and dirtied the floor. A thick

 mass of aerial roots threatened to overwhelm an atmospheric monitoring panel.

 Fawn noted the direction of his gaze.

 "Have to trim that back." She bent to smell of something blue and gold. "What

 do you think of my collection? I cleaned the place up especially for you."

 "Just for me? You shouldn't have."

 "Yeah, I know, but I did anyway."

 "Seaforth ..." he began sternly.

 "Come on: it's Fawn. We're going to be working together too long for last names.

 Especially last names as long as yours."

 All right, Fawn. With a sweeping gesture he encompassed the room and what he

 could see of rooms beyond. "How can you live and work in this squalor?"

 "Squalor?" She made a face. "There's no squalor here, Pulickel. Just comfort.

 Don't you like flowers?"

 "I love flowers, and houseplants, but I don't relish the idea of sharing my

 living quarters with alien species. Especially new ones whose properties and

 characteristics haven't been thoroughly cataloged."

 "Relax." She moved to another plant. "I put each one through a rigorous

 quarantine and check before I bring it into the station. Make sure that they're

 all free of parasites and hangers&#8209;on. I even check pollen and spores for

 possible serious contamination. Sure there's dangerous flora on Senisran, but

 these here are all harmless to both human and thranx."

 Carefully avoiding the debris that made passage difficult, he worked his way

 across to the outer wall and its bank of indigenous foliage. "I can understand a

 small collection, but these are taking over. They could get into equipment, clog

 filters, no telling what."

 She spread her arms and performed a slow pirouette. "Honestly, Pulickel. Do I

 look in any way unhealthy to you?"

 In point of fact, she looked healthier than any human being he'd ever seen in

 his life, but that wasn't the point. There were procedures that had to be

 followed, strictures that needed to be observed.

 It suddenly occurred to him that he was more than a little tired. "Could you

 just show me my room, please? We can discuss all this later."

 "Sure. I know you must be exhausted."

 "I'm not exhausted," he replied irritably as she unhooked the hammock that was

 blocking the doorway.

 "Sorry. This was the best place I could find to put it up. There's a lovely view

 of the inlet from here. You can lie here at night, open the windows, and watch

 the moons come up."

 His eyes widened. "Open the windows? You mean, you consciously and willingly

 violate the atmospheric integrity of the station?"

 "Frequently. I like the feeling of freedom."

 "I'm sure that the native species that fly in and out at such times do, too."

 "You are a worrier, aren't you? If it'll make you feel safer, I'll arm the

 external defenses. As for the open windows, I happen to like fresh air. When it

 gets too hot and humid inside, I close everything up again. Nothing really

 dangerous ever intrudes. In the morning, I go around and add to the station's

 collection of small flying arthropods."

 He twitched at the thought of something small, alien, and buggy landing on his

 face while he slept. "I'll keep my quarters sealed, if you don't mind."

 She shrugged. "Suit yourself. Makes me claustrophobic."

 Thankfully, she hadn't even bothered to inspect either of the two unused

 sleeping areas. The standard room was typical in nearly every aspect, its

 familiarity a great comfort to the weary and troubled xenologist. It was a

 little musty from disuse, but everything was where and as it should be, and

 there were no extraneous decorations of either Senisran's or Seaforth's making.

 He reveled in its reassuring sterility.

 He hastened to shut the door behind him to keep out any small uninvited locals

 that might be crawling about. "It looks fine. Let's get my case."

 "After you, my honored guest." As her left hand swept out in a gesture of

 invitation, she executed a mock bow.

 

 46

 

 He forced himself to smile at the harmless, mild sarcasm. The bow took his mind

 off her words anyway.

 He spent the remainder of the day unpacking and putting up his equipment and

 personal gear. Several times he paused to ensure that the door was still tightly

 sealed against intrusion by anything larger than a human hair He also carried

 out a personal inspection and cleaning of the room's overhead air filters. The

 curving window offered a view only of surrounding forest, but he was pleased

 with it nonetheless. Claustrophobic, indeed! Rather than closed&#8209;in, the room

 gave him a feeling of security.

 As he put away the last of his gear he wondered why he couldn't have been sent

 to Miramilu. The largest and most important of the island groupings thus far

 contacted by Commonwealth representatives, it lay only three hundred kilometers

 from Ophhlia. Conscious of their status, its citizens had held off allying

 themselves with either humans or AAnn, sensibly evaluating the offers of

 assistance that both sides regularly presented to its chiefs. Already they

 were utilizing simple Commonwealth and Empire technologies to improve their

 everyday lives, advantages gained without committing themselves to either side.

 The Miramiluans were playing it smart instead of stubborn.

 The station there consisted not of a single prefab structure unceremoniously

 planted into the ground but of a growing complex that in size and sophistication

 threatened to rival Ophhlia itself in importance. In such surroundings he knew

 he could make an immediate difference. The research that would result would be

 important and prominently featured in The Journal of Xenological Contact.

 Instead, they'd sent him here. Because, it had been explained to him, Parramat

 was more of a trouble spot, more of an insoluble problem. Less insightful

 xenologists could be counted on to deal with Miramilu's more comprehensible

 recalcitrance. Despite one mild protest, he'd been sent where they needed him

 most&#8209;not where he'd wanted to go.

 Well, it wouldn't take him long to compile a report on Fawn Seaforth. That part

 of his work here was already well on its way to completion.

 His own personal computing facilities integrated seamlessly with those of the

 base. He was greatly relieved to see that save for a few minor glitches, that

 portion of the station was operating properly. As a test, he ran through a few

 basic setup programs, talking softly to the vorec and making sure the more

 powerful station unit responded readily to his stock inquiries. By the time he

 was finished, it was growing dark outside. The onset of alien evening arrived on

 sky streamers tinged with pink and gold.

 His door chimed, using the musical quote from Brian's "Jolly Miller" that he had

 programmed into it.

 "I'll be out in a minute," he told the door. He didn't want Fawn Seaforth in his

 room any more than was necessary. She might bring passengers along with her.

 Visitors from outside. He intended to preserve the sanctity of his quarters for

 as long as was practicable.

 Setting the room on "constant clean" and his personal facilities on standby, he

 stepped out to join her, closing the door behind him as quickly as possible.

 They passed through the general living area and into the small dining facility.

 The same curving windows offered a view of rapidly darkening forest. Moments

 later, powerful lights on the rim of the station came to life, illuminating the

 vegetation and startling the early risers among the forest's nocturnal fauna.

 Unrecognizable creatures with large, glowing eyes vanished swiftly into the

 concealing treetops.

 "Very little work's been done on Senisran's night life." Fawn was busying

 herself with the food processor. She had traded in her nonexistent swimsuit and

 dirty overshirt for clean shorts and blouse. A part of Pulickel was pleased,

 while the rest was gravely disappointed. This mental disagreement represented an

 internal conflict he would have to somehow resolve, he told himself.

 "There's so much to study and catalog during daylight hours," she continued,

 "that none of the resident biologists on Senisran have had much time to devote

 to studies of life after dark."

 He took a seat at the small oval table. "Anything dangerous around here?"

 "You saw the revavuaa? The purple snakelike creature that slid from cover when

 we were approaching the lift shaft? That's got a real bad bite, but it's not

 exclusively nocturnal. As for the local diurnal life&#8209;forms, I've put together a

 small but necessary list of critters to watch out for. You can download the

 relevants into your files anytime."

 "You let it hang around the station?"

 "That's where it wanted to hang around. It may be poisonous, but it's not

 aggressive. You saw it slither off when we approached. I can't be shooting

 everything that comes poking through, and there's not enough power to run a full

 defensive screen around the clock. Besides which, the screen is a pain in the

 butt. It wasn't on when we arrived because I get tired of having to continually

 turn it on and off. Regulations or no regulations." She removed several plates

 and bowls from the processor and set them on the table.

 "Don't expect me to wait on you like this every night. It's just that it's your

 first day and I know you're tired&#8209;."

 He studied the platters hungrily. "I'm perfectly willing to do my share of the

 domestics. These aren't native foods, I hope?"

 She grinned. "I wouldn't hit you with that on your first day here. No, tonight

 we're having good old imported reconstitutibles. Local cuisine can wait, though

 I promise you, besides the fruits and vegetables there are some wonderful

 things the Parramati pull out of the ocean. In particular, there are some

 soft&#8209;shelled burrowing pseudomollusks that taste heavenly when they've been

 steamed and basted in butter."

 "I look forward to it." He started helping himself from the assembled plates.

 "Could I just have some water?"

 "Sure." Reentering the processing area, she returned moments later with a

 self&#8209;chilling pitcher and sat down opposite him.

 "I'll try whatever you think I might like," he promised her as they ate. "The

 local foods certainly haven't done you any harm."

 She smiled. "Why, Tomochelor, thank you for the compliment."

 "I didn't mean&#8209;" He stopped, flustered, considered beginning again, and gave it

 up in favor of chewing his food. "I'll try them a little bit at a time, until my

 system becomes used to the local tastes and consistencies."

 "That's the way I did it." She ate actively from her own plate, but with care.

 He thought about complimenting her on her change of clothing, decided that

 anything he might say could be misconstrued, and determined that where she was

 concerned, it would be safer to avoid the topic of attire entirely. When they

 did speak, he forced himself always to meet her eyes. When there was silence, he

 struggled to look anywhere but at the rest of her. Clearly, being stationed on

 Torrelau was going to involve challenges for which he had not been able to

 prepare himself in the usual manner.

 The dinner was excellent, the familiar reconstituted foods reassuring as well as

 nourishing. Near the end, he broke his own resolve and tried a sample of each of

 the three native fruit juices she had placed on the table. All were superb. He

 wondered if she gathered the fruits herself or traded with the natives for

 them. He could see her climbing the local trees, crawling out on limbs, her

 incredible legs twisting and dangling . . .

 Resolutely he returned his attention to the meal. Tree climbing was not in his

 job description. Mildly amazed, he watched her pack away an astonishing amount

 of food.

 "If you have work to do, don't worry about keeping me up," she told him in

 response to a question he hadn't planned to ask. "I sleep like a rock here and

 the soundproofing between partitions is excellent. Plus, there's a vacant room

 between yours and mine. Whatever you're doing, I won't hear you."

 "I'm pretty quiet, though I do like to play music rather loudly on occasion.

 Contemporary inventions."

 "Really? Have you heard the latest from Chikareska or Mattuzh?" Before he could

 reply she rushed on. "I can download via relay from Ophhlia, but they're not

 exactly up on what's new there either."

 "I don't know Mattuzh that well," he replied, "but Chikareska is a favorite of

 mine. Do you know the Blue Collage?"

 "You've heard the Blue Collage?" Her excitement was palpable. "I've heard about

 it, but I can't get the philistines in charge of imports to shell out the

 necessary royalty."

 Having unintentionally struck a topic of mutual nonprofessional interest, they

 engaged in an animated discussion of music imaging, both human and thranx. It

 made the rest of the evening pass very smoothly.

 

 Chapter Four

 

 When he awoke the following morning and stumbled tiredly into the dining area,

 there was someone waiting for him, and it wasn't Fawn Seaforth. Reddish orange

 in color, responsive localized chromophores flashed wavy light blue lines down

 its side. Dark red pupils centered in tiny, bright pink eyes stared sharply at

 him. The long proboscis resembled a collapsed balloon.

 When he interrupted it, it was skittering across the dining table on comically

 short legs covered with fine brown fur, using the strange mouth part to suck up

 loose crumbs and food fragments from the night before. Turning to face him, it

 inflated its proboscis to half its body size and emitted a very human&#8209;sounding

 raspberry of impressive dimensions. This noise proved so unexpectedly farcical

 that Pulickel's initial apprehensions instantly evaporated.

 "That's a floob," Fawn declared from behind him.

 This morning she wore full tropic field gear. Loose fitting and casual, it

 managed the difficult task of diminishing her figure. He found himself grateful

 for the visual respite. In addition to the knee&#8209;length shorts and regulation

 multipocketed shirt, she wore appropriate headgear. The face screen was flipped

 up and back, its visor powered down but ready for instant use.

 She gestured at the table. "It shows up every morning, after I've turned off the

 defensive screen. Comes in through a window and cleans the place up."

 He blinked. "Cleans it up?"

 "In addition to table scraps, it gets all the local arthropods that I and the

 station cleanser miss." She whistled at it and the fuzzy floob squeaked a

 response. Approaching the table, she wiggled several fingers in its direction.

 Inflating to several times its body size, the floob used its proboscis like a

 jet exhaust to rocket backward off the table, across the room, and through the

 open rim window through which it had entered. It was able to see where it was

 going because, to Pulickel's astonishment, its eyes had crawled up its spine and

 onto its back. It soared over the clearing and into the trees beyond, leaving

 him to eye the dining table distastefully.

 "You've made sure, of course, that this charming regular visitor doesn't carry

 any kind of parasites or communicable diseases?"

 "As a matter of fact, I haven't." She proceeded to make a show of scratching her

 sides and arms.

 "Very funny," he commented dryly, less than amused.

 She lowered her hands. "You don't really approve of me, do you?"

 He didn't meet her gaze. "It isn't you so much, Fawn," he replied, neither

 confirming nor denying her accusation. "We just have a different outlook on

 certain procedural matters."

 "I hope you have a better opinion of my work. You haven't seen any of that yet,

 except for my picking you up, bringing you here, and saving your life along the

 way." She sighed resignedly. "If it really means that much to you, I'll make an

 effort to clean the place up, even though we're really out of sight, out of mind

 here."

 "I would greatly appreciate it, and I will do more than my share to help."

 "Agreed. You hungry?"

 He eyed the table uncomfortably. "No thank you. I rarely eat in the morning.

 What I would like is to get started."

 "Just arrived and already you're anxious to leave."

 He nodded. "Just because I've done a lot of fieldwork doesn't mean I

 particularly enjoy it."

 "I'll bet you don't like having to rely on others, either." She disappeared into

 a back storeroom and returned moments later with a thin belt. Hanging from the

 belt was a qwik holster holding a compact needler. Extra power cells occupied

 the other side of the belt, balancing out the modest weight of the weapon.

 "I think this one'll fit you." She tried to hand him the belt and gun.

 He demurred. "Why give me this? Except for what's in the already outdated study

 file, I wouldn't know what to pet and what to shoot."

 "I'll take care of the flora and fauna. This is in case we run into any AAnn.

 Their base is only thirty minutes away by fast skimmer. I haven't had any

 serious run&#8209;ins with them, but other outposts have. When they think they can get

 away with it, they're not above taking potshots at the competition, especially

 when it's isolated and alone out in the local woods."

 "Meaning us?" Reluctantly he accepted the belt and began strapping it on.

 "Meaning you, anyway. I've been so quiet here for so long I'm not sure they

 regard me as much in the way of competition. That suits me just fine. I've had a

 couple of chats with their local chief of operations, an oily type named Essasu.

 Everything very formal and polite. But if I didn't keep rigorous, recoverable

 recordings of my movements, I'm sure he'd cheerfully have one of his underlings

 slap an explosive shell into my spine the first time I wasn't looking. Traveling

 armed lets him know that I'm neither naive nor helpless. I'm a firm believer in

 discouraging temptation right from the start."

 The needler was virtually unnoticeable on his hip. "Competition for the hearts

 and minds of the natives is supposed to be on a friendly basis."

 She made a rude noise. "Sure it is. And the AAnn are happy&#8209;go&#8209;lucky comedians

 who'll gather 'round at every opportunity just to tell you the latest jokes from

 Blassusar." She patted the weapon that rode high and wide on her left hip.

 "That's why I'm always careful to carry my critic with me.

 "Plus, there's always the chance that a gribiwith or a cochco vine will take a

 leap at you when I'm not in a position to help. Think of your needler as a

 prophylaxis." She nodded in the direction of their living quarters. "Any other

 gear you want to bring? I have my recorder with me."

 He shook his head. "Not on the first visit. I need to acclimate myself first."

 She nodded and turned in the direction of the central elevator shaft. Once he

 had joined her, she thumbed the single switch and the cylindrical conveyor

 started down. It squealed and whined outrageously, suggesting that it, too, had

 been the subject of less than assiduous maintenance.

 "Why didn't they site the skimmer shed closer to the station and connect it with

 a sealed walkway?" he wondered aloud.

 She shrugged. "Probably cheaper this way. I don't mind. I like being outside.

 Later I'll show you my favorite swimming hole. It's a deep pool fed by a five

 meter&#8209;high waterfall. Smooth rocks on the bottom, clean sand around the edges.

 I'd call it Eden, if I were inclined to nacre things. When I'm bored or just hot

 I'll walk in to it on the little trail I've cut, take everything off, and just

 float or lie on the fronting beach."

 Pulickel manfully turned his thoughts from the image thus conjured up. "The

 natives leave you alone at all times?"

 She nodded. "They have plenty to do and as you know from your prep, the nearest

 village is a ways from here. I very rarely see them unless I go looking for

 them. They never bother the station."

 The lift bottomed out with a grinding sound. When after a suitable pause the

 door refused to open, Fawn kicked it into compliance. She smiled apologetically.

 "Damn thing's supposed to be permanently lubricated, but you know what a

 tropical climate can do to even the best machinery."

 "Which is why," he observed as they stepped out of the shaft into the oppressive

 heat and humidity, "even supposedly permanently lubricated doors and glides

 need to be checked as part of a weekly routine."

 "I agree," she confessed readily. "And now that you're here and I'm not expected

 to do everything myself, you can make that your responsibility, Pulickel. I'm

 sure you're much better at it than I would be."

 They made their way toward the skimmer shed, the magnificent bay glistening in

 the morning sun as if it had been coated with powdered diamond.

 "I think I'll be able to communicate without any trouble." At her mild urging he

 avoided a plant with thorny leaves that was growing over the edge of the path.

 "For alien vocalizations, the language's of Senisran are fairly simple, and the

 Parramati dialect seems to present no unique difficulties."

 "Glad all those recordings I made proved useful. Of course, I could've been

 carrying out routine station maintenance instead." Entering the shed, she ran a

 quick check of skimmer integrity and functions, paying particular attention to

 the fore intakes, before climbing aboard. Apparently there were some things she

 was willing to spend the time to maintain.

 Following her on board, he settled himself for the second time into the seat

 next to the pilot's chair. This morning's journey would be less eventful than

 yesterday's, he hoped.

 "Where are we headed?"

 She spoke without looking up as she efficiently checked readouts and

 instrumentation. "Northwest coast. The skimmer's only practical for overwater

 travel. Rest of the island is too rugged. You'll have plenty of opportunity to

 walk the trail to the main village, but this'll get us there in a couple of

 minutes." On a rising whine, the sturdy craft rose a meter into the air and

 backed out of the shed.

 "The locals like to see me arrive by skimmer. They already know how to walk."

 "How do they react?" he asked. "Are they awed, curious, indifferent, what?"

 "Straightforwardly accepting, mostly. It didn't take them long to get used to

 it. They call it the boat that flies on air, which is pretty direct. I think the

 absence of outriggers surprises them more than anything else."

 He settled himself back into the seat. "I'm looking forward to meeting the

 local chief, this being the dominant island in the archipelago." He smiled. "I'm

 sure the AAnn weren't happy about the Commonwealth setting up a station here

 first."

 She shrugged. "They seem to be perfectly happy on Mallatyah. That's the

 second&#8209;largest inhabited island in the group. They're doing a good job of

 extending their influence from there."

 Pulickel was mildly alarmed. "I've been wondering what kind of progress they've

 been making. How are you doing with the Torrelauans?"

 "As well, or as bad. It's hard to tell. As you know from your preparations, the

 Parramati aren't like any other society on Senisran." The skimmer crossed the

 beach and entered the bay. "They're special. Special unique or special

 frustrating, take your pick."

 Wind began to ruffle his hair. "I'm sure as soon as I get to know the chief,

 we'll make some serious headway."

 She adjusted several controls, preferring manual to vorec operation. The engine

 whined responsively and the skimmer accelerated. He frowned at her.

 "What're you laughing at?"

 She stopped chuckling. "If you wanted to speak to the chief on any other island

 group, there wouldn't be a problem. But you can't do that on Parramat."

 "Why not?"

 "Because the Parramati are different. As you'll find out. It's why I've stayed

 here, by myself. See, there care things that interest me besides lounging

 around, cultivating native flowers, and sampling the local foodstuffs."

 "I didn't mean to imply otherwise," he muttered.

 "Of course. Nobody ever means to." She boosted the skimmer another meter above

 the water.

 Well out on the bay, the wind was now howling around them. He really would have

 preferred an enclosed, climatecontrolled cockpit, but decided to hold off

 making the suggestion. Instead, he studied his surroundings intently. How the

 wind blew her burnished gold hair out behind her, how the sculpted profile of

 her face stood out pale against the green walls of the fjord&#8209;not forgetting to

 make mental notes on the surrounding terrain as well, of course.

 "What's so special about the Parramati, besides their reluctance to formalize

 relationships with outsiders?"

 Reaching the end of the bay, she turned west, following the coast. Beneath the

 skimmer's thrusters, the smooth waters of the encircling lagoon flashed by.

 Silicaceous pseudocorals shoved bumps and blades and nodules toward the surface.

 "Everything. Their society is unique on Senisran. They're friendly, polite, but

 defiant."

 "What are they defying? Everything is subject to negotiation. It's not like

 we're trying to impose our will on them."

 "But we are. However benignly, we're imposing contemporary culture on them, be

 it in the form of a formal treaty of mutual cooperation, track goods, weapons,

 politics, even comments and suggestions about art. The AAnn are doing the same.

 The Parramati reject nearly all of it. It's not part of their kusum, you see."

 Pulickel blinked as the skimmer rocked slightly. "Their what?"

 "The term is a phonetic coincidence, though it means much more than just custom.

 It signifies a way of life that goes beyond the superficial. It's a way of

 looking at the entire cosmos. They're afraid that if they ally themselves

 formally with either us or the AAnn, it will go against kusum and they'll lose

 their way."

 "For a supposedly primitive people, that's a relatively enlightened outlook." He

 smiled thinly. "Of course, it never works. You can't reject and ignore advanced

 technology once it's been offered to you. If not the elders, then the youth of

 primitive species who are less steeped in tradition are always willing to try

 exciting new things. Historical xenology proves it over and over. Any group that

 attempts to exclude high tech soon finds that its less diffident neighbors have

 leapfrogged beyond them in terms of wealth, education, and the ability to wage

 war."

 "I know that." She leaned back and let the autopilot guide the skimmer. "I've

 tried explaining it to them. They just humor me and insist that as long as they

 stick to their kusum, they'll be all right."

 "Very admirable. Noble, even. But misguided. Stubbornness never works.

 Sooner or later on every inhabited world, those who advance assume control over

 or come to dominate those who do not. The natives of Ophhlia have already

 advanced a full classification by accepting and embracing the Commonwealth

 presence there."

 "The Parramati wouldn't be impressed. You could offer them untold

 wealth. They'd consider it politely, discuss it at length, and if the

 determination was that it went against kusum, reject it outright no matter how

 many lives it would better. That's why I've had such a hard time getting them to

 accept gifts." The skimmer automatically eased around a small, sandy islet from

 which a flock of bright red gliders exploded into the sky like the outpouring of

 a burst crimson pinata.

 "Like all the rest of it, the gift&#8209;giving rituals of their kusum are very

 elaborate. If I were to offer them some thing like a small, portable

 entertainment center, they'd have nothing equivalent with which to reciprocate

 and therefore, according to kusum, they couldn't accept it.

 About all they'll exchange readily are foodstuffs. There's a soft drink

 concentrate from New Riviera that they're particularly fond of. Swapping drinks

 doesn't make for an instant treaty, but it's a start. One of the few I've been

 able to make."

 "So that's how you get your fruits and juices. Exotic tastes are always a

 good way to ingratiate oneself with natives, provided body chemistries are

 compatible, of course."

 "It isn't the taste. The drink is carbonated, and the bubbles tickle

 their sensitive palates. They like the sensation." Leaning forward, she resumed

 manual control and turned the skimmer toward shore. "There's something really

 important to be discovered here, Pulickel. Something that extends beyond

 treaties and trade agreements and adding to the general bulk of xenological

 knowledge. I'm just not sure what it is yet."

 "Pretty hard to verify something in the laboratory when you don't even know what

 it is you're looking for," he commented.

 "Maybe you'll have better luck." She shook her head, chasing blond strands from

 her face. "A new approach, intuition&#8209;you obviously have a lot of experience."

 "It would help if I knew what you were looking for."

 "I agree. All I can say is that it's all tied up with what makes Parramat

 society so different from that of any of the other island groups and the

 Parramati different from the rest of the seni. They're not evasive so much as

 they are obtuse."

 "Is obtuseness a component of kusum, too?" Pulickel braced himself as the

 skimmer slowed, approaching the shoreline.

 "I don't think so." She eased the craft up on a narrow beach shaded by tall thin

 trees clad in striated blue bark and huge oval leaves that grew directly upon

 the trunk. Their coloring blended perfectly into the sky, an adaptive quality

 whose purpose he would have to discover at a later date. Near the crown of one

 bole small chittering things with eight legs hung upside down and gawked at him

 out of eyes like Persian turquoise. Each eye appeared to have three pupils.

 "We have to stop here and walk." She climbed out of the open cab. "It's not far,

 but there's a bit of a climb."

 He followed her over the side and studied the sloping terrain inland. "The

 skimmer should be able to negotiate this hill."

 "Probably, but some of the older Parramati don't like to be around it when it's

 running." She smiled knowingly. "Because it sucks in air and kicks it back out

 they're afraid it might steal their breath."

 "And besides," he grumbled as he studied the narrow trail that wound like a

 corkscrew through the dense vegetation, "no doubt it's against kusum."

 "You got it. So I park it here." Reaching into the stern of the skimmer, she

 removed a couple of small backpacks and handed one to him. Slipping the other

 over her shoulders, she started up the trail. "As you've probably figured by

 now, the Parramati consider everything in the light of kusum."

 "Who makes the interpretations? The local chief?"

 "I told you," she reminded him, looking back over her shoulder, "the Parramati

 have no chiefs."

 "Somebody has to make decisions."

 "They all do. It's something like an Athenian&#8209;style democracy, only with

 internal gradations I'm still trying to sort out. There are big persons, and

 middle persons, and small persons, and the big persons have a greater say than

 the small persons, but if enough small persons get together they can override

 the opinion of the big persons."

 "So the voting is weighted?" He'd always had plenty of stamina and the climb

 wasn't tiring him.

 "It's not that straightforward. You'll see."

 The trail was well maintained. He glanced back the way they'd come. "They won't

 bother the skimmer?"

 "They'll look at it and peek inside, but they won't touch anything. They've seen

 what it can do, and no one wants to take the risk of it running off with them. I

 set the alarm anyway, just in case somebody's curiosity overcomes their

 adherence to kusum." She held up her right arm, showing him the communicator

 band encircling her wrist. "I can control basic functions from here. If some

 native were to start monkeying around with it, I'd just send it scooting out

 into the lagoon. Believe me, any intruder would abandon it in a hurry. The

 Parramati are brave enough, but they have a healthy respect for our technology,

 even if they don't want any of it for themselves:" She grinned and pushed aside

 the branch of a succulent that had grown across the trail.

 "Also, they have a healthy respect for ghosts and spirits, and I've told them

 that one sleeps in the skimmer at all times." She eyed him appraisingly. "You

 managing okay?"

 "I'm fine," he replied irritably. "Just lead on and I'll be right behind you:"

 Which, he decided, even though he did his best to focus his attention on the

 surrounding alien jungle, was not a bad place to be&#8209;provided he could get her to

 stop patronizing him. He might not be able to match her stride for stride, but

 he'd run marathons and could hike all day without stopping.

 The jungle was an extraordinary place, frantic with motion and sound, brilliant

 with exotic colors and shapes. Surrounded by dwarf trees and gigantic flowers,

 it was often hard to tell which was which. In contrast to the great Terran rain

 forests, which boasted a thousand different shades of green, the jungle on

 Torrelau was painted with all the colors of the rainbow. Alongside blue&#8209;black

 branches and silver stems, red roots and yellow bark, some of the flowers looked

 positively intimidated. He mentioned his observations to his companion.

 "Many of the plants here have the ability to concentrate specific minerals in

 their phylose." She indicated a brace of brilliant red&#8209;and&#8209;yellow bushes.

 "Colekoli. Sucks up cinnabar like a sponge. I hear that in the Puralyra

 Archipelago north of Ophhlia there's scrub that concentrates platinum." She

 grinned. "Makes me wish I had time to do a little gardening."

 He stepped over a protruding root. "What about the rare earths here that have

 the commercial interests so excited?"

 "Nice thought, but so far I haven't been able to find a flower with a passion

 for niobium. Too bad. Wouldn't stop the mining interests, though. They'd still

 want to dig the place up. Picking flowers would be too slow. Insufficiencies of

 scale." He reached for a loop of vine to help pull himself over a steep spot.

 "Don't touch that."

 He withdrew his finger. "Why not?" He studied the ropy liana. It looked innocent

 enough.

 After she'd given him a hand up, she found a dead stick and carefully gave the

 section of vine he'd been about to grab a sharp whack. Instantly hundreds of

 small, hooked thorns that had lain flush with the smooth bark of the vine

 snapped erect, exactly as if she'd pulled a trigger. Which, effectively, she

 had.

 She tossed the stick aside. "Not deadly, but extremely painful and difficult to

 shake off. Each thorn is lined with backward&#8209;curving barbs. If you're not

 careful or you don't know what you're doing, the harder you struggle to free

 yourself the more seriously entangled you become. The plant itself isn't

 carnivorous&#8209;the thorns' design is entirely defensive&#8209;but there are plenty of

 scavengers in the forest ready to take advantage of any critter that gets hung

 up in them and exhausts itself trying to fight its way free."

 Pulickel leaned over to examine the vine, careful not to touch it. "I can see

 that you haven't been devoting all your time to studying the Parramati."

 "They've taught me the characteristics of many plants. The teriasti vine is just

 one of them. Others I've learned about on my own." Grabbing the hem of her

 shorts on her left leg, she pulled the fabric up almost to her waistline,

 adding to the enormous length of thigh that was already visible. Each roughly

 eight centimeters long, two parallel stars were etched into her flesh, pale

 white against her deeply tanned skin. She let the hem fall back.

 "Those haven't healed completely yet. I'm not sure they ever will heal

 completely. I've tried half a dozen different reseptics. "

 "Another vine?" he asked as they resumed climbing.

 "No. A tree&#8209;dwelling arthropod about a hundred centimeters long. It's got a

 dozen legs and a real interesting bite. I was picking jeru fruit and didn't see

 it until it was right on my leg. I must've disturbed its lair, or nest, or maybe

 I just caught it in a bad mood. The pain was so severe I thought I was going to

 fall out of the tree."

 "Trouble in paradise." After first checking them for occupants, he pushed

 leaves out of the way.

 "Senisran isn't paradise and neither is Torrelau. Since it was on me I couldn't

 get a safe angle with my gun. Had to cut its head off with my knife. Then I had

 to dig the head out of my leg. Strong fangs." She held up one little finger.

 "About half this long.

 "Fortunately, the toxin works slowly. I'm sure that if I didn't have access to

 modem adaptive antivenins I would've died, or at least lost the leg."

 "Sounds to me like you handled it admirably."

 "The hell I did. I was screaming and flopping around like a burned baby. I'm

 surprised they didn't hear me all the way back in Ophhlia. I cried all the way

 back to the station and most of the rest of the day, until the analgesics

 started to bite. It felt like somebody was using my quadriceps for kindling. So

 watch where you put your hands and feet. This environment may look beautiful,

 but it isn't entirely benign."

 "So even though indigenous dangers are abundant and modern weapons would help

 them cope, the Parramati won't accept them?"

 "That's right." She ducked beneath an overhanging cluster of vines. "The big

 persons say it would violate kusum. This isn't a culture that allows for a lot

 of flexibility. Either you adhere to kusum or you abandon it. There doesn't

 seem to be much middle ground."

 "Every primitive society hews to an inviolate set of moral imperatives.

 Flexibility comes in the interpretation. If we persist I bet that sooner or

 later we'll run into a big person or two who'll find a way to bend the

 absolutes to their advantage&#8209;and to ours."

 She shrugged. "I hope you have better luck than I have. I understand that alien

 semantics is a specialty of yours."

 He nodded. "There are times when I think that I get along better with aliens

 than with other humans."

 "Due, no doubt, to your carefully moderated sense of humor."

 He glanced up sharply, but she was turned away from him, her attention fixed on

 the trail, and he couldn't gauge the amount of sarcasm just from her tone.

 "If it's any consolation," she went on, "the AAnn are even more frustrated than

 I am. I don't know that they've ever encountered aboriginals before who wouldn't

 accept free weapons. They're also frustrated because the Parramati don't do

 things quickly. Everything takes time since all the big persons have to be

 consulted on any major decision." She halted, took a deep breath, and gestured

 through the trees.

 "We're almost there. No more climbing."

 "It doesn't matter," he replied a little too quickly. "I'm not tired."

 The ground leveled off and the forest began to thin. Raising her voice, Fawn

 called out in the singsong Parramati dialect. Stepping up alongside her,

 Pulickel was rewarded with his first glimpse of alive seni.

 It looked exactly like the recorded images he'd been studying for the past

 several months. Smaller than expected, it exhibited all the specified

 characteristics of a juvenile of the species.

 "This is Kirtra'a." Fawn made an elaborate rolling gesture of greeting with her

 forearms. "He's a young male on the cusp of sexual maturity." '

 "I can see that." While Pulickel studied the young seni, it gazed back at him

 out of narrow, solemn eyes.

 Not yet fully grown, Kirtra'a's head barely reached Pulickel's chest. To the

 young native, Fawn Seaforth must have seemed like a true giant. The average

 mature seni would just be able to look the newly arrived male xenologist in the

 eye.

 Leaping into the air on its powerful hind legs, the native did a complete

 backflip, landing exactly where it had been standing. Taking into account

 regional variations, this was a fairly universal form of greeting on Senisran.

 It was the gesture Fawn had attempted to simulate by rotating her forearms.

 So both she and the seni were more than a little surprised when Pulickel

 promptly duplicated the native's athletic move. He staggered slightly when he

 landed, back on his feet and attributed his unsteadiness to the presence of the

 small backpack. Without it he was certain he could have performed the flip

 perfectly. While Fawn could only gape, the young Parramati experienced a

 paroxysm of delight, barking and tootling excitedly.

 "I couldn't do that if I practiced for a year. I'd break my neck." Fawn eyed him

 admiringly.

 "You don't have a gymnast's body," he explained modestly. "Poor

 size&#8209;to&#8209;strength ratio." Kirtra'a continued to squeal and jabber in wide&#8209;eyed

 wonder. "Don't feel diminished because of it."

 "I don't&#8209;but I really wish I could do that."

 When the juvenile finally calmed down, Pulickel found he could understand it

 clearly. All the long hours spent listening to and mimicking language recordings

 paid instant dividends.

 "My name is Pulickel Tomochelor."

 "Pu'il To'chor." The youngster did his best to duplicate the sounds, many of

 which were more guttural than a seni could manage. "I am Kirtra'a. Welconungs to

 Torrelauapa, Pu'il. You do the Greeting!"

 "A poor effort." His back had begun to throb but he was damned if he was going

 to wince. "Not as good as I could do when I was younger, I'm afraid."

 The seni had long, narrow, blue, catlike eyes with slitted pupils. The

 meter&#8209;long tail that protruded from the back of the elegant woven skirt was

 naked as a rat's. Exotic, intricate patterns decorated the skirt, which was

 worn by both males,and females, the individual designs telling another Parramati

 all there was to know about the wearer, from age to family lineage to status

 within the wearer's village.

 Bipedal and completely hairless, the seni's smooth, featureless skin was the

 color of finely milled raw cocoa. Each of the two short arms ended in delicate

 hands that terminated in the three fingers, the central one being considerably

 longer than the other two. In contrast, the three toes on each foot were thick,

 strong, and of equal length. There were no nails or claws, fingers and toes

 alike ending in blunt fleshy pads. Crouching on powerful legs, the seni rested

 with elbows bent and both hands held close to the chest in an attitude

 resembling that of a hunting praying mantis.

 The seni were the first intelligent species encountered by either humanx or AAnn

 explorers whose principal mode of individual locomotion was hopping. They were

 perfectly capable of taking one step at a time, but for anything faster than a

 crawl, they preferred to hop. They kept their hops short, though according to

 the literature they could, when startled, leap extraordinary distances.

 The seni face was reflective of the species' gentleness and intelligence.

 Beneath the slitted eyes a long, narrow snout held a mixture of cutting and

 grinding teeth, terminating in a constantly active black nose. Snout and head

 were boldly striped, but the high, bladelike, independently rotating ears were

 not.

 The seni were omnivores, taking fruits from the forest, edible invertebrates and

 coelenterates from the sea, and vegetables and tubers from their elaborate

 gardens. It was a robust mix, and by and large they were a healthy species.

 Epidemics were unknown. Clever and adaptable, it was no wonder they had

 populated nearly all of the larger island groupings and many of the smaller ones

 on the planet.

 His ability to execute the traditional seni greeting had certainly started him

 off on the right foot with the youngster. Approaching fearlessly, Kirtra'a put

 both hands on Pulickel's waist and squeezed gently with all six fingers. The

 xenologist didn't flinch as the young native gazed into his eyes, the toothy

 snout not far from his face. What was it going to do next? he wondered. Kiss

 him, bite him, or lick him with the long, flexible seni tongue? That was one

 gesture he had no intention of returning.

 It simply squeezed once and then retreated by means of a second backflip. With a

 contented squeal, it whirled and bounded off in the direction of the village,

 doing multiple front flips along the way, apparently for the sheer pleasure of

 it.

 "Well, it looks like you've endeared yourself to one Parramati, anyway." Fawn

 started down the path. "It'll be interesting to see if you make the same

 impression on any of the big persons."

 He trailed close behind, grateful they were no longer climbing. "Why? What do

 they do? Backward two&#8209;and-a&#8209;half gainers?"

 "No, just the same single backflip. They're just a lot harder to impress. Harder

 than me, anyway."

 "As an adolescent I was number two on my local gymnastics team. One doesn't

 have to be large to do well at athletics."

 "Hey, am I arguing?"

 By way of general conversation he inquired politely, "I suppose you also

 participated in physical culture?"

 "Starting center for four years in my social matriculation group. All&#8209;regional.

 I got banged around a lot."

 "Doesn't look like you suffered from it."

 She smiled thinly. "I banged back. Hard." She lengthened her stride as they

 approached the village.

 Chapter Five

 

 As was so often the case with primitive species, he heard the village before he

 saw it, and smelled it before he heard it. The pungent odor was not unpleasant,

 however, and a few deep breaths sufficed to familiarize him with it. Between the

 cultivated gardens and the surrounding rain forest there were so many flowering

 plants in the immediate vicinity that the thick musk of the community was

 somewhat masked by a rush of natural perfume.

 Fawn made a sweeping gesture. "This is Torrelauapa. Largest village on the

 island, though by no means the only one."

 "How many are there?" he asked.

 "Not sure. You have to delineate the number of houses and their proximity to one

 another that you want to use to&#8209; define a `village.' I'm still working on a

 definitive census."

 It was hard to get a feel for the size of the community because the various

 structures were scattered among numerous tall shade trees. These were very

 different from the blue&#8209;barked growths he'd first encountered at the touchdown

 site and the beach. They had thick trunks of brown or yellow and dense

 overarching clusters of spatulate leaves. Clumps of maroon flowers burst like

 frozen fireworks from among the leaves. Obviously well tended, the trees served

 to shield the buildings and their occupants from sun and rain.

 A narrow but fast&#8209;flowing stream wound its way through the village, drawing

 volume and energy from the high mountains in the distance. Upon leaving the last

 of the houses it tumbled, not into a freshwater pool, but over a

 fifteen&#8209;meter&#8209;high cliff directly into the ocean below. The watery finger of the

 steep&#8209;sided cove now visible off to the visitors' right was much narrower than

 the bay Fawn had used to access the station. Thousands of green, blue, and red

 growths clung to the sheer rock walls, overhanging the water.

 The shallow cove was alive with a circus of sea creatures, clearly visible as

 they swam back and forth in the transparent water. As well as being safe from

 large oceangoing predators, they could enjoy the mix of fresh and salt water in

 the aerated environment at the waterfall's base.

 On the far side of the cove, he could see where narrow switchbacks had been cut

 into the side of the cliff. At the water's edge, where several large rocks

 protruded from the shallow inlet, a simple floating dock had been constructed

 of stripped small trees and reeds. Secured to this were several of the sturdy

 outriggers common to all of Senisran.

 Each boasted double masts inclined forty&#8209;five degrees from the water and from

 one another. Not one or two outriggers, but a whole sequence splayed from the

 sides of each craft. The largest was attached to the side of the boat, the

 smallest the farthest distance away. The larger the craft, the greater the

 number of outriggers it deployed. When taken together, winglike sails and

 outriggers gave the boats the appearance of water birds at rest.

 The village was comprised of elongated huts fashioned from local materials. All

 had thatched roofs while several could boast of raised stone foundations. None

 was more than ten meters in length, and each was a riot of color thanks to the

 brilliantly hued materials of which they were composed. The Parramati fondness

 for weaving was evident in the intricate patterns that decorated every wall and

 roof. It looked more like a circus encampment than a native community. The

 naked, bare, beige&#8209;colored flesh of the Parramati themselves was plain and dull

 beside their dwellings.

 But the sight that literally took Pulickel's breath away, more than the

 magnificent little waterfall or the explosively tinted longhouses, were the

 wonderfully intricate gardens that climbed the terraced mountain slopes on the

 far side of the village. Now he understood what Fawn had been talking about when

 she had referred to them as an art form. The growing of food seemed incidental

 to the elaborate aesthetics that had been employed.

 The few images that had been included in the research recordings came nowhere

 near doing the Parramatis' agricultural accomplishments justice. The actual

 terracing was comparatively unspectacular and, as expected, followed the

 natural contours of the mountainside. What distinguished them were the

 exquisitely carved and entwined trellises and arbors that protected them from

 damage by direct sun and wind. It looked as if the entire mountainside had been

 clad in a single gigantic, interlinked wooden sculpture. In intricacy and.

 purity of design, it reminded him of the skeletons of microscopic foraminifera.

 In addition to the wondrous carving, every centimeter of the huge, rambling

 construction had been painted in delicate hues and designs.

 Not merely decorative, the trellises provided protection for new, young plants

 and support for those maturing. Water lines hand fashioned from hollow stems

 and branches irrigated the ascending gardens. Each as deeply carved as the

 trellises and arbors, they were perfectly integrated into the overall design.

 From a distance Pulickel could make out large figures woven into the upper

 reaches of the vast, rambling structure. In all his years of study, he'd never

 seen anything quite like it.

 '`It's something, isn't it?" Fawn shouldered her pack higher on her shoulders.

 "Every pattern has traditional meaning, every outlined figure its own story.

 Once you know the Parramati, you can identify any family or clan by its piece of

 the communal garden. Kusum is right there, for anyone who knows how to read it.

 So are the roads."

 "Roads?" He squinted. "I don't see any paths wider than the trail we're on now."

 She looked back at him and smiled. "When the Parramati speak of roads, they're

 not talking about cleared strips of land. You'll find out. What do you think of

 Torrelauapa?"

 "Very impressive. You were right. The few official recordings don't come close

 to doing it justice. These gardens must represent hundreds of years of work."

 "And they keep adding to the artistic quotient every day. A section of carving

 here, a little paint there." She stepped over a dislodged rock. "The Parramati

 are quite a people."

 As they entered the village outskirts, she began searching individual Parramati

 faces. "We're looking for a male named Jorana."

 "Is he the chief? No," he hastened to correct himself, "you said there were no

 chiefs."

 "That's right. He's just one of many Torrelauapa big persons. Someone who's

 respected by his fellows for any number of possible achievements. A big person

 isn't necessarily smarter than anyone else, or stronger, or a better fisherman.

 They just have respect. Remember, no big person ranks another. Technically, they

 don't even rank the lowliest citizen. This isn't Ophhlia or Nalauevu.

 "That's one reason why we're having so much trouble forging any kind of formal

 alliance with these people. Jorana could agree to put his name to a treaty, but

 Osiwivi or Massapapu might not. Since no one can compel anyone else, you

 practically have to sign a separate treaty with each adult Parramati. "

 Pulickel was nodding to himself. "I begin to see the scope of your problem here.

 Securing a treaty isn't impossible; it's just going to take time. Time and

 patience."

 "That's right. And meanwhile, the AAnn are working just as hard to convince

 individual Parramati to bond with them."

 "Controlled anarchy," he murmured.

 "Isn't that a good definition of Athenian democracy?" She pointed. "There he is.

 Jorana's a famous carver."

 The Parramati big person was seated at a simple bench whose upper surface

 consisted of the fiat side of a split log. Shade was provided by an open&#8209;sided

 thatched roof, a shed without walls. Limber three&#8209;fingered hands worked with

 tools of bone, shell, beak, and stone. At the moment the native was working on

 one of three table legs. Each was roughly a meter in length and magnificently

 incised. One had already been inlaid with carved shell and bone and rubbed to a

 high polish.

 Technology the Parramati might not have, but their culture was clearly of a high

 order. Pulickel knew the table legs alone would fetch a good price in Ophhlia.

 He couldn't imagine what the intact, completed table might bring from a

 collector on Earth or New Riviera. Aboriginal alien artifacts were one product

 modern technology couldn't synthesize, hence their continuing value to the

 cognoscenti.

 And the art of each island group, each archipelago, was unique and different.

 Based on what he'd seen so far, that of Parramati could stand with the best of

 it.

 Noticing their approach, the elderly big person put down his tools and rose from

 his working crouch. Placing his head upon the ground and flattening his ears,

 he executed a simple backward roll.

 "Jorana can't do the flip anymore," Fawn informed her companion.

 "What do I do? If I do the somersault will he be insulted?"

 "You don't have to do anything," she assured him. "Jorana's used to my lack of

 acrobatics. It's not expected of humans." Raising her voice, she switched to the

 lilting singsong dialect of Parramat.

 "Hello, Jorana! May your road be straight and clear."

 "As may yours, F'an." Despite the slight quaver in his speech, Pulickel had no

 trouble understanding him.

 "This is the coming of the other human I told you about." She indicated her

 attentive companion. "He is called Pulickel."

 The old one's jaws ground slowly from side to side as if he was grinding bone.

 "Pu'il. A difficult name."

 "I am sorry," Pulickel replied fluently. "Pu'il will be perfectly satisfactory."

 "But your real name is longer. Will it satisfy you to be so identified?" Long

 cat&#8209;eyes gazed speculatively at the xenologist.

 "So long as you don't confuse it with one belonging to one of your wives."

 Pulickel knew alien humor was always a difficult proposition, but he'd never

 been cautious where language was concerned.

 A gargling sound came from the Parramati's throat, signifying not only

 acceptance and understanding but appreciation. Fawn looked on admiringly.

 Jorana turned to her. "Is Pu'il a big person among your kind?"

 "Bigger than I. Big enough to talk about things I cannot talk about."

 The alien turned back to his work. "Well, it is always good to talk," he

 commented noncommittally. "Come and sit. I am working on a Pr'ithma ceremonial

 table."

 The two xenologists accepted the invitation, settling themselves crosslegged

 close to the Parramati and beneath the shade of the thatched shelter. This left

 the alien squatting on its haunches, looking down at them. The seni used tables

 and beds, but not chairs. With their powerful hind legs, they could remain in a

 squatting/sitting position for hours at a time.

 They watched quietly while their host used a wooden block lined with tiny

 sharp&#8209;edged shells to sand a rough section of tabletop. "One cannot reduce the

 beauty of the wood," he murmured. "But one can transform it." A slitted eye

 glanced at Fawn. "Ascela was asking for you."

 "Who's Ascela?" Pulickel inquired.

 His companion reverted to terranglo for the explanation. "Another Torrelauapa

 big person. Much younger than Jorana, not as big or as strong, but maybe

 smarter."

 "But that doesn't mean he ranks Jorana."

 She smiled approvingly. "Now you're getting the hang of it. And Ascela is

 female. " Turning back to the woodworker, she swung her pack off her back and

 resumed speaking in the local tongue. "I have something for you, Jorana."

 Reaching into the carryall, she brought out a glassine envelope containing a

 dozen colorful titanium fishhooks. Pulickel was quick to note that the smallest

 was the size of his little finger. Apparently the Parramati diet included some

 fairly sizable denizens of the deep.

 Taking the bag, Jorana made a show of inspecting the contents. Then, with a

 regretful yip, he handed it back. "I am sorry, F'an, but I cannot accept these."

 Her expression fell. "Why not?"

 "Because we hunt the waters with straight points, not curved ones."

 "I know, but what you do with these is put a little bait on them and tie them to

 a line. The coliat or metikim smell the bait and try to eat it. They catch

 themselves on the hook."

 "But why wait?" Jorana was genuinely curious, his long, pointed ears arched

 sharply forward. "Any decent fisherman can go out on a boat, look into the

 water, and spear his quarry."

 "But you don't always come back with something that way," Fawn argued.

 "Sometimes the spears miss and the boats come back empty."

 "That is true." The carver scrutinized the package and its gleaming, high&#8209;tech

 contents. "And this works every time?"

 "Well, no. The quarry has to take the bait and the fisherman has to make sure

 the hook is set before he tries to pull it in."

 "I see." As Pulickel winced, the native emptied the bag's sharp contents into

 his open palm. Apparently that smooth, beige&#8209;hued skin was tougher than it

 looked. Jorana returned them to the gift&#8209;giver by placing the hooks on the

 ground in front of her. Then he held up the empty bag.

 "This, however, is another of your wonderful carrying containers, and for this

 gift I thank you."

 "See?" Fawn spoke again to her companion in their own language. "Any other seni

 society would have been glad to have the hooks, if only to trade with another

 island group. Not the Parramati. Here, a gift must be deemed immediately useful

 or it's refused."

 "You should have this." Digging through a pile of wooden shapes, Jorana

 extracted an exquisite carving a little larger than Pulickel's palm. Finely

 polished, the wood was jet black streaked with red. The carver had fashioned it

 into the likeness of a local animal with four legs, a stubby body, and two eyes

 protruding on stalks. The eyes had been carved so that they contained only the

 red grain, and a double set of external gills appeared made of lace, though they

 were also part of the single piece of hardwood.

 Fawn was taken aback. "I can't accept that," she protested. "Not in exchange for

 a lousy plastic bag."

 "Please." The native pushed the sculpture at her. "It is a fair exchange. I have

 many, many carvings and they are easy for me to make."

 Professional considerations aside, Pulickel could see that Fawn wanted the

 delicate carving. Hell, he wanted it himself.

 "Very well," she agreed reluctantly, "but to make it fair I must bring you more

 bags."

 "Done." Pleased, the native handed her the little sculpture. Pulickel found

 himself wishing he'd brought along a few spare bags himself.

 According to the information in the slim manual that had been prepared for him,

 now that official greetings, introductions, and gift&#8209;giving had been concluded,

 the conversation was open to any topic any of the participants might choose to

 introduce. Edging a little closer to the big person and avoiding something that

 scuttled along the ground on far too many legs, he watched appreciatively as

 the Parramati used a sharpened palm size shell to etch traditional spirals and

 whorls into one table leg.

 "I have come from my home, from my island in the sky, to..."

 The native interrupted him with an expression that at the very least was

 suggestive of a smile. "It is not necessary, Pu'il, to explain. F'an has told

 us many things. Besides, the Parramati have always thought of the lights in the

 night sky as other islands, whose people set torches at night to show travelers

 the way through the ocean of darkness."

 "Then I won't go into a lot of background. I know that my friend Fawn has

 already spoken to you about signing a treaty of friendship and commerce with our

 people. One that would allow us to move and trade freely among the islands of

 the Parramat and to search for and remove certain rocks from the ground. Such a

 treaty would greatly benefit the Parramati. You would be given access to many

 wondrous tools and learning devices.

 "For example, you could learn how to better farm your gardens, how to produce

 more with less work. You would acquire weapons that would let you fight not only

 the forest animals that menace you but even the dangerous creatures of the

 sea. We can give you boats that would not sink in a storm and that could tell

 you always where you were, even in thick fog."

 Jorana did not look up from his work, though both ears stayed turned in his

 guests' direction. His long snout twitched. "Why would one want to know where he

 is at all times?"

 Pulickel smiled patiently. "If one knows where one is at all times, it is

 impossible to become lost."

 "No Parramati is ever `lost.' " Jorana knocked a shaving off the top of the

 table leg.

 The xenologist frowned. "I don't understand. If a fisherman sails far, far out

 to sea, farther than he or any other Parramati has ever traveled before, could

 he not become lost among unfamiliar islands and places?"

 "He would not be lost," the carver explained, "because

 

 81

 

 he would know exactly where he was. Wherever he happened to be, he would be

 there. `There' is always a place, and as long as one is in a place, one cannot

 be lost."

 Pulickel fought down his impatience. He hadn't expected quite so sophisticated

 a rejoinder to what seemed the blatantly obvious. "But he would be lost in

 relation to his home, and night not know how to return."

 "Nonsense. He would simply return the way he had traveled."

 The xenologist decided to try another approach. "You've seen some of our kind's

 tools." He patted the sidearm snugged at his hip. "Our weapons, the boat that

 flies in air, our clothes. You've' seen how they last. Wouldn't you like to have

 these things for yourself and for your people?"

 "Not so very much." Wood chips spiraled lazily to the ground. "They are your

 weapons, your boat, your clothing. If we were to make use of so many of your

 things, it would mean that ours would be neglected. That would mean neglecting

 tradition, which is the same as neglecting kusum."

 "Not in the least," Pulickel argued. "You could still use your traditional

 things. You would just have more choices."

 The shell planer paused in mid&#8209;scrape. Bright, intelligent eyes peered directly

 into Pulickel's own. "Sometimes it is not a good thing for a people to have too

 many choices." Double eyelids blinked slowly. "People with too many choices

 night forget their kusum. We know that this has happened on other islands. The

 people there have changed and cannot go back. From what we hear, I do not know

 that they are any happier for this." He raised a three&#8209;fingered hand.

 "We cannot talk through the air as F'an does, but neither are we ignorant of

 what happens elsewhere. Talk travels quickly enough, Pu'il. We have heard of

 what has happened to some who have accepted the big gifts from your people and

 from the shiny&#8209;skinned ones. We have heard what has happened to the Jimeri, the

 Corchosi, and the Trefaria. They have traded away their kusum, which is a bigger

 thing than trading bags and carvings."

 Pulickel searched his memory. "There was an epidemic of food poisoning on

 Corchos. Commonwealth medicine saved many lives there."

 Ears flicked, indicating that Jorana was not impressed. "There were too many

 Corchosi. Some must die so that others may live. The Corchosi who survive do so

 without their kusum. They are alive, but they are no longer Corchosi. Now they

 must rely on their trade to feed and support them. They have become wards of

 your kusum. This is bad for the spirit."

 "I don't know that that's the case," Pulickel responded doubtfully.

 "We do. Understand," the native continued gently, "I do not mean to criticize

 the decisions of the Jimeri, the Trefaria, or the Corchosi. They have done

 willingly what they have done. They have made their choices. But the Parramati

 choose the same road we have always chosen. Our kusum will stay pure. You may

 keep your boats that fly in air and bows that kill without arrows."

 "I'm sorry you feel that way." Pulickel was not discouraged. After all, this

 was his first attempt. "Perhaps other big persons will feel differently." At

 this, Seaforth shot him a warning look, but he ignored her. It had been his

 experience that alien aboriginals of whatever intelligence favored directness.

 Jorana was not offended. "You may talk to any of the Parramati that you wish."

 His left arm came up and three fingers spread wide in an eloquent gesture. "Some

 will not listen to you, but all will be polite. It may be that you will find one

 who can be swayed by what you have to offer. But it will be only one. Even if

 it is another big person, it will be only one."

 "I understand. I, too, can be patient." To Fawn he added in terranglo, "How the

 hell are we supposed to achieve a viable consensus here? Are they all going to

 be this stubborn?" As he spoke he continued to smile at the alien, who had

 returned to his carving.

 "I hope not. I've had luck with some of the younger Parramati," she told him.

 "Maybe with your skills we'll be able to secure some firm commitments. I'm

 hoping for a snowball effect, especially among the younger and middle&#8209;level big

 persons, but I've had to learn patience."

 He nodded. "That's the ticket. Get a fair number to come around to our way of

 thinking and let them do the convincing of the others. I can see why you wanted

 me to meet this Jorana: he's clearly an exceptional individual among his kind.

 But I agree that we might do better to concentrate the majority of our efforts

 on the younger, more flexible members of the tribe."

 She nodded. "We can still try to convince Jorana and Ascela and the other

 elders. I have to confess that part of the reason I've spent so much time

 working with them is that I enjoy listening to them."

 "That's okay," he replied. "We need to learn all we can about their society and

 culture, and for that you have to speak with the local elders. But I can see

 already that a political solution to our problem will have to be found in

 working with the more malleable islanders. We'll keep trying Jorana here and his

 counterparts; we just won't rely on them." He addressed himself anew to the

 alien.

 "I am curious, Jorana. Do you think we offer you these things because it is our

 intention to harm you, or because we want to make you forget your kusum?"

 The elder paused in his carving. "No, Pu'il. I am sure your people wish to do us

 good. That is part of your kusum. It means that you believe your kusum to be

 stronger than ours."

 "Not stronger," the xenologist objected. "I choose to see them as different but

 compatible."

 "You imply otherwise when you suggest that your weapons, your tools, and your

 learning should replace ours."

 "Not replace. Supplement."

 Jorana's ears twitched and his upper lip rippled like a wavelet on a shallow

 beach. "Listen well to me, Pu'il. The Parramati have their own weapons, their

 own tools, their own boats, and their own ways. Each has its own power, its own

 magic. The trees behind you, the bench you sit upon, the ground beneath your

 feet. It takes time to learn to know these powers and magics, to see the best

 way of using them. We have ours, you have yours. Ours does not need to be

 supplemented, not even by those good of heart and intention."

 "Hierophanes," Fawn murmured.

 Pulickel frowned at her. "What did you say?"

 "Parramati society is based on hierophanes. Everything in the world is seen as

 a manifestation of the sacred. Each is a hierophane and each has power. With

 access to so much power, they see no need to invite in outside influences."

 He nodded disappointedly. "It makes it difficult to convince a people to give

 something up if everything controls something else. But I still think that when

 some of the younger villagers accept access to advanced technology, Jorana and

 the others will come around." He switched back to the local dialect.

 "I agree with you, Jorana. Everything in the world has a certain amount of

 power. Some have more, some less. Certain minerals that lie beneath the Parramat

 have very much power. My people have spent a lot of time learning how to make

 use of these, while the Parramati have not. So you see, our kusums are not so

 very far apart."

 The old carver considered. "F'an has spoken of such. As you say, I would not

 know of such powers. I am a wood person, not an earth person. My road leads

 through the forest. To learn the value of certain rocks you would have to talk

 to someone whose road is of the earth."

 "But if no one is using these minerals, why would the Parramati object to my

 people doing so?"

 Jorana blinked double lids. "If the earth is turned up too much, it is bad for

 growing things."

 The xenologist had had enough. "I think that's plenty for one day. We don't want

 to tire the old fellow, or irritate him. I'm happy with the progress we've

 made. Let's leave him to consider what has been said." He brushed wood dust from

 his shorts as he rose.

 Fawn straightened. "You don't want to talk to anyone else in the village?"

 "Not today. I don't want to get a reputation for being insistent or demanding.

 Nothing puts primitive peoples off more quickly. Better they should grow curious

 about me. That way, hopefully the next time they'll be anxious to see me,

 instead of simply polite."

 Stretching, he bid the elder big person a polite farewell. "It has been good to

 talk with you, Jorana."

 "And with you, Pu'il. F'an, I am always warmed by your presence." He bent low

 until his nostrils skimmed the ground. It was as close as he could come to

 performing the traditional flip.

 "I am pleased by your happiness." She duplicated the elder's motion, bending

 double at the waist.

 "Then I will see you both again?" Vibrantly colored alien eyes regarded them

 both.

 "Very soon, I hope." With a hand gesture, Fawn turned to leave.

 They headed out of the village and back toward the forest. A clutch of

 boisterous, barking juveniles escorted them. With powerful legs and feet too big

 for their still immature bodies, they tumbled and fell over one another in their

 eagerness to accompany the strange visitors. Only when dense vegetation closed

 in around the humans did the pack fall back, in twos and threes, toward their

 home. Their playful, high&#8209;pitched singing followed Pulickel and Fawn for long

 moments thereafter.

 "You did pretty good for a first encounter." She stepped over a hollow that had

 filled with rainwater. "Just the right mix of conviction and understanding. I

 was afraid the stiffness and formality of your character would carry over into

 your fieldwork."

 "But it didn't," he responded, "which means I'm just stiff and formal the rest

 of the time, right?"

 "Not exactly," she demurred, trying to backtrack.

 "It's all right. I know that I'm something of a cold fish. Like I said before, I

 relate much better to aliens. There are no preconceptions on either side."

 She changed the subject. "I know it's premature, but do you have an opinion of

 the situation so far?"

 He shrugged. "If this Jorana is a typical big person, then I don't foresee any

 further extensive delays. They're stubborn, but they seem to enjoy debate. Any

 creature that will talk with me is one I can eventually persuade to see reason.

 I sense exploitable openings already. Conclusion? It will take more time than

 I'd hoped but less than I'd feared."

 She shoved a branch out of her way. It promptly exuded a cloud of perfumed

 dust. Since she walked right through it, Pulickel saw no harm in doing likewise.

 For a delightful moment, the world smelled of sandalwood and myrrh.

 "Jorana's right, of course. If the Parramati give their consent to a full

 treaty, much of their traditional kusum will eventually be overwhelmed."

 "I know that." He stumbled awkwardly down a slight slope. "But the alternative

 is for them to fall under the influence of the AAnn. Better the Commonwealth

 than the Empire."

 "Certainly. Unless they choose the third option and elect to remain unallied

 with either side."

 He moved up alongside her and gazed flatly into her face. "There is no third

 option, Fawn. Not for primitive aliens. I'm not sure there ever was."

 Chapter Six

 

 "Why do I have the feeling?" he asked as they prepared to reboard the skimmer,

 "that there's a lot more to the Parramati and their kusum than you're telling

 me? You keep insisting that they're different. Of course they're different;

 they're aboriginal aliens."

 Both hands on the ladder built into the vehicle's flank, she paused. "I've told

 you, Pulickel. I can't quite put my finger on it. Sure their society is unique

 among organized seni groups, but it's more than that. There's an assurance, a

 contentment that you can't find among the Eoluro or the Semisant, or even the

 Ophhlians. It's easy to see but hard to quantify." Effortlessly, she boarded the

 skimmer.

 He followed and settled himself into the passenger seat. "I think you may be

 making too much of them, Fawn. The Parramati may be different from other social

 groupings on Senisran, but they don't strike me as particularly unique.

 Reactionary, yes, but not unique."

 "I expect you're right." She powered up the skimmer's engine. In response to the

 rising whine, something with a tail three times the length of its body went

 screeching off through the trees. With wings that were feathered in front and

 membranous in the rear, it had the appearance of a marvelous kite whose string

 was being given random jerks and pulls by a mischievous child.

 The skimmer rose and pivoted to face the water. Fawn spoke without looking up

 from the console. "One thing I am sure of: we're never going to convince the

 Parramati to sign a treaty with us as opposed to the AAnn unless we can find a

 way to convince them that our road is the better one."

 He blinked at her. "Our `road'?"

 The skimmer slid out over the calm water of the inlet. Small silver&#8209;sided

 cephalopods leaped into the air ahead of them, strips of mirror flashing in the

 sun.

 "According to the Parramati belief system, everything in the universe&#8209;every

 person, every place, every dust mote&#8209;is connected by roads. These roads are

 fixed and immutable. Many are irrelevant to the scheme of things, but many

 others link places of importance and power. The location of these important

 roads are marked by special stones."

 He turned thoughtful. "And each stone possesses certain qualities, powers, or

 mystic ascriptions?" She nodded. "A fairly basic and straightforward mythology,

 not especially remarkable. I could list a dozen analogies off the top of my

 head, others after doing a little research. Cultural specifics of primitive

 sentients often overlap, regardless of species."

 They were out over the main lagoon now, accelerating as Fawn turned southward.

 "From my conversations with the Parramati, I've been able to make a short list

 of these stones. There are stones for healing, stones for fertility, for warding

 off disease or confounding enemies, and for forecasting the weather. There are

 stones that help in the steering of outriggers and stones for communicating with

 the spirits of dead ancestors.

 "Control of the stones is strictly hierarchical. The patriarch of a family

 charged with the keeping of a planting stone wouldn't try to swap rocks with the

 matriarch of a clan holding a fishing stone. Stone magic is handed down through

 family lines and helps to keep the peace among the Parramati. You can't fight

 with your neighbors because you might want the assistance of their stones some

 day."

 "Very convenient and ingenious, but I still see nothing that could be considered

 remarkable." Pulickel shifted in his seat, watching the clear water race past

 several meters below them.

 As always, they found the station undisturbed. At their approach a gaggle of

 polutans&#8209;short, two&#8209;legged creatures with mournful dark eyes and incredibly

 ornate feathery crowns&#8209;went loping away from the trash pile like a flurry of

 midget extras from the last act of a Puccini opera.

 "Cute little suckers, aren't they?"

 Pulickel eyed the dark patch of vegetation where the creatures had vanished.

 "Very pretty. What are they, some kind of flightless bird?" Tired, he forbore

 from pointing out that she had once again neglected to activate the station's

 defensive perimeter prior to their departure.

 "I'm not sure. I let the computer handle most of the taxonomic classifying, but

 it can't do anything unless I feed it information, and I've been pretty much

 preoccupied with the Parramati."

 "I thought it was with improving your tan."

 She gave him a sour look. "No, that's only my third priority. So you do have a

 sense of humor."

 "I'm told that it's buried pretty deep, but occasionally it surfaces in spite of

 myself."

 "Frankly, I'm surprised you'd noticed my tan. What's your opinion?" Seated, she

 still managed to strike a pose.

 Thus invited, he allowed himself a long lingering look. "That you've been more

 successful with it than with the Parramati."

 She snorted softly. "You're telling me." Using her feet, she drove the skimmer

 farther south.

 Later that night, long after the evening meal had been concluded, he noticed her

 outside, walking the station perimeter. At his touch of a switch, one of the

 wide window panels slid aside. Warm, humid air meshed confusingly with that of

 the air&#8209;conditioned station as the night sounds of Parramat entertained his

 hearing.

 "Lose something?" he called out and down to her.

 She looked back and up. "Just checking the alarm stanchions. I didn't mean to

 distract you."

 "You never distract me," he lied. Staring down at her, he was rewarded with a

 sardonic pout. From the night shrouded forest, something declared its alienness

 with a hair&#8209;raising howl. "I thought you didn't worry about the local

 life&#8209;forms, even the dangerous ones."

 "I don't. It's the AAnn who concern me. Them, and your desire to always have

 this damn thing turned on." She knelt to run a handheld analyzer down the length

 of an activated stanchion.

 Ire leaned out the open window. "I suppose I can imagine them trying to engineer

 an `accident' in the field, but surely they wouldn't approach the station

 itself."

 "Why not? Since neither side has any kind of formal agreement with the

 Parramati, they're as free to move around Torrelau as we are. By the same token,

 I could go clomping around Mallatyah&#8209; if I didn't mind being shot at." Rising,

 she moved to another stanchion and began repeating the inspection procedure.

 "But we can legally keep them away from the station itself and from cutting our

 throats while we sleep."

 He shifted his arms against the sill. "That wouldn't look very good in light of

 the agreement on mutual cooperation for extraseni affairs that both the

 Commonwealth and Empire governments have signed."

 "No, it wouldn't, but we wouldn't be around to chortle over the final

 resolution. I have no interest in becoming one of the triumphant deceased." She

 touched the analyzer to the top of the stanchion. Both devices promptly

 responded with a satisfying green flash. "On the other hand, if we were to be

 massacred in our beds, dragged out of the station, hauled onto a skimmer, and

 dumped into the ocean, seagoing scavengers would quickly eliminate the

 evidence. That's a chance I'd rather not take. In spite of what you think, I do

 occasionally leave the system running, especially at night."

 Noting that she was more than half finished, he let his gaze roam skyward. Alien

 constellations teased his contemplation with suggestions of fantastical shapes

 that would have delighted the ancient Greeks.

 "Beautiful night. Too pretty for homicidal speculations."

 "Not where the AAnn are concerned. Forgive me if I seem a little paranoid on the

 subject, Pulickel, but you have to remember that I've been here alone for quite

 a while. Is the defensive screen on, is the defensive screen off&#8209;you can go

 crazy trying to keep up with your fears. Of course, now that you're here to

 protect me, I guess I don't have to worry about it anymore."

 "Mock if you will. But I'm actually reasonably handy with a gun. It's a

 necessary component of the job." He smiled down at her. "But I don't shoot very

 well when I'm asleep."

 "Precisely my point. We wouldn't be the first fieldworkers to vanish with the

 AAnn offering protestations of innocence in response to follow&#8209;up inquiries.

 I'm not saying they're responsible for what happened to the Murchinsons&#8209;on

 Bandameva last year, but no one can prove that they weren't, either. Me, I have

 no intention of disappearing without explanation, or even with one.

 "As for the station and you, they're both technically my responsibility."

 Something fist&#8209;size and bright orange came whizzing out of the darkness to

 circle him twice before darting back into the night. Instinctively he swatted at

 it, but his slow&#8209;motion flailings didn't come close to hitting the creature,

 whatever it was.

 "Why am I your responsibility?"

 "Because even though you rank me within the Department, I'm the one in charge

 of Parramat station." Her tone was firm. "I'm the one who helped set it up, I'm

 the one who's been here for months, and I'm the one charged with the care of all

 local Commonwealth facilities."

 "Dear me," he responded with mock uncertainty. "I don't think I've ever been

 referred to as a facility before."

 "Go ahead and laugh. The AAnn have made several visits to Torrelau. They're

 concentrating on Mallatyah, of course, but they're not neglecting the other

 inhabited islands. Have I mentioned that their base commander is a slimy sort?

 Essasu R12GVB. An irritable character, as if the average AAnn wasn't testy

 enough."

 "The AAnn aren't slimy," he reminded her.

 "I was referring to his personality, not his epidermis."

 Pulickel pondered. "How are they doing lately?"

 "As near as I've been able to tell from talking with Jorana, Ascela, and other

 Torrelauans, no better than me. On the days and weeks when I feel that I haven't

 made any progress, I comfort myself with that thought. They have a full contact

 unit on Mallatyah, whereas until now there's just been me here on Torrelau."

 "Well, now that there's two of us," he responded, "maybe we can double your

 progress."

 "Sounds good to me." She was nearly finished with her inspection. "You know, I

 don't give a shit about the yttrium, and niobium, and all the other `iums' that

 the Commonwealth wants to dig out of Parramat. It's the Parramati themselves

 who fascinate me. That's why I've stayed on here for so long instead of putting

 in for a transfer. These people are hinting around at something of major

 importance, and I'm not leaving here until I figure out what it is.

 "As for the AAnn and the danger they present, that's something I've learned to

 live with. One day I was out` doing some collecting on the far side of the

 lagoon when the remote alarm I had connected to the skimmer went off. Let's just

 say that if I hadn't been alert and prepared, the skimmer might have `drifted'

 off, leaving me stranded out too far to swim back against the prevailing

 currents. There have been other potential accidents that I've managed to avoid.

 Doesn't do any good to yell or complain or say anything about it, of course. The

 AAnn are consummate deniers.

 "Alternatively, if they succeeded in doing away with us, they might choose to

 dispose of the evidence by consuming it."

 He started. "I've never heard of the AAnn eating a human, or a thranx."

 She grinned up at him, her face illuminated by the monitor lights that were an

 integral part of the armed stanchions. "They wouldn't rush to publicize a taste

 like that, now would they? Personally, I don't understand your reaction. Meat is

 meat. If I was hungry enough I certainly wouldn't hesitate to eat an AAnn,

 provided it had been properly cooked."

 She might look like a goddess, he mused, but there were aspects to her that were

 decidedly un&#8209;Olympian. For these he was grateful. They helped to keep his

 thoughts focused where they belonged.

 The inspection concluded, she started back toward the lift shaft. "The AAnn may

 not be having any better luck at persuading the Parramati to see things their

 way, but they're certainly more active in their attempts to eliminate the

 competition."

 He had to lean out and look down to follow her progress. "Surely they know

 there'd be an investigation."

 She paused to look up at him. "Uh&#8209;huh. Which means they wouldn't follow through

 on anything unless they were pretty confident of getting away with it. Which is

 why I check the equipment alarms and my weapons regularly." She vanished

 beneath the building's overhanging edge. A moment later he heard the muted whine

 of the lift as she started up.

 Raising his gaze, he stared out into the squeaking, squalling, chittering rain

 forest, with its multihued trees and tremulous undergrowth. Were there

 night&#8209;camouflaged AAnn slinking about out there even now, watching him as he

 relaxed there at the open window, training night sights on his forehead

 preparatory to blowing his brains out?

 He stepped back and closed the window. Not for the first time, Fawn Seaforth had

 given him something else to think about before retiring besides herself.

 

 As warm, languid days came and went, progress in persuading the Torrelauans to

 formalize relations with the Commonwealth advanced at the philosopher Russell's

 two classic speeds: dead slow and slower than dead. Jorana, the other big

 persons Pulickel talked to, even those with the least status among the

 villagers: all were unvaryingly polite, cordial, and obstinate. They expressed

 respectful interest in all the benefits Pulickel and Fawn claimed a formal

 treaty would bring to the people of Parramat. They were willing to listen to

 comparisons of what both the Commonwealth and the Empire had to offer. And they

 absolutely, uncategorically, refused to agree to anything.

 It wasn't long before Pulickel came to the conclusion that many, if not all, of

 the natives he had established a personal relationship with listened to him

 purely out of courtesy, and that they had no intention of giving serious

 consideration to the proposals he so carefully presented. Just as Fawn had

 warned him, they wanted nothing to do with the benefits being proffered either

 by the Commonwealth or the Empire.

 One morning he confessed as much as they walked the mountainside southwest of

 the village, continuing their study of the extraordinary gardens of Torrelauapa.

 Middle and small persons worked the terraces while youngsters, their antics

 patiently tolerated by the busy adults, bounded and chased one another through

 the lush growth and elaborate arbors. Damp earth squished beneath the

 xenologists' field sandals and they had to duck repeatedly to avoid bumping into

 the intricate, decorative trelliswork.

 "Now you know," Fawn was telling him, "why from time to time I've been less than

 fanatical about my work here. If the Parramati ever agree to a formal treaty

 with the Commonwealth, it's not going to happen in a sudden burst of enthusiasm.

 It's going to be the result of a long, tedious grind."

 Pulickel stepped carefully over something that looked like a meter&#8209;long yellow

 squash. "I'm sorry, Fawn, but I can't accept that. I'm not the long, tedious

 grind kind of person."

 "You don't say." She started up a line of stone steps. "I never would've

 guessed. Listen to me: like it or not, you'd better resign yourself to the idea.

 Impatience here will only result in greater and greater frustration. No matter

 how clever or persistent you are, you can't rush the Parramati."

 He followed her with his eyes. "The longest it's ever taken me to resolve a

 xenoiogical impasse was three months. It's a record I'm quite proud of, and I do

 not intend on losing it here."

 Idly waving at something small and fast that persisted in hovering in front of

 her face, she looked back over a shoulder at him. "I'd like to think you're

 right. Unfortunately, experience tells me otherwise. And, there's the big

 person I wanted you to meet."

 Their climb had taken them to the topmost terraces and both of them were

 breathing a little harder in the thick, humid air. "What is she," he asked as he

 caught sight of the alien in question and was able to sex it, "a hermit?"

 "No. Ascela and her relations just prefer to live up here. Think of it as a

 one&#8209;family suburb."

 Approaching, Fawn lowered her head toward the earth. Several of the younger seni

 in the vicinity responded with neatly tucked forward flips. When Pulickel

 duplicated their efforts, as he was now known to do, their delight was joyous

 to behold. The senior Parramati the xenologists had come to meet yipped

 appreciatively.

 "I had heard that you could do the greeting, friend Pu'il." Lips rippled

 eloquently.

 He studied the mature female. She appeared to be approaching late middle age,

 though it was hard to be sure. The species did not manifest many outward

 indications of advancing years until they were quite elderly, but he was

 gradually learning to recognize the subtle indicators. Sloe was a little less

 erect, a shade less bouncy on her hind legs than most of her brethren.

 "It is pleasing to meet you." He extended both hands palm upward. Three long,

 smooth fingers did their best to cover four of his own, ignoring the thumb. The

 seni found that extra afterthought of a digit quite amusing.

 Finger&#8209;out&#8209;of&#8209;place, they called it in their own language.

 Fawn was speaking. "I have brought my friend Pulickel to talk with you because

 he wishes to learn about roads and about stones."

 "I am not surprised." The senior Parramati withdrew her hands. "It is said that

 you have no stones of your own and must use other things instead."

 "This is true." In terranglo she told Pulickel, "I've tried to explain to these

 people what a computer is and what it does. It's not a concept that translates

 well to a culture with low&#8209;end technology."

 "How did you finally do it?"

 "Told them they were like flat stones that were connected by roads through the

 air. That's pretty simplistic, but it's a concept they can handle."

 Ascela was picking some kind of oval&#8209;shaped blue berries with pink spots, her

 long middle finger snapping them off the vine and placing them in a basket she

 carried beneath one arm. "Did you come to me now because there is going to be a

 mastorm tonight?"

 Pulickel's expression twisted slightly. "A mastorm? How does that differ from

 any other storm?"

 "In the same way," Fawn explained, "that a big person differs from a small

 person, or a stone master from one who can only sift gravel."

 "Then it's just a bigger storm."

 "Not hardly." She walked alongside the busy elder, towering over her and the

 other Parramati. "It's a unique local meteorological phenomenon, sort of a

 pocket hurricane. Too compact to be a typhoon, too extended to be a tornado.

 They form in the southwest at regular intervals and sweep over the archipelago.

 Riding one out is quite an experience. They're intense, and dangerous, but

 they're over fairly quickly. I haven't had time to analyze the mechanics very

 closely. When one sweeps in, I'm usually too busy seeing to the integrity of the

 station to spend time making observations."

 He brooded on the consequences of this possible new disruption of his work. "But

 it's just a storm."

 She nodded. "Insofar as I've been able to determine. If you want a local take,

 ask Ascela." He proceeded to do exactly that.

 "The mastorm is a break in the roads." Three&#8209;fingered hands continued to pluck

 berries with the delicacy of a surgeon. "During such times, certain stones do

 not work properly and people must be careful."

 "I can imagine," he murmured. "There's nothing worse than a defective stone."

 Fawn frowned in his direction but, as usual, he ignored her. Ascela took him

 literally. "That is very true." She raised her penetrating gaze to the

 southwest. "This one will be difficult."

 He eyed her tolerantly. "Are you the local weather forecaster?"

 She turned bright seni eyes on him. "There has been a weather stone in my family

 for a hundred generations."

 "There are two others on the island," Fawn told him. "Each island has its own

 complement of weather stones, fishing stones, growing stones, and so on."

 "I remember." To the female big person he said, "I wouldn't mind seeing your

 weather stone."

 Fawn missed a step, but Ascela didn't hesitate, gesturing elaborately with one

 delicate hand. "I would be pleased to show it to you, friend Pu'il. You must not

 touch it, of course, since you are not a stone master."

 "I quite understand." Bending, he removed a glittering piece of quartz from the

 narrow paved path along which they were walking. "I have my own stones."

 "Come with me, then."

 Her simple home commanded a panoramic view of the terraced hillside, the

 surrounding green&#8209;clad mountains, and the village below. From such heights, the

 magnificent waterfall that tumbled into the narrow inlet beneath the village

 was a mere distant trickle.

 There was nothing different or striking about the sparse, clean, artfully

 decorated structure. It sat on short stone legs and looked out on several

 smaller outlying buildings that were used variously for storage and hygiene.

 The sacred stone was kept in a small rear room of its own, atop a wonderfully

 carved and fluted pedestal of richly polished, dark purple metaria wood that

 spiraled up from the floor like an amethyst whirlpool. As near as Pulickel could

 tell, the stone was not guarded, alarmed, rigged, fastened, or otherwise

 protected from intruders.

 Ascela confirmed this by simply reaching out and picking it up. Any youngster

 could have done it.

 It wasn't quite what Pulickel had expected. Uncarved and apparently unworked,

 the head&#8209;size, irregularly shaped lump of dark greenish glass hinted at a

 volcanic origin. Flung out by some ancient eruption, the stone might have come

 from any of a number of highly visible peaks that poked their dead or dormant

 crowns above the islands of the archipelago.

 Ascela held it out for his inspection. One end was slightly flattened while the

 other exhibited several sharp edges where the material had been cut or

 fractured. There were hints of multiple inclusions within the material, no doubt

 other minerals that had formed in the course of the eruption. As a specimen it

 was interesting but hardly revelatory.

 He watched as she turned it slowly in her hands. "This helps you to predict the

 weather?"

 Ascela's long fingers twisted. "When it becomes necessary."

 "That's nice." Having been invited in, the disappointed xenologist struggled to

 show interest. Now that he was actually seeing one of the fabulous sacred stones

 of Parramati mythology, he was distinctly underwhelmed. "The other stones all

 look pretty much like this one?"

 "All the ones I've seen." Fawn was watching him closely. "Shapes and sizes

 differ, but I think they're all fashioned from the same favored material."

 "That figures." He turned back to the big person who was their hostess. "Thank

 you for showing me the stone. We have to go now."

 "You see how they avoid fighting among themselves." Fawn was explaining as they

 exited the simple but sturdy structure and started back down the mountainside.

 "Since different families `control' different stones, it forces cooperation on

 them. The masters of the fishing stones need the help of the masters of the

 growing stones, who need the help of the masters of the weather stones, who

 often consult the masters of the healing stones, and so on. You can steal a

 stone, but not the generationally accumulated knowledge of how to use it. So you

 cooperate. That's the beauty of the setup. The Parramati aren't so much pacific

 as they are sensible."

 "It's a good system that obviously contributes to a more stable culture than is

 to be found on many of the island groups." He was staring southward, where

 billowing cloud masses were gathering. Several were starting to show dark

 undersides.

 "Of course, if you're going to lay claim to the position of tribal

 meteorologist, it doesn't hurt to live near the highest point on the island so

 that you can see approaching weather before anyone else." He smiled knowingly.

 "It's my guess that the Parramati are more than just secure in their kusum; I

 suspect they can number some intuitively clever individuals among their tribe,

 as well. I wonder if old Ascela would be quite so good a weather predictor,

 stone notwithstanding, if she lived at the base of the village waterfall instead

 of up on the ridge."

 A trio of Parramati youngsters came hopping past them, clearing several of the

 broad stone steps with each bound. "Do you know if the stones were found

 locally, or have the Parramati acquired them through trade?"

 "I don't know." They were almost at the bottom of the slope now, nearing the

 village, and she gestured. "I see Jorana chatting with Khoseavu and Urenula, two

 other big persons. Why don't we ask them?"

 He considered. "Then they're not reticent on the subject?"

 "Not if you're polite and respectful."

 "I'm always polite and respectful."

 "I'll bet," she observed cryptically as they descended the last of the stone

 steps and headed for the trio of big persons.

 Chapter Seven

 

 Pulickel wasn't quite sure what to expect from the line of dark clouds: sheeting

 rain, driving wind, perhaps some isolated bursts of hail. At the very least, a

 vigorous downpour. In addition, he allowed as how his normal expectations

 might also be unexpectedly modified by unfamiliar local geologic and

 oceanographic conditions.

 Yet despite Fawn's best efforts at describing a mastorm, the sheer suddenness

 and fury of it still took him aback. He'd weathered violent thunderstorms

 before. Even bucolic Denpasar, back on Earth, lay within the equatorial cyclone

 belt and was subject to annual extremes of weather.

 It was the speed rather than the violence that dazed him. The sky darkened from

 clear blue to coal black in less than a minute, as if he were watching a

 many&#8209;times speeded&#8209;up vit. Gentle breezes metamorphosed into roaring winds

 capable of snapping sizable trees off at their roots. Rain fell not in sheets

 but in torrents, so heavy it completely obscured the view out the station's

 ports. Frequent lightning silhouetted the forest in tones of damp, diffuse

 gray. So thunderous was the downpour on the station's roof that he feared for

 its structural integrity.

 "How do you prepare for these?"

 Fawn was kneeling on a couch, resting her forearms on its padded back while

 staring out at the deluge. "You don't. Whenever they catch you, you just try to

 get under cover and stay there till it stops." She looked back at him and

 grinned. "That is, unless you have the chance to ask Ascela or another weather

 person what they think the day is going to be like."

 Even inside the heavily insulated installation he had to raise his voice to make

 himself heard above the roar of the wind and the heavy drumming of the rain.

 "And these blow in how often?"

 She considered. "They're fairly regular but unfortunately fall short of being

 predictable. What you've got is a miniature supercell. The clouds coil

 themselves into a frenzy, go crazy for a little while, and then the whole

 meteorological business just unwinds and the sun comes back out." She gave a

 little shrug. "Meteorology is another of my nonspecialties. If the mechanism

 responsible is half as impressive as the consequences, there's a dissertation

 in it for someone. But not me." She glanced down at her chronometer.

 "Their saving grace is that they never last long. I give this one another

 fifteen minutes, max."

 He turned away from the arc of windows and blinked. Lightning was now flashing

 frequently enough to have a strobing effect. In response to his query Fawn

 assured him that everything was properly grounded and shielded, both inside and

 out.

 "Besides," she added with a grin, "Ascela has told me that my house is under the

 protection of her weather stone and immune from serious damage."

 A wind&#8209;tunnel strength gust of wind rattled the triplepaned windows and he

 flinched involuntarily. "Some protection!"

 "Consider what it might be like without it," she argued. "Consider, also, that

 the houses of Torrelauapa, though they're constructed wholly of woven matting

 over vine&#8209;bound frames, never seem to suffer any serious damage from these

 storms."

 He looked at her sharply. "I've seen analogous primitive structures survive

 worse weather than this. It's a matter of simple but sound engineering, not

 magic." The windows shook again.

 "I don't doubt that for a moment." She looked away, back out at the storm.

 "Still, it's amazing when you consider that all their intricate garden trellis&#8209;

 and latticework manages to survive intact, as well. So do those of the other

 villages."

 He strove to make himself sound stern. "I saw the sacred, magic `weather stone.'

 It's a rock, plain and &#8209;simple."

 She replied without looking at him. "Didn't the Curies say something similar?"

 Together they watched the mastorm rage. After a while he commented, "You said

 that Ascela is willing to talk about the history and use of the weather stone."

 She nodded. "Frequently. The problem lies in acquiring sufficient cultural

 referents to understand her. Most of what she says has to do with kusum, not

 meteorology."

 "I think it would be useful to know more about the life and work of a stone

 master."

 She eyed him speculatively. "With an eye toward persuading her to accept

 Commonwealth teachings on the subject of weather, and thereby endorsing a formal

 alliance with same?"

 He pursed his lips. "The possibility has suggested itself."

 "Pulickel, right from the start I suspected you might be guilty of intelligence.

 But I never imagined you being devious."

 "It's nothing of the sort," he protested indignantly. "I merely seek opportunity

 wherever it presents itself." A slight smile parsed his fine, delicate features.

 "See, it's part of my kusum."

 For fully five minutes the wind held at one hundred and twenty kph, with gusts

 topping out at over one&#8209;sixty. From the first blast of the brief, wild, mad

 storm to the last, twelve centimeters of rain fell at the station gauge.

 Throughout it all a small part of him, usually shunted aside, was screaming,

 shouting, declaiming at him that while an intense, even romantic tempest was

 raging outside, he was restricting his conversation with the most beautiful

 woman he had ever seen to matters of meteorology and native culture. This

 overlooked and largely ignored portion of himself grumbled insistently about

 why, instead of wondering at the way the storm was rattling the station, he did

 not put his arm around her shoulders and put aside the matter of local weather

 conditions entirely. The notion, as thoroughly as the reality, stayed buried

 deep inside him.

 They remained apart, separately contemplating the mastorm, which by now had

 begun to dissipate as rapidly as it had first burst upon the island.

 

 Unlike the humanx station on Torrelau, the more extensive AAnn complex on

 Mallatyah consisted of half a dozen interconnected buildings. Prefabricated and

 ferried in by hevilift skimmers, they had been buried in sandy soil facing a

 small, curving beach. Only the upper third of each structure showed above the

 gently undulating loam, while the passageways said subsidiary modules that

 connected them lay completely beneath the surface.

 The complex faced a sheltered lagoon that lay on the northeast side of the

 island, protected from the main thrust of prevailing mastorms. Higher ground

 would have been safer still, but contrary to AAnn preferences and architectural

 aesthetics. No AAnn would choose to live in jungle when an expanse of clean,

 open sand was available. Indeed, following the installation of critical

 structures, the first secondary project had been the construction of

 recreational facilities in and about the traditional sloping pit.

 Proximity to the sea did not bother the servants of the Emperor. While no match

 for humans in the water, they were infinitely better swimmers than the thranx,

 and particularly enjoyed wading in the sandy, tepid shallows. Aside from the

 isolation, the atmosphere at Mallatyah base was nearly homelike.

 At any given time the installation might be occupied by a dozen or more

 specialists and technicians, whose combined efforts were directed toward

 inveigling the resident Parramati into signing a formal treaty of alliance with

 the Empire. Their natural impatience demanded even more restraint in

 negotiations with the locals than that required by Fawn Seaforth and Pulickel

 Tomochelor. The uniquely diffuse nature of the Parramati hierarchy had driven

 more than one AAnn contact specialist to distraction.

 Only the comparatively pleasant ambiance of the site made assignment to

 Mallatyah station tolerable for any length of time, provided one ignored the

 uncomfortably high humidity. As for the resident jungle, it had been razed to a

 respectable distance around the complex.

 Presently, a disgruntled group of techs were cleaning up from the previous

 night's mastorm, gathering debris and dumping it in tagalong carryalls for later

 disposal. Two of the partially buried buildings had suffered minor damage, which

 another crew was engaged in actively repairing.

 It wasn't the mess that discouraged them so much as the depressing regularity of

 the brief, intense weather disturbances. They occurred year&#8209;round, regardless of

 whether it was the dry or wet season, and the danger they presented prevented

 anyone from ever relaxing fully. This was more emotionally than physically

 taxing. Besides, the need to continuously do repair and clean&#8209;up work cut into

 time better spent on research and social diplomacy.

 Essasu RRGVB was as frustrated as any of those under his command. While no

 anticipator of miracles and fully cognizant of the special problems establishing

 formal alliance with the locals entailed, he still felt that the pace of

 progress was too slow. It was further frustrating to know that according to the

 reports he had received, the single human female the Commonwealth had assigned

 to Torrelau was doing no worse than his entire staff.

 And now it appeared that the human delegation to the Parramat archipelago had

 just been doubled.

 He couldn't understand it. Aside from having a smooth, bare epidermis instead of

 shiny scales, the seni looked far more like the AAnn than they did humans. Both

 species possessed long snouts, vertical instead of round pupils, large feet, and

 tails. A seni would fit into an AAnn spacesuit far more readily than a human,

 provided the gear was proportionately downsized to fit their much smaller

 stature. Compared to the average human, the AAnn looked positively senilike.

 Yet so far, physical similarities had not proved an advantage in negotiations.

 A few contact specialists were crediting the locals with unexpected

 sophistication in their dealings with both sets of offworlders, but Essasu

 refused to countenance it. As far as he was concerned, the Parramati were simply

 showing the stubbornness of the true primitive.

 And as if the recalcitrance of the natives wasn't frustrating enough, there

 were these damnable, damaging recurrent storms to deal with. He'd found himself

 wondering on more than one occasion how the single human female managed to keep

 her far more exposed installation operating efficiently in the face of the

 periodic tempests. It couldn't be the basic design. Other, unknown factors had

 to be at work.

 Not that discovering them was a priority. It was merely a cause for puzzlement.

 A sibilant hiss emerged from between his teeth, his kinds' analog of a chuckle.

 Perhaps she has mastered a weather stone, he thought amusedly. The hiss faded.

 Offered the opportunity, it would give him great pleasure to gift the human with

 a different sort of stone&#8209;preferably one dropped from a great height.

 None of which he betrayed during their occasional exchanges of communications,

 which were invariably conducted in an air of stiff politeness if not outright

 courtesy. From the first contact she'd shown herself to be indifferent to

 subtle sarcasm and insult. This suggested a lack of sophistication that

 immediately placed her beneath his serious notice. Her presence was an

 irritation to be tolerated&#8209;until it could be properly cleansed.

 About the new human he knew little save that he was a highly regarded specialist

 come all the way from Earth itself. That suggested a more worthy opponent. Like

 all his kind, Essasu liked nothing more than a good fight, be it physical or

 verbal. As soon as time permitted he would have to call this new human and test

 him. It would be intolerable to have to kill him before learning what sort of

 person he was.

 The humans couldn't be allowed to succeed, of course. If they somehow managed to

 secure a formal treaty of alliance before his people did, it would mean an end

 to any hope of personal advancement or promotion. His family name would be

 extended, a form of syllabic mortification. And that would be the least of his

 abasement.

 He wasn't worried. His team would succeed long before the humans. The AAnn had

 superiority in numbers, resources, everything. It was only a matter of time.

 Patience was one of the hardest things for an AAnn to master, but to his

 credit, Essasu was trying.

 He imagined the human female's soft, scaleless neck beneath his fingers, the

 sharpened points of his claws digging into the flesh, the thick red blood

 spurting. It helped him to relax.

 Turning, he peered out through the long, narrow window set just above ground

 level. Beyond the downsloping sand he could see the pale blue of the lagoon,

 backed by azure sky and a few isolated clouds. Within the office it was

 pleasantly hot and dry. Buried in the ceiling, dehumidifiers hummed

 efficiently, working around the clock to give the station's living quarters the

 desiccated feel of the deserts of home.

 The door rustled insistently. With a rueful hiss, he turned from the window to

 face the portal as it parted to admit Piarai, his first assistant.

 "The damage is not too bad. The nye grumble, but we have suffered far worse

 storms."

 "Bad enough." Essasu curled up in the bowl&#8209;shape lounge that fronted his work

 pillars. "They should have placed the installation entirely under ground."

 Piarai responded with a gesture indicative of thirddegree commiseration

 accompanied by overtones of second&#8209;degree understanding.

 "There was no precedent for it." The second&#8209;in command did not add an

 honorific. The difference in rank was not enough to require it, and Essasu was

 not yet of the nobility&#8209;though everyone who worked under him knew of his

 aspirations. Truly, these differed little from their own.

 Anyway, at a posting as obscure and isolated as Mallatyah, protocol tended to

 suffer.

 "That is so," Essasu agreed. "Unless we suffer more severe damage, we cannot

 properly request reconstruction. So we are forced to chew constant irritation."

 He squirmed in the lounge, enjoying the feel of the gritty surface against his

 back.

 Loungeless, the first assistant squatted. "What do you think of the new human?"

 "I prefer not to think of him. What I do think is that it is time we did

 something about the humanx presence here. If we can do nothing about the

 weather, perhaps we can remove a more tractable irritation." His eyes glittered,

 the slitted pupils narrowing.

 Piarai's enthusiasm was muted. "Is that wise?"

 "Not only do I think it wise, I deem it imperative. Now that a second human has

 come, others may be soon to follow. Best to halt this inclination to enhancement

 before it spawns a greater infestation still harder to excise."

 Tilting back his head, he gazed at the ceiling, which had been designed to

 resemble the early morning sky of his home world. Carefully placed points of

 light duplicated familiar constellations while a single rust&#8209;hued moon gleamed

 not far to the right of his visitor's head. The pleasant vista never failed to

 soothe his liver.

 "What do you have in mind?" Piarai waited expectantly.

 Essasu lowered his gaze. "The humanx station has survived many mastorms, but it

 is not invulnerable. Surely successive blows have weakened it."

 The first assistant made a perfunctory fourth&#8209;degree gesture of comprehension.

 "I see your thinking. You wish to eliminate not only the personnel but the

 installation itself. Is it truly necessary?"

 The movement of Essasu's lips conveyed seconddegree insistence. "Their presence

 here is a burr, their progress an embarrassment. Our contact specialists have

 enough to do without the added burden of competition weighing constantly upon

 them. I am convinced the time has come to remove that." He gestured importance.

 "Something must happen first to the inhabitants of the humanx station and then

 to the structure itself. This something must occur discreetly and unnoticed by

 talkative locals." He picked at his teeth. "During severe weather would be the

 best time. It would provide impenetrable cover."

 Piarai was visibly alarmed. "Surely you cannot be thinking of putting a

 readjustment party on Torrelau in the midst of a mastorm? Even the best

 stabilized floater would be hard&#8209;pressed to make the journey."

 "I know that." Essasu shifted again in his lounge. "The readjustment party will

 stand ready to depart at a moment's notice. At the first sign of an approaching

 mastorm, they will move at maximum speed to Torrelau. It is a high, rugged place

 and offers ample room for concealment. According to the reports there are areas

 where even the locals choose not to go.

 "I am thinking particularly of certain high sea cliffs on the east shore that

 the natives find negotiable but unattractive. A cut in the enclosing reef there

 allows large swells to break against the rocks, making fishing or any other

 gainful activity difficult. An expertly piloted float craft could make the

 approach and land atop the cliffs. From there a landing party could make its way

 unseen and on foot to the site of the humanx station." Teeth flashed. "Cleansing

 should not take long."

 Piarai indicated assent. "The humans will not venture out during a storm."

 "Just as we would not&#8209;normally. I myself will lead the team." He reeled off a

 handful of names. "Chosatuu should certainly participate. I believe she is adept

 with explosives."

 The first assistant emphasized his words with a gesture of third&#8209;degree concern.

 "When the station goes silent, investigators will be sent from Ophhlia. If they

 find any evidence of explosives, blame will not fall on the Parramati."

 "Appropriate care will be taken." Now that he had made the decision, Essasu was

 not to be denied. The AAnn commander clicked the claws of one hand against those

 on the other. "Signs of severe storm damage will be present in abundance. Have

 confidence in our technicians."

 Piarai remained uncertain but did not show it.

 "For example," Essasu went on, trying to reassure his visitor, "the humanx

 station includes the usual equipment for monitoring and recording the weather.

 We will adjust these on site to reflect a mastorm of exceptional intensity.

 Appropriate explanations in abundance will be provided for any who arrive

 seeking enlightenment. The destruction will be seen as a consequence of a freak

 storm among freak storms."

 In light of the base commander's unshakable confidence, the first assistant's

 enthusiasm rose. "And the bodies?" One sandaled foot shuffled against the floor.

 Essasu's gesture was imperceptible. "Seeking shelter from the storm elsewhere on

 the island, their skimmer will have an accident. It may be found. Their physical

 remains will be offered to the voracious ocean scavengers of this world. I am

 confident they will not be found."

 Piarai began to pace. "A tricky undertaking, this."

 "Anything to alleviate the boredom and frustration of this assignment. Kill

 plans stimulate the mind. It will be beneficial to those fortunate enough to be

 taken along."

 The first assistant glanced meaningfully at his superior. "The Parramati of

 Torrelau may want to know what happened to their humans."

 Essasu let out a derisive hiss. "Why should they care? They are interested only

 in their `roads.' None bind them to the humans. What happens between us and them

 lies outside the boundaries of Parramati kusum. They will be less concerned than

 you think."

 A tapping on the narrow triple&#8209;paned window caused both AAnn to turn. A gaily

 colored hopiak was pecking at the transparency with its short, sharp beak, wings

 half feathered and half membranous flapping awkwardly against the sand. Beneath

 the beak a bright pink eye regarded them curiously, while atop the smooth oval

 skull a second eye kept independent watch on the sky above.

 Like so many of Senisran's native life&#8209;forms, the creature was engaging to look

 upon. It could not break the window, of course. Such colorful intrusions were

 welcome diversions from the monotony of daily routine.

 Turning back to his first assistant, Essasu gestured in such a way as to express

 self&#8209;satisfaction in the second degree. "When questioned by visiting

 investigators, the Torrelauans will undoubtedly insist that the regrettable loss

 of property and life was a direct consequence of the deceased humans not

 mastering the appropriate road, or failing to consult with the relevant stone

 masters. While expressing our own regrets we can, as interpreters of local

 kusum, do no less than concur with this somber assessment. It may even serve to

 strengthen our ties with the locals."

 "The humanx will send others. They will reestablish the station."

 "Of course they will." Essasu slid out of the lounge and dug his bare feet into

 the heated sand heaped at its base. "But by that time, in the absence of any

 competing voices, we should be able to achieve our objective here. If not, we

 deserve to wear the stigmata of failure."

 Piarai stiffened, his teeth clenching. "Truly."

 The base commander came out from behind the work pillars. "The human female is

 the only one with a working knowledge of Parramati kusum. With her eliminated,

 the humans will have to start over again. As they do so, we here on Mallatyah

 will patiently emphasize their clumsiness and mistakes. We will have our treaty

 and the humanx will be forced to concede this important corner of Senisran to

 the Empire."

 He moved to the window. As he did so, the startled hopiak pumped hybrid wings

 and flapped out of sight, precipitously abandoning its attempt to burrow into

 the room. It left Essasu with an unobstructed view across the beach to the pale

 blue water.

 "For once I look forward to the next of these interminable little mastorms.

 Calm weather only means delay, and now that I have determined upon this course I

 wish to pursue it with utmost vigor to a satisfying conclusion."

 "Have confidence, Commander. It will turn nasty soon enough." Piarai, too,

 peered through the window. "It invariably does." The first assistant gestured

 second&#8209;degree jocularity. "If you wish, I can find a local to consult a weather

 stone."

 Essasu was not submerged so deeply in his killing vision that he missed the

 jest, and he was quick to respond with his own hiss of amusement.

 Chapter Eight

 

 The longer he had contact with them and more comfortable he grew working in the

 village, the more Pulickel came to admire the Parramati. From his preparatory

 research he'd known in advance that their culture was special: different not

 only from the other aboriginal alien societies he had previously encountered,

 but from that of their fellow seni, as well. How different, the reports could

 not accurately convey. As always, there was no substitute for being in the

 field.

 It was captivating to observe them at work and at play, to see how content they

 were in their nontechnological lifestyle and how secure in their zealously

 maintained kusum. The serenity of Parramati village life stood in sharp contrast

 to the sometimes wrenching cultural changes being undergone by the seni who had

 opened themselves to humanx and AAnn influence. He found himself reflecting on

 more than one occasion that, unlike so many other tribes, the Parramati knew

 themselves.

 He and Fawn were making recordings of youngsters at play near the base of the

 waterfall that tumbled over the steep cliff into the shallow lagoon below the

 village. With their oversize hind feet, powerful legs, and short muscular tails

 to aid in steering, the seni were quite comfortable in the water. Their

 swimming strokes were more akin to those of frogs than humans. They hardly used

 their three&#8209;fingered hands at all.

 The volume of water cascading over the cliff was sufficient to keep the

 youngsters away from the base of the sheer rock walls. Pulickel could hear them

 playfully taunting one another. The game consisted of seeing who could swim

 farthest under the falls without being shoved to the bottom of the lagoon by the

 force of the falling water.

 This natural aeration attracted a phantasmagoria of sea creatures, most of whom

 scooted about the lagoon by pumping water through an astonishing assortment of

 valves and chambers. Considering their numbers and relative velocities, it was

 something of a minor miracle that they managed to avoid running into the

 silicate pseudocorals or one another. The swimming youngsters tried to catch

 the more brightly colored visitors, rarely with any success. Quick as the

 natives were, the jet&#8209;propelled denizens of the sea were far faster.

 The small inflatable the two scientists were using allowed them to move in for

 closer shots. Behind them, the skimmer sat motionless on the transparent water,

 secured to the same floating pontoon dock the Torrelauapans used for berthing

 their wonderful outriggers. Swimming young villagers frequently moved to touch

 and inspect the alien craft, but they were forbidden by the local big persons to

 board it.

 Pulickel knew the temptation must be great. The seni were a naturally curious

 species. He could see them examining every centimeter of the vehicle, their

 vertical pupils fully' open, high pointed ears flicked sharply forward, fingers

 eager to probe. But not one of them was bold enough to violate the prohibitions

 laid on the craft by their elders.

 " I believe that a lot of the Parramati's success is bound up with the way they

 order their existence," Fawn was telling him. "The Herimalu and the Poravvi who

 live on the islands to the west have a genealogically stratified society.

 Everything is determined by who your relatives are, and were. The Soroaa elect

 chiefs and clan leaders. The Parramati organize their existence spatially."

 He watched her as she aimed her recorder at a pair of adolescents frolicking in

 the water. She was wearing only the skimpy bathing costume she'd had on when

 they'd first met. Comparative nudity was funny that way. The more of it there

 was, the less attention it drew after a while. He found that familiarity now

 allowed him to almost ignore his colleague's physical attributes. Almost.

 She turned to look back where he was seated at the rear of the inflatable and he

 reflexively shifted his gaze. "It's all bound up with their mythology of roads,

 of everything being connected to everything else. It's just not a concept you

 find in the Narielle Islands, or the Suruapas, or even in the outer reaches of

 the Helemachus shoals. Like so much else, it's unique to Parramat."

 He found himself nodding. "You might be able to steal someone else's stone, but

 you can't steal another person's space. What about forcing someone off their

 land?"

 She grinned down at him. "Doesn't work that way. A person's space moves with

 them. Roads aren't fixed; they move with individuals, as well. By the same

 token, no one owns their individual space. The Parramati don't believe you can

 possess space. You can only make use of it."

 He checked the charge on his recorder. "No wonder you've had so much trouble

 here."

 She nodded. "That's why they're having such a hard time agreeing to what we

 want. A mine would make use of space, but the wording of the proposed treaty

 talks about owning it. That's the concept they have trouble with."

 "The Commonwealth doesn't want to own the space. Just the minerals that occupy

 it. But I follow your reasoning."

 He let his legs dangle over the side of the inflatable. The water in the lagoon

 was too shallow to admit large predators like the apapanu, and he could cool his

 feet in safety while electrically hued cephalopods and mollusks darted back and

 forth beneath them. A nearby bommie consisting largely of blue pseudocorals

 attracted schools of swimmers. The upthrust tower seemed fashioned of azurite

 crystals: dark blue spears thrusting up through the crystalline water.

 He felt himself becoming altogether too relaxed. The temperature of the lagoon

 water flirted with thirty degrees. Easy to lie back in the inflatable, forget

 about work, and go to sleep in the warm sun. No wonder Fawn Seaforth had lost

 her inquisitive edge. A few months here could turn the most compulsive

 researcher into a beachcomber.

 Resolutely but not without reluctance, he swung his feet back into the little

 boat. He had a job to do here. It was up to him to resist the exotic

 blandishments of the local atmosphere, however seductive.

 The tropical sun soothed and warmed him. He felt as if he were trying to run

 through gelatin. At the same time, he couldn't escape the feeling that there was

 one key, one discovery, one cultural Rosetta stone that would allow him to deal

 successfully with Parramati society. When he discovered it, Fawn Seaforth would

 be impressed, he would be commended and transferred, and the AAnn would again be

 confounded.

 All he had to do was find it.

 "This is the most difficult culture to get a handle on I've ever dealt with," he

 told her. "Everywhere else, irrespective of species, there's always been a

 chief, a leader, a senior teacher, an elected representative, a head priest, a

 respected philosopher, a senior matriarch, even a local mob boss. Someone

 charged with making decisions. You work up to them and they speak on behalf of

 those below. This polite semianarchy is frustrating as hell." lie watched

 something like a rocket&#8209;propelled banana with eyes go flashing past beneath the

 boat.

 "Sometimes I wonder if either we or the AAnn will ever persuade these people to

 agree to anything."

 She turned off her recorder and sat down opposite him, on the curving flank of

 the inflatable. "And it's not just individuals you have to convince. You might

 get a majority to agree to a treaty, but then the clans have to debate it. If

 the clans agree, then the population of each island in the archipelago has to

 vote. The power to decide is dispersed through multiple layers."

 "It's not necessary to remind me," he complained. "Talk about your fragmentary

 processes ..."

 "Roads." She tried to sound encouraging. "All we have to do is find the right

 road. The road that leads to general agreement."

 He looked up. "You really think such a `road' might exist?"

 "Why not?" she replied cheerfully. "There seems to be one for everything else."

 She lay down on the side of the inflatable, a strip of dark photosensitive

 plastic protecting her eyes.

 He looked away from her, to where Parramati youngsters were doing acrobatic

 flips off a small ledge that projected out over the lagoon. Behind the

 inflatable, one of the large outriggers was just returning from an extended

 fishing trip. Its crew rushed to reef the double sails. It was always

 interesting to view the daily catch. Much of what the Parramati caught resembled

 outtakes from a fever dream. They were invariably tasty dreams, though, with

 rarely any bones to deal with.

 Something green and yellow and blue&#8209;spotted tried to climb into the boat, its

 four small tentacles groping. Gently, Pulickel nudged it back into the water,

 discouraging the intrusion. Sometimes the sea life was as curious as the

 natives.

 Parramati wasn't paradise. Roads notwithstanding, ordinary everyday arguments

 were common enough among its inhabitants. Sometimes disputes were settled

 violently. But when it came to dealing with outsiders, be they human, AAnn, or

 other seni, the locals presented a united front. That was the strength of their

 kusum. They were aggressive only among themselves. What was the point, anyway,

 of trying to conquer an outlying island when you could not possess its space?

 The Parramati had their stones and their roads. Use the stones, follow the

 roads, and life would be good. Watching them at their everyday tasks, seeing

 the joy they took in life, who could argue with them?

 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&#8209;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 teardown 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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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 dehumidifiers sprang to life. At his sign of assent,

 the pilot fed energy to the engines. The big lifter rose a bodylength off the

 sand, pivoted, and moved out over the stillcalm 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&#8209;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

 dehumidifiers struggled to keep them comfortable as they leaped from the ramp

 to the sodden ground atop the sea cliff. Night&#8209;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 shacked 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 double, 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&#8209;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&#8209;forms, the system was efficient but not especially sophisticated.

 In&#8209;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&#8209;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 mussed, 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&#8209;consuming and tiring but hardly

 calamitous. They certainly couldn't be allowed to observe the nocturnal

 goings&#8209;on and leave. A few local scavengers were going to feed especially well

 tonight, he mused.

 The one who had stepped forward raised a three fingered hand in greeting.

 Narrow, slitted eyes stared unblinkingly. The native ignored the rain that

 coursed in gleaming rivulets down his bare skin.

 "What is it you wish here?"

 Though it was hardly the most propitious time for exchanging pleasant

 inanities, Essasu felt obligated to at least try to talk the natives away, as

 opposed to shooting them outright. Wind whipped their sharply pointed ears

 sideways as they awaited his reply.

 "Why, to check on our human friends and make certain they are all right. It is a

 bad storm and we feared for their safety." He was pleased with his practiced

 fluency in the native tongue.

 The seni exchanged a look. "They have never had trouble during any other

 storms," remarked the female member of the trio. "Why would they need your help

 now?"

 Essasu restrained his impatience, not to mention his anger at being spoken to in

 such a fashion by a member of a lesser species.

 "We are simply paying a courtesy. You wouldn't understand. It is&#8209;sssish&#8209;part of

 our mutual kusum."

 The younger male spoke up. "We have listened often to the humans speak of their

 relationship with your kind. The road between you is difficult, and broken in

 many places." Eyes double&#8209;blinked. "You come with many weapons."

 Essasu hissed under his breath but remained polite. Above him, the station's

 inhabitants continued to evince no knowledge of the AAnn presence. "We must

 protect ourselves against the creatures of the night. Surely you can understand

 that."

 The leader of the trio replied. "The creatures of the night are denned up out of

 the mastorm." His eyes were fixed on the AAnn's.

 Essasu glanced at his wrist. Barometric pressure was starting to rise. The fury

 of the mastorm was always brief. Lose the storm and they would lose their

 anonymity.

 The native was right, of course. All sensible creatures took cover at the first

 sign of an incoming mastorm. So what were he and his three companions doing out

 here, exposed and unprotected? He posed the question.

 "You were seen coming from Iliumafan and it was decided to find out what you

 wanted. The humans did not warn us of your intended arrival."

 "It is only a courtesy call. There is no need to announce such things."

 Essasu's exasperation was starting to boil over. His finger twitched on the

 trigger of his pistol. "We apologize if we have violated any protocol."

 "Not ours." The female glanced upward, her long snout pointed toward the

 underside of the station. "You come at night, at the height of a mastorm, with

 weapons showing. That is not the manner of visitors intent on help."

 He'd had about enough of this aboriginal interrogation. "It is really none of

 your business. You would not understand such things."

 "But we do understand such things," the younger male declared. "Anyone who

 appears uninvited outside the but of another in the middle of the night with

 weapons drawn can only mean mischief."

 "Why are you interested? The motivations of our visit remain a matter between us

 and the humans. It does not concern the Parramati."

 "But it does." The senior male was insistent. "You have come into our space."

 Essasu indicated the station. "The humans live in it."

 "By our leave. You do not have permission to enter. You must apply through the

 appropriate village. Your people have followed the appropriate procedures before

 and know them well."

 Barometric pressure continued to rise while Essasu's anger began to soar. For a

 moment he considered composing a formal apology and calling the whole business

 off. But sooner or later these three were bound to inform the two humans of the

 nocturnal intrusion. However much Essasu might deny it, upon receiving the

 information the pair of softskins would surely intensify their guard. And there

 was the little matter of the breach his techs had made in the station's security

 perimeter.

 He took a step forward, gesturing with the pistol. "Let us alone. We have

 business here that does not concern you." Unlike the neuronic pistols carried by

 two of his companions, the explosive projectile weapon in his hand would make no

 fine distinction between human or seni. He didn't want to kill these natives,

 but he was tired and running out of time.

 The three Parramati took an impressive hop backward and immediately raised

 objects in front of them. Expecting spears or knives, Essasu flinched, then

 relaxed. The natives held only samples of the familiar, etched glassy stones

 that formed such an important part of their kusum mythology. If thrown, they

 wouldn't make much of an impact.

 His voice gentle and reassuring, he addressed the trio's wary leader. "You are

 not really going to throw those at us, are you?"

 "The sacred stones are not for throwing," the senior native declared with

 dignity. He held out his own. "This is a road stone, and that&#8209; He indicated the

 irregular mass reverently cradled by the other male. "&#8209; a stone of the earth."

 "A seeing stone." The female displayed her own modest burden.

 "Very interesting." Undertones of third&#8209;degree humor crept into the commander's

 voice. The subtleties were lost on his audience, of course. "Then you should be

 able to see the path we intend to take."

 The native leader's lips rippled. "You must find another road. Yours does not

 come through this place."

 "Why do you care? Ah, yes. This business of your space."

 One of the techs impatiently shook water from her headgear. "Enough, Commander.

 Let us be done with this."

 "I agree." Essasu raised his pistol. "We must finish what we came for, and I

 regret that your interference requires a response. All space is our space, and

 within it the AAnn go where they please."

 "This is not your road." So saying, the senior male turned his back on the

 commander. As a threatening gesture, it didn't carry much weight. Essasu aimed

 carefully and assumed that his companions were doing likewise. A single silent

 shot to the back of the head would end this unfortunate dialogue cleanly.

 All three Parrarnati tossed their stones into the air. They aimed them not at

 the scaly intruders but at one another. There were many times thereafter when

 Essasu carefully reviewed what had happened. It was very clear. It just wasn't

 very believable.

 Spinning through the night toward one another, the three stones appeared to

 slow. Silently they struck. Instead of tumbling to the ground, they stuck and

 hovered, the resultant unified mass visibly altering its shape like the parts of

 a completed puzzle. A pale yellow&#8209;green efflorescence emanated from the

 amorphous lump, intensely bright in the darkness of the storm&#8209;swept night.

 A disk appeared beneath the suspended mass. Several body&#8209;lengths in diameter, it

 formed a translucent barrier between AAnn and Parramati. The reflective surface

 was bright with stars. Beyond, the natives could be seen huddled together and

 chanting softly.

 A projector of some kind, Essasu thought in disbelief. How had these primitives

 come by such a device? One of the techs was jogging his shoulder.

 "Commander? The storm is ending."

 "I know." He gestured. "Step through this. Shoot all three natives but do not

 damage their interesting device. We will take it back with us and let the

 appropriate specialists examine it."

 Did the humans know anything about this? he found himself wondering. If so, all

 the more reason to eliminate them. An upward glance showed the station still

 quiescent, its inhabitants still oblivious to the little drama being played

 out below them. It wasn't surprising. The violence of the storm would have

 smothered the sounds of a small war.

 "Choose!" The senior male was speaking again, from behind the disk. "The road

 that leads back to Mallatyahor this one."

 "Some kind of mirror device," Essasu murmured aloud. "I wonder how they came

 into possession of it? Well, we will find out later." He gestured sharply.

 Two of the tech&#8209;soldiers stepped forward, simultaneously crossing the lip of

 the disk. A couple of brief, startled screams resounded over the communicators

 just before they fell out of sight. It was exactly as if they had stepped into a

 hole. The disk swallowed them as neatly as if they'd gone over a cliff.

 Darting forward, Essasu and his remaining companion peered cautiously into the

 swirling translucency. They could see the pair who had gone in and over,

 flailing and kicking madly as they tumbled out of sight. Not down, he thought.

 They weren't falling down so much as up. He started to put out a hand.

 The remaining tech restrained him. "Commander, don't." She struggled to pull

 Essasu back from the brink.

 Shaking her off, he reached out. His hand and forearm entered the translucency.

 His suit sensed nothing unusual, but something pulled forcefully on his arm.

 With an effort, he drew it back. At the same time he recognized the pattern of

 stars revealed by the disk, remembering it clearly now from the standard manual

 on Senisran. The faint memory had been nagging at him ever since the disk had

 first materialized.

 The constellations depicted in the disk were exactly what would be seen if one

 were standing somewhere in the planet's southern hemisphere and looking up at

 the night sky. He could not pinpoint the exact location. The Seurapan Reef

 system, perhaps, or the Challooriat Atolls. Those locales and others were known

 to him from official familiarization scrolls that suddenly seemed no longer

 immaterial. Both island groupings were situated almost exactly as far below

 Senisran's equator as Parramat was above it.

 The disk was a hole, or if one chose to use the Parramati definition, a road.

 Right through this side of the planet.

 Chapter Nine

 

 The two unfortunate tech&#8209;soldiers? They had fallen, all right. Right through

 Senisran into the night sky in the southern hemisphere. Shaken, Essasu lifted

 his gaze to the three Parramati. They were watching him silently.

 The storm in his mind mirrored the greater, darker one raging about him. Three

 stones come together: earth, road, seeing. A way of seeing a road through the

 earth to the sky?

 But how? Though more administrator than scientist, Essasu still was aware that

 several important laws of physics had just been violated directly in front of

 him. Not magic. He was no believer in superstition. It was technology, but of

 another order. Three stones. Surely the Parramati weren't responsible for them.

 Then who were? How had they come to be here, on this backward watery world?

 Clearly the locals had learned how to make use of them. Had they been

 instructed, or was learning the properties of each individual stone a matter of

 trial and error? He'd seen no switches thrown, no surreptitious controls nudged.

 The Parramati had simply thrown the three objects together.

 To become useful they had to be combined. A single stone was nothing more than a

 lump of inscribed slag. But when pushed against another, or several others, it

 helped to open a gate. In this case, a gate to another part of Senisran.

 His thoughts reeled. Mallatyah and Torrelau were each home to dozens of the

 sacred stones. Many more were held and cared for on the other islands of the

 archipelago. Were some inert, no more than what they appeared to be, or were all

 potentially capable of equally inexplicable higher functions?

 What else could the sacred stones do? What would happen if a sea stone was

 combined with a pair of road stones, or growing stones with sky stones? Did only

 certain specific combinations have a higher function, or would any work?

 Puzzle pieces, he told himself. Hundreds of them, scattered the length and

 breadth of the Parramati archipelago. Each one looked after by a designated

 individual, or family, or clan. What else, if anything, besides the sky disk

 transporter could the stones become?

 He had a thousand questions, the answer to any one of which was more important

 than the elimination of a couple of bothersome humans.

 The female was speaking. "We are sorry for your friends, but they chose their

 road."

 "Yes. Yes, they did." Mumbling, Essasu and his remaining companion backed away

 from the glistening sky disk. Rain was sucked into it as readily as bodies, he

 noticed. How much control did these primitives have over a device clearly not

 of their own making? Could its locus be shifted? Toward him, for example? What

 if they pushed it forward and it slid under his feet? Would he, too, fall

 through to the sky in the southern hemisphere?

 Madness it was, utter and complete. Except that he'd seen it happen. As she

 retreated, the surviving tech stumbled slightly, reminding him that he was not

 alone, that another had witnessed the impossibility.

 Tilting his head slightly within the protective hood, he tried to raise the pair

 who had vanished into the disk on their communicators. When there was no

 response, he addressed the other members of the expedition who had taken up

 positions just inside the station's breached defensive perimeter.

 "Interdiction is aborted. Return to the floater. Any who delay will be left

 behind. I repeat, return to the floater."

 The tech glanced at him. "Commander, the mastorm ... should we not wait awhile?"

 Essasu continued to back away from the three Parramati. "We are leaving now."

 Suddenly nothing, not even the roaring storm, posed nearly the threat implied by

 the inexplicable translucent disk.

 "Did you see it? Did you see what happened?"

 The tech responded with a gesture of first&#8209;degree concurrence, massively

 emphasized. "I saw, Commander, but I do not understand. What happened to Suugil

 and Rieibaa? Where did they go?"

 "On a journey from which I fear they will not be returning." Again he addressed

 himself to his suit pickup. "Assemble at the prearranged point. Do not, I

 repeat, do not attempt to question or interfere in any way with any natives you

 may encounter."

 Moments later the remainder of the assault team had reunited outside the

 station's defensive perimeter. The senior among them eyed the commander

 searchingly.

 "What happened? Why have we aborted?"

 Essasu stared back evenly. "It seems we have chosen a wrong road." At this, the

 other members of the group looked uncertainly at one another. Essasu did not

 elaborate. Let them query their surviving companion. Other thoughts occupied

 his thinking.

 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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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 shy storm&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209;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&#8209; or shinyskin 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&#8209; and shiny&#8209;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&#8209;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 .aid 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&#8209;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&#8209;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."

 Fawn carefully closed a connection, smiled to herself as a last green light came

 to life. "And how is the world, according to the Parramati?" High up a flaring

 ulawari tree, a chiji squealed like a bagpipe badly in need of tuning.

 "The Parramati see everything in terms of space." The big person gestured

 broadly to encompass the surrounding forest. "Each location in space has its

 own access point, and each point has power. The big people among the Parramati

 can recognize these points of power. Most of them are concentrated in the

 stones. Those who know the ways can use the stones to open the roads to these

 other spaces. We do not always use them, but we know they are there. Our kusum

 has always allowed us to do this. Others do not know the ways, or do not possess

 the right stones."

 "That's all very interesting." She leaned back and began buttoning up the

 refurbished stanchion. "But what does it have to do with the proposed treaty?"

 Naharira sighed. "We are hoping that if you come to see space as the Parramati

 do, you will better understand why we do not want, do not need, and cannot

 afford to have closer ties with your civilization. We would like for you to

 agree to become more Parramati."

 Its integrity restored, the perimeter fence could be switched back on at any

 time. Satisfied, she rose, towering over the attentive big person. "I'm still

 not sure that I follow you. Are you proposing that Pulickel and I undergo some

 sort of initiation ceremony?" It took a moment to find the right words.

 Naharira showed the many teeth in his long, narrow snout. "It is more of a

 demonstration, so that you may better comprehend certain things that are

 difficult to convey only with words. It was not a decision easily arrived at,

 but it is felt that something needs to be done so that you may understand. Your

 ignorance is not your fault."

 The sardonic tone of her reply was lost on the native. "Gee, thanks."

 "You are welcome. It is felt that when you see that our ways are stronger, you

 and your people will understand our desire to be left alone and our wish to

 forgo the benefits of your society."

 "If it's that important to you, then of course we will participate in your show,

 or demonstration, or whatever it is." She yelled and gesticulated in Pulickel's

 direction. Almost finished with his inspection, he turned and waved casually

 back.

 Naharira continued. "Tomorrow there will be a ceremony marking the planting of

 the pohoroh root. A growing stone will be used to ensure a bountiful crop. At

 that time you will be shown the relevant road. When you see it open, perhaps

 then you will understand why we do not need your ways, your machines, or your

 treaty." He straightened proudly.

 "It is a great honor. Only big persons may use the stones to open the roads.

 Only they know the ways of power that are handed down from generation to

 generation."

 "We're flattered to be included," Fawn replied, not knowing what else to say.

 "I'm sure Pulickel will feel the same way." The crop&#8209;blessing ceremony, or

 whatever it was, sounded interesting. Anything that expanded their insight into

 Parramati sociology was worth recording, just as anything that solidified the

 developing relationship was to be encouraged.

 Hefting his hoe as he turned to go, Naharira eyed the much taller human

 curiously. "Tell me one thing, F' an. You and the male human live together but

 are not mated. You have no cubs. This is a thing much speculated upon in the

 village. Do you plan to mate?"

 The abrupt change of subject caught her off guard. "Noooo, I don't think so."

 "If you do, Ascela said to tell you that she would be honored to perform the

 ceremony."

 She smiled. "Tell her thank you, but we have no plans to, um, mate. Our

 relationship is strictly professional. Different families can till the same

 hapirri patch."

 "Yes, that is so," the big person agreed.

 "Pulickel," she added, gesturing in her associate's direction, "is not what,

 among my people, would be called my type."

  Type.  The native looked thoughtful. "We have much still to learn about the

 meanings of words."

 She strove to return the discussion to more significant and less personal

 matters. "We'll be happy to be initiated as stone people, or whatever, and to

 learn more about the ways of the Parramati and your roads."

 "Then it is settled. Tomorrow at first sun."

 Not being much of a morning person, she winced internally. "First sun?"

 "It is the proper time, when the flowers of the pohoroh first open to the

 light."

 "Of course. That makes sense. You must excuse my ignorance." Bending, she

 picked up her repair kit. "Tomorrow at first sun then, in the village."

 "You must be at the base of the gardens before first light so you can be on the

 mountain when the sun shows itself." Naharira was insistent.

 She winced again. "We'll be there."

 Exhibiting wonderful flexibility, the long snout twisted sideways. "I will come

 and guide you. It will not be hard for you to find your way. You have lights

 that let you see in the dark."

 "That's right." Unable to resist, she added, "If you agreed to the treaty, you

 could have such lights for yourself. You could turn night into day for every

 village in the archipelago."

 "Why would we want to do that?" With a vertical hop and midair pivot, the native

 turned away from her. "If the night was made into day, how would a person

 sleep?"

 With that the visiting big person headed off toward the trail that led through

 the forest and back to the village, covering the open sections of ground in

 long, graceful bounds. Fawn watched him go.

 A simple folk, the Parramati. Straightforward and stubborn, but they'd come

 around sooner or later. Meanwhile, attending this planting ceremony or whatever

 it was would establish one more bond between them. It was important, she knew.

 Anything involving the sacred stones was important. It would probably prove

 interesting, as well, except for the part that involved rising before sunup.

 She called across the clearing beneath the station. "Better turn in early

 tonight, Pulickel! We have an early morning appointment."

 His querulous reply rose above the background mutter of the jungle. "What for?"

 "To look at roots, and rocks. Would you rather be a root person or a rock

 person?"

 "What's that?" He put a hand to one ear, but she only grinned at him. She could

 give him the details later. There was no urgency.

 After all, nothing exceptional was going to happen.

 

 Chapter Ten

 

 It was very early indeed the following morning when Fawn learned that she had

 misconstrued Naharira's invitation.

 "Only females," the big person explained apologetically, "are permitted to

 participate in the pohoroh ceremony. It is they who master the growing stones.

 Only they may attend."

 "Not a problem." It was still night&#8209;black outside the station, and Pulickel

 smiled jovially at his associate. "I can live without watching the locals stick

 a bunch of seeds in the ground and pound them with a sacred stone. You do the

 recording, Fawn. Me, I'll just have to go back to bed."

 "Get some sleep for the both of us." Her tone belied her expression. Given the

 choice, she would gladly have swapped places with her companion. That was not

 possible. Naharira was insistent as ever.

 The sky was only beginning to show signs of lightening when she finally halted

 just beyond the village, at the foot of the magnificently terraced mountainside

 that the Torrelauapans had transformed into one vast, intricate garden. There

 Naharira turned her over to Jeriill, the female big person who had care of the

 growing stone. Together they started up the laboriously worked slope.

 Three&#8209;quarters of the way along, they halted on a small plateau. A large section

 of terrace had been cleared for planting. Reeds, vines, fronds, flowers, and

 stripped bark lay in neat piles nearby, ready to be woven and sculpted into

 protective, decorative trellises and arbors as soon as the planting was

 concluded.

 Among the assembled Parramati females, Fawn stood out like a construction crane

 surrounded by busy earthmovers. Switching on her recorder, she followed the

 beckoning Jeriill to the middle of the clearing. Exotic native fruits and

 vegetables grew in profusion on the terraces below while immature growths

 greened the remaining levels at higher altitudes.

 From the vantage point provided by the plateau, she could see much of the

 western half of Torrelau. Swathed in shades of emerald and vermilion, carmine

 and yellow, it lay like a blaze of energy against the framing azure blue sea.

 The village lay below, peppered with the small moving shapes of other Parramati

 beginning the day's work. Off to the left, the clear, coal course of the river

 cast its singular torrent into the svelte inlet of the lagoon. All in all, it

 was a grand vista.

 "Stand here, F'an."

 Turning, she nodded understandingly at Jeriill and walked to the indicated

 location. She wondered if she would be allowed simply to watch or if she was

 expected to participate in the ceremony. Other females crowded close around her,

 forming the balance of a semicircle that faced the center of the plateau.

 Holding the growing stone out before her, Jeriill advanced from one end of the

 crescent. Carrying an earth stone, the big person known as Uluhapa approached

 from the opposite direction. Fawn strove in vain for sight of any seeds or

 cuttings.

 Meeting in the center of the plateau, the two females squatted low. Setting the

 stones aside, they began to dig a. small hole.

 Fawn leaned over to whisper at the middle person standing on her right. "I don't

 understand. Where are the seeds or seedlings?"

 The younger Parramati looked up out of bright blue eyes. "Why, the pohoroh

 cuttings are already in the ground, of course. They were planted all last

 ten&#8209;day."

 Fawn switched off her recorder. "If the planting is already finished, then

 what's the purpose of this ceremony?"

 "Why, to bless the health of the crop and ensure that it is fruitful."

 "I see." Fawn was still disappointed that she'd missed the actual planting.

 Apparently she'd been brought here simply to witness some chanting and

 speech&#8209;making. At least it shouldn't last too long, she rationalized.

 Near the far end of the female crescent, several of the villagers were removing

 musical instruments from their carry bags. She recognized the important kes

 flute, a set of small, vibrantly carved goralau drums, and a pair of

 balatingting harps. Even though the sun had not yet peered over the horizon, she

 was sweating. Torrelau's humidity did not vanish with the daylight but persisted

 around the clock.

 Running a hand around the inside hem of her halter top, she made the decision to

 switch the recorder back on. If nothing else, the music would provide an

 enjoyable subject for study. Too bad the ceremony had to take place out in the

 open instead of beneath some shady, finished pergola. She gazed longingly at the

 wisps of twisted and shaped reed that darkened a row of simwhila snaps only

 meters distant.

 Pulickel didn't know what he was missing, she groused silently.

 At a signal from Ululiapa the female crescent began to snake and wend &#8209;its way

 back toward the edge of the clearing, accompanied by an unmelodic but rhythmic

 drone from the musicians. Caught up in the Senisrani chorus line, Fawn raised

 her arm so the recorder could shoot over the heads of the gyrating natives. She

 was hard put to avoid their enormous feet, which stamped in unison first to the

 left, then to the right. This uniform pounding made a drumming upon the earth

 that bordered on the dynamic. For the first time all morning she was glad that

 she'd allowed Naharira to talk her into coming.

 Having finished their excavation, Jeriill and Ululiapa straightened. Sweat

 streaming off her face, Fawn struggled to aim the wrist&#8209;mounted recorder in

 their direction. As soon as the ceremony ended, she promised herself, she would

 sit down in the shade and take a nice, long drink from the condenser in her

 backpack.

 The female dancers had begun jumping up and down, matching their prodigious

 leaping ability to the beat of the goralau drums. In their enthusiasm several

 sailed cleanly over Fawn, clearing the top of her head by no less than half a

 meter on each occasion. It was a supremely athletic demonstration. The loud

 whumps the natives made when they landed complemented the percussive quality of

 their chanting. It was one of the more impressive demonstrations of traditional

 kusum Fawn had yet witnessed.

 As she absently let the recorder run, she found herself wondering how much real

 work she could still accomplish before nightfall. There was so much that needed

 filing and organizing&#8209;but at least Pulickel had stopped nagging her about it.

 Most of the time, anyway.

 A glance skyward showed that the sun was peering over the western ridges. A few

 isolated cumulus clouds hovered overhead, blotting up excess blueness. By late

 afternoon they would have solidified their hold on the firmament and it would

 rain for an hour or so. Now if one of the early arrivals would only interpose

 itself between her and the sun ...

 The ceremony seemed to be winding down, the music growing less intense. Good,

 she thought. Jeriill and Ululiapa bent to pick up their respective stones.

 Switching to a slower, more sedate chant, the Parramati females gathered behind

 the musicians.

 The two big persons solemnly bent to place their respective stones in the hole

 they had dug. What followed happened so quickly Fawn wasn't sure she'd actually

 seen it, and could only hope that the recorder had done its job.

 The two stones appeared to jump toward one another. Fawn was positive the

 females hadn't thrown then. It was as if the glassy lumps had become suddenly

 and powerfully magnetized. !What happened next was more astonishing still.

 Emitting a sea&#8209;green glow, the stones fused together. For a mad moment she

 thought they were going to pass through each others What resulted was a single

 stone that looked larger than the two separate stones combined. That was

 impossible, of course, but then so were rocks that exhibited green efflorescence

 and independent motion.

 She considered the possibility that she might be the victim of some primitive

 tribal sleight&#8209;of&#8209;hand, but that wouldn't explain the light that continued to

 emanate from the glassy mass. As she stared, the two female big persons squatted

 and began to throw dirt onto the lump, covering it up and filling in the hole

 they had dug.

 Behind her, the chants of the singers and the steady rhythm of the musicians was

 an unvarying drone in her ears. Her head was pounding. Heat and perspiration

 were no longer uppermost in her thoughts.

 Dropping to their knees, the two stone masters placed both open hands on the

 ground, above the buried stones. They seemed as oblivious to her presence as to

 the singing and the music. The recorder caught it all.

 Faintest of the faint, a pale green light emerged from the earth beneath Jeriill

 and Ululiapa's hands. Like ink in water, it spread out across the carefully

 prepared field, seeping beneath walking paths and retaining walls until it

 covered the entire planting.

 Fawn barely had presence of mind enough to check on the recorder. It continued

 to function efficiently and independent of her attention. By now the entire

 upper third of the mountainside was lit from within by the dissipating

 lime&#8209;green glow. Looking down, she could see it trace an olivine arabesque of

 mysterious beauty beneath her sandals.

 That's when she recognized the pattern in the earth. It was a restatement of the

 intricate scrollwork that dominated the overall design of the Parramati arbors

 and trellises.

 Her feet had begun to tingle through the soles of her sandals. It felt as if she

 were standing in a shallow, carbonated bath. A glance down revealed that her

 toes were not glowing green. At that point, it would not have surprised her.

 Jeriill and Ululiapa continued to kneel, their hands pressed to the earth, their

 heels high in the air. They must be feeling the tingling much more strongly than

 she, Fawn knew.

 The efflorescence persisted for another five minutes before it finally began to

 fade. As it vanished, soaked up by the intensifying sunshine, the chanting

 slowed and finally ceased altogether. The musicians put up their instruments.

 The two female big persons rose solemnly from their kneeling positions, wiping

 dirt from their three fingered hands. Fawn reached for the controls on her

 wrist recorder, then hesitated.

 Let it run, she decided. Despite the look of things, she might miss something.

 Jeriill was beckoning to her. Uncertainly Fawn moved forward, treading lightly

 on the soil as if it might without warning turn amorphous beneath her feet. She

 felt as if she were in a trance. Long lips rippling, the two big persons

 indicated that the tall human could join them if she wished. The invitation

 concluded, both bent and began to dig at the spot where they had buried the two

 stones become one. Restraining the hundred questions she had already

 formulated, Fawn joined them.

 Soundlessly they dug. No music accompanied them now, no enthusiastic dirge. Not

 far below the surface they uncovered the stone. The glow had nearly vanished, as

 if its brief sojourn in the earth had drained it of some inherent inner

 vitality. In the vicinity of the misshapen mass the soil was dark and moist.

 "Pick it up, F' an." Ululiapa gestured encouragingly. "You are female. You

 should be comfortable with all things that are of the earth and of growing."

 Taking a deep breath, she reached down and picked up the stone. A surge of

 warmth promptly coursed through her whole being, from her fingers down to her

 toes. Startled, she, dropped the mass. Jeriill caught it in one smooth gesture

 before it could hit the ground.

 The xenologist felt foolish. What harm could it do to hold the object? It was

 just a rock&#8209;wasn't it? Sure it was. A rock that changed shape and tingled to the

 touch and infused an entire hillside with energetic green light.

 Okay, so it was more than just&#8209;a&#8209;rock. What the hell was it?

 When she reached out, smiled, and made the proper gesture, Jeriill freely handed

 the stone back. Holding it up for a closer look, Fawn found she could see

 partway into the vitreous mass. The interior was highly stratified, suggesting

 organization of a type only nature was capable of imparting to the interior of

 an ordinary rock. If, she found herself thinking, it was an "ordinary rock." But

 what else could it be?

 Her eyes widened and she brought the mass closer to her face. Was that something

 moving, deep within the stone? Coils and flashes of energy, fluctuating lines of

 force? Were they lingering echoes of the green radiance that had suffused the

 field, or the cause?

 The big persons, the wondrous isle of Torrelau, the cradling sea, Senisran

 itself: she held all of it in her cupped palms. The sensation of life force, of

 prodigious fecundity, was overpowering. It enveloped her whole being. While her

 mind reeled, her body felt more alive than when she was making love. That was

 exactly what it was like, she thought dazedly. She was making love to the earth,

 and the earth was responding. Nurturing, giving back, through the power of the

 stones.

 She stumbled slightly and blinked, the delicious fog that had blanketed her

 thoughts vanishing. Looking down, she saw that she now held two stones, one in

 each hand. They were the original stones, inert and immutable. No light, green

 or otherwise, emanated from their irregular, glassy surfaces.

 Gently the two female big persons retrieved their stones. Wiping at her eyes,

 Fawn turned to examine her surroundings. No remnant of the radiance remained.

 Bathed in early&#8209;morning sunshine, the cleared field and surrounding gardens

 shone only with natural color. No supernal hues attached themselves to growth or

 soil. The world was as it had been before.

 Looking down, she found that she was unable to see into the interior of either

 stone. When separated, their surfaces were opaque and impenetrable.

 "What&#8209;what was that all about?" she heard herself inquiring of Jeriill.

 The smaller female gazed unblinkingly up at her, both eyelids fully retracted.

 "When a growing stone and an earth stone are put together, it ensures a good

 crop. The continuity of life is preserved."

 Continuity. That seemed inadequate to describe the sensations that had raced

 through her when she'd held the commingled stones. She felt a touch, looked down

 to see Ululiapa resting a three fingered hand on her wrist. Slitted alien eyes

 peered up into her own.

 "Are you all right, F' an?"

 The xenologist put a hand to her forehead. "I think so. I&#8209;I saw some things. I

 feel fine. I'm just a little confused about what I saw. Or what I think I saw."

 "You saw life." Reassured, Uluhapa stepped back. "The life the stones give." She

 gestured downward. "Look at the earth. Look at the ground beneath your feet."

 Fawn complied&#8209;and her jaw dropped.

 Where moments ago there had been only bare, freshly turned soil, green shoots

 were now poking their heads through the surface. As she gaped, they coiled

 upward, seeking the sun. Uniform neither in size, shape, color, nor speed of

 growth, they represented more than two dozen cultivated varieties of fruits,

 vegetables, and tubers. Lifting her gaze, she saw that the entire field was

 involved, alive with new growth that was maturing at astounding speed.

 Within minutes, the first burst of new life had manifested itself and slowed.

 The frenzy of growth moderated. But the stones had done their work. The formerly

 bare field was now covered in healthy green, yellow, carmine, and brown shoots

 and stalks.

 It was insane, she knew. There wasn't a fertilizer or growth&#8209;stimulant known

 that could turn a naked hillside this fertile in mere minutes. Yet it had

 happened, and with her standing smack in the middle of it. There was chemistry

 at work here beyond the comprehension of Commonwealth agronomists.

 "We are done." Ululiapa put an arm around Fawn's waist, having to reach up to do

 so. "Now you are one of us."

 "One of what?" Allowing herself to be guided, she gazed down at the kindly seni.

 "A stone master?"

 "No." The female big person barked gentle laughter. "A human person could never

 be a stone master, could never understand or channel the energy of a stone. What

 you are become now is a Torrelauapan female person."

 "I'm honored, but you say I could never learn how to channel a stone's energy.

 How do you do it?" Nearby, the musicians were packing up their instruments.

 "The knowledge is passed down through the generations, from mother to

 daughter." Ululiapa gestured eloquently as she spoke. "It is a way of handling

 and of touching. A way of believing and of seeing. Every stone master learns

 these things at the feet of those who have gone before. How a stone is to be

 manipulated, how it is to be cared for, what are its limits."

 She didn't press the issue. Unless something unforeseen went terribly wrong, it

 was all there on the recorder, available for study at leisure.

 Of one thing she was already certain. The stones of the Parramad weren't

 "stones." They were something more, much more, and it had nothing to do with

 autochthonous magic. Physics and chemistry of an unknown order, yes, but not

 alchemy. During her stay on Torrelau, Senisran had revealed many of its secrets.

 Now it was clear that the stones of the Parramati contained the deepest secrets

 of all.

 Not all indicators of technologically advanced species took the form of towering

 obelisks and extensive tunnels. Important artifacts could be small, even tiny.

 Who had been on Senisran before the seni? Before humanx and AAnn?

 No, not magic. There was science in the stones. She needed to get one or two

 into the lab and under instruments capable of providing answers.

 The Parramati could help&#8209;if they were so inclined. How many effective stone

 combinations were there? Did other amalgamations produce different results, or

 were stones useful only for stimulating new crops? What revelations did the

 stones contain that she couldn't even imagine?

 What of all the other stones? How did, for example, a fishing stone work? Or the

 love stones, or the weather stones, or the stone that supposedly helped its

 master to think more clearly? From her time spent among the Parramati, she knew

 of sacred stones with at least a hundred different, specialized designations.

 What multiplicity of combinations were possible? Could a thinking stone be put

 together with an earth stone, and if so, what would be the consequences? Or a

 fishing stone with a weather stone?

 Treaties no longer seemed important. Neither did geology, or a host of other

 disciplines she was supposed to be practicing. The demonstration in the field

 had opened up an entirely new avenue of research for her and Pulickel.

 Pulickel. He was ignorant of what she'd just experienced, knew nothing of the

 revealed wonder of the stones. She had to tell him. He wouldn't believe a word

 of it, of course. She'd be disappointed in him if he did. But she had the

 recording.

 Anxiously she checked the compact instrument. It appeared to have worked

 perfectly, but she knew she wouldn't be able to relax until she had played back

 and checked every centimeter of the visuals. Despite her concern, she deferred

 the replay out of fear of offending or upsetting her escorts. It might be

 considered improper, or disrespectful. She would hold off until she got back to

 the station.

 Even if the images were insufficient to convey the wonder of what she had seen

 and experienced, she knew she would convince Pulickel somehow. She had to. After

 the truth of the stones, everything of consequence that had been learned about

 Senisran paled to insignificance. Understanding the stones was vital not only

 because of what she had seen but because of what it implied.

 Did the AAnn have an inkling? Did they know anything of the real nature of the

 stones, or did they continue to believe, as she had until the episode in the

 field, that they were no more than inert ingredients for primitive aboriginal

 ceremonies? The latter seemed more likely, or she and Pulickel probably would

 have heard otherwise by now. Commonwealth intelligence was very efficient.

 No, this was something new, a discovery unique to her and soon to be shared with

 her associate.

 How could they obtain a sacred stone or two for lab work? No stone master would

 part with one, much less if they knew it was going to be subject to bombardment

 by strange radiation or immersion in alien liquids. The notion of breaking one

 open to examine its insides would fill the least pious Parramati with horror.

 To surrender a stone for study, she knew, would be akin to giving up access to a

 road. It would leave the stone master thus deprived feeling blind and stranded

 in space. No gift, no revealed knowledge, would be sufficient to persuade a

 stone master to part with his or her legacy.

 She lengthened her stride in order to keep pace with the long hops of the

 Parramati. Everything depended on acquiring at least one stone for detailed

 study. Perhaps Pulickel would have some suggestions. He always did.

 Chapter Eleven

 

 Back at the station, her colleague and companion listened patiently to her

 rushed, out&#8209;of&#8209;breath description of what had taken place on the flank of the

 mountain above the village. From time to time he had to remind her to pause and

 catch her breath; not only so that she wouldn't hyperventilate or fall over in

 a dead faint, but so that he could understand her.

 "I don't know how it works or what kind of physics are involved. I only know

 what I saw, and what I saw is impossible." She leaned back against the couch and

 chugged half the mug of cold carbosugar drink he'd brought her. "It happened,

 Pulickel. I didn't imagine it."

 "No one's saying that you did." He indicated the wrist recorder that was lying

 on the table between them. "I must say that I'll be more inclined to believe you

 after I've seen it for myself."

 "Can't blame you. I'd feel the same." Finishing the last of her drink, she

 snatched up the recorder and led the way to the lab.

 Removing the recording sphere, she popped it in the playback unit. It turned on

 automatically, filling a corner of the room with light. Reduced in size but

 fully three dimensional, the field blessing ceremony played itself back for an

 audience of two.

 The recorder had worked perfectly. It was all there: the snake dancing, the

 chanting, the music, and, climactically, the melding of the two sacred stones

 and their consequent astounding effect on the newly planted earth. Pulickel sat

 up very straight when the green glow suffused the ground, then muttered

 something under his breath when plant shoots began to erupt from the soil with

 preternatural celerity. At the conclusion of the recording, he turned

 unhesitatingly to Seaforth.

 "One thing is immediately obvious. The sacred stones are not stones at all. They

 may look like stones and feel like stones and behave like stones ninety&#8209;nine

 percent of the time, but they are not rock. They are devices, individual

 components that when joined in specific combinations have remarkable

 consequences. What is your take on this?"

 "I haven't thought about it much. The whole business is so unbelievable that

 I've spent most of my time working to convince myself that it actually

 happened. Up to now my main concern has been convincing you."

 "You don't have to worry about that anymore. I'm convinced." He indicated the

 now&#8209;empty corner of the room where the recording had played itself out.

 "Whatever you saw, it wasn't the result of some clever Parramati

 sleight&#8209;of&#8209;hand. It was real. The stones contain some kind of stored energy,

 or..." His voice trailed away.

 "Or what?" she prompted him.

 "Or I don't know." He spoke to what he did know, or what he thought he knew

 based on what he'd seen. "It's clear that single stones have no power to affect

 their surroundings. They only function in combination. You saw them change

 shape. The natives don't even need to know how to fit the stones together. The

 appropriate adaptive mechanism is inherent in the devices themselves."

 "How do you program a rock?"

 "I told you; I don't think they're rocks. For all we know, their internal

 composition may be as malleable as their shape."

 She found herself nodding agreement. "I tried to take a closer look at these.

 Their internal structure is complex. My first thought was of fracture lines,

 cleavage planes, and weathered striations ..."

 "Naturally," he commented approvingly.

 "But obviously there's more to it than that."

 "What about their composition?"

 She pondered. "You saw the recording. These two look just like all the other

 sacred stones. It's that same volcanicglassy material we've seen before. For

 what it's worth, they didn't feel any more ductile than they look. Smooth and

 hard, both of them."

 "We can freeze and enlarge individual segments of the recording."

 Her energy restored, she rose and began pacing the room. "I know, but they were

 throwing off so much light it's going to be damn hard to manage a good look

 inside. I don't know how much structure we'll be able to see."

 He smiled encouragingly. "I'm pretty good at manual enhancement procedures.

 We'll give it a try, anyway." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "It could

 be an entirely natural phenomenon, but the more I see of it and the more you

 tell me, the more inclined I am to think of these stones as machines. As things

 that were made, not formed."

 "But who? What species?"

 "What species indeed?" he murmured. "Either the Parramati have fallen to their

 present circumstances from a great height, or else&#8209;" He stared evenly at her.

 "&#8209;some other race has called this world home at some unguessable time in the

 unimaginable past."

 "In the absence of any large&#8209;scale ruins, I think we have to incline to the

 latter."

 "Will you be still?" Her endless pacing was making him nervous.

 She plopped herself into a lab chair and threw her long legs over one plastic

 arm. This did not make him less nervous so much as it changed the nature of his

 unease.

 "What kind of civilization manufactures devices like the stones but leaves no

 other sign of its presence, much less its passing? No buildings, no tools, no

 nines or other marks on the earth."

 "There's a lot of erosion here," he pointed out. "Wind, rain, the sea."

 She was less than convinced. "You're reaching. Pulickel."

 "Don't you think I know that?"

 "No crumbling towers, no ruins, no corroding subaqueous constructions: nothing

 but the stones." She made a face. The woman was a ferocious attacker of puzzles,

 Pulickel knew.

 "The stone, the whole stone, and nothing but the stone. I wonder if weather

 stones let you manipulate storms." He half grinned, because he was only half

 joking.

 Based on what she'd seen on the mountainside, Fawn was ready to entertain the

 most outrageous speculation. "Hell, how do we know? Maybe the weather stones are

 responsible for the mastorms."

 He frowned. "I don't think so. The mastorms cause too much damage. I admit that

 in light of such a discovery it isn't easy to be restrained, but let's not get

 carried away here."

 "Get carried away?" She threw him a don't&#8209;make&#8209;me laugh look. "We have found

 what may be the final relics of an unknown, technologically advanced

 civilization, of unknown potential, and you tell me not to get carried away?"

 Under her enthusiastic assault he backtracked slightly. "All right. You can get

 carried away a little."

 She snorted. "That's better. But you're right. If the weather stones were

 capable of anything like that the Parramati would surely use them to prevent

 storm damage to their villages. Although&#8209;" She turned suddenly thoughtful. "&#8209;if

 you think about it, considering the ferocity of your average mastorm, the

 Parramati communities really don't incur that much damage."

 Placing both clenched hands together, he leaned his chin against them. "One's

 imagination reels. I wonder, for example, what a health stone does in proper

 combination with another? Can it cure a revavuaa bite? Heal necrotic tissue?"

 She laughed; a little unsteadily, he thought. "Why think small? Maybe it can

 resurrect the dead." Her expression turned sober. "You're right; I'm getting

 carried away. Plenty of Parramati die, of everything from drowning to old age.

 Whatever the health stones do, they don't convey any special protection against

 natural demise."

 "They appear to utilize the stones only on special occasions. It seems

 reasonable to assume that whatever energy powers them is finite. If as we

 suspect they are ancient, then restricting their use may be a way of preserving

 their useful life. Perhaps letting them lie fallow, as it were, allows the

 devices to recharge somehow." He eyed her hard. "You realize that we must now

 redirect our efforts here."

 She nodded vigorously. "Absolutely. This alters all priorities. We can still

 work on the treaty, but only in the context of researching this much more

 important discovery." As she speculated, she thrust both long legs straight

 toward the ceiling and commenced a sequence of exercises in place. He found

 himself speculating, as well.

 "Obviously, the first thing we need to do is try to get hold of a stone for

 detailed study. That's not going to be easy. No stone master will consent to it.

 Too much kusum at risk."

 "We have to be careful," he declared. "We don't know what we're dealing with

 here. Putting the wrong stones together might have unpleasant consequences. Or

 no consequences at all. Native traditional knowledge would be a great help in

 our studies."

 Legs up, legs down. Legs up, legs down. She spoke as she exercised. "We already

 know that the Parrarnati will do nothing that they feel compromises kusum.

 Letting me witness the ceremony in the field shows how far we've come in gaining

 their trust, but we've still a long ways to go before anyone offers to tutor you

 or me in the ways of stone mastering. Nor do I see anyone letting us stick a

 stone in a spectroscope or a matrix disseminator."

 Rising, Pulickel walked to the nearest window and stared out at the surrounding

 riot of color that was the tropical Torrelauan forest. Thousands of new

 specimens lay there, just out of reach, waiting only to be collected and

 classified. But the only type that interested him now was one to which they

 would be denied access. He turned abruptly.

 "If the Parramati won't lend us a stone or two, then we'll just have to borrow

 them."

 That brought Seaforth's legs down. She gawked at him. "Pulickel, are you talking

 about stealing a stone? First of all, if the Parramati find out, that'll be the

 end of our work here. Work, hell; it'll mean the end of the station. The AAnn

 will have a clear field. As far as any kind of treaty goes, the Commonwealth

 will have to forget about it. You know the Parramati. They'll never trust us

 again."

 "Not if they don't find out," he snapped. "I'll handle this myself. If something

 does go wrong, you can tell them that you had nothing to do with it, that you

 were against it from the inception, that it was all my idea, and that I did it

 on my own. Which happens to be the truth."

 "Damn right it is," she complained.

 "If this fails, you can have me replaced. That ought to mollify any outraged

 Parramati."

 "'They may not accept that explanation. Yours or mine."

 "We'll make sure that when I'm carrying out this little bit of fieldwork the

 Parramati know your whereabouts. They'll see that you're not helping me, that

 you're not involved in my efforts. They may be suspicious, but I think they'll

 accept your protestations of innocence." He straightened. "It doesn't matter

 anyway, because this is going to come off. Unless you've got a better idea."

 Seaforth was chewing on her lower lip. "I don't, but I don't much like your

 idea, either. I wonder if we shouldn't clear it with Ophhha first."

 "Sure. Send them the recording. You think that after reviewing that they'll let

 us proceed in a quiet, studious manner? As soon as that recording's integrity

 has been verified, a hundred researchers will descend on Torrelau and the other

 islands of the archipelago. They'll be accompanied by armed peaceforcers. Lest

 the AAnn get wind of what's happened and try to muscle in, heavy weapons will

 accompany the research teams. So much for the easygoing, pastoral Parramati

 lifestyle. You want to see that happen?"

 She was still reluctant. "You argue persuasively, Pulickel. You always do. But I

 still don't like it."

 He turned slightly from her. "You think I do? I'm a xenologist, not a sneak

 thief. But viable alternatives elude me. We can't do a proper study of the

 stones without a specimen or two. What do you think a team from Ophhlia will

 do? They'll acquire the necessary research material by whatever means

 necessary. Maybe it's a Hobson's choice, but I prefer thievery to coercion.'.'

 He did his best to cast the proposal in a benevolent light.

 "When we've completed our studies, or at least acquired enough material to work

 with, I'll return the stones. The Parramati will be none the wiser and their way

 of life, their kusum, will be minimally impacted, if at all. Isn't that better

 than subjecting them to an armed scientific invasion? Subjected to that kind of

 pressure, I wouldn't be surprised to see them throw every one of the sacred

 stones into the deep ocean. That sort of thing has happened before. Many

 primitives will destroy their culture before they surrender it to force."

 Fawn thought of Jeriill and Ululiapa and the reverence with which they had

 handled their stones. "It would be terrible," she agreed tentatively, "if the

 stones and the knowledge they represent were to be lost."

 "Exactly."

 "So by stealing a couple of stones you're actually doing the Parramati a

 service."

 He beamed at her, his teeth white against his dark olive complexion. "That's

 right."

 She shook her head, her tone sardonic. "I'm not sure that you chose the right

 profession, Pulickel. Okay, I'll buy your reasoning, but I still don't want any

 part of this."

 "Excellent. It's my intention that you do not. You'll stay well out of it. We'll

 retain the stones for the absolute minimal amount of time necessary to learn

 what we're dealing with and then I will return them."

 "It better be minimal," she declared. "Sacred stones don't just go mussing.

 Their absence will be noted immediately and the Parramati will start looking

 for them."

 "I know. We should be able to acquire enough basic information in a couple of

 days to give us something to work with. Three days at most. After that we can

 process readings instead of the actual stones."

 Looking resigned, she swung her feet back onto the floor and stared at him.

 "You've admitted that you're not trained as a thief. How are you going to steal

 a stone?"

 "No Parramati would think of making off with one, would they?"

 "Of course not. The penalty would be ostracism and exile. If the stone was

 important enough, maybe even death. No villager would think of touching a stone

 without permission from its master, much less the family or clan responsible

 for it. No stone master will even touch another master's stone. It would be an

 appalling violation of kusum and an invasion of personal space."

 "So they're looked after and cared for but not really guarded."

 She conceded the point reluctantly. "That's right."

 He brightened. "Then all I have to do is wait until everyone in the vicinity is

 off working in the fields, or fishing, or visiting relatives; then walk into the

 appropriate longhouse, pick up the stone, stick it in my backpack, and leave.

 Without being seen, of course. There's no guard to battle, no traps to avoid.

 Kusum is protection enough."

 "I suppose you're right. But how do you plan to carry this off without being

 seen?"

 "By no means are all the stones kept in the larger villages. We know of many

 stone masters who live in family&#8209;size communities, or even isolated and alone.

 Those are the ones I will "borrow" from. Not only will it improve my chances, it

 will greatly reduce the likelihood of my being seen."

 She rose and moved to the nearest table, began idly fingering the wrist

 recorder. "You probably won't be able to acquire the kind of stones we'd most

 like to study."

 He shrugged. "It's the nature and operating methodology of the stones we need

 to learn, not the specific individual functions. The how more so than the what.

 I'll be perfectly happy with a couple of growing stones or water stones. As for

 trying them in combination, what's the worst that could happen?"

 She turned to stare back at him. "I don't know, Pulickel. I suppose that depends

 on the type of stones you bring back:"

 "We must have at least two. Three or four would be better. That would allow us

 to experiment with a number of different combinations. After we have

 exhaustively analyzed their internal structure and composition, of course." He

 smiled expectantly. "Then we are agreed?"

 She hesitated before letting out a long, heartfelt sigh. "In the absence of any

 viable alternatives, I suppose so."

 He moved to a computer station. "Then the first thing we need is a list of all

 the known stone masters on the island. I could go elsewhere in the archipelago,

 but off Torrelau I'd stand out more. Being familiar with the local topography

 will also help." He spoke softly to the computer and the section of wall

 immediately above flared to life.

 "There." He gestured at the readout. "The Vounea Peninsula is full of isolated

 farms and small villages."

 "That's because it's one of the most rugged areas on the island," she reminded

 him. "You've only been there once."

 "I don't mind a little hiking. Besides, the documentation is excellent.

 According to this, there are more than a dozen stone masters living in the area.

 They don't have as much contact with the larger towns like Torrelauapa. With

 traditional methods of communication, it will take at least a couple of days for

 word of the disappearances to travel across the island." He looked up at her.

 "With luck we'll be able to return the stones we borrow before many Parramati

 are informed that any have gone astray."

 "Which presents another problem," she observed. "Assuming you bring this off,

 you still have to return them without being seen."

 He waved off her concern. "It's not as important. If I'm seen returning a stone

 I'll probably be hailed as a hero for making the recovery. This could even end

 up enhancing our standing among the locals. The Parramati will be so glad to

 have the missing sacred stones back they'll soon quit wondering about their

 mysterious and temporary disappearance. For all I care they can imagine the

 stones grew legs and went for a stroll."

 He directed the computer to transfer the list on the wall to the portable unit

 in his locker, which he would carry with him. Appropriate map overlays were next

 on his research list.

 "Twenty&#8209;four lab hours with a couple of stones: that's all I want. That should

 be enough time for us to get some idea of their composition and internal

 structure. From that we ought to be able to put together a presentation

 sufficient to interest Denpasar. If we can bypass the imported scientific

 bureaucracy in Ophhlia, we might be able to keep this to ourselves for a while

 and prevent Parramat from being overrun by the curious. Otherwise it will be

 impossible to do rational ethnography&#8209;or much of anything else."

 "I agree with that much." Fawn poured herself a glass of fruit juice from a

 refrigerated pitcher. "What happens if you get caught in the act?"

 "I'll say that I was just looking to satisfy my curiosity. Since no Parramati

 can conceive of stealing a stone, it's reasonable to assume they'd think

 likewise of us. I might have to sit through a lecture on proper stone&#8209;visiting

 procedure, but I think the locals will make allowance for my ignorance." He

 smiled blandly. "The natives can be very forgiving."

 "They won't be," she warned him, "if they confront you on a trail and find a

 couple of missing stones in your backpack."

 "You postulate a worst&#8209;case scenario. I'll cope with it if and when it happens."

 He rose. "You can drop me off somewhere along the Vounea, stand out to sea, and

 pick me up later that evening. If there's any problem 1' 11 contact you and

 we'll make other arrangements."

 She brooded over the proposal. "You make it all sound so plausible."

 "We've already contemplated alternative approaches and come up with nothing."

 His tone sharpened. "We can't just leave this alone, Fawn. Not after what you

 saw."

 "I know. I just wish there was some other way."

 "So do I. Keep in mind that we're not taking the stones. We're not packaging

 them up and shipping them off to Hivehom or Earth. We're going to look at them

 for a couple of days, take a few measurements and readings, and then put them

 back where they belong. That's all. If based on our initial findings more

 advanced analysis is called for, then we'll formulate a fresh approach at that

 time. Meanwhile we'll do things a step at a time."

 She nodded. "I wish I could be as sanguine as you. When do you want to do this?"

 "What's wrong with tomorrow?"

 She drained her glass. "I suppose you're fight. The sooner the better."

 He tried to reassure her. "Don't worry. I won't take any unnecessary chances. If

 one stone is too closely attended, I'll just move on to the next. I'm more

 concerned about curious cubs than I am watchful adults." Once more he considered

 the view of the surrounding alien forest.

 "We'd do well to rest for the remainder of the afternoon. Tomorrow is going to

 be frenetic."

 "I hope that's all it is." She put the glass aside. "Weapons here are

 primitive, Pulickel, but an arrow or an ax can kill you just as dead as a

 needler"

 "The last thing I want is to precipitate any kind of violent confrontation. I

 don't want to get hurt and I don't want to hurt any of the natives. It's not

 going to happen. Will you stop worrying?" He walked over and put his arm around

 her, having to reach up slightly to do so. "Unless someone sees me actually

 taking a stone there's no chance of any trouble."

 "I wish I had your confidence." Reaching down, she messed his thick black hair.

 He kept it combed straight back in a utilitarian but not especially flattering

 coif. When she was finished much of it stood straight up or out, in spikes.

 Patiently he smoothed it back down.

 Wish I had you, he thought ... but did not dare even whisper it aloud.

 Chapter Twelve

 

 Daybreak found them speeding along the outer edge of the fringing lagoon, Fawn

 guiding the skimmer just inside the line of marching breakers. It took awhile

 to half circumnavigate Torrelau, but within the hour they were approaching the

 Vounea Peninsula.

 Moving inshore, she cruised back and forth while Pulickel studied the terrain in

 search of the ideal place to land. With the aid of survey maps they found it in

 a tiny, rock&#8209;walled cove too shallow for fishing and too strewn with silicate

 and stone rubble to serve as a play pool for Parramati young. The inlet's slick

 wave&#8209;worn walls offered little in the way of hand or foot grips, and the

 crumbling rim overhung the water.

 Fawn held the skimmer level with the top of the nearest cliff while Pulickel

 tossed his pack into a clump of obliging bushes. In addition to map and locator

 gear, he carried three days' worth of concentrated rations; a backup

 communicator, first&#8209;aid pack, wet&#8209;weather attire, shoe and clothing repair kit,

 and several padded sacks for carrying and concealing&#8209;stones.

 "I expect I have everything." He put one foot on the edge of the skimmer and

 prepared to step over the slight gap between the craft's outer edge and the

 heavily vegetated stone parapet against which it floated.

 "Just one more thing." Leaving the controls, Fawn walked back to him. Standing

 on the side of the skimmer put his face level with hers, so she didn't have to

 bend to kiss him. It was a straightforward and chaste peck on the lips, no more

 lubricious than a handshake held long, but his mouth burned as if he'd gargled

 with sambal sauce.

 Before he could react or say anything, she'd pivoted and returned to the

 controls. "Watch your step. And by that I don't mean look at your feet all the

 time. I don't want to go back to running the station solo."

 The fire on his mouth lingered, and he wanted to say a great many things. What

 he said instead was "I will endeavor to keep myself intact." Though he

 commanded a large army of words, in the presence of women the ones he wanted to

 use always seemed to be AWOL when he was most in need of them.

 After backing the skimmer out of the inlet, she threw him a perfunctory wave as

 she headed for the distant reef line. She'd find a sandy islet with shade and

 make herself comfortable until it was time to return and pick him up. It was how

 he'd first encountered her; exposing her nakedness to Senisran's tropical sun,

 blissfully indifferent to potential onlookers. Combined with the lingering taste

 of her on his lips, it kept him from concentrating on the task at hand.

 He allowed himself to remain distracted for approximately four minutes. Only

 then did he put the delightfully unsettling farewell out of his mind and get to

 work.

 A quick check of his equipment revealed that all was as he'd stowed it.

 Activated, his handheld showed the skimmer moving steadily out to sea. Disabling

 the unit's integrated vorec, he used silent manual controls to call up a

 detailed map of his present position. It indicated that it was a short but

 rugged hike to the small village housing the nearest sacred stone.

 He eyed the steep, thickly vegetated slope in front of him and sighed. Better

 get going, he told himself. The sooner he obtained a couple of good specimens

 and had Fawn pick him up, the sooner he would be able to relax. At his request

 the handheld mapped out the easiest route up the ridge. Among other functions,

 the compact device could pinpoint his position, Fawn's, and that of potential

 specimens; compose a respectable weather prediction onsite; translate all known

 Parramati terminology; let him communicate with his colleague, the base station,

 or Ophhlia; access the small but rapidly growing Encyclopedia Senisran; and run

 a fairly thorough health check on human, thranx, or native. But it could not

 walk for him.

 Keeping an eye peeled for dangerous animals and toxic plants, he slipped the

 pack onto his back and started up. In hopes of avoiding unwanted attention, he

 had selected a route that would take him to the most isolated stone repositories

 first. Only if these attempts failed would he risk borrowing from the larger

 villages. With luck, his first couple of tries would be successful, and he and

 Fawn would be back at base in time for lunch.

 He encountered no one in the jungle. The rocky, heavily eroded terrain where the

 skimmer had touched shore was not conducive to terrace farming, and the

 vegetation was too tangled for good hunting. He welcomed it as an ally since it

 would slow communications when astonished stone masters began to spread the news

 to the rest of the island of stones gone missing.

 Some of the plants and forest dwellers he encountered in the course of his climb

 were familiar to him. Others, being endemic to the Vounea, were new. Ignorant of

 their properties and capabilities, he treated anything unfamiliar with the

 greatest respect.

 One who assumes that everything bites or stings is less likely to get bitten or

 stung, he knew. It would be worse than ironic if he were to effortlessly make

 off with a couple of prime stones and not be seen at all, only to be laid low

 through careless confrontation with a ravavuaa or tesamau. Incapacitation from

 natural causes would do nothing to protect him from Parramati wrath if they

 found him with the missing stones in his possession.

 So he checked every burrow, every overhanging branch, every coarse leaf and

 stem, while his sweatcap struggled silently to cool his head and the back of his

 neck. In the rugged terrain the humidity seemed magnified. Acclimated he might

 be, but his body was less persuaded than his mind.

 He could have chosen an easier route to more accessible targets, but the same

 topography that was presently making him curse under his breath would help to

 conceal him when he fled. Occasionally he was forced to change direction when

 confronted by a grade too steep to ascend or ground too broken to cross, but the

 handheld always brought him back on line.

 The first stone was kept in a well&#8209;built but that was located slightly upslope

 and isolated from a community of less than a dozen buildings. As he crept toward

 the back of the structure, he could hear the villagers' gentle barking speech

 rising from below. From its tone he inferred the presence of only infirm elders

 and immature cubs.

 Vegetation grew right up against the hut, ideal for his purposes. He searched

 for a tractable section of wall, careful to watch where he put his feet.

 Seeking shelter from sun and weather, aggressively large arthropods with

 disagreeable demeanors often made their homes beneath the shady undersides of

 raised native dwellings. Neither querulous native nor inimical fauna

 materialized to interdict his efforts, however.

 The back wall being high and well made, and having heard not a sound from

 within, he decided to try around front. The typical traditional wooden porch was

 likewise deserted. Still, he advanced with caution. Might be someone sleeping

 late inside, he knew, or an enfeebled oldster, or a sickling at rest.

 With a glance in the direction of the village, he whispered a generic Parramati

 greeting. No response was forthcoming. Stepping through the open portal, he

 took note of sleeping quarters off to the left, living space in the center, and

 storage to the right. Hygienic facilities would be located elsewhere, somewhere

 deeper in the forest. It was a standard floor plan, repeated with minimal

 variation throughout the archipelago.

 Heading to his right, he found himself in the family storeroom. There was no

 food. Dried seafood, meat, flour, fruits, vegetables, and other comestibles were

 kept in special communal storage buildings. What he did find were personal

 effects, fancy attire and accouterments carefully hung or laid out for use on

 ceremonial occasions, fishing gear, eating utensils, and cooking ware. There

 were no cabinets or drawers, everything being neatly placed on intricately woven

 Parramati floor mats.

 Only at the far end of the room near the back wall did the building differ from

 those he frequented in Torrelauapa.

 In stunning contrast to its simple surroundings, a meterhigh wooden pedestal

 shone with the skill and craftsmanship of which only the best Parramati carvers

 were capable. Light brown and black&#8209;banded, every centimeter of the solid piece

 of toka root had been carved in relief. Bending close, Pulickel saw

 representations of village life, ancient clan battles, landscapes, seascapes,

 and wonderfully detailed portraits of unknown but obviously revered individual

 Parramati. The pedestal was a testament not only to the proficiency of its

 carver but to the shining spirit of the Parramati themselves.

 To their kusum, he thought.

 Resting atop this rousing work, which would have commanded a fortune from any of

 the many crafts dealers in Ophhlia, was&#8209;a rock. A distinctly green&#8209;hued,

 irregularly shaped, singularly uninspiring lump of what appeared to be volcanic

 glass. It was not fastened, glued, or otherwise attached to the pedestal.

 Nor was it especially heavy, he found when he plucked it from its stand and

 slipped it into one of the empty sacks in his backpack. As he did so he found

 himself wondering what kind of stone it was. Externally, except for shape there

 was nothing to distinguish one sacred stone from another. His prize might be a

 healing stone, a growing or drying stone, or even a stone called upon to aid in

 resolving domestic disputes.

 He checked the porch and its immediate environs carefully before fleeing the

 hut. Hastily he dashed to his right, cleared the edge of the porch, and

 disappeared into the jungle behind the building. As far as he could tell, no one

 had seen him arrive or depart. He was much pleased with himself. Whatever it was

 that he'd just added to the weight of his pack, it wasn't a burglar&#8209;alarm stone.

 One more, he decided firmly. One more and he'd be away. After only his first try

 he was already ahead of schedule.

 He held the tracker out in front of him and checked it frequently. There was no

 sign of any pursuit or indeed that the theft had been discovered. With luck it

 might be evening before the stone was even missed.

 A passing shower was welcomed. Rain could not increase the humidity but did

 somewhat alleviate the oppressive heat. Of course, it was worse when the rain

 ceased and the sun came back out, but he enjoyed it while it lasted. Disdaining

 the best efforts of his tropical cap and clothes, perspiration poured off him in

 thin, salt&#8209;rich rivulets.

 Despite his caution he did encounter a tesamau, hunting alone, and had to fire

 a couple of bursts from his pistol to discourage it. Later he thought he heard a

 party of female Parramati berry&#8209;picking close by but couldn't be certain of it.

 Nevertheless, he waited until the distant murmur had faded completely before

 resuming his march.

 The second stone proved much more of a challenge. For a long moment he

 considered passing on it and continuing on to the third of the six locations he

 had preselected. But there was no guarantee the next locale would be any

 easier, nor the ones after that. If he waited until he was down to the last one,

 he'd find himself trying to snatch a stone from the middle of a good&#8209;size

 village.

 At first glance it didn't appear that difficult. There was no formal community,

 only three huts. Two of them were situated some distance from the house of the

 stone master. This sat on a small plateau that overlooked the sea. Hard as he

 strained, he couldn't hear a soul: not elders, not cubs at play, not females

 attending to domestic tasks.

 The problem was the lack of cover for his approach. Thinned by the wind, the

 forest in which the huts sat was full of gaps where a strolling human could

 easily be spotted. Furthermore, the stone master's residence could be reached

 only by a series of a dozen or so steps cut into a rocky slope. The steps were

 wide and easy to negotiate. They would have to be, to accommodate the long seni

 foot. But they were completely exposed. Anyone ascending would be visible over

 a broad area.

 A comfortable place to live, Pulickel thought as he tried to sketch out an

 approach. The same wind that thinned the foliage would cool the houses. On

 Senisran, any breeze was a welcome one.

 Clearly he couldn't use the front steps. Even though there was no one around at

 the moment, it would take only one returnee to spot him leaving the house to

 ruin everything. Sacrificing some skin, he forced his way up the steep back of

 the plateau. Half the time he was tree climbing instead of hiking. Branches and

 thorns ripped at him.

 It was with considerable relief that he arrived at the level rear of the

 building. Since it caught the ocean breeze from the front, it had not been

 raised very high on supporting posts. Almost immediately, he found a frayed

 section of back wall and set about enlarging it until it was big enough for his

 purpose. The weathered fibers came away easily in his hands.

 Crawling through the opening he'd made, he found himself in the familiar central

 living quarters. These were more spacious than the one he had visited earlier,

 this but having been built to a larger floor plan. But the layout and design

 were the same. A curving bench fronted the cooking area, and thick, intricately

 patterned sleeping mats were piled outside the entrance to the bedroom.

 Rising and moving to his left, he found a storage room that, like the rest of

 the structure, was larger than the one he'd previously explored. The usual

 utensils, bowls, and hand&#8209;carved household goods lined the walls or were piled

 on the floor.

 The stone pedestal at the rear of the room was short, almost stumpy. Instead of

 wood, it had been hewn from the bone of some unknown creature. From the size

 alone Pulickel knew it had belonged to some large ocean= dweller. From base to

 top it was inlaid with highly polished strips of wood and the Senisrani

 equivalent of mother&#8209;of&#8209;pearl. It was another remarkable piece of Parramati

 craftsmanship, completely different from the one he'd seen earlier but executed

 with equal skill and love.

 He allowed himself a moment to admire it before reaching down to pluck the

 fist&#8209;size stone from its apex. Into an empty sack this went, carefully placed

 alongside the first stone in the top of his pack.

 Finished, he thought with satisfaction, and well ahead of flee schedule he'd set

 for himself. He turned to depart the way he'd come.

 Perhaps he shouldn't have spent so much time admiring the inlaid pedestal. With

 his mission nearly accomplished it was possible that he let down his guard, or

 that after the difficult climb he was more tired than he realized and not as

 aware of his surroundings.

 Whatever the reason, he nearly knocked down the young female Parramati who

 entered the storeroom just as he was leaving. The seni of the Vounea Peninsula

 might have encountered Fawn once or twice before, but this was their first

 exposure to another human.

 "Hey!" he blurted in involuntary counterpoint to her startled "sarkk!"

 She started to twist forward; head bending, snout aiming for the floor, the

 powerful hind legs contracting preparatory to boosting her into the familiar

 forward flip that served as a formal greeting among her kind. Before she could

 follow through with the gesture it suddenly smack her who, or rather what, she

 was confronting.

 "Pardon me." By this time his mastery of the local dialect was as complete as

 it was possible for any human to manage. "I did not mean to startle."

 Not yet mature, unsure of herself, and fascinated by the bipedal apparition that

 she had encountered unexpectedly, she had yet to notice that the stone was

 missing from its place of honor atop the pedestal. Shifting his stance to block

 her view, he used an arm to gently ease her out of the room.

 Realizing that any attempt to explain himself would only further incriminate his

 presence while consuming valuable time, he departed in haste. If he hadn't been

 so rattled by the collision/confrontation, it might have occurred to him that

 in leaving by the way he'd entered he damned himself more thoroughly than he

 could have with any number of words. Had he fled via the unbarred front portal,

 it was just possible that she might have considered him an invited guest,

 however unusual. That chance vanished when he took off through the hole he'd

 made in the rear wall.

 He could hear her shrill, staccato yips of alarm as he plunged back the way he'd

 come, throwing himself heedlessly into the tangle of branches and bushes behind

 the house. Was she sounding the alert over the presence of an intruder, or had

 she discovered that the stone was missing? If he had shoved tier bodily back

 into the living area, would it have gained him enough time to set the stone back

 on its pedestal?

 None of that mattered now. He could hear the voices of other seni joining that

 of the young female. They were full of uncertainty, concern, and something else.

 Something new. Something that until now he hadn't heard in a Parramati voice.

 It took him a moment to identify it.

 Anger.

 He tried to put it out of his mind as he concentrated on the difficult descent.

 All he had to do was retrace his path back to the inlet. Shoving and striking at

 obstructing branches as he ran, he forced himself to ignore the rising chorus

 behind as he concentrated on following the route laid out by the tracker.

 He'd make it easily, he told himself. By the time any kind of formal pursuit was

 organized he'd be halfway back to the inlet. Brush crashed behind him but he

 heard no voices. Surely they wouldn't just connect the missing stone with his

 unannounced presence? It would be most un&#8209;Parramatilike to account a visitor a

 thief without some sort of proof.

 It struck him that he'd left many voices in his wake. More than would normally

 be found inhabiting three isolated huts. A fishing or hunting party come to pay

 their respects, perhaps, or a clutch of visiting relatives. Bad luck for him. He

 tried to increase his pace, wishing he had Fawn's stride.

 Better contact her while he still had enough breath to do so, he thought. The

 sensitive autocontext had her on line in less than a minute.

 "Well, that was quick." Her tone confirmed that she was blissfully unaware of

 the sudden downturn in his present fortunes. "How did it go?"

 Panting hard, he tried to maintain his pace while replying. It was a good thing

 he was in decent shape. He gave silent thanks for all the marathons he'd

 competed in.

 "The first stone was no problem." He cleared a small creek in a single leap.

 The handheld was of excellent thranx manufacture. It conveyed every nuance of

 his speech, including his labored respiration. "Pulickel, what's wrong with

 you? You sound like you're out of breath."

 "Not yet, but I'm going to be. I need you to meet me at the pickup point. Right

 now"

 "What the hell's going on? What's wrong?"

 He ducked an overhanging branch, pleased that he was able to do so without

 either slowing or decapitating himself. "What makes you think anything's

 wrong?"

 "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that you sound like a diver sucking his last

 lungfull of air. So you got the first stone okay. Then what?"

 A protuberant buttressing root appeared and threatened to send him sprawling. He

 escaped it with only a minor bruise, one of many that had begun to festoon his

 lower legs.

 "Nobody saw me get the first stone, nobody heard me, and I didn't see or hear

 anyone, either. Same thing on the second attempt&#8209;except that in leaving I all

 but ran over an adolescent female. She must have entered the building while I

 was concentrating on acquiring the stone. Without thinking, I left the same way

 I'd entered&#8209;through a hole I made in the back wall. Stupid. I should have

 simply walked out the front, hands tucked in my suspenders, looking like I

 belonged."

 "You don't have any suspenders," she snapped.

 "If you're not waiting for me at the rendezvous, I may not have any fingers to

 tug them with, either." He stole a quick glance back over his shoulder. Nothing

 untoward disturbed the forest behind him.

 "I think they're after me, but I don't see anyone yet."

 "Keep moving. You may be able to outdistance them. On a beach or other open flat

 you wouldn't have a chance. I've seen competing young adult males clear ten

 meters with every bound, but in dense jungle those big feet slow them up and

 it's harder for them to hop. They're not so good at dodging trees, either. Maybe

 you can shake them."

 "I don't have to shake them. Just beat them to the inlet."

 "So they saw you." Seaforth's voice was resigned.

 "Only the one adolescent. Given time, maybe we can cast doubt on her story.

 Insist in the face of all accusation that both of us have been back at the

 station all the time. Try to convince the local big persons that what she saw

 was a spirit and not a visiting human."

 "But the stone is missing."

 "She didn't see me with it. Unless they catch and search me they can only

 suspect. They have no proof."

 "Then you'd better not let them catch up with you."

 "What do you think I'm trying to do here?"

 Understandingly, she ignored his angry retort. "I'm on my way."

 Severing the connection, he returned his attention to the handheld's readout and

 the forest ahead. He was making good time, his small stature allowing him to

 dart around and under obstacles that would have slowed a larger man. His body

 was insisting that he rest, but he continued to push himself. Just because he

 couldn't hear or see any pursuers didn't mean they weren't a literal hop, skip,

 and jump behind him. If so, they were certainly conserving their voices.

 On the handheld, the location of the inlet was coming up fast. He allowed

 himself to feel a measure of confidence. They could make up some kind of story,

 express their outrage at being accused of the crime, call on the influence and

 friendship of the Torrelauapan big persons they knew well, and generally do

 everything possible to cast doubt on the aspersions of the adolescent female. It

 would be his word against hers.

 And in a few days, when they'd completed the lab work on the stones and had

 built up sufficient computer models for further research, both missing stones

 would mysteriously reappear at the appropriate venues. With the stones returned,

 any rising anger among the Parramati in general would dissipate before it could

 reach dangerous proportions. Polite as they were, they would probably point the

 finger of blame at one another before formally accusing the visiting humans.

 Such a theft would make even less sense to them than if the stones had been

 taken by one of their own kind, for what use had an alien for a sacred stone?

 For example, no human knew how to manipulate the stones to locate roads. The

 whole idea was absurd.

 There was a flash of color and light behind him and he nearly stumbled, but it

 was only a pair of harmless oronai darting through the trees. Always curious,

 they remained by his side, pacing him as he ran. As long as they remained

 relatively silent and didn't cry out, he welcomed their company. They would

 alert him to the presence of any truly dangerous predators. One turned in midair

 and continued flying on its back, bringing a smile to his face despite his

 increasing exhaustion.

 His attention on it, he overlooked the hole and went down hard, his left leg

 plunging into the opening, his head slamming sideways into the dirt. The impact

 jarred his teeth and shook colors loose behind his eyes.

 Rolling over, he sat up and took stock of his stunned form. Nothing broken. His

 left foot throbbed a little and he tested it gingerly, putting more and more

 weight on it until he was standing without pain. He thought he might have pulled

 something, but the leg was just sore.

 Something was warming his back. It didn't feel like liquid. Not blood, then.

 Looking over a shoulder, he saw the glow. Pale green tinged with blue, it was

 strong enough to penetrate the tough material of his backpack, emanating

 strongly from within.

 The stones, he realized quickly. In falling he'd twisted, and in twisting he'd

 landed partly on his back. Both sacks must have snapped open, throwing their

 contents together. His backpack had become an unintended incubator for the

 offspring of stone fusion.

 Hurriedly he slipped free of the shoulder straps. The heat from within now

 verged on the uncomfortable. His hands hovered over the top flap of the pack,

 hesitating. What could he do to terminate the reaction? What was the accepted

 procedure for dealing with stones that had been unintentionally melded? Could he

 pry them apart manually? He unfastened the flap.

 So intense was the green&#8209;blue light that spilled from the interior that he could

 barely stand to look directly at it. He could just make out the source of the

 light and heat: a single uneven mass where earlier there had been two. The

 individual specimens had melted into one, duplicating the reaction Fawn had

 described previously.

 To what end? Aside from the heat, which might be nothing more than a residual

 by&#8209;product of the commingling, he felt nothing. His health was unaffected, as

 was the color of the sky and the pungent odor of the rain forest. Nothing

 sprouted dramatically from beneath his feet&#8209;or died, either, he noted with some

 relief.

 He had a flash of inspiration. Maybe the bright light itself was the intended

 end product of the accidental conjoining. Perhaps this combination of stones

 was designed to illuminate the interior of caves, or long night&#8209;time walks

 through heavy jungle, or to attract nocturnal sea creatures to a fisherman's

 net.

 His fingers hovered over the lambent mass. The heat was substantial but not

 unbearable. How did one separate commingled stones? Squint as he might, he saw

 neither seam nor crevice nor cleavage plane. How did the stone masters do it? Or

 did they simply wait until the reaction exhausted itself, at which time the

 stones would separate of their own accord?

 Exactly how much control did the stone masters have over these devices anyway?

 He felt he had to at least try. Maybe a good, strong, old&#8209;fashioned tug on both

 ends simultaneously, he speculated. Grabbing one side of the composite mass in

 each hand, he tried pulling. No luck. Interestingly, the heat seemed to

 dissipate through his palms rather than burn him. A twist, then, in opposite

 directions. As he worked his hands and wrists he thought he felt something give

 within the mass.

 The stone exploded.

 No, he decided, aware that he had not lost consciousness. The glassy mass had

 not blown up. In fact, he and the conjoined stones were the only things that had

 not exploded. They remained intact and unaltered.

 It was the universe that had detonated.

 Well, come apart, anyway. Disintegrated, dissolved, shattered,; When eventually

 it reconstituted itself, he was someplace else.

 The only constant in this mental and physical transposition was the stone,

 which continued to pour forth its intense, unrelenting radiance. Deciding to

 chance the heat, he slipped the pack back over his shoulders.

 Odd sort of explosion, he reflected, during which the cosmos had seemed to

 disintegrate and re&#8209;form around him. Only, the process had produced some

 changes. Significant changes.

 For one thing, there was no sign of pursuing Parramati. There was nothing to

 even suggest the presence of Parramati. He was still standing on a moderate

 slope in the midst of dense forest, but the foliage was not of the kind he had

 come to associate with the Vounea Peninsula. In fact, it was not of a kind he

 recognized at all.

 There wasn't a sane trunk in the lot. Trees took the, form of sharp curves,

 right angles, berserk spirals: anything but straight. Instead of leaves, the

 majority sported tiny red pustules. Some were no larger than the tip of his

 little finger while others were a meter and more across. Nor were these singular

 growths stable. They twisted and writhed as if in pain beneath a pale red sky in

 which hung suspended an orb of deepest crimson, whether sun or moon Pulickel

 couldn't tell.

 There were other lights in the sky, but he balked at calling them stars. For one

 thing, most were purple, except for those that blinked lavender. Within arm's

 length of his right hand a cluster of narrow, blue&#8209;striped shoots quivered in

 the still air. As they trembled, they hummed.

 Their murmuring resonated in time to the humming that was intensifying inside

 his head. It felt and sounded as if he'd been locked inside a steel cylinder

 full of bees. Stumbling to his left, he saw something thick and ropy slither out

 of sight below the surface of a tangerine stream. Glistening wetly as it moved,

 it resembled animate yellow slime.

 A flock of flying creatures appeared, keeping less than a meter off the ground.

 Showing no sign of changing direction or swerving, the V &#8209;shaped formation

 headed straight for him. At the last instant he threw up his arms to ward them

 off.

 Most sailed past on either side. The several that did not, penetrated his skin

 and passed completely through his body. No ghosts they, he could feel every

 centimeter of their passage. Gasping at the sickening sweetness that filled his

 belly, he bent double and grabbed his midsection. Only after the sensation had

 passed was he able to straighten and look behind him. The flock continued on its

 way, oblivious to the ineffectual human blockade it had so effortlessly ignored,

 penetrating anything that stood in its path with lugubrious ease. Hasty

 inspection revealed that the incident had left not a mark on him. Not a hole,

 scratch, bruise, or puncture. Atomic structures had been momentarily rearranged.

 His, or theirs? he wondered.

 The scarlet orb that dominated the heavens was sinking rapidly toward the

 distant horizon. Much too rapidly, he thought. The purple sky&#8209;points brightened.

 They were stars then, he decided, but arrayed against the red&#8209;tinged firmament

 in no pattern he recognized. Certainly these were not constellations discernible

 from anyplace on Senisran.

 Several of the energetic stellar formations resembled nothing in the canon of

 known celestial features. Riding in the pack on his back, the luminescent stones

 continued to radiate steadily.

 Taking a couple of hesitant steps in the direction of the peculiar stream, he

 saw that it ran not with water but a much more viscous liquid that had the

 consistency of orange syrup. With each step the surface underfoot let out a

 quavery moan, as if he were treading the spine of some enormous, somnolent

 being. Those tortuous, serpentine growths he'd assumed were forest: were they

 trees&#8209;or hair? Was his presence here disturbing enough to make the earth

 complain?

 His throat dry from running, he dipped an uncertain hand toward the orange

 current. It twisted away from him, retreating like a live thing. Insistent, he

 shoved his fingers sharply downward. The fluid flowed over and around his hand

 and forearm, never touching the skin. Whatever it might be, it was repelled by

 his humanness:

 Defeated, he straightened. There was nothing inherently inimical about the

 place he'd been dumped. It simply didn't like him. Where was he, and where was

 Fawn Seaforth? For that matter, where was Senisran? The questions led him to an

 answer. He knew now what kind of stones he'd stolen. Not growing stones, or

 healing stones. Not stones for filling nets or imparting wisdom.

 They were transportation stones. But transportation to where?

 Roads. Stones and spaces and roads. That was the core of Parramati kusum,

 brought home to him now in a manner as overwhelming as it was unexpected. He'd

 accidentally opened a road, only to find himself catapulted down its length

 utterly ignorant of his destination. As a demonstration of unfamiliar alien

 science, it was several orders of magnitude greater than enhanced garden growth.

 The world on which he found himself resembled nothing he'd ever heard about,

 read about, or researched. Certainly it wasn't in the Commonwealth catalog of

 known systems.

 His orgy of speculation was interrupted by the appearance of a puffy pink

 fuzzball laced with delicate blue veins that materialized among the growths just

 in front of him. It was roughly half his size. After a moment's hesitation, it

 began rolling toward him. Wary, he drew his pistol and held it ready.

 As it neared, the creature slowed. Halting, it exuded a strong pseudopod that

 terminated in a pair of impressively thick yellow lips. Approaching to within a

 meter, this flexible organ proceeded to scrutinize him intently, the lips making

 soft sucking sounds every time they altered position. His feet, legs, torso,

 arms, and head were all carefully inspected.

 When he took a sudden step forward, the limb retracted completely into the

 round body. Avoiding him, the fuzzball rolled into a clump of dancing spines and

 vanished.

 One faint hope was dashed when his communicator responded to his terse

 entreaties with the expected silence. He would have been shocked if Fawn had

 replied. Clipping the unit back onto his belt, he tried to decide what to do

 next. What could he do? He had been transported to a very elegant nowhere.

 Everything was off, outlandish, and unnatural, from the stream to the stars to

 the sun that had abandoned the alien sky with deviant precipitousness.

 At that point the orange liquid inhabiting the creek bed began to flow out of

 its banks and head toward him. As he backed away warily, the whole stream lifted

 itself up and started looping in his direction like some gigantic candy&#8209;flaked

 sidewinder.

 Having no intention of being strangled by a stream, he turned and ran, hoping as

 he did so that he wouldn't run smack into something worse. Swinging the backpack

 around in front of him, he half closed his eyes as he searched the surface of

 the pulsating stone for a significant depression, a crack, anywhere it might

 make sense to place a manipulative organ. A glance back showed that the

 perambulating tributary was closing on him.

 A couple of the larger growths twitched and leaned in his direction. If the

 stream didn't get him, it seemed increasingly likely that the forest would.

 Twisting the stone had brought him here. There was nothing for it but to try

 again.

 Reaching into the pack, he secured a firm grip and wrenched hard with both

 hands. His greatest fear was that the mass would separate back into its

 component halves, marooning him here for what promised to be a very brief if

 spectacularly educational future.

 How far was he from Senisran? A light&#8209;year or half a galaxy &#8209;away? Not that it

 mattered. When nothing happened, he twisted hard against the mass a second

 time. The ambulatory orange tide was quite close now. When it caught up, would

 it try to choke him, or drown him?

 For a second time, the cosmos fragmented on the fringes of his consciousness.

 When he could again focus and cogitate, he found himself once more transported.

 There was just enough time for him to breathe the proverbial sigh of relief

 before realizing that, while liberated from hostile rivers and neurotic woods,

 neither was he back on Senisran.

 Chapter Thirteen

 

 The distant mountains were limned in black. Closer at hand stood a cluster of

 stark, gnarled trunks, leafless and forlorn, that on a lusher world would not

 have passed for trees. Bare&#8209;stemmed and ghostly, they thrust naked limbs at the

 sinister sky as if struggling to hold a hostile universe at bay.

 Gaunt, spectral flying creatures twitched uneven paths through the oppressive

 atmosphere, dipping and soaring as if avoiding unseen, unpleasant lumps in the

 air. Beneath his feet the ground was pale gray. Rocks were a darker gray or

 charcoal&#8209;hued. Atop one, something the size and color of old sewer pipe was

 quivering with horrid life. Smaller, dun&#8209;colored young huddled close to its

 protective bulk.

 Holding up one hand, an unsettled Pulickel saw that it had acquired the same

 unhealthy ashen pallor that permeated this place. It was cold, and his jungle

 shorts and shirt provided inadequate protection. Only the warmth that continued

 to pour from the sacred stone kept him from shivering.

 Though no sun appeared, the sky began to lighten. Instead of blue it was white.

 Not a revelatory, illuminating white, but a dull, listless shift from gray to

 something else farther up the spectrum. Stars revealed themselves in a night

 that was brighter than the day. They were black.

 Instead of blinking, they regarded the stark landscape with a steady, baleful

 glare.

 Ahead, the sun began to emerge from hiding, and it was as caliginous as the

 misbegotten stars. A sickly gray effulgence ghosted the rim of the burning black

 orb.

 Slowly Pulickel brought his hand toward his face and found that he could see

 through the pale, wan flesh. Black bones stood out as clearly as in an

 old&#8209;fashioned X ray. But the sky was worse&#8209;the ghastly white sky splotched with

 unhealthy constellations of black stars.

 Color had been banned from this world and no suitable replacement found. Or was

 everything normal and only his vision damaged, or his mind? Had the universe

 gone mad, or only he?

 Was this the view from the bottom of a black hole? he wondered. A place where

 color as well as matter was crushed out of existence? But if the latter, how

 could he still stand, still feel his body, his face?

 Here I cam drugging the bottom of a gravity well, he thought wildly, and it's

 dry.

 The stone had cast him into the realm of unnatural law. Physics here were not

 merely different: they were other. But he could still see color. He knew that to

 be true because the radiance from his backpack remained that steady, unvarying

 green&#8209;blue. Whatever powered it was strong enough to resist even the

 morbidifying effects of this place.

 His eyes hung gratefully on that green glow as he gripped the glowing mass for a

 third time and twisted, his effort this time driven more by desperation than

 hope. When nothing happened a deep shiver of sheer panic raced the length of his

 spine.

 Shaking, he fought to keep from losing control completely. Remembering that his

 first effort immediately prior to this one had also failed, he steadied himself

 for another try. The stone had to work. Around him, the pallid gray emptiness

 shouted death. His fingers convulsed on the softly glowing mass.

 The universe came apart in a shower of coal and snow, shimmering shards of white

 and blackness. They pierced like knives and he gasped in pain.

 Only to find himself saturated with color, beneath a sunset sky, standing on

 grass.

 Red grass.

 The bushes were round and yellow, the herd of hexapods browsing them burnt

 umber with camouflaging canary stripes. Multiple mouths paused in mid&#8209;nip as

 bulging pink eyes swiveled sharply to regard him. Limpid stares reflecting

 sudden shock at his unannounced appearance, the entire herd promptly lumbered

 past the line of foliage and disappeared into the distance in a cloud of eyes,

 legs, cud&#8209;chewing mouths, and red dust.

 He was alone again.

 Except for the occasional patch of dense, fiercely colored vegetation, the land

 in which he found himself was perfectly fiat. Not a ridge, not a mound, not even

 an anthill interrupted the horizon. It was as hot as the previous world had

 been cold, but devoid of humidity. The red grass formed a thick, lush carpet

 beneath his feet.

 Blissfully blue, the sky was vacant of cloud. While not a comforting yellow, the

 single ripe red&#8209;orange star that dominated the firmament did not inspire dread,

 either. It wasn't Senisran&#8209;but it was better. He wasn't home, but it felt like

 he was back in the neighborhood.

 Something irritated his throat and he suffered through a brief coughing jag. The

 red dust, down in his lungs, or some impurity in the atmosphere? Attractive as

 his new surroundings night be, he knew he couldn't stay long. With a sigh, he

 fondled the conjoined stones.

 How extensive was the route it followed? How many worlds could it access?

 Undoubtedly it offered a means of selecting one's destination, but he didn't

 have a clue as to how that might work. He'd found the ignition, but steering

 remained a mystery to him.

 He might die of hunger or thirst before he twisted his way back to Senisran. Or

 it might be the next stop on a preprogrammed, alien itinerary. Meanwhile, as the

 old saying went, he might as well try to enjoy the ride.

 Was the green glow fading slightly? If whatever powered the system failed, he

 would be marooned forever. Marooned by the side of a Parpamati road, he mused,

 with no one likely to come along and offer him a lift. The source of the stone's

 energy remained as much a mystery to him as its alien engineering.

 Maybe the glow wasn't weakening. Maybe the color change was due to some quality

 of the local atmosphere. Forcing himself to accept that comforting hypothesis,

 he took a deep breath and twisted hard on the stone.

 His hands came loose and went drifting slowly off over the grass. They were

 followed by his forearms, which broke free at the elbows and began to spin

 lazily end over end in the direction of his peramubulating hands.

 There was no blood, no pain. Just an unmistakable physiological parting of the

 ways. As he lunged instinctively after his escaping body parts, his torso

 detached from his hips and his legs came apart in sections. Last of all, his

 head popped free of his neck.

 Obeying some unknown, unimaginable herding instinct, his component bits and

 pieces remained in the same general vicinity. Too focused to scream, he strove

 to will his corpus whole again. Though fully functional, his disembodied head no

 longer exercised any control over the muscles in his limbs. His hands seemed to

 have the most mobility. Fingers fluttering like thick cilia, they darted in and

 around the rest of him, kicking backward through the air. One hand latched onto

 a forearm and rested there like a bird taking roost on a branch.

 As he stared dazedly, the yellow bushes began to detach themselves from the

 ground and drift off into the sky. Pulling themselves free of the soil, roots

 separated from branches and drifted off on their own. Indeed, the soil was

 beginning to separate from the ground.

 Caught by a rising breeze, clumps of grass were whisked toward the eastern

 horizon. Elevated from their subterranean homes, burrowing creatures twisted

 helplessly in the air, only to be preyed upon by flying teeth that seemed to

 have no trouble coping with the jabberwockean change in conditions.

 Overhead, the orange&#8209;red sun was coming apart, fiery prominences dancing in all

 directions. In the distance he saw the handsome brown and yellow grazers coming

 apart, only to re&#8209;form as a spherical mass of floating eyes, legs, horns, and

 bodies.

 This time only the absence of lungs prevented him from screaming.

 In the center of rising chaos hovered his backpack, the stone pulsing peacefully

 within. It didn't matter, since he was no longer in control&#8209;or even

 possession&#8209;of his hands. He closed his eyes. That he could still do.

 When he opened them again everything was coagulating. The spherical herd of

 grazers separated back out into its component parts, reformulating animals

 instead of insanity. Branches returned to bushes, bushes to roots, and roots to

 their place in the earth. Feeding time over, the flying teeth disappeared.

 The surface resolidified beneath him. Up in the sky, the local star became once

 again a familiar rounded ball of burning hydrogen. As he stared mutely, the

 rambling bits of his body re&#8209;formed. Only his hands resisted, waiting until the

 last instant to reattach themselves to his wrists.

 He had a bad moment when he thought they were going to hook up with his ankles

 instead.

 Slowly turning to left and then to right, he found his head once more firmly

 positioned on his neck. Arms and legs responded to mental command&#8209;He took

 incalculable pleasure in being able to execute a short hop.

 Next time the effect might last longer, the consequences prove more severe, the

 distances between liberated limbs turn out to be dangerously greater. Given

 another taste of freedom and independence, his hands might not return. As if in

 confirmation, they seemed reluctant to grasp the stone and twist on its ends.

 Finding himself arguing with his own body, he forced them to obey. Chaos might

 be a liberating place to visit, but he didn't want to live there.

 Was he any nearer Senisran? Was he even in the same galaxy? The same universe?

 Already he'd visited corners of the cosmos that defied natural law as he knew

 it. He wanted out.

 That's what he got.

 As his fingers relaxed on the stone, he found himself in a place of utter

 blackness. No, he decided, it was blacker than black. It wasn't an absence of

 light so much as the fact that in this place it seemed never to have existed. It

 was an abstract concept, a fever dream, a product of delirium.

 He could not see, could not perceive. Sensing that he was floating, he felt with

 his feet and hands for a solid surface and found none. There was nothing to

 orient himself against, no point off reference. He could not see but was not

 blind, could not hear but was not deaf. His nose wrinkled. That sense, too, was

 functional. He wished it wasn't.

 His incomprehensible surroundings stank of the charnel house.

 He could still feel. The backpack was heavy against him, but for the first time

 he could not see what had come to be the solacing glow of the stone. Groping

 within the pack, he felt of its outline, its weight, reassuring himself of its

 reality.

 Enveloped in an all&#8209;consuming shroud of tangible corruption, he drifted

 helpless and alone. Or was that a Presence he now sensed? Deprived of the

 majority of means of exploring the space around him, he couldn't be sure.

 It touched him.

 Though he couldn't see It, his eyes tried to shrink back into his skull. Though

 he couldn't hear It, his mind was drowned in a chorus of horror. The suddenly

 overwhelming odor pierced the core of his being.

 Disoriented and slightly deranged, he fumbled for the stone. Colossally

 indifferent, a minuscule portion of the Presence began to examine the

 insignificant splotch of protoplasm nearby.

 This was not a place that was simply bad for him, where there was no water to

 drink or comforting sunshine to warm his bones. He had come to a blasted place

 in the cosmos, where any organic life&#8209;form, be it worm, human, or blade of

 grass, was not welcome, did not belong, and could not long survive. Could a

 blade of grass go insane? He knew that he could.

 He Needed to Get Away.

 As the infinitesimal extrusion of the Presence stepped between two dead stars to

 close in around him, his fingers twisted convulsively on the ends of the stone.

 A sickly clamminess enveloped him as he sensed something sandpapering his soul.

 It promised a primal and intimate experience worse than death. His self

 threatened to fly apart. In the Presence, even atoms could not long remain

 coherent.

 It was evil incarnate, an evil that transcended theology, physics, and

 metaphysics. Possessed of a loathsome purity, it left no room in its Presence

 for anything that smacked of the natural universe. Only Pulickel's

 insignificance saved him. Of next to no consequence, he was overlooked.

 But that was changing.

 He couldn't run because he had no legs, couldn't flail because he had no arms.

 In the absence of lungs he couldn't scream, and in the absence of sanity he

 could not conceive. All he could do was react instinctively. More fortuitously

 than he could imagine, his reaction took the form of wrenching on the stone.

 He knew a little about the subatomic forces that bind the cosmos together. There

 was taste, and there was flavor. There was up and there was down. Here was

 something else, something new. Something previously unquantified. A different

 state of not&#8209;matter, not&#8209;energy, not&#8209;plasma, not Einstein&#8209;Bose conjunction. He

 could not give a name to it because his mind was not working very well. He knew

 only that He Had to Get Away from It.

 Insignificant speck that he was, it would annul him, reduce him to a single

 tiny scream that would float forever in this place. It wanted him nothing

 because it abhorred anything that was not itself. His fingers weakened in

 tandem with his resolve.

 In the distance, impossibly far off and yet proximate, a subdued flash of green.

 Beyond sickliness now, he felt little. Exit left, shrieking. But the Presence

 went away. Or rather, he went away from It.

 

 Fawn stared down at him. She was not alone. Parramati stood on either side of

 her. Several were inspecting the station's greeting lounge, examining the alien

 surroundings. Most, like Fawn, focused their attention on the figure that lay

 ,prone on the couch. Senisran's comforting sunlight filtered in through the bank

 of windows that lined the station's exterior.

 "He looks better." At the tip of his long snout, Massapapu's black nose

 twitched as he inhaled of the reclining human. "His eyes are open."

 "Yes, but he's still not reacting." The expression on Fawn Seaforth's face was

 one of grave concern. She waved a hand slowly back and forth over her comatose

 companion's eyes. He blinked but gave no sign that he actually saw her. His gaze

 was locked otherwhere. Sight of a sort had returned, but not perception.

 "There's eye movement, and he's breathing, but that's about it. I don't like his

 color. He's white as a sheet." She turned to the Parramati clustered closely

 behind her.

 "Has he been like this ever since you found him?"

 Massapapu signed his agreement. "You know, F'an, that he had taken two stones."

 "Yes, you told me." Uncomfortable, she looked away. So far the Parramati hadn't

 implicated her in the thefts. Thus. spared, she immediately denied any knowledge

 of them. If they accepted her protestations of innocence, then her work on

 Torrelau could continue unhindered. Despite his undeniable expertise and

 ability, Pulickel could be replaced.

 What had happened to him? It was impossible to get a straight answer out of the

 Parramati who had brought him in. She thought she'd mastered the nuances of

 their language. Now she wasn't so sure.

 They claimed to have brought him back not just from the Vounea Peninsula but

 from another place entirely. Upon learning that two stones had gone missing, the

 affected stone masters had contacted their brethren across the island. Working

 in concert, Ascela had explained, allowed them to conduct a proper search for

 the thief. Or overeager researcher, as Fawn had striven to characterize her

 comatose companion, doing her best to exonerate him even in unconsciousness.

 With the aid of other stones, they'd found him and brought him back.

 Jorana's tone, was admonishing. "We understand Pu'il's thirst for knowledge, but

 he should not have taken the stones. He most especially should not have tried to

 use the stones that he did take."

 "That's obvious," Fawn conceded.

 Ascela's wizened eyes shifted periodically between the prone figure and that of

 the tall woman standing next to her. Luminous vertical pupils flexed. "He is

 fortunate that we were able to bring him back. He is very lucky."

 He didn't look lucky, Fawn thought as she studied her friend and associate. He

 looked terrible. What had happened out there? Where had they brought him back

 from? When they spoke of it, the big and middle persons who had brought him in

 used verbs inflected in a fashion previously not encountered. She thought she

 knew what they meant but wasn't entirely sure.

 Standing out on the reef, studying its inhabitants while waiting for Pulickel to

 call in, she'd been alerted by a warning tone from the skimmer's

 instrumentation. A check revealed that Pulickel's transmitter had gone dead. She

 couldn't even raise a carrier wave. While it was possible for a field

 transmitter to fail completely, it was highly unlikely. For one thing, the

 locator unit carried its own emergency power source.

 But it was possible. For example, he could have dropped the unit and

 accidentally rolled a boulder on it. It would have to have been a sizable

 boulder, she knew, but such things did happen. Exhausting all efforts to raise a

 signal, she took the dangerous step of returning to the inlet and leaving the

 skimmer parked on hover while she searched the immediate vicinity.

 Fatigued and frantic, she had finally returned to the station, only to find

 Ascela, Jorana, and Massapapu waiting for her outside the activated defense

 perimeter. They were accompanied by half a dozen Parramati she did not know. On

 a woven stretcher in their midst lay Pulickel: eyes open, visibly intact, but

 utterly unresponsive. They had carried him all the way across the island from

 the Vounea. Or from wherever it was that they claimed to have found him, she

 reminded herself.

 A check of his person revealed that the stones he had taken were missing. No

 surprise there, she knew. Doubtless they had been returned to their appropriate

 resting places. When she had protested her ignorance of Pulickel's intentions,

 several of the Vounea Parramati had eyed her suspiciously, but none challenged

 her openly. Ascela, Jorana, and the other Torrelauapans had vouched for her,

 bless them.

 "It is not easy to find someone after they have used these stones," Ascela was

 saying. "Particularly someone who has not been instructed in their use. The

 roads they open are difficult to travel."

 "It takes many, many generations to learn how to use the stones," added one of

 the visiting Vouneans.

 She desperately wanted to hear Pulickel's side of the story, but he couldn't

 even look in her direction, didn't respond to her voice. He continued to

 breathe, slowly and evenly, his eyes staring off into the distance and blinking

 occasionally. He was present, and yet he was not. Something critical, something

 vital, was missing.

 If he didn't respond soon, she was going to have to hook him up to an IV and

 request medevac. She didn't want to do that. For one thing, it would be an

 admission of failure. Nor did she want to deal with the questions that would

 inevitably accompany such a procedure. But if she was going to be able to avoid

 making the call, he had to react to her presence, had to show some progress. She

 couldn't let him lie there and starve to death. Dehydration would be the first

 problem, she knew.

 She turned to Ascela. Of all the Torrelauapan big persons, she felt the

 strongest rapport with the senior female. "I still don't understand. The

 Vouneans claim they found him just lying in the jungle like this?"

 "Not just like this." A Vounean big person of equal stature stepped forward.

 Ears thrust forward, he swapped a series of rapid finger movements with Ascela,

 too fast for Fawn to follow. "When the stone masters found kiln he was screaming

 and kicking. This was understandable, as he was in a bad place. A very bad

 place."

 "What kind of bad place?" The xenologist tried to remember the proper gestures.

 "Did he fall and hit his head?" But that didn't make sense, she thought. If he'd

 tumbled into a ravine or something, they wouldn't have found him kicking and

 screaming. Besides, except for a few minor cuts and scrapes, he appeared

 unharmed. There was no blood showing, and the station's medical scanner had

 revealed no broken bones or torn ligaments. If he'd suffered some kind of

 concussion or contusion, it was too subtle for the scanner to detect.

 "The worst place," the Vounean explained without explaining anything. "Our

 stone masters had to use other stones to bring him back. I am not a master so I

 did not participate, but those who did tell that it was a near thing."

 "Well, there was certainly something bad about it." Whether through means

 chemical or otherwise, her companion's previously jet&#8209;black hair was now

 streaked with white. Nor was the change superficially cosmetic. Close inspection

 had revealed that the color change extended right down to the follicular roots.

 It didn't wash out when she was cleaning him up, either.

 That had been her first priority, and it had been a job. The smells that clung

 to him didn't want to wash off. No doubt he'd picked up several exotic odors

 while stumbling through the jungle in his attempt to avoid the Vouneans. With

 the aid of the Parramati, she'd managed to wrestle him into some clean clothes,

 and that had helped. But a faintly disquieting odor still hung about him, a

 miasma that wouldn't go away. It seemed familiar but she couldn't quite identify

 it. It made her skin crawl, and she had to work hard at ignoring it.

 "We did what we could for him," Jorana was saying.

 "Don't get me wrong," Fawn responded. "I'm grateful for everything you've done,

 for bringing him back and doing your best to help him. I'm just trying to

 understand what happened and to figure out what's wrong with him." She studied

 the prone form. Perhaps he'd been bitten and paralyzed by some unknown denizen

 of the forest. But there were no bite marks that she'd been able to discover, no

 swelling or redness that would indicate the site of a sting. What was

 responsible for his present condition? Again she confessed her bafflement to the

 watching Parramati.

 Jorana, too, was searching for an explanation. "Sometimes one who tries to use

 the stones cannot stay on the proper road. Then the stones may choose the road

 instead of the user. There are many roads and not all of them are benign."

 "I could've guessed that much." Fawn spoke more harshly than she intended. "What

 am I going to do with him? What can I do?" Her colleague lay as limp as one of

 the dozens of cephalopods the Parramati fished daily from the ocean. It was as

 if all the bones in his body had melted away.

 Perversely, she envied him that part of his condition. At least he looked at

 ease. His vital signs remained strong. Nothing critical would relax, she hoped.

 Like his heart.

 "There must be something we can do," she insisted.

 "Perhaps a healing stone..." Massapapu began.

 Fawn looked over sharply. "No! No stones. Not until I've exhausted the medical

 program's recommendations."

 Unmoved by the sharpness of her reaction, the Torrelauapan big person indicated

 understanding. Turning away from her, he proceeded to discuss the matter with

 his companions and the Vouneans. Fawn strained to overhear, without much

 success.

 She'd pumped an assortment of stimulants into Pulickel, but without knowing the

 cause of his condition, the station's pharmaceutical program could only

 prescribe the most general range of medication. She'd even chanced a dose of

 buffered adrenaline. It made him twitch briefly but did nothing to restore

 awareness. At least the occasional blink meant she didn't have to drop&#8209;treat

 his eyes to keep them moist.

 In addition to taking no nourishment, his body generated no wastes. It was as

 if his entire system beyond that necessary for the maintenance of life was

 locked in a kind of physiological as well as mental stasis. Nothing she had done

 showed any signs of bringing him out of it.

 She became aware that the Parramati had concluded their discussion. They stood

 by patiently, waiting for her.

 "I can give you an idea of what happened, F'an." Jorana regarded her out of

 dark eyes. "Pu'il traveled down a road he shouldn't have, to a place that should

 not be visited."

 "How did you&#8209;how did the stone masters find him if they didn't know what road

 he'd taken?"

 This time it was Ascela who responded. "One stone knows another, even as the

 stone masters seek to know them. Stone follows upon stone."

 "I see," she muttered, not seeing at all. "So some Vounean stone master used

 another stone to track Pulickel down, and then you brought him back?" Did

 certain stones give off a resonance only the seni could detect? The idea seemed

 farfetched. The glassy material looked utterly inert. Almost as inert as

 Pulickel, who at the moment wasn't resonating very much himself. Certainly the

 stones didn't smell. So how had one stone master tracked down another stone?

 Light, she thought, and wondered why the answer hadn't occurred to her earlier.

 During the demonstration she'd been privy to, the growing stone and earth stone

 had conjoined to form a single mass that had given off an intense green

 luminescence that had spread throughout the newly planted field. Somehow,

 intentionally or otherwise, the pair of stones in Pulickel's possession must

 have come together. In addition to his present condition, one of the by&#8209;products

 of that mingling had probably been light similar to that which she had

 witnessed. If bright enough, it would have generated a beacon easily followed

 even at midday.

 "Not all of him." Ascela nodded somberly at the motionless body on the couch.

 "A part of Pu'il has not yet returned. Now that we have most of high, the rest

 must be brought back."

 "Yeah, I can see that. But I'm not ready to try a healing master. Not yet."

 "Then we will leave you to your friend." Jorana gestured at the Vouneans, who

 were still fascinated by their alien surroundings. "Our friends from the

 peninsula will stay with us tonight. We will go back to Torrelauapa but return

 tomorrow with proper help. If you wish it then, we will try to heal Pu'il. "

 "If there's been no change by tomorrow," she replied listlessly, "I'll need your

 help."

 She bade farewell to the concerned Parramati. Once they had departed and she had

 reestablished the defensive perimeter, she resumed her vigil over the

 diminutive xenologist.

 As she watched and waited and hoped for the pharmaceuticals she'd pumped into

 him to take effect, she reviewed in her mind the confrontation and conversation

 with the Parramati. Though she felt sure that much that had been said bore

 importantly on Pulickel's recovery, she was unable to penetrate the natives'

 multiple layers of meaning.

 Or else, she concluded tiredly, she simply did not possess the necessary

 cultural referents for understanding.

 Chapter Fourteen

 

 She stayed awake until her body demanded sleep, and then she gave it little

 enough of that, rising immediately after the sun to check on her patient.

 Pulickel lay as she'd left him, prone and motionless on the couch, blinking at

 the ceiling. According to the scanner, his vital signs were unchanged. Small

 comfort, she mused.

 At her invitation, the Parramati who had been waiting patiently just beyond the

 defense perimeter filed somberly back into the station. Ascela performed a

 respectful introduction, following which the oldest seni Fawn had ever seen

 stepped forward.

 His name was Ijaju. Ills back was bent and sharply curved forward, his tail

 broken so many times it no longer was held out stiffly but hung down, limp and

 flexible, behind him. Incapable of hopping, he could advance only by shuffling,

 sliding forward one huge foot at a time. Instead of being held erect and alert,

 his ears lay fiat on the top of his head. When he spoke, the double eyelids

 opened no more than a crack. It gave him the appearance of being perpetually

 asleep. The long snout was shrunken and wrinkled, the lips cracked and

 blackened, and most of his teeth were missing. Those that remained in the aged

 jaws looked none too healthy.

 But the delicate three&#8209;fingered hands did not shake as they traced the length of

 Pulickel's comatose form. Fawn kept silent for as long as she could stand it

 before finally stammering, "Can you help him?"

 Ancient eyes turned to meet her own. The healer's voice was a lacework of

 whispers, and she had to strain to make out the words. "I do not know. One who

 has taken to such roads in ignorance may be doomed to wander them forever."

 "Wander&#8209;but he's here," she protested.

 The elder didn't argue with her. "I will try. But not here. To heal, two stones

 are necessary. Two stones and two masters."

 That much made sense. Based on what she now knew, no stone functioned on its

 own. At least two were required and for all she knew, sometimes more.

 "Where, then?"

 "Torrelauapa." As he said this, several of the assembled big persons indicated

 solemn assent, executing in unison the gestures she had come to recognize as the

 Parramati equivalent of a nod.

 Insisting that the patient be stretchered so that Ijaju could watch over him,

 and leery as always of the skimmer, the Torrelauapans carried Pulickel over the

 mountain trail back to their village. Lesser males and females looked on in

 silence as the line of big persons conveyed the body to the longhouse of

 Solinna. Though subordinate in age and status to the visiting Ijaju, her

 healing skills were respected throughout the region.

 No feasting, no celebration preceded the treatment. The villagers went about

 their daily tasks as if nothing out of the ordinary was going to take place.

 This was very different from the ceremony of the blessing of the planting that

 Fawn had witnessed. Those youngsters whose innate high spirits could not be

 restrained were gently guided away from the healer's longhouse. Several elders

 whom Fawn had come to know well came up to her to offer condolences. Their

 concern made her feel ashamed. None of this would have happened if they'd simply

 left the stones alone.

 Which they couldn't do, she knew with equal certainty. Not after the planting

 ceremony, and especially not now. Pulickel would agree with her absolutely&#8209;once

 he was able to agree to anything again.

 She refused to countenance the possibility of that never happening.

 Pulickel was placed on one of the most finely woven Parramati mats Fawn had ever

 seen. Incense pots were placed at the four corners of the mat and lit. Aromatic

 smoke filled the room, drifting out through a hole in the sharply raked ceiling.

 With two young villagers supporting him under either arm, Ijaju settled into a

 resting squat close by the motionless xenologist's head. Solinna assumed the

 lesser position, at the human's feet. Chanting and waving pucici fronds, they

 set their respective healing stones down in front of them. These were typically

 unimpressive lumps of the same glassy green material Fawn had seen before.

 The chanting continued without a break, monotonous and uninspiring. Waving at

 the smoke, she frequently stepped outside for some fresh air and sunshine. No

 one could give her an idea of how long the ceremony might last. She knew that by

 nightfall her companion's body would be demanding fluids even if he couldn't

 come right out and ask for them. That would mean a return trip to the station

 for the necessary equipment. Whether it interfered with the healing ceremony or

 not, she had to at least get some sustaining glucose solution into him.

 She intercepted Ascela as the big person was bounding past. "I can't see that

 anything is happening or that this is doing Pu'il any good. When does the

 healing start?"

 The weather stone master eyed her sympathetically. At least, Fawn thought it was

 sympathetically. Her knowledge of Parramati expressions was less than perfect.

 "The healing has already begun, F'an." She took one of Fawn's hands in hers, the

 long fingers wrapping completely around the smaller human hand, the middle one

 twice. That gesture, at least, needed no interpreting. "They are seeking the

 right road. Challenging or otherwise interrupting them may divert them from

 their course and make the healing more difficult."

 Frustrated and less than reassured, Fawn debated whether to call a halt to the

 ceremony and have Pulickel returned to the station. Assuming he'd shown no

 improvement by then, she'd have no choice but to call for a medevac. Her

 options were limited by his condition.

 She ducked back into the longhouse, waving at the pungent smoke. His color was

 unchanged, which meant that it was still not good, but otherwise he appeared

 physically healthy. While this could not be allowed to go on for days,

 recalling the effectiveness of the planting ceremony convinced her to give the

 Parramati healers until the following morning. At that time she would have no

 choice but to have Pulickel evacuated to Ophhlia.

 Meanwhile she could only try to contain her frustration and nurture a hope that

 she didn't feel. With a start, she realized how much she missed Pulickel's quiet

 confidence, his assurance that any problem could be solved, any obstacle

 overcome. What she had initially perceived as blind stubbornness she now saw as

 conviction born of experience and knowledge.

 Maybe he wasn't the liveliest or most entertaining of companions&#8209;but he was

 human. Once more she had only aliens for company. She found that she'd grown

 used to conversing in terranglo again. She even missed his implied insults.

 She doubted if analysis of the stones he'd taken would have provided any clues

 to his present condition. It did not matter in any event because they had been

 returned to their respective stone masters. By now she'd seen many of the sacred

 stones. Irrespective of function and while differing in size, all were similar

 in shape and composition. Even had they been available for analysis, she doubted

 they would have provided the necessary answers.

 Night had crept in quietly and the Torrelauapans had prepared and consumed the

 evening meal. Too troubled to be interested in food, she had declined polite

 invitations to join them. Bathed in torchlight, she stood outside the longhouse

 listening to the chanting from within. It did not seem to have changed much, if

 at all. In her mind she had begun to compose the evacuation request that would

 have to be sent to Ophhlia in the morning.

 She forced herself to chew a couple of concentrate bars and drink some

 supplement&#8209;enhanced juice. It wouldn't do Pulickel any good to let her own

 system run down. A glance at her chronometer suggested it was time to make yet

 another check on the xenologist's condition. Knowing in advance what it would

 be, she took a deep breath and bent low to reenter the longhouse.

 She'd grown semiused to the smoke, and it no longer stung her lungs as badly as

 the first couple of times. What she saw through the lingering haze snapped her

 out of her lethargy faster than any energy bar.

 Ijaju and Solinna had moved. Instead of squatting at Pulickel's head and feet,

 they now faced each other across his chest. Each held arms straight out toward

 one another, the fingers not quite touching. Ijaju's trembled slightly but did

 not falter.

 Resting beneath their hovering hands on Pulickel's chest was a single vitreous

 mass: their respective healing stones fused to become one. From it emanated an

 intense halo of pinkish&#8209;green incandescence that had spread out to infuse the

 motionless xenologist's entire body. The light was brighter than that of the

 torches outside, brighter than that put out by the portable illuminator she

 carried in her backpack. So intense was it that his features were partly

 obscured, as if by a translucent pinkgreen wave. The concentrated effulgence

 cast strange shadows on the squatting bodies of the attendant stone masters.

 Afraid of disturbing them, she tiptoed inside and edged slowly along the

 interior wall until she found a place where she could see everything clearly. As

 she stared, Pulickel's body twitched sharply. Not adrenaline shock, she decided,

 but something else, something much deeper. He began to moan then, and it was the

 most horrible sound she'd ever heard emerge from a human throat. A shiver ran

 like ice water down her spine, and it took a considerable effort of will for

 her to keep from rushing forward and terminating the ceremony. All that stopped

 her was the realization that the stone masters had managed to induce a

 reaction, albeit a terrible one.

 The moan changed to a high keening, sharp and measured. It was repeated at

 unpredictable intervals as the chanting rose to fever pitch. She stood

 motionless, unable to decide whether to rush forward, reach for her medikit, or

 flee. Ascela's warning loomed at the forefront of her consciousness. If she

 interrupted, the stone masters might have to start all over again. She didn't

 know if Pulickel could take that. Hell, she thought, she didn't know if she

 could take it.

 Several Parramati big persons pushed their way into the room with

 uncharacteristic abruptness. Usually they were unfailingly courteous, but this

 time they ignored her as if she weren't there. So intent were they on their

 purpose that she was convinced they would have shoved her aside had she been

 blocking the doorway.

 While Solinna sustained the chant, Ijaju leaned forward and grasped the

 conjoined stones with both hands. As he did so he barked instructions to the new

 arrivals. At that moment he seemed not ancient, but young and vigorous.

 The Parramati clutched Pulickel's flailing arms and legs and held him down. One

 did her best to keep his head from banging against the thick mat and the floor

 beneath. Meanwhile that hideous keening continued to issue from the

 xenologist's throat.

 As Fawn stared wide&#8209;eyed, the wailing began to soften and fade, the violent

 thrusting and thrashing of limbs to lessen. Pulickel's movements grew less

 pronounced, the terror in his throat less compelling. Then, with a deep sigh,

 his entire being seemed to relax and slump back against the mat.

 Solinna bent forward and put her six fingers on the stone. The radiance vanished

 and the mass came apart in her hands, separating once more into two dull green

 lumps. Taking hers, she rose and moved to the right side of the longhouse.

 Ascela and Massapapu helped Ijaju to his feet while Osiwivi reverently picked up

 the remaining stone.

 Something wonderful had happened in the longhouse, Fawn knew. Something that had

 very little to do with burning herbs and traditional chants and a great deal to

 do with a couple of seemingly static bits of rock.

 Approaching tentatively, she confronted the exhausted senior healer. Ijaju

 responded with the Parramati equivalent of a smile, more subtle than the

 analogous human expression but distinctive and &#8209;recognizable nonetheless. He

 continued to lean on the two Torrelauapan big persons for support.

 "Your friend will be alive now."

 She blinked uncertainly. "I don't understand. He's been alive all along."

 The venerable healer turned to look at the prone form of the xenologist, whose

 eyes were closed for the first time since the Vouneans had brought him back into

 the station.

 "No. He was not alive. His form was here, but the part of him that constitutes

 life was elsewhere, lost between here and the bad place where he was." Wizened

 slitted eyes gazed up at her. "He had started back down the proper return road,

 but somewhere along the way that part of him slipped off and could not find its

 way back on. Solinna and I had to help him back onto the road."

 It didn't make any sense, Fawn thought. But then, very little had since

 Pulickel's signal had vanished from the skimmer's pickup. Stepping past the

 healer, she knelt close to her companion and put a hand on his right shoulder.

 "Pulickel? Pulickel Tomochelor, can you hear me?"

 There was an extended moment of awful nothing. Then he blinked, opened his eyes,

 and turned his head toward her. For an instant, the briefest of instants, she

 felt that his gaze focused not on her but on something behind her. Behind his

 eyes there was a flash of panic the likes of which she'd never seen before. Then

 it was gone, replaced by fond recognition, and she knew he was looking only at

 her. He smiled weakly.

 "Hello, Fawn Seaforth. It's good to see you again."

 "Good to see you, too." She squeezed his shoulder. "What happened?"

 "Where am I?" Pushing himself up on his elbows, he surveyed his surroundings.

 "Torrelauapa. I had to bring you here to bring you back."

 With her hand at his back he was able to sit up all the way. "Do they know about

 the stones I took?" he asked in terranglo.

 She nodded. "They've taken them back. I never saw either one, but they say they

 were responsible for what happened to you. When they brought you into the

 station you were completely comatose."

 "When they brought me in?" He blinked at her. "You didn't pick me up in the

 skimmer?"

 "I looked but I couldn't find you. Even your emergency locator was down." She

 fumbled with her backpack, seeking the medikit. "You still haven't told me what

 happened. The Parramati say that you used the stones to travel down a bad road."

 She handed him a couple of energy tablets, which he promptly chewed up and

 swallowed.

 "I was seen taking the second stone. They came after me, and I ran. I remember

 tripping and falling. The stones must have been thrown together when I fell,

 because I remember a light coming from my backpack. I remember..." His voice

 trailed away, his eyes unfocused, and he shook himself back to awareness.

 "I'll tell you everything when we get back to the station. At least, I'll tell

 you as much of it as I can recall." A shudder passed through him.

 "Cold?" she inquired solicitously. Within the longhouse, the temperature

 matched the humidity.

 "Only spiritually. I saw&#8209;I saw some things I'm not sure I want to tell you

 about. Or try to remember. There are events I'd rather forget. That I'm going to

 have to work hard at forgetting."

 "While the Parramati were using the healing stones on you, you made

 some&#8209;&#8209;sounds. I'm not so sure I want to know what inspired them either."

 "Healing stones. I didn't know ..." He winced, his face contorting. His

 expression was drawn. "I don't feel so good."

 "I'm not surprised. Can you stand?"

 "One way to find out."

 With her assistance he rose shakily to his feet, but he was able to stand and

 take steps without help.

 "You can't walk all the way back to the station. Not in the shape you're in."

 She was unshakable in her opinion of his condition. "You haven't had anything to

 eat since the day before yesterday."

 "Two days." He pondered this.

 "I'm sure Ascela and the others will be willing to carry you back. Or I can go

 and return with the skimmer."

 "You're right. I'd best not rush anything." He eyed the attendant Parramati.

 "Maybe I could get something to eat besides energy tablets and concentrate

 bars."

 "Sure. Meanwhile you'd better take it easy or you're liable to keel over and

 hurt yourself."

 He licked dry lips. "I don't feel like racing any of the village sprinters, if

 that's what's concerning you. But there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with

 my appetite." Again the gentle, familiar mule, which she appreciated now more

 than ever.

 "Funny," he told her as she put the request for food to Ascela, "how in spite of

 whatever trauma the mind may suffer, the body responds with its own demands.

 Hunger, thirst, the need for warmth: some things are beyond shock. What have you

 got there?"

 She held out her hand to him. "More concentrates." She urged him to take them.

 "Until real food arrives."

 He nodded and took the thin, foil&#8209;wrapped bars. When his bare fingers touched

 her own she started slightly.

 "You're cold, Pulickel."

 "Too few calories and too much emotion."

 Her fingers wrapped around his and he smiled as he squeezed back, but the usual

 wiry strength was absent.

 They spent the night in the village. Pulickel ate everything that was placed

 before him and asked for more. Fearful of overloading his stressed system, Fawn

 rationed his food and drink accordingly.

 It had been a long time&#8209;a very long time&#8209;since he'd been mothered, and while he

 had a hard time thinking of Fawn Seaforth as maternal, he found himself warmed

 by the attention nonetheless.

 Not until midmorning of the following day, and not until after he'd demonstrated

 to her satisfaction that he was capable of sustained physical exertion, did they

 start the long hike back to base. He snacked on concentrated field rations all

 the way and ran half a dozen programs through the food processor as soon as they

 entered the station. Just when it seemed that his bulging belly was about to

 explode, he declared with great satisfaction that he was finally sated.

 Retiring to the main lounge, he settled into the same couch on which he'd lain

 comatose the previous day and tried to give her some impression of his

 experiences.

 She listened to it all. Initial disbelief gave way to gradual, awed acceptance.

 It was too fantastical for her prosaic associate to have imagined, too rich in

 detail for him to have invented. Outside the realm of logic and reason, it

 hewed consistently to a frenzied, crazed internal logic all its own. For more

 than an hour Pulickel played the caterpillar and she was Alice.

 "They were some kind of traveling stones." In contrast to his desperate downing

 of liquids earlier that day, he sipped judiciously from the mug on the table in

 front of him.

 She eyed him cautiously. "So what you're saying is that they transported you to

 another part of Senisran?"

 He found that he was able to laugh. "No, not to another part of Senisran."

 Her incredulity was boosted. "You're not saying that they sent you offworid?"

 Leaning forward, he crossed his arms over his lap. "I'm not only saying that

 they took me offworld, I'm saying that they sent me to worlds that seemed to

 have no place in the normal scheme of existence." For a brief moment his eyes

 looked haunted. "And once, to a place that not only wasn't normal, it wasn't

 even a world."

 Slowly she sat back in her chair and regarded him silently. "Even if the stones

 aren't stones," she said finally, "and are something more, they're not big

 enough to contain the power to do something like that."

 "I agree. They must key or otherwise activate a larger device somewhere else.

 Buried beneath the village, perhaps, or on some other part of the island. It

 has to be the same for all the other stones. They only activate specific

 functions. The actual instigating mechanisms must be sited elsewhere. Maybe not

 even on Torrelau, or within the boundaries of the archipelago. There's an awful

 lot of Senisran that's yet to be explored, and I'm just thinking of islands and

 atolls. The extensive shallow submerged plains have hardly been touched." He

 shifted his position on the couch.

 "Ophhlia and the other humanx bases are swarming with oceanographers,

 xenologists, geologists, and the like. Nobody's looking for relics of a vanished

 civilization any more because the initial survey teams insisted there was no

 evidence of any. Well, I think we have incontrovertible proof to the contrary.

 Functional proof, no less."

 She crossed her legs, another kind of functional proof that he always delighted

 in observing. "I don't suppose that in spite of all the convincing detail to

 your story you could have just fallen, hit your head on a rock, and

 hallucinated the whole business?"

 "Of course I could have. Don't you think the possibility's occurred to me?" He

 finished his drink. "But I don't think I did. There was a clarity to every

 moment of it, Fawn, a sureness, that reeked of reality. Even during those

 moments when I thought I was going crazy."

 She was thoughtful for a while before responding. "All right. Deranged as it

 seems, let's assume for a moment that this all happened for real, just as you

 describe it. When combined, the stones you had in your possession serve as, or

 trigger, some kind of interstellar transport mechanism. We either need to find

 the device or ascribe the entire business to magic."

 "Magic science, science magic." He shrugged. "This experience has moved me

 beyond semantics, Fawn. Long ago humans learned how to slap two stones together

 to strike sparks and make fire. Now we point the appropriate device, and fire

 goes where we want it. Somebody else has learned how to slap two stones together

 and cast themselves between the stars. It's all a matter of knowing what stones

 to use. Of knowing the right roads, as the Parramati would say."

 "Find how the stones connect to the larger mechanism," she surmised, "and we'll

 find the mechanism itself. Wave&#8209;form contact."

 "Maybe." He laughed sharply. "It certainly isn't being done by wire. Try

 explaining vit to an aboriginal. He'll gawk into space trying to locate the

 pictures that appear on the receiver. That's what we're doing here: staring into

 space trying to find something whose characteristics we don't have the knowledge

 to define. We've found the needle, but the haystack's gone missing."

 "I wouldn't bet that it's elsewhere on Senisran," she told him. "No other native

 society that we know of uses anything like the stones."

 "If there's some kind of large concealed device located in the archipelago, it

 must be heavily screened or the survey drones would have picked it up, just as

 they reported on the rare earth deposits all the commercial interests in Ophhlia

 are so anxious to have a go at."

 "Then you and I sure aren't going to find it without Parramati help." She rose

 and began to pace back and forth in front of him.

 "You talk to them." He stared out the line of windows. "I'm already considered a

 possible thief."

 "It's not as bad as all that. You're not Parramati, so you're not held to the

 same standards they are." She smiled knowingly. "I've already explained to them

 your rationale for `borrowing' the stones. They're not happy about it, but

 they're not ready to dismember you, either. You see, our kusum is different from

 theirs, and that's something they can understand. They consider you misguided

 and inept instead of depraved."

 He sniffed. "I suppose I should be thankful."

 "Of course," she added, "it also means they're not going to leave you alone with

 even the smallest, most insignificant sacred stone lest your misdirected kusum

 gets the better of you again. But your head should be safe in their company."

 "That's a great relief. Keeping all my body parts in one place should facilitate

 my continued work here." Smiling thinly, he turned away from the window and back

 to his associate. "So where do we start? By questioning your friend Ascela?

 Jorana, perhaps, or this ancient Vounean Ijaju?"

 She chewed reflectively on her lower lip. "With Jorana, I think. Of all the big

 people on Torrelau, he's always been the most patient and accommodating."

 "We'll need some patience of our own if we're going to find an answer to all

 this." His voice dropped slightly. "The stones are the keys to the roads, which

 link individual `spaces' in the Parramati mind. Combining the stones and

 handling them in specific ways make the stones work, and these ways are part of

 the oral tradition of kusum. It all fits together very well. If only it didn't

 smack so much of the incredible." He turned wistful.

 "I wonder if the Parramati have used the stones to go traveling, if they've

 visited some of the places I visited." A cloud came over his expression. "Not

 all of them, 1 hope."

 She shook her head. "I don't know. I've never heard them speak of such a thing."

 "I can understand why." He gathered himself. "We must try to extract all the

 information we can, but if someone offers to `send' us somewhere by way of

 demonstration, I think I will pass. I've had all the demonstration of these

 stones' capacity that I want."

 "If you're right about what happened to you, Pulickel, then I still don't

 understand how they found you."

 "It's simple. They know the roads, I don't. I imagine it's all a matter of

 knowing how to read the indicators along the way, the street signs. Not only

 couldn't I do that, I didn't even know I was on a road. Only that I was

 traveling, and lost." He stared hard at her, and there was something forever

 lost in his gaze.

 "I very badly want to find out how all this works, but not at the risk of

 getting lost again."

 Chapter Fifteen

 

 Fawn was right. Jorana was forthcoming and responsive when they questioned him

 about the transportation stones. As near as she could tell, the big person

 wasn't holding anything back or attempting to sidestep their queries. The

 Parramati could be evasive in conversation, and a big person like Jorana more so

 than most, but he made no attempt to circumvent their questions, answering

 everything in a direct and forthright manner.

 "The stones have always been with the Parramati, the Parramati have always been

 with the stones. They are the foundation of kusum."

 "Are there stones and stone masters on all the islands of the archipelago?" Fawn

 asked.

 "Not all, but many. They have been here for as long as people can remember. They

 have been here for as long as people have been."

 The three of them were seated on thick woven mats in Jorana's longhouse, deep

 bowls of fruit juice in front of them.

 "So the stones were just lying around when the first Parramati came here?" Using

 both hands in the accepted manner, Pulickel sipped from his bowl, swallowing the

 pith suspended in the liquid and politely spitting the seeds into his closed

 palm.

 "Yes. It is told that Kureo'o'oa, of the original Parramati, was the first

 person to understand the working of a stone. He found a stone that, when

 combined with another, brought all manner of good things to eat close to his

 boat, so that he might catch them. These were the first fishing stones. After

 that, other first people tried many different stones. Some did nothing, others

 led to different roads."

 "Hundreds of years of trial and error," Fawn whispered. "Maybe thousands."

 "Over time, more and more stones became known to us, and their workings a part

 of our kusum. Some of these original Parramati became the first stone masters.

 Some vanished, never to be seen again. Some died." Jorana's barks and yips rose

 and fell euphoniously in the still, humid air of the longhouse.

 "Are all stone masters considered to be big persons?" Pulickel asked.

 "Yes, but not all big persons are stone masters." Jorana's lips rippled along

 the sides of his long snout. "The stone master legacy is passed down within

 families, within clans. They are the ones who have charge of the stones, they

 are the ones who know the roads."

 Feeling very self&#8209;conscious, Pulickel nonetheless asked the next question. "And

 no family or clan tries to take another's stones?"

 "What good is a stone to one who does not know its road?" With the long middle

 finger of his right hand, the big person stirred patterns in his juice.

 "Besides, the stones are brought together for the good of all. One stone master

 helps another, just as big persons help small persons. When needed, stone

 masters from one island will assist those of another. Torrelau is a big island,

 with many villages and stone masters. We are always ready to help Parramati who

 live on smaller islands, even if it is only one family that lives by fishing

 from a sandbar."

 Pulickel glanced significantly at Fawn before asking the question they had been

 leading up to all morning. "What about the transportation stones?" A group of

 youngsters outside was playing the elaborate Parramati version of leapfrog.

 Occasionally a deep thump would echo through the longhouse as one of them

 ricocheted off the exterior wall.

 "Like the ones you borrowed to try to study?" It was difficult to tell when one

 was being teased by a Parramati. Formal sarcasm had no place in their

 conversation. "Sometimes the masters of such stones will use them to explore

 certain roads. From these travels they bring back fresh knowledge, new ways of

 seeing and thinking. It is only for big persons that they do this, for such

 learning is wasted on middle and small persons. If what they learn proves

 useful, it is made a part of kusum."

 "Mat's all very interesting," Fawn agreed. "Do the masters of these stones use

 them to travel frequently?"

 "No. It is difficult and can be dangerous." For the first time, Jorana showed

 reluctance to elaborate. "Such stones are for use only in great emergencies."

 "And what would qualify as an appropriate emergency?" Pulickel leaned forward

 intently.

 Jorana considered. "An incurable sickness. A war that the Parramati were losing.

 Anything that threatened kusum."

 Was that an implied threat? the xenologist wondered. He didn't see how the

 transportation stones could be used against the Commonwealth presence.

 Apparently Jorana thought such a thing was possible. It was an unpleasant

 thought, one they could come back to later if the need arose.

 "This Koreo'o'oa and the other first persons," Fawn was saying, "they must have

 been very brave people."

 Holding up the outside finger of each hand in the accepted manner, Jorana

 sipped from his bowl. "They were. I wish I could have known them. Since I

 cannot, I honor their memories."

 "The sacred stones." Fawn shifted nervously on her mat. "I don't mean to commit

 blasphemy. Please remember that there is much of Parramati kusum I am still

 ignorant of, but&#8209;has anyone ever tried to break one of them open, to study the

 inside?"

 Jorana's pupils parted wide and his long dark lips drew back in horror. "No! It

 would be a violation of the stone. Why would anyone think of doing such a

 thing?"

 Fawn hastened to reassure the big person. "I didn't mean to suggest that it

 should be done. I only wondered if it had happened. By accident, perhaps."

 Jorana seemed mollified. "To my knowledge, no stone has ever been broken open.

 Either by design or by mischance." He looked sharply at Pulickel. "That was not

 what you were going to do, friend Pu'il?"

 "Who, me?" The xenologist was being at least half truthful. Had he succeeded in

 bringing the two stones he'd taken back to the station, initial studies would

 have preserved their structural integrity so that they could have been returned

 to their owners intact.

 Fawn hurriedly changed the subject. "Down through the centuries the Parramati

 have found hundreds of stones. Do you ever find any unmastered ones any more?"

 "Not in several lifetimes," Jorana admitted. "Some think that the Parramati have

 identified all the sacred stones that there are to be found."

 "Are there any transportation stones on Mallatyah?" Pulickel asked tersely,

 thinking of the AAnn.

 The big person's reply was not reassuring. "Of course. Mallatyah is a large

 island, also, and home to the masters of as many stones as we of Torrelau."

 They paused as one of Jorana's several wives brought food and filled their

 bowls. Pulickel recognized cured chierofa, a molluscan delicacy from the outer

 reef. When chewed, it released a taste that suggested a jalapenoed snail. He

 popped a strip into his mouth, bit down, and tensed slightly as flavor exploded

 against his palate. Fawn's tolerance for hot and spicy being considerably less

 than his own, she chose something blander from among the offerings.

 Maybe it was the stimulating food, but a half&#8209;forgotten question suddenly

 occurred to him. "Jorana, has anyone ever tried to bring together more than two

 stones at a time?"

 Their host did not try to conceal his shock. "Of course not! There is no telling

 what would happen. Stones are always used in combination of twos."

 Perhaps it was the delectable fire in his mouth, but Pulickel couldn't let the

 matter drop. "Well, then, has anyone ever tried to use more than two stones

 together in combinations of twos? Four at a time, say, or six?"

 Jorana was staring at him out of gold&#8209;flecked eyes. "Why would anyone do such a

 thing? How much can a person eat? How healthy can they be made? How deeply in

 love can they fall? No, to my knowledge such a thing has never been tried. If it

 was, those who did so did not survive to speak to others of the consequences."

 Jorana did nothing to hide his discomfiture. Unashamed, he found the concept

 distasteful.

 Ignoring their host's unease and Fawn's warning glare, Pulickel pressed on.

 "Four fishing stones might bring in better eating. Six healing stones might

 extend one's lifespan."

 Despite his discomfort, Jorana found himself speculating. Impiety, Pulickel

 knew, is ever a subject of fascination to the faithful.

 "It would violate kusum," the big person finally declared, as if that put an end

 to the matter. "We know how the stones are to be used, and they are to be used

 by twos."

 "Put how do you know that that's the only way they can be used?"

 "Because that is what kusum tells us," the Parramati replied, closing the circle

 of logic. "In this manner the stones have served us well. We are not about to

 tempt fate by going against kusum in the fashion of the Eolurro or the

 Simisant." Pulickel expected the usual lecture on kusum violation to follow.

 Instead, Jorana looked frightened.

 "No one could say what would happen if many stones were conjoined. No one would

 be responsible for the consequences."

 "Are you so sure there would be consequences?" Pulickel watched the native

 unswervingly. Jorana looked up sharply but said nothing.

 Fawn turned the conversation to more prosaic and less controversial matters, and

 soon had their host relaxed again. By the time the two humans were ready to

 leave, he was once more his usual composed, affable self.

 They stood outside the entrance to the longhouse, squinting in the bright light

 of midday.

 "We thank you for taking the time to answer our many questions." Fawn underlined

 her words with the appropriate gestures. "You have been a great help to us and

 we appreciate it."

 Jorana's fingers fluttered complaisantly. "The sharing of knowledge is never a

 burden, always a pleasure. You are welcome anytime."

 As they turned to depart, Pulickel switched to terranglo. "This isn't enough.

 Somehow we have to obtain a stone for examination."

 Fawn's gaze narrowed as she shouldered her pack. "Didn't you learn your lesson

 last time? No stone master is going to willingly relinquish possession of his or

 her specimen, and because of your little escapade neither one of us is going to

 be allowed near one unsupervised. Forget it, Pu'il. We're going to have to

 study them from a distance and do the best we can."

 He looked up at her as they made their way out of the village, heading for the

 trail that would take them over the barrier ridge and back to base. "You know

 that's inadequate, Fawn."

 "Yeah, I know. Put I'm damned if I can think of a way around it." As they

 entered the jungle she turned her shirt evaporator up a notch. "Watch that

 cluster of vines. Shelath stingers sometimes nest in those." At her urging, he

 gave the dense knot of yellow&#8209;brown foliage a wide berth. "I don't think even

 the ever&#8209;courteous, ever understanding Parramati will be as forgiving if we're

 caught trying to steal stones a second time."

 "Not stealing," he reminded her with that familiar fey smile. "Borrowing."

 "I wouldn't count on that to save me again, either," she warned him. "The

 Parramati have fought plenty of wars with their neighbors, some of them in

 recent times. They're quite capable of violence."

 He stepped over a narrow gully. Small spotted creatures peeped querulously in

 the shallow water below. "I don't see that we have any choice. The alternative

 is to call in a full&#8209;scale research team. If we can't bring the necessary

 equipment to a stone, we have to bring a stone to the equipment."

 "I know, I know. Don't you think I'd love to run Ululiapa's earth stone through

 the station's geoscope?" She jumped over a fallen log that he ducked beneath. "I

 don't want a hundred specialists in here, crawling all over the archipelago."

 "We've already discussed what would happen to the stones in that case," he

 reminded her. "The Parramati would take them to sea in their outriggers and dump

 them in the nearest oceanic trench. Our choices are limited."

 "What choices?" she muttered. "All we can do is wait for them to use some of the

 stones, try to wangle an invitation to the relevant ceremony, and make what

 recordings we can."

 "There has to be another way. Somehow we have to convince, bribe, or frighten a

 stone master into letting us borrow a stone. Surely there's one who's willing to

 bend kusum just a little. A young one, perhaps, not yet as steeped in tradition

 as senior big persons like Jorana and Ascela. What if we offered to let them

 participate in the process of analysis, brought them right into the station?

 That way their stone would never be out of their sight."

 Fawn looked doubtful. "Won't work. Remember, stone utilization is a tandem

 process. No stone master does anything with a stone without consulting at least

 one colleague. Sure, we might tempt a young stone master. But they won't do

 anything without first seeking advice from another."

 He pushed leaves aside. "How can you be so sure, if it's never been tried?"

 She looked back at him. "You never give up on a line of reasoning, do you? When

 you find one you like, you worry it like a dog. Not only do you still think you

 can borrow a stone, now you want to borrow a stone master, too."

 "I'm always glad when my aims are perceived so readily." He grinned up at her.

 "You know this trail as well as I do by now. How come you always let me lead?"

 "Because you're bigger, are more familiar with the potentially dangerous flora

 here than I am, and can push all the vegetation out of the way for me."

 "Ah." She frowned uncertainly, then set the matter aside. He was being truthful,

 of course. She just wasn't sure he was enumerating all the truths.

 Chapter Sixteen

 

 Essasu RRGVB looked around the meeting room. Piarai was present, along with the

 two ranking survivors of the ill&#8209;fated expedition to Torrelau. The memory of

 that failure still burned in his mind, as he knew it must in theirs.

 Since returning, he'd immersed himself in everything the staff xenologists had

 been able to find about the sacred stones of the Parramati. Taken together, this

 constituted a singularly uninformative and inadequate body of work.

 "You've all seen the latest report from our native contacts on Torrelau. What

 do you make of this talk of the male human using stones to take a journey to

 far&#8209;off places?"

 The assembled underlings exchanged glances and gestures. It was Yaarinda who

 spoke. "We now know that certain so&#8209;called sacred stones, when manipulated by

 those Parramati trained in their use, can displace individuals in space. What

 the extent of this displacement may be we still do not know, but it is real."

 Her hands gestured second&#8209;degree importance colored with danger. "Several of us

 saw this happen."

 Piarai continued. "It appears that at some unknown time in the past, historic

 Parramati acquired the use of advanced technology whose origins remain for us to

 discover. I admit that these stones do not look like much, but in this instance

 it clearly is dangerous to confuse appearance with function. Through the use of

 these `stones,' two companions were significantly displaced. If this new

 information is true, then it appears that the human was similarly transported

 but was able to return."

 "There is a greatness to be learned here," Essasu proclaimed. "We must find the

 truth of it. All our other work now becomes secondary. Energies must be

 redirected." He turned his gaze on each of them in turn. " Our first priority

 must be to acquire as many of these stones as possible for detailed study."

 "According to our, information from Torrelau, there are dangers involved in such

 acquisition." Requesting permission with a gesture, Vuikak settled into a

 resting lounge.

 Essasu glanced at him. "According.to the same information, only if certain

 stones are allowed to come in contact with one another. Apparently the human

 was careless. We are not careless. We will not repeat his mistake."

 "The natives who have charge of the stones, these so called stone masters, will

 not surrender their possessions freely," Piarai pointed out.

 Essasu executed a curt gesture of indifference. "Then we will shoot a few. That

 should persuade the others. If we keep our distance from the stones that cause

 spatial displacement, they cannot harm us."

 "What kind of stones do you wish us to obtain first?" Yaarinda leaned back in

 her lounge, her long tail tracing abstract patterns on the sand&#8209;carpeted floor.

 "Anything that hints of real power. After these transportation stones, weather

 stones would be an excellent next choice. Now that we are aware of the stones'

 true nature, I would be interested to discover if there is any connection

 between the native weather stones and these fascinating and damnable mastorms."

 Piarai blinked both eyelids. "You think the aboriginals may use the stones to

 control the weather?"

 Essasu showed many teeth. "If certain stones can displace individuals in space,

 it is not so great a reach to imagine that others may displace clouds and rain.

 After what we witnessed on Torrelau, I believe nothing can be ruled out."

 Yaarinda looked thoughtful. "I wonder where the human was displaced to. The

 report does not specify. It says only that he was unconscious when he was

 found."

 "Even if it was from one side of a room to another, that is enough," Essasu

 observed impatiently. "It is the fact of the displacement that is important. The

 technology to accomplish such a feat has been a dream of imperial scientists

 since the dawn of modern physics."

 Piarai rose. "With your consent then, Commander, I will organize a group to

 obtain several stones. With the natives' consent if possible, by other means if

 they prove recalcitrant. How many do you wish us to acquire?"

 "As many as possible, obviously. Half a dozen would make a nice beginning. We

 don't wish to leave the Mallatyahans stone&#8209;poor. Employ everyone who can be

 spared. This supersedes all other research, and a show of strength may make it

 easier to deal peacefully with the locals."

 "We could request reinforcements from Chraara," Vuikak suggested.

 "No. The humanx monitor all comings and goings from headquarters, just as we

 record their activities around Ophhlia. We do not want to give the impression

 that any unusual or extraordinary activity is taking place here. We will do this

 as quietly and quickly as possible."

 Yaarinda contemplated the ceiling. "Perhaps the natives can be persuaded to

 cooperate and the need to employ less flexible means of persuasion will be

 obviated."

 "It is to be hoped." Essasu added a gesture indicative of third&#8209;degree

 amusement. "We have one advantage already. We have not tried to `borrow' any of

 the sacred stones, so the Mallatyahans do not regard us as potential thieves.

 For this moral preeminence, however temporary, we have the male human to thank."

 "Assuming we are successful in obtaining several of the stones," Vuikak

 commented, "what do we do when the Mallatyahans come seeking their return?"

 Essasu displayed indifference. "They cannot penetrate compound security. We will

 tell them that the stones are not being harmed and will be returned to them when

 we have concluded our tests. If they are unhappy with those conditions, that is

 unfortunate. What can they do? If they come bearing the stones that cause

 displacement, we will keep them at a distance with weapons. If they send bad

 weather against us, assuming they are capable of such a feat, this installation

 has survived the worst of many mastorms. Along with imperial power, we will

 teach them that futility leads to patience.

 "When we have finished with the stones, they will be returned undamaged."

 "Can we guarantee that?" Yaarinda wanted to know.

 The station commander eyed her evenly. "I am Essasu RRGVB. I do not give

 guarantees to aboriginals." His attention returned to his second&#8209;in&#8209;command.

 "Now then. What do we know of stone types, of their locations, and of the

 potential malleability of their masters?"

 Piarai looked to Yaarinda, who responded. "We have some information, though

 evidently not as much as the humans. This can be increased."

 "We do not need to know the location of every sacred stone on Mallatyah," Essasu

 declared. "Only sufficient for our purposes."

 "We could make a few stone masters our 'guests,"' Vuikak suggested, "until they

 have told us all that they know about the workings of their stones."

 "Only if necessary. I have more confidence in our own specialists." Essasu

 turned to gaze out a narrow groundlevel window. "Besides, I grow tired of sly

 natives and their devious mannerisms. They delight in utilizing their kusum for

 obfuscation. I prefer the language and response of advanced instrumentation."

 He turned back to his subordinates.

 "We will proceed with or without their cooperation, and expend no special

 efforts to secure the latter. I will brook no delay in revelation." His eyes

 flashed. "My fellow nye, I feel that we are on the brink of discoveries that

 could alter the balance of power between the Empire and the Commonwealth."

 Seeing the looks in their eyes, he realized that his explication was teetering

 on the grandiose, and moderated his ensuing rhetoric accordingly.

 "Stones first, then speculation."

 "Yes," Yaarinda agreed. "Let us embark with modest expectations."

 The AAnn force was prepared to kill to acquire the requisite stones, but this

 proved unnecessary. Advanced search&#8209;and&#8209;detection technology allowed them to

 bypass occupied buildings and concentrate on those whose inhabitants were

 elsewhere.

 From a nondescript house in a temporarily deserted village situated high up on

 the north flank of Mallatyah's tallest peak, they plucked a fine big weather

 stone. No one leaped out of the forest to challenge the camouflaged

 tech&#8209;soldiers. A storage but on the edge of terraced fields lying fallow yielded

 a nice growing stone. Again they were not confronted.

 By the time Essasu was satisfied, the sun had long since set. In addition to the

 weather and growing stone, they had accumulated a pair of healing stones, a

 fishing stone, and three transportation or traveling stones. Or so their

 information insisted. All were carefully packed in thickly padded individual

 containers and distributed among the members of the group. Essasu was taking no

 chances on having two stones come together accidentally.

 "It was almost too easy." Vuikak shouldered his own pack effortlessly. "I think

 we could have seized half the stones on the island."

 Essasu's mood was decidedly upbeat, all the more so because everything had gone

 so well compared to the earlier disaster at Torrelau. "Yes. I suspect that word

 of the human male's transgression has yet to reach here. Consequently, the

 locals cannot conceive of someone ignorant of the relevant roads helping

 themselves to a sacred stone. So they remain unguarded."

 Yaarinda had three stones in her pack, a carefully chosen mix. In a further

 effort to avoid incidents of the kind that supposedly had befallen the human, no

 member of the group carried two stones of any one type. Her camouflage suit

 kept the pack from chafing against her scales. The stones were sizable and

 heavy, but she strode along uncomplainingly under the burden. Working in the

 field, she and her colleagues frequently returned to the station carrying

 prodigious loads of specimens.

 "We must take care not to repeat the human's mistake," Piarai was reminding

 everyone for the tenth time.

 "If what was told to us is true, he was clumsy&#8209;as is the nature of humans."

 Essasu was unconcerned. "Proper care will be used. If these primitives can make

 them work, surely their operation cannot be so difficult to divine."

 "That is so," the base's second&#8209;in&#8209;command conceded.

 "I think there may actually be less here than meets the eye," Essasu continued.

 "Operation may be no more than a matter of shoving two stones together and

 giving them room. Certainly they exhibit nothing in the way of visible switches,

 controls, or touch&#8209;sensitive contact points."

 Near the rear of the column, Vuikak was considering many of the very same

 points. Once back at the station, the stones would be turned over to the base

 specialists for detailed study. As an administrator, he would be left out of the

 excitement. The stones must be simple to use. Why not try two of them out and be

 the one to receive the credit for discovering their function?

 He would avoid the potentially dangerous transport stones in favor of something

 simple, domestic. Already he felt he'd been passed over twice for promotion. At

 his present rate of advancement, with eleven clan&#8209;family designates following

 his given name, he would die of old age long before achieving a five&#8209;designate

 level like Commander Essasu.

 Unless he did something dramatic to merit exceptional notice.

 He broached the idea to Prenkip, the lowest&#8209;ranking member of the expedition.

 The technician was hesitant.

 "I do not know, Vuikak. The stones are dangerous. Better they be examined under

 controlled conditions."

 "What controlled conditions?" Vuikak was not to be denied. "The natives make use

 of them openly, with nothing in the way of visible safeguards."

 "What about what is said to have happened to the human?"

 Vuikak performed a gesture of first&#8209;degree dismissal coupled with overtones of

 disgust. "The human was stupid. We are not. Surely we can abort any reaction if

 it appears to be getting out of hand."

 Prenkip's resistance weakened. Like Vuikak, he would not be counted among those

 charged with learning the stones' secrets, and he badly wanted to see a

 demonstration of these rumored powers.

 His fellow tech pressed him. "What if the stones do nothing? What if they are no

 more than what they appear to be&#8209;the inert talismans of a primitive alien

 species? Suppose the tale of the transported human is only a fiction, designed

 to confuse and trouble us?"

 "Two members of the commanders' expedition to Torrelau did not return," Prenkip

 mumbled. "Talk is that they were killed by stones."

 Vuikak snorted in disgust. "No one believes that. The commander committed fatal

 errors. Blaming two deaths on the natives is a way of deflecting responsibility

 from himself. No doubt the missing ones drowned during the storm, or were struck

 by one of the many poisonous creatures that inhabit these islands.

 "Consider! If this is all a clever ploy by the humans, they will even as we

 speak be readying themselves to benefit from our theft of these stones. If we

 can prove that they are incapable of anything save the reflection of green

 light, we will have performed a valuable service. If not, we will be the first

 nye to descry one of their true functions."

 Prenkip pondered the possibilities. "You really think all this stone business

 may be nothing more than a human ruse to discredit us with the Mallatyahans?"

 "It makes more sense to me than tales of green rocks disappearing troopers and

 humans," Vuikak replied with fervor. "Why should we not find out for ourselves?"

 "Why not, indeed?"

 Vuikak pushed the argument home. "What is the harm in placing, say, two of the

 designated `growing' stones together? That if this is not all fiction we will be

 overwhelmed by a surfeit of fresh vegetables?"

 Finally persuaded, Prenkip gestured consent. "We should do this here, away from

 the base." Already bringing up the rear of the column, they purposely let

 themselves fall farther behind. In the fading light of evening, no one took

 notice.

 To further ensure that they would be able to carry out their experiment

 unimpeded, Vuikak unwrapped the first stone from Prenkip's pack as they walked.

 Falling behind his companion, the technician returned the favor. Shielding the

 stones from sight of their comrades with their bodies, the two AAnn examined the

 specimens.

 "See? Lumps of green glass is all they are," Vuikak insisted. "Volcanic slag,

 static and harmless."

 Prenkip had noted the labels on the respective wrappings. "You were right.

 These are growing stones. It will be fascinating to observe if they do anything

 and comparatively harmless if they do."

 "The procedure is to bring them together carefully to see if they merge. At

 least, that is what is supposed to happen."

 Prenkip turned the uneven olivine mass over in his scaly fingers. "None of the

 exposed faces appears shaped to fit into any other. I suppose we just push them

 against each other?"

 "That is the rumor." Vuikak made eye contact with the technician. "If any kind

 of reaction ensues, we pull them apart. Agreed?" Prenkip gestured understanding

 and assent.

 Out of sight of the rest of the group, they brought both masses together. A soft

 click ensued. That was all. No blinding flash of light, no aural implosion, no

 surreal distortion of reality just an ordinary&#8209;sounding click. It was exactly

 what one would expect to hear from knocking two rocks together.

 Vuikak was at once disappointed, angry, and relieved. "See?" he told his partner

 in experimentation. "I was right. This whole business of the sacred stones

 having mysterious powers is nonsense, a product of the perverse human

 imagination. They have deceived us." He lifted his gaze to the rest of the

 troop, marching stolidly along just ahead. "We must inform the commander."

 "Perhaps we performed the procedure incorrectly." Having taken so long to be

 persuaded, Prenkip wasn't quite ready to give up. "Let us try once more."

 A disgruntled Vuikak reluctantly agreed. "Very well. But it is evident that we

 have been wasting our time."

 Turning the stones so that different sides faced each other, they brought them

 into contact a second time. The result was&#8209;another click.

 "Rocks." A thoroughly disgusted Vuikak eyed the specimen he was holding.

 "Utilizing native mythology and a little imagination, the humans have fooled us

 badly. But you and I have discovered the subterfuge in time. We will tell the

 commander, and the stones can be returned to their holding places before any

 serious harm is done to our diplomatic efforts among the Parramati." He extended

 a hand to the technician. "Here&#8209;give me that useless thing!"

 So saying, and before Prenkip thought to object, Vuikak took the second stone

 and whacked it angrily against the one he already held. The resulting noise

 sounded exactly like two lumps of volcanic glass striking one another: a click

 magnified. Disdainfully he dumped both of them by the side of the narrow trail,

 onto a patch of short grassy growth.

 "I still think we may be doing something wrong." Having had promotion and glory

 waved wildly in front of him, Prenkip was now reluctant to surrender the vision.

 "What? What could we possibly be doing wrong?" Vuikak was deeply disheartened.

 "Look at these things."

 He kicked one of the stones. It rolled up against the&#8209; second and lay there,

 motionless and inert. "It is time to inform the commander." So saying, he

 raised his voice and hissed importantly.

 "Perhaps the only stones that generate unexpected effects lie on Torrelau,"

 Prenkip suggested.

 Vuikak watched as those at the rear of the column turned. "If that is the case,

 then it is up to the commander to find a means of dealing with them. Regardless,

 it does not alter our situation here. These useless rocks must still be returned

 to their owners and our status among them preserved."

 As the other members of the expedition gathered around the two unauthorized

 experimenters, Vuikak told them what had occurred. Essasu listened gravely,

 waiting until the technician had finished before commenting.

 "I should have you downgraded in rank and transferred, but it seems you have

 saved all of us a great embarrassment." He nodded in the direction of the two

 stones lying by the side of the trail. "Show me."

 Vuikak nodded. Bending, he picked up the two growing stones and brought them

 together. He did this repeatedly, without visible consequence.

 "If among the Parramati only the stones of Torrelau have the kind of hidden

 power we witnessed firsthand," Piarai whispered to his superior, "then we will

 have to obtain specimens from that island."

 Essasu nodded resignedly. "A far more difficult proposition, but not an

 impossible one. After we have returned these stones to their `masters,' we will

 return to base. Tomorrow I will consider proposals for a surreptitious

 collecting expedition to Torrelau. Now I am tired, and greatly frustrated."

 Stepping forward, he put a clawed hand on Vuikak's shoulder.

 "I will not downgrade or otherwise censor you." He glanced at Prenkip. "Either

 of you. But I cannot promote you for disobeying orders. The most I can offer is

 my personal gratitude." He withdrew the hand and turned to address the others.

 "Me stones in our possession must be taken back. We will claim they were stolen

 by agents of the humansthe agenting species needn't be identified. In gaining

 the gratefulness of the locals for their return, we may yet see some profit from

 this day's work."

 Piarai was properly admiring. "An astute turning of a regretful situation,

 Commander."

 "Thank you," Essasu hissed. "It may be that the events that unfolded before us

 that night on Torrelau had nothing to do with so&#8209;called sacred stones and were

 the result of some action or activity the source of which is still unknown to

 us. There is much we do not know about this world. From now on I will be most

 reluctant to jump to excitable conclusions about anything having to do with

 native mythology."

 Piarai was dutifully supportive. "The history of imperial exploration among

 aboriginal cultures is fraught with research that yielded little that was useful

 at first but that proved highly salutary later."

 Essasu made a casual gesture of agreement and turned away, muttering to himself.

 "Why did I not see it earlier? Some other mechanism was responsible for the

 debacle outside the human station. The humans themselves may even have been

 involved. I can imagine them enjoying a diversion at our expense. Well, we will

 uncover the truth, and then will come the reckoning." Removing the weather stone

 he was carrying, he let it fall by his feet. It bounced once, struck the two

 growing stones, and rolled to a stop.

 "Thanks to the enterprise of these two," he declared, indicating the attentive

 Prenkip and Vuikak, "we have learned something valuable and been spared much

 trouble."

 Yaarinda considered the onset of night. "Could we not wait until tomorrow to

 return the stones, Commander?"

 "I know that everyone is tired. I believe that I am more tired than most,"

 Essasu replied. "But I wish to put an end to this. We have lights and adequate

 instrumentation to allow us to find our way and retrace our steps. I will sleep

 better knowing that relations between ourselves and the people of this island

 have been maintained."

 Yaarinda bowed her head deferentially. "It shall be as you desire, Commander."

 Essasu turned away. "Piarai, you and I will return to base. There is real work

 to be done. The others can take back the stones. Yaarinda, you will take charge

 of the returning. Remember our story: they were stolen by unknown agents of

 the humans on Torrelau and we, at some danger to ourselves, succeeded in

 recovering them for our friends the Mallatyahans. We can expect them to be

 grateful."

 Removing the remaining two stones he carried from his pack, Essasu tossed them

 on the ground next to the three already there. The other members of the party

 could redistribute them as they saw fit. Piarai removed the pair of stones he

 carried and added them to the accumulated mass.

 When the last stone made contact with the small pile, the agglomeration fused

 instantly. A rush of green radiance brighter than the noonday sun burst

 violently forth, shocking Essasu's pupils into temporary blindness.

 When he was able to focus again he saw that the island had vanished, along with

 the evening sky of slate blueblack, jungle and trail, clouds and grass. All

 that remained of the familiar were his equally dazed subordinates&#8209;and the

 stones.

 They had melted together into a single misshapen mass that pulsed with energy

 the hue of newfound emeralds. It had a faint brown tint to it and hovered an

 arm's length above the ground, rotating slowly like a miniature green sun. Like

 angular, deformed planets, the helpless and bewildered members of the expedition

 orbited the consequence of their own accidental creation.

 Barely visible within the agglutinated mass was an incredibly dense network of

 interwoven black filaments and other ... things. Some of them seemed to be

 alive, or at least conveyed the illusion of life.

 "What happened?" That sounded like technician Vuikak, shouting but oddly

 muffled.

 "The stones." Piarai rotated listlessly nearby. "The stones do work, do have

 power. Everything depends on how they are combined. Sequence may be as important

 as type."

 "Roads," observed Yaarinda softly. " One needs to know the right roads."

 "There is great significance in all this." Essasu felt fight as a feather, free

 and alive. The last lingering effects of the light burst had faded and he found

 that he could see clearly all around him. Ire just wasn't sure what he was

 seeing.

 They appeared to be drifting in a vast swirling void, a silent three&#8209;dimensional

 maelstrom of green and black cloud. In the distance, prickly flashes of light

 took on peculiar shapes, like sculpted lightning. It was not true

 weightlessness, but something else. Something other.

 An obsidian coil showed itself and darted toward the lightning. One by one it

 enveloped and consumed the darting spikes, which gave every evidence of

 attempting to escape. When it was through, it gave the unmistakable impression

 of turning to face the bewildered travelers. Essasu's tongue caught in his

 throat.

 The coil twisted fiercely in upon itself and vanished into a vortex of its own

 making.

 They were not alone here, he thought to himself. Wherever here was. It did not

 feel friendly, and he was not comfortable.

 "Where are we?" One of the other technicians had begun to moan. Within her slow

 precession, her posture was indicative of grave concern.

 "We have to find our way back from this place, wherever it is." Essasu used his

 most commanding inflections, but in that place the words seemed lost and lonely.

 "We have made a mistake in judgment. It is clear that we have been transported

 by the stones. Therefore we must make use of the stones to find our way back."

 "According to the information we received," Piarai put in, "the human twisted

 the conjoined stones to activate the transport function." He spoke with some

 assurance, but this was not reflected in his expression. After all, both he and

 Essasu knew that the human had not succeeded in returning through his own

 efforts, but that he had somehow been tracked down and assisted by the stone

 masters of Torrelau.

 Nevertheless, according to the information they had acquired, exerting force on

 the melded stones had produced a reaction. But they had mingled many stones,

 Essasu knew. The human had employed only two. Might that complicate returning

 or recovery by anxious stone masters seeking the missing stones?

 He was struck by a terrible thought. According to the report, the human had been

 seen taking one of the stones. No one had observed the careful AAnn at their

 work. Could questing stone masters track the stones by themselves, or did they

 have to know who had made off with them? And if they found out, would they exert

 the efforts necessary for recovery? Would the number of individuals as well as

 the number of stones involved make recovery and return easier&#8209;&#8209;or more

 difficult?

 How long were they doomed to drift impotently before the Parraxnati of Mallatyah

 decided to come looking for their missing stones? Planning to be gone from base

 for only a day, the AAnn had brought little in the way of food and drink.

 Certainly the prospects of scavenging any life support in this place were

 remote.

 "Weocannot float like helpless bubbles while waiting for the Parramati to find

 us, as they did the human," he announced. "We must try to extricate ourselves."

 He found that by kicking he could swim toward the green mass. The intense inner

 luminescence showed no signs of dimming. "Piarai, can you reach it? Everyone,

 try to make contact!"

 "To what end?" Vuikak was disconsolate and made no effort to hide it.

 "The human was able to alter his locale by putting pressure on the ends of the

 affecting mass." Reaching the stone, Essasu grabbed hold with both hands, trying

 to dig his fingers into its substance. Sharpened claws slid off the glassy

 sides, but strong hands succeeded in obtaining a firm grip. On the opposite

 side, Piarai did the same.

 "Try to twist the ends," he instructed his second&#8209;incommand. "Try to make them

 move." Canines sliding against one another, he strained against the unyielding

 material.

 Something gave beneath his fingers. Green sparks overwhelmed his vision.

 He was standing now, no longer floating free. Piarai stood nearby, the stone

 mass resting on the ground between them. The earlier feeling of well&#8209;being had

 been replaced by a growing lethargy. A consequence of stronger gravity, he told

 himself.

 There was no sign of the other members of the expedition. Yaarinda, Vuikak&#8209;all

 gone.

 He and Piarai stood on a fiat, gravelly plain composed of sparkling black rock

 like crushed hematite. In every direction around them the horizon stretched to

 an unbroken infinity. There were no footprints, no vehicle tracks, no signs of

 civilization of any kind. Or for that matter, save for themselves, of life.

 A sun seemed to be setting off to the west. Also off to the north, south, and

 east, twilight fading to pale in every direction. Above was a black sky devoid

 of cloud or any other redeeming feature, including stars. Of one thing a stunned

 Essasu was certain.

 They were a long ways from anywhere.

 What was responsible for the strange and unprecedented sunset? Were there four

 suns, each setting behind a different point of the compass? Or was natural law

 as they knew it simply foreign to this place?

 It was getting cold. He did not want to be standing where they were when the

 light went away because he had a desperate, gut feeling it might never return.

 In chat ultimate darkness things with senses better attuned to nothingness might

 arise and come seeking. The commander thanked every deity and ancestor he could

 think of that he was not completely alone.

 "Physical contact with the mass must be necessary for transport." Piarai turned

 a slow circle, inspecting a land that offered nothing to see. "The others must

 be ... lost."

 And if we are riot careful, we, too, will be lost&#8209;an our minds, Essasu thought.

 Where moments ago there had been many there were now only two. The others were

 elsewhere. Drifting free, screaming forlornly perhaps, two of their comrades and

 their green nexus gone forever. Eventually the black coil might come for them,

 do unspeakable things, and put an end to it.

 He stood there on the hematite plain and shuddered, waiting for the pale to dim

 or brighten. "We have to try again. If we do not find the others, maybe we will

 find our way back to Senisran."

 "Try again?" A dejected Piarai eyed the glowing green mass with little in the

 way of hope. "Travel from noplace to nowhere?"

 "We must," Essasu urged him. "Wherever we end up, it cannot be worse than here."

 The eyes of his second&#8209;in&#8209;command were haunted. "I wish I shared your

 certitude."

 Essasu walked over and shook him. "Get a hold of yourself. You are an officer of

 the Empire! Your only release is death. Until then, we strive on, in the name

 of the Emperor."

 "Yes, the Emperor," Piarai muttered. "How I wish he were here instead of L"

 This was hardly the time or place to chide a fellow officer for sacrilege,

 Essasu knew. It was important not to give up hope, to keep thinking, to keep

 trying. He said as much.

 "We have no idea how to steer this thing." Piarai indicated the enigmatic stone

 agglomeration that was simultaneously their source of hope and despair. "We do

 not even know for certain that there exists a means of directing it." His

 expression twisted, thick with sardonic humor. "We do not know the right

 roads."

 "We can try," Essasu argued. "We can look." He put his hands back on the stone

 and waited for his companion to do likewise.

 For a long moment Piarai did nothing. Then a deep, slow, resigned hiss emerged

 from between his clenched teeth. "I wonder how many possible destinations our

 stone here can access? One would hope that the number is finite."

 Reaching down, he grasped the other side of the mass and exerted pressure. So

 did Essasu. Emerald shards flew, the continuum contorted, and they went from

 where they were to a place where they were not.

 

 Chapter seventeen

 

 Tomochelor and Seaforth tried to maintain the station's daily routine:

 collecting and cataloging specimens of the local flora and fauna, recording

 variants of the Parramati language, checking automatic instrumentation to ensure

 that the usual meteorological reports were relayed via satellite to Ophhlia, and

 doing their best to win over the inhabitants of Torrelau to the idea of a formal

 treaty with the Commonwealth. But throughout it all, their thoughts were never

 very far from the sacred stones: their origin, functions, design, and above all,

 purpose.

 They were repeatedly frustrated by the problem that Pulickel had ineffectually

 attempted to solve, namely, that it's more than a little difficult to study

 something you haven't got. Interestingly, his unfortunate escapade seemed not to

 have swayed Torrelauan opinion concerning the proposed treaty one way or the

 other. The proportion of those favoring an agreement and those opposed remained

 the same as before.

 Various attempts to study the stones were stymied, albeit politely, at every

 turn, and neither of them could come up with a more efficacious way to proceed.

 Even so, they were in better shape than the frantic handful of AAnn who were

 all that remained of the staff of his imperial highness's research station on

 Mallatyah. Their colleagues, including base commander Essasu RRGVB, had vanished

 without word or trace. Attempts to reestablish contact with the sortie party

 had proven worse than futile, as first sealed and then open&#8209;beam lines of

 communication yielded nothing in the way of a response, not even static. It was

 as if the entire expedition had suddenly and without warning vanished into thin

 air.

 In point of fact that was exactly what had happened but not into thin air.

 Among the skeleton staff remaining at the installation, there was very little

 talk of stones and much of drafting a request for evacuation. Yet this could not

 be done unless they could provide hard evidence that something untoward had

 happened to the group. Since no one was in a hurry to visit the area where the

 expedition had disappeared, this placed the survivors in something of a

 quandary.

 Perhaps the commander and the others had a reason for keeping silent. If so,

 stumbling out to "rescue" them would constitute a grave insult, not to mention

 complicating the expedition's situation. So those who had remained behind kept

 to themselves, maintained the base in an orderly fashion, waited anxiously for a

 response from those who were not responding, and hoped that someone in a

 position of authority would show up to tell them what to do next.

 After all, it had only been a few days.

 While the few surviving AAnn huddled inside their suddenly uncrowded

 installation and the two humans strove to maintain a semblance of a daily

 routine, the Parramati were not as indifferent as they seemed to the events that

 had taken place.

 It was true, as the AAnn Essasu had once commented, that the Parramati could not

 communicate any faster than their boats could travel. But beneath favorable

 winds the highly specialized outriggers were exceptionally fast. So while the

 inhabitants of Mallatyah were being informed of Pulickel Tomochelor's actions on

 Torrelau, the citizens of that island were learning from their brethren on

 Mallatyah of the AAnn expedition's ill&#8209;fated attempt to abscond with a much

 larger number of stones. Meanwhile, humans and AAnn alike remained ignorant of

 this quiet exchange of information.

 Subsequently, big persons from both major islands along with representatives

 from Tiniara, Omeuleek, Culicuanna, and more than thirty smaller islands

 stretching the length and breadth of the archipelago assembled in the village of

 Ataap. Located on a small hook&#8209;shape island situated midway between Torrelau and

 Mallatyah, the gathering imposed a significant burden on those serving as hosts.

 The Ataapans did not complain. They were honored by the presence of so many

 important big persons.

 Ascela and Jorana were present, representing the Torrelauapa Parramati. From

 Mallatyah came Oresivi and the famous scholar Leuwaramau. Smaller islands sent

 one representative apiece, while even tinier islets that might be &#8209;home to only

 a single village or even a few families combined to choose one delegate to

 speak for them. All told, some seventy big persons and their attendants crowded

 into the meeting house on Ataap. Some but by no means all were stone masters. It

 was a convocation the likes of which Parramat had not seen in some thirty years.

 On that occasion the purpose of the get&#8209;together had been festive. This time an

 air of solemnity hung over the proceedings, as the matter they had gathered to

 discuss was of a far more serious nature.

 This is not to say that the atmosphere within and outside the meeting house was

 funereal. Old acquaintances greeted one another warmly, and new friendships were

 forged. Between discussions there was much ceremonial drinking and feasting, and

 the younger big persons participated in bounding and leaping contests. Amorous

 assignations were encouraged, a few were formalized, and in this way

 relationships between the affiliated islands of Parramat were strengthened.

 When other island groupings held similar conclaves, disagreement and fighting

 was common, and not thought of as unusual. The Parramati had long since

 dispensed with such familial altercations. It made no sense to fight with a

 neighbor who might control a stone you would need next month, or next year, to

 improve your crops or heal a sick relative. Mutual interest preserved the peace.

 Besides, you could share another person's space but never steal it.

 When the last of the representatives had arrived and all introductions and

 greetings had been exchanged, everyone assembled in Ataap's meeting house. It

 was crowded, but there was just enough room for all. None could be left out or

 overlooked, not even the delegate from the smallest island. One might come from

 a large village or a single family, but everyone was equal in the amount of

 space they shared.

 Most squatted in positions of formal rest, their flexible tails barely reaching

 the floor. Those along the walls were compelled to stand in order to be able to

 see. Standing for long periods of time was no hardship for a seni; not with

 their huge feet and powerful leg muscles.

 Those designated as speakers waited their turn, and none spoke longer than was

 fitting. Everyone listened politely even to those elders whose thoughts were

 less focused and who had a tendency to ramble. Such individuals were viewed

 with fond amusement rather than dismay.

 The delegates from Torrelau and Mallatyah spoke last, not because they

 represented the two largest and most densely populated islands of the

 archipelago but because they were the ones most intimately and immediately

 affected by the events of the previous days. Yet what had happened concerned

 every Parramati, to the last shell gatherer on the farthest outlying islet.

 Of most immediate concern was the apparent loss of seven stones from Mallatyah.

 "Seven stones!" Old Leuwaramau turned slowly as she spoke. Her body was bent and

 her vision unpaired, but her voice rang out youthful and strong. Her words

 reverberated the length of the longhouse. In the singsong language of the

 Parramati it sounded more like an aria than a speech.

 "Can they not be traced?" called out a stone master from Yevaluu.

 The renowned scholar turned toward the questioner's voice. "Seven stones have

 been used. Not two, as was the case on Torrelau." Squatting nearby, Ascela and

 Jorana gestured solemn accord. "The users of the seven have gone farther.

 Finding them and bringing them back may be impossible. It is certainly

 dangerous."

 "They can take only the stones," someone commented from near the south wall.

 "Not the space they occupied." A murmur of assent rose from the assembly.

 "But still." The representative big person from Ataap did not try to conceal his

 distress. "Seven stones!"

 Leuwaramau blew through the end of her long snout. "Two stones open two roads

 and their permutations. Difficult but not impractical to follow. Seven stones

 weave a trail far more than seven times tangled. Impossible. Too many roads

 crossing too many intersections. We must face the fact that these stones are

 gone. So are those who foolishly made use of them."

 Huril'ila of the island of Rerenik rose. "Stones will be shared. If any need be

 replaced, Rerenik will share." In response, the longhouse shook to shouted

 offers of assistance.

 Leuwaramau gestured for silence. "Thanks be to our Rerenik brethren, but this is

 not necessary. The loss is of course irreplaceable, but we of Mallatyah are rich

 in stones. We will not suffer." She drew herself up.

 "But this must not be allowed to happen again. If enough stones are taken from

 us, the links between some roads could be lost forever. We could lose control

 over our own space."

 Angry voices echoed throughout the meeting place. For all their inner peace and

 melodious speech, it had not been so very long since the Parramati had fought

 with their neighbors. Because they chose not to war did not mean they were

 ignorant of its ways.

 "What are we to do?" a big person from Tassai wondered aloud. She had a big

 belly and, for a seni, a booming voice.

 "Kill them all," another delegate suggested. "Soft&#8209; and shiny&#8209;skinned ones

 alike. Feed them to the apapanu."

 From the center of the room, Ascela rose to turn and disagree. "That will not

 work. We know both peoples well enough to know that if these die, snore will

 come to take their place. They are like kikau weeds in the gardens. Better to

 deal with those who are here now, with those that we know."

 "We are not afraid of the aliens," another insisted. "Let them come as many as

 will. We will use the war stones against them!" This proposal was greeted with

 cries of support&#8209;but not many. A larger number of delegates expressed

 reservations.

 It had been generations since the war stones had been employed to repel a large

 and especially vicious invasion from another archipelago. If the histories were

 to be believed, the entire attacking force had been destroyed by means too

 terrible to relate&#8209;together with nearly all the defenders. The war stones were

 not like growing stones or fishing stones. Those charged with their care had a

 greater responsibility than nearly all other stone masters. Such stones were few

 in number, and as a precaution no more than one was kept on any single island.

 The old stories warned that bringing them together could pose as great a threat

 to the users as to the enemy.

 "I do not think that is a good idea. There must be a better way."

 "Then propose one!" shouted a representative from the far side of the longhouse.

 This suggestion met with considerably more support than its predecessor.

 Ascela was not intimidated. "The humans are intensely curious. Not only about

 the stones, but about all aspects of Parramati life and of kusum. Kill them, and

 others will come, curious to learn what happened." A three&#8209;fingered hand

 gestured toward the longhouse ceiling. "They drop from the sky, and the sky is

 full of them."

 "Ah&#8209;weh, " old Leuwaramau whispered. "Then our purpose should be to keep their

 numbers among us as few as possible."

 "Can we convince them to go elsewhere?" Huril'ila wondered. "Persuade them

 somehow to leave us and study the Eolurro? Let them set their strange longhouses

 among our neighbors instead of here."

 There was an outburst of barking laughter. "More interesting to study the dirt

 than the Eolurro," someone declared, provoking welcome amusement.

 Ascela continued to hold the floor. "That is exactly why it will not work. Like

 that of many other seni, the kusum of the Eolurro has been debased by contact

 with both humans and AAnn. These humans are so interested in ours because it

 remains pure."

 "Can we keep it so?" someone asked from near the west wall. "If these aliens are

 allowed to remain among us, will their influence not begin to dilute traditional

 kusum? The young in particular are always susceptible to new and interesting

 ideas."

 Jorana rose to stand alongside Ascela. "There are no stones for seeing into the

 future. We cannot predict what may happen. But we can try to convince the humans

 that kusum should not be threatened and that the Parramati should be left alone.

 There are only two of them, and they insist that they want only what is best for

 us."

 "The shiny&#8209;skinned ones say the same." Oresivi let his gaze rove through the

 crowd of attentive big persons. "Perhaps that is part of the problem. These

 humans and AAnn both want only what is best for us&#8209;provided they are the ones to

 determine what that is." A surge of universal approval rose from the assembled.

 "Let us decide what is best for Parramati kusum and tell them."

 "How can we convince those who are so interested in us to leave us alone?"

 another wondered aloud.

 "Kill them," exclaimed a small but persistent minority. It was a collective

 voice that was disturbingly persistent. Jorana chose not to acknowledge it.

 "Perhaps we should consult the stones and let them show us the way. The most

 important stones." He surveyed the crowd. "We could have a Goggelai."

 This astonishing and completely unexpected proposal provoked immediate and

 vehement discussion in every comer of the meeting place. It did not die out

 completely even when Leuwaramau staggered again to her feet.

 "A Goggelai has not been held in living memory. It opens the road to the

 unknown. There are great dangers in the unknown."

 "But also answers," Jorana argued. "Do not these visitors also bring unknowns

 full of dangers? These aliens are a big thing that has come among the Parramati.

 It requires a big thing to counter them." He spread his arms wide.

 "We want no treaties with them, yet without an answer, they will not go away. We

 do not want war with them, because they will keep coming back. So I say, let us

 see what the stones show us. Let us see what roads the Goggelai opens and how

 the humans react to them. Perhaps among all the roads we will find one that

 leads to understanding."

 General discussion ensued. Those who argued for the use of the war stones to

 kill the visitors made some headway and swayed a few opinions. But it wasn't

 nearly enough to convince the majority, who opted, albeit with reluctance, to

 convene the Goggelai.

 Debate continued until the small hours of the morning, but in the end Jorana's

 proposal prevailed. There was undeniable excitement among the delegates as they

 filed out of the meeting house. After all, though they knew it well from legend

 and story, none of them had actually participated in a Goggelai.

 It was decided to hold the ceremony as soon as possible, on the slopes of

 sacred Mt. Erirota on Torrelau. Without divulging the full significance of the

 ritual, Ascela and Jorana would invite the humans to attend at the last moment.

 Discussion continued as the big persons drifted off to their assigned sleeping

 quarters, walking or hopping to buts and longhouses that had been prepared for

 them by their honored hosts. The ramifications of a Goggelai were many, and not

 all necessarily benign. But these were portentous times for Parramat. Radical

 problems required radical solutions.

 Stones had been lost. The protection of those that remained, and of the roads

 they guarded, had to be ensured. The roads could not be damaged, of course, but

 access to them could be lost.

 So they would see what paths the Goggelai opened. Perhaps even, as Leuwaramau

 pointed out, the road to enlightenment.

 

 "A multistones ceremony?" Fawn turned to Pulickel, wondering if she'd heard

 correctly.

 They were standing by the river just above where it poured over the cliff into

 the shallow inlet lagoon below the village. The noise of the waterfall just

 downstream was constant but not overwhelming. Nearby, middle and lesser female

 persons were washing household items and preparing food in the crystal&#8209;clear

 water.

 Jorana had come up behind them and politely requested a moment of their time.

 That in itself was unusual. Normally it was the visiting humans who had to

 interject themselves into Parramati conversation.

 Pulickel confirmed her translation. "This sounds like something we should see."

 Jorana's slim fingers traced lithe patterns in the air. "Your presence will add

 to the significance of the Goggelai. "

 Fawn fluffed out her blond tresses. "I've made notes on quite a few Parramati

 ceremonies, but I don't remember writing down anything about a Goggelai."

 Jorana looked up at her. "One has not been held for a long time. For quite a

 long time."

 "So why now?" There was something odd in the big person's manner, Pulickel

 thought. He ran through his mental catalog of seni postures and expressions. Not

 discomfort, not anger or upset, not nervousness. He couldn't quite put a finger

 on it or a name to it.

 At least he knew that Jorana was not displeased with them. Otherwise he would

 not be inviting them to attend this special ceremony.

 "The decision to hold the Goggelai is bound up with your corning among us. "

 Pulickel continued to wonder at the big person's manner, which was at once

 deferential and demanding. "Important decisions will be made afterward."

 "The treaty," Fawn hinted. .

 Jorana indicated agreement. "About the treaty, yes. And about other things. The

 Goggelai may tell us if your road and that of the Parramati coincide or diverge.

 It may tell us all manner of things. No one knows for certain because it has

 been such a long time since one was held."

 "So if it develops that our roads converge," Pulickel pressed him, "then the

 Parramati will sign the treaty?"

 "Perhaps." Jorana looked away. "I cannot speak to such matters now."

 Fawn asked the inevitable follow&#8209;up. "And if they diverge?"

 The big person studied her out of long, dark eyes. "Space is vast, F'an, and

 there are many spaces within it. Each holds different responses to different

 situations."

 "But even if there are an infinite number of spaces, the number of roads is

 finite," Pulickel countered.

 Jorana favored him with the seni equivalent of a smile. "You have not been long

 among us, friend Pu'il, but you have learned much. Everyone hopes that the road

 followed is the right one. You are so interested to learn about kusum. Now you

 will have the opportunity to contemplate one of its most sacred foundations.

 "As to which road will be shown, I know no better than you. It is not like the

 bringing together of growing stones or weather stones. The Goggelai is the

 biggest thing there is." He turned to depart.

 Both Pulickel and Fawn were reluctant to let him leave. "When you say that this

 is a multistone ceremony," she queried their visitor, "do you mean that stones

 from all over the island are brought together in one place?"

 The long skull turned back to her. "Not only from all over Torrelau, but from

 the length and breadth of the Parramat. I said this was a big thing." He turned

 apologetic. "Remember when you asked me, friend Pu'il, if more than two stones

 were ever brought together at one time and I said no? I lied. This is the one

 time when many are gathered. It is a great and important secret, one that you

 will now share with the Parramati."

 "Sounds like it." Pulickel found himself wondering why the native had lied

 earlier. Perhaps the infrequency f this particular ceremony explained it.

 Jorana might have been saying that no more than two stones were brought together

 at any one time under normal conditions. Clearly this Goggelai was an exception

 to the usual rules. That made it only the more intriguing.

 "Are all the stones from all the islands used?"

 The big person eyed him as if perhaps he hadn't learned so very much after all.

 "Of course not. What would be the point of combining earth and weather stones,

 or healing and fishing stones? No, the Goggelai requires the bringing together

 of more stones than any other ceremony, but they are all of one kind. It will

 take awhile to assemble them because they are used for nothing else but the

 Goggelai and have not been used in such a long time." .

 Fawn hoped that a description of the stones under discussion might offer a clue

 as to their function. "If they're not healing stones or earth stones or any

 other kind of stone that we're familiar with, then what are they?"

 Jorana's reply was evocative without being informative. "They are the howling

 stones."

 "So you bring all these howling stones together from all over the islands,"

 Pulickel noted, "and then what happens?"

 "No one can be sure," the big person replied maddeningly, "except that roads

 are opened."

 "How many of these howling stones are there?" Fawn noted that even though the

 busy villagers could easily overhear, all were studiously ignoring the

 conversation.

 Pulickel deduced from Jorana's reply that this time the native was being honest

 with them. "I do not know." Delicate hands fluttered. "I do not think that

 anyone knows for certain, not even the senior big persons of the outer islands.

 The howling stones have been held and watched over and unused for many

 generations. Only when all have been assembled in one place can they be counted

 and the answer to your questions known."

 "Well," Fawn told him, "we're flattered that you're doing this for us."

 "We are not doing it for you," Jorana corrected her. "We are doing it with you.

 To try to show you the depth and importance of preserving our kusum

 untrammeled."

 That didn't sound like someone anxious to sign a treaty of mutual aid and

 cooperation, Pulickel thought. But he did not comment. Perhaps he was

 misinterpreting.

 "There could be some danger. Or nothing at all may happen." The big person was

 watching both of them closely.

 "We'll take our chances." Fawn smiled down at him. "You know that Pu'il and I

 aren't afraid of a little danger. When is the ceremony to be held?"

 "In five days time, on the westem slope of Mt. Erirota."

 That in itself was interesting, Fawn mused. Normally, the far side of Erirota

 was off&#8209;limits even to big persons. She hadn't been especially curious about it

 because reconnaissance vits showed nothing out of the ordinary, nothing but

 jungle and rocks. They revealed no crumbling temples, no ancient burial

 grounds. Obviously the region had great significance to the Torrelauans and to

 the Parramati in general, but it was not because it was rife with structural

 antiquities. Certainly it was an honor and a sign of confidence to be invited to

 attend a gathering there&#8209;especially after the incident involving Pulickel and

 the "borrowed" stones.

 "May we bring our recording tools along?" she asked.

 Jorana eyed her unblinkingly. "You may bring anything you wish, so long as you

 bring yourselves."

 "And you can't give us an idea of what we might expect to see?" Pulickel was

 reluctant to let the big person go.

 "I have never traveled the road of the howling stones," the native told him. "No

 one living has. Who knows? Perhaps you will tell me." His lips flowed in the

 equivalent of a grin. "It is told that through the Goggelai lies the road to

 wonders. Or there may be nothing. We will find out together."

 Following Jorana's departure, the two xenologists spent the rest of the morning

 studying and recording native activities along the river. Their thoughts,

 however, were on the earlier meeting and not on cultural explication.

 "What do you make of all this?" Fawn asked her colleague. "Of what Jorana said.

 Was he telling us everything, or was he being selective?"

 "I'm sure he was being selective. Or evasive. That bit about not knowing

 anything about what happens during the ceremony? I don't think I buy that."

 She made a face. "I guess we're going to find out. You don't think they're

 inviting us to a big gathering so they can get rid of us?"

 "Why should they? If they wanted to dispose of me, why would they go to the

 trouble of bringing me back from the road the transportation stones took me

 down? They could have left me out there, wherever out there was, wandering

 around forever trying tog

 et back on my own."

 "Maybe that wouldn't have been in accordance with kusum." She watched the

 females working on the riverbank, but her mind wasn't on it. "As you know, when

 it comes to collective decision making, the Parramati are more obtuse than

 anyone else on Senisran."

 "Five days. We'll want dual backups on all systems, and we'll want to check them

 out at least a full day in advance."

 She nodded without replying, knowing that he was talking more to himself now

 than to her. It was an aggravating habit, but one she found she was becoming

 comfortable with.

 Chapter Eighteen

 

 The ceremonial locale on the far side of Mt. Erirota was more attractive than

 impressive, a pristine grassy clearing high up on the slopes of the extinct

 volcano. Beyond the clearing the native vegetation grew thickly, reflecting the

 high rainfall the area received. Either the grassy sward was carefully

 maintained, Pulickel decided, or else it lay in a slight but significant rain

 shadow.

 It was early evening and Senisran's compassionate sun lingered on the distant

 horizon, pausing briefly before its daily disappearance to paint scattered

 clouds with streaks of gold and crimson. Sunset was the only time of day that

 could reduce sea and sky on this world to insignificance, he mused as he soaked

 in the spectacular panorama.

 Irrespective of the incipient ceremony, the gathering itself was most

 impressive. It looked as if every big person in Parramat and not a few of their

 attendants had assembled in orderly fashion on the edge of the clearing.

 Recorders humming inconspicuously, he and Fawn stayed where Ascela and Jorana

 had left them. They had an excellent view and felt no need to roam.

 The assembled Parramati had dressed for the occasion in their finest regalia.

 Colorful woven skirts vied for attention with flamboyant headdresses and

 elaborate necklaces. Snouts, cheeks, eye sockets, and ears were decorated in

 vibrant facepaint while rings hung in profusion from long fingers and tails.

 Shoulder garlands of the rarest and most exotic flowers the archipelago had to

 offer filled the air with wild, confused perfume.

 Yet the gaudy spectacle belied the attitude of those present, which was solemn

 rather than celebratory.

 Having been made ready earlier, torches and standard-borne bone lanterns were

 brought forth and lit, their individual lights strengthening as that of the sun

 faded. Querying Ascela as to the ceremony's duration, Pulickel was told that it

 would take as long as it took, a response that grated on the xenologist's sense

 of the precise.

 The Torrelauapan was not being cryptic. It was simply a fact that no one knew

 how long a Goggelai should last. The ceremony would define itself, the visiting

 humans were told. They would have to be satisfied with that. Ancient oral

 guidelines, Fawn pointed out, were inherently obscure.

 As the last of the torches and lanterns were lit, the dusky peak of the volcano

 glowed bronze in the final light of the setting sun. Drinking in the sight both

 natural and synthetic spread out before her, Fawn Seaforth found that she didn't

 care if the Goggelai produced any profound revelations about Parramati culture

 or not. The spectacle was sufficient unto. itself.

 In addition to the unprecedented display of color and design, there was music in

 abundance. Flutes, stringed instruments, and an astonishing assortment of

 barbaric percussion filled the evening air with energetic melodies interspersed

 with eruptive bursts of jagged rhythm. Unable to resist the seductive

 ostinatos, many of the assembled dignitaries were soon chanting and dancing in

 place. While Fawn occasionally found her own body twisting and arching in time

 to the alien tempo, Pulickel was apparently immune to all such melodic

 blandishments. He remained stolidly in place, his recorder whirring, doing his

 best not to stare disapprovingly&#8209;or otherwise&#8209;in her direction.

 As for the mysterious, revered howling stones themselves, their actual

 appearance was something of a letdown. Carried in woven bags or brought forth in

 intricately patterned baskets, they looked no different from any of the other

 stones the visitors had seen. Irregular lumps of green volcanic glass, some were

 larger than the growing stone whose use had been demonstrated to Fawn, while

 others were even smaller than the two stones so briefly borrowed by Pulickel.

 Several were so big they had to be carried in on hardwood litters supported by

 four Parramati apiece.

 One by one, the stones were removed from their traveling containers and placed

 before a big person standing along the inner rim of the great circle that now

 enclosed the modest meadow, until the grass was ringed with a fine of sacred

 stones. Each stone, Pulickel noted, rested no less than half a meter from its

 neighbor. None was allowed to touch.

 Even when the ring was complete the procession continued, until two concentric

 stone circles and part of a third lay gleaming on the ground. The two humans

 were given free rein to wander in and among the stones and stone masters,

 musicians and attendants, recording whatever they wished. For the most part

 even those Parramati they knew, like Ascela and Jorana, ignored them. All were

 enraptured by the ceremony.

 When Pulickel accidentally tripped over a particularly long stone, no one so

 much as twitched. As for the stone, it rocked back and forth a couple of times

 and lay utterly still, a big dark green rock that differed only in color from

 the igneous escarpment that backed onto the meadow. If it and the several

 hundred others that had been so laboriously brought together embodied any

 significant powers, Pulickel reflected, these were being held efficiently in

 check.

 From Jorana's original description, he and Fawn had supposed there were no more

 than a few dozen of the howling stones. The presence of hundreds was therefore

 the biggest surprise of the evening so far. Judging from the expectant attitude

 of the assembled, there promised to be more.

 By the time the last vestige of sunlight had fled from the horizon and the scene

 was lit entirely by torch and lantern light, the chanting and music&#8209;making had

 risen to such a pitch that he had to shout to make himself heard above the

 noise. The relentless Parramati percussion in particular gave new significance

 to that part of the ear known as the tympanum. While his recorder could adjust

 automatically to the rising din, he had to struggle to tolerate it.

 The rolling artificial thunder boomed down the slopes and echoed through the

 valleys. Fortunate wildlife fled, but he and Fawn had no such option. With luck,

 he winced as an especially loud burst of music assailed his ears, it would all

 be over soon.

 Fawn's thoughts were stumbling down the same discordant path. "I wonder if this

 is going to go on all night? If so, we could probably return in the morning for

 the big finish."

 He checked his chronometer. "No one's said anything to me about time. We

 probably ought to inquire. For all we know now, the ceremony could take days."

 "I suppose we should wait it out awhile before asking. Our presence here is

 something of an honor, and we don't want to insult anybody by making it look

 like we want to leave early." She smiled encouragingly at him and he nodded

 reluctantly.

 It was well after midnight when he checked the time again. The music and

 chanting gave no sign of slackening, the assembled participants no indication

 that they were running out of steam. If anything, they sang and played louder

 than ever. Torches and lanterns burned as brightly as at sunset. Fawn's notion

 of leaving for a while and returning later was looking more and more attractive.

 The activity, as well as the hour, was exhausting.

 Those stone masters who dropped out of the inner circle promptly had their

 positions assumed by others. No such reinforcements waited in the wings for the

 two tired xenologists. Pulickel found his thoughts drifting more and more often

 to his room back at the station. His quiet, soundproofed room.

 Without any warning, signal, or fanfare, the music ceased. Chanting fell to a

 sustained murmur. Several big persons representing the outermost islands of the

 Parramat Archipelago stepped forward and raised three fingered hands skyward.

 The music resumed, only this time it was pointed and brief.

 Words were uttered that neither xenologist recognized, though from their

 inflection Fawn knew they were archaic. But though those who spoke them might

 be ignorant of their meaning, they enunciated each one carefully and with great

 respect.

 Supplicating hands were lowered. Selecting them from the innermost circle,

 several big persons brought the first stones forward. The two speakers accepted

 the offerings, placed them on the ground, and pushed them together. Their

 fatigue now forgotten, Pulickel and Fawn double checked their recorders and

 tensed.

 Contact was achieved between stones. Green sparks flew from an emerald flash.

 Fused, the conjoined stones emitted a steady, soft green glow.

 "What now?" Pulickel whispered aloud.

 I don't know. Remember, the Parramati haven't performed this ceremony in a

 very long time. They probably aren't too sure of the consequences themselves."

 Two more stone masters removed their respective burdens from the circle and

 brought them forward. Others were preparing to do the same from the opposite

 side of the ring. One at a time, they added their stones to the lambent green

 mass in the center of the ceremonial encirclement. With each additional stone

 the irregular shape added to its size.

 Pulickel watched as a stone as big as his head was placed against the near side

 of the burgeoning aggregation. Vibrating noticeably, it slid up the side of the

 mass and rotated several times before slipping neatly into a slot in the top of

 the heap. Other stones similarly maneuvered themselves into position,

 displaying an inner animation none of the sacred stones the Parramati used in

 everyday life had previously exhibited.

 There was no formal organization, no apparent rhyme or reason to the process.

 The natives merely dumped the parts in a pile, Pulickel realized. Whatever the

 growing green mass night be, it was putting itself together. It was apparent

 that in addition to assorted helpful powers, certain stones were possessed of

 something very different but equally impressive.

 Memory. Memory ancient and, so far, inscrutable.

 By now the refulgent green lump was taller than an adult seni and had assumed a

 roughly rectangular shape. It sustained its baffling growth as more stones were

 brought forward and added to the enigmatic structure.

 Fawn leaned close. Even above the excitement and noise, the sights and the

 pungent presence of hundreds of highly active Parramati, he could still smell

 the perfume of her.

 "Somehow I don't think this is intended to make the pohoroh grow bigger or the

 river run clean," she whispered.

 The ceremonial stone rings continued to shrink as more and more of the glassy

 green pieces were added to the growing puzzle. It was far taller than any seni

 now, but individual stones continued to maneuver themselves up the uneven flanks

 and fasten themselves to the top, steadily adding to the height of the

 luminescent mystery. The assembled Parramati were as entranced by their

 handiwork as were the visiting xenologists.

 By this time the object was putting out so much light that it was impossible to

 look directly at it for long. In addition to the meadow and the softly chanting

 circle of natives, it illuminated the surrounding jungle as well as the looming

 flank of the mountain. Yet heat remained a byproduct of the reaction notable

 only for its absence. The intense green radiance was entirely cool, allowing

 supplicating stone masters to touch the product of their efforts with

 impunity. From its apex, a meter&#8209;wide shaft of coherent green light suddenly

 shot skyward to pierce the night sky.

 From the time the first two stones had been brought together, a distant hum had

 been audible. With the addition of each new stone, this had grown steadily in

 volume and intensity, until now it vibrated within teeth and bones. It was a

 whine, a single high mechanical note, an antediluvian call, the song of

 something endlessly dormant and only now slowly reawakening.

 A howling.

 Few stones remained, and these were piously added to the pile. Pulickel saw Fawn

 shielding her eyes as she tried to follow the activity. Meanwhile, except for

 suffusing the meadow with light and sound, the impressive green agglomeration

 had done nothing. The world hadn't shifted on its axis, the ground beneath his

 feet remained stable and the solid, grassy growth common to Senisran still

 cushioned his sandaled feet.

 Even if whatever it was managed to complete itself, he realized, that didn't

 mean that anyone present would know what to do with the final result. He

 wondered if any of the orbiting surveillance and survey satellites put up by the

 Commonwealth and the AAnn were presently in position to detect the green beam

 and, if so, what they would make of it. Couldn't worry about that now, he knew.

 The last stone was brought forward and reverently placed against the mass, which

 by this time was the size and approximate shape of a Parramati longhouse. The

 stone efficiently slid up and around the right side to settle itself into and

 fill one remaining gap. Pulickel and Fawn tensed, but nothing happened. Together

 with the Parramati they found themselves confronting a substantial structure

 that put out a vast intensity of green light, and it in turn confronted them.

 But nothing happened.

 A few uncertain mutterings began to be heard among the assembled. Pulickel found

 himself echoing them. Was there anything to be learned here, or was it all a

 colossal bust? Perhaps the device was designed simply to put out a shaft of

 green light, possibly as some kind of unknown navigational aid. Or maybe it was

 no more than an elaborate marker.

 Frustrated, he walked up to it, shielding his eyes from the evanescent glare. No

 one stopped him.

 Up close, he found that he was able to see into the mass to a surprising depth.

 A network of complex internal striations was clearly visible. They appeared to

 link slightly darker masses buried deep within the body of the construct.

 Reaching out with one hand, he lightly traced the lines nearest the surface.

 Like the light it put out, the object itself was pleasantly cool to the touch.

 Behind him he heard Fawn call out sharply, "Watch yourself, Pulickel. There's

 something coming out."

 As he stepped back, the construct began to exude something very like a large,

 transparent egg, as if the glowing green lump was giving birth. The voices of

 the assembled big persons rose in unison, chanting loudly.

 Approaching this new and unexpected phenomenon with caution, he saw that in

 contrast to the rest of the mass, the protrusion had a faint reddish tinge, like

 an excited fiber optic. He was unable to gauge its thickness or even if it was

 hollow or solid. Already, three&#8209;quarters of it had emerged from the howling

 green lump. Indifferent to urging or chanting, suspicions or hopes, the

 remainder resolutely refused to ooze free of the construct. From a tactile

 standpoint it felt no different from the rest of the green mass.

 Fawn joined him, along with Ascela and Jorana. As they inspected the faintly

 reddish ovoid, the curving, tapered end facing the circle suddenly opened.

 There was no door, no hatch. One moment the end of the object appeared solid;

 the next, it displayed an opening.

 Together, Pulickel and Ascela peered inside. The interior of the ovoid was

 floored with what seemed to be a layer of dense fog. Ignoring Fawn's

 admonitions, he reached in and down. His fingers sank a centimeter or so into

 the frothy substance before encountering an unyielding surface.

 He straightened. "Interesting stuff. It looks like you could brush it aside with

 one hand, but it doesn't move. There's initial give, and then it turns solid.

 What do you suppose this thing is?" His ears were filled with Parramati

 chanting and the high&#8209;pitched whine of the construct.

 Hands on hips, she studied the mysterious protrusion. "Your guess is as good as

 mine. I'm inclined to think that anything that has a floor, walls, and an

 entrance is designed to be entered." Blue eyes speculated on the protrusion.

 "The big persons have been saying all along that the Goggelai is supposed to

 open a different sort of road. This could be some kind of transportation

 device."

 He nodded contemplatively. "Uh&#8209;huh. Or an oversized alien food processor. Right

 now we are somewhat lacking in information."

 She was studying the ovoid intently. "If it's a means of transport, it's odd

 that it didn't emerge completely from its surroundings."

 "Is it? When did we become specialists in alien transportation systems?"

 Bending low, he put both hands on the exposed rim of the ovoid and leaned

 inward.

 "And where the hell do you think you're going?" she challenged him sharply.

 He glanced back with that fey, confident smile she'd come to know so well. "Not

 there, I pray. Hopefully just down another road, as the Parramati would say."

 She was less than encouraging. "I'd think that after your last experience with

 the vagaries of stone&#8209;impelled transport you wouldn't want to try it again. The

 Parramati might not be able to bring you back a second time."

 He tapped the ovoid's outer rim. It gave back no sound. "We're not dealing with

 a couple of loose stones here. If this is indeed some kind of device intended to

 transport individuals down a particular road, then it quite likely is designed

 to also transport them back. Otherwise why design and build something this

 elaborate? Why not just use a couple of the transportation stones? I don't think

 it's unreasonable to assume that the more intricate the device, the more

 complex and varied its function."

 "You're assuming a lot," she insisted.

 Again the smile, a little wider this time. "I certainly am, but I have a feeling

 it's the only way we are going to divine this object's intended function."

 "It could take you someplace," she brooded, "and not bring you back."

 "There is that possibility," he conceded. "But the liturgy of discovery. is rife

 with explorers who never looked over the next cliff or climbed the next mountain

 because they were afraid they might fall off."

 "Or run into something with a bad attitude and lots of teeth," she added dourly.

 He nodded knowingly. "Either way, we can expect to get some answers."

 "Before we go stumbling off in search of them," she countered, "let's see what

 the Parramati think."

 He hesitated, then reluctantly deferred to common sense.

 "Histories insist that the howling stones open new roads." Ascela exchanged a

 look with Jorana. "But they do not say what kind of roads, and I have never seen

 a road open like this." She indicated the beckoning, enigmatic ovoid.

 "This is a new thing," Jorana agreed.

 Fawn framed her question carefully, not wanting dialect to get in the way of

 meaning. "Do the histories of the Goggelai say anything about returning back

 along any roads that are opened?"

 "No," the big person admitted, "but it is well known that the clearer the road,

 the easier the return. I believe we should go and find out." Pulickel was a

 little startled to find his position so readily supported.

 "If it looks like anything," Jorana put in, "it looks like a boat." He was

 studying the ovoid's exterior. "It is covered to keep off the rain, but there

 are no outriggers."

 Pulickel essayed a seni bark indicative of low&#8209;key humor. "If you are right and

 it is some kind of boat, Jorana, then I think it will have outriggers&#8209;but of a

 kind we cannot see and cannot imagine."

 The senior big person indicated agreement. "No matter their kind, so long as

 they work. We will go together, friend Pu'il." He straightened on his powerful

 hind legs. "It is the responsibility of big persons to investigate any new

 roads."

 Fawn's attention shifted from alien to fellow xenologist. "You're determined to

 go through with this, aren't you?"

 Pulickel nodded. "Most assuredly." Peering into the device, he added

 off&#8209;handedly, "There is room enough for all of us."

 A three&#8209;fingered hand gripped his shoulder. "It is good," Ascela told him. "Each

 of us may see things only another will understand. Knowledge can be shared."

 Slitted blue&#8209;black eyes gazed deeply back into his own, the bond of curiosity

 linking their two species more effectively than any words.

 "Nothing may happen." Fawn eyed the ovoid uneasily. "Or it may collapse in on

 you."

 "Or fill up with water, or toxic gas." Pulickel looked up. "Possibilities will

 remain nothing more than possibilities unless we do something. There's nothing

 for it but to try it. Either way, the results will be recorded. Despite all its

 claims to precision and exactitude, great science often boils down to a leap of

 faith."

 "That's a fine sentiment for a book, not a life." The line of her mouth

 tightened and she took a couple of steps back. "So go ahead and leap." She

 raised the forearm to which her recorder was strapped.

 Jorana touched his side and he turned. "Let us find out what the howling stones

 do, friend Pu'il. Let us learn together."

 "Yes, together." Knowing that the memory of his recent transgression still

 burned hot in Parramati memory as well as his own, he was touched by the

 sentiment.

 Ascela had conveyed their intentions to several other big persons. Now, as she

 entered the ovoid, they explained what was happening to the rest of the

 assembled. Everyone retreated to the edge of the meadow as every eye focused on

 the luminous green mass. Fawn found herself surrounded by warm&#8209;bodied,

 heavy&#8209;hipped alien forms.

 Jorana followed his fellow villager into the device, moving toward the rear and

 making room for Pulickel. While the seni squatted, he was forced to assume a

 crosslegged position on the foglike floor. Arrayed in single file, they faced

 the opening, the emerald brilliance at their backs.

 "Just a minute! Wait!" came a frantic shout. Breathing hard, Fawn crawled in

 next to him.

 "Of course we'll wait," he told her. "We don't have any choice, since we don't

 know how to go." At that moment she was closer to him than she'd ever been

 before&#8209;and not just physically. "I thought you were going to stay behind?"

 Scrunched up against the curving, transparent wall, she did not have enough room

 to cross her long legs but had to stretch them out in front of her. "I've always

 been an avid mountain climber, and I'm not afraid of heights."

 "Good. I am."

 They sat silent and motionless within the ovoid, listening to the howling whine

 of the device and the distant, submerged but still audible chant of the

 assembled big persons. After a while, Pulickel began to feel foolish.

 "It's not responding to our presence. Maybe we're overlooking some means of

 activation. Look for a depression, a discoloration&#8209;any kind of imperfection in

 the structure of the inner surface."

 Fawn translated for the two Parramati. Together the four of them commenced a

 section&#8209;by&#8209;section search of the ovoid's interior. Except for the fog floor, it

 proved to be as featureless as it looked.

 "It has to be here," Pulickel muttered. "There has to be something."

 "Does there?" Fawn was less assured. "We're dealing with the technology that

 made the stones. Stones that stimulate instant growth in plants, affect the

 weather, send a curious xenologist god knows where but lets local aborigines

 bring him back, and merge to form glowing green searchlights the size of a

 skimmer hangar. We don't have a clue how any of this works, what powers them, or

 why they're here. I have yet to recognize so much as an on&#8209;off switch on the

 least of them, so why should we expect to be able to find one in here? Face it,

 Pulickel: the Goggelai's a no&#8209;go."

 "Thank you for those encouraging conclusions," he replied dryly.

 "Hey, I say what I feel."

 "Perhaps we must use the proper chant," Ascela suggested.

 Pulickel didn't laugh. In the absence of any obvious method of physical

 activation, who was to say that an oral variety might not prove more effective?

 It certainly couldn't be less so.

 As it turned out, the correct thing to do proved to be to do nothing at all, a

 dynamic in which they were at present actively engaged.

 Before the Parramati could commence any new chants, the open end of the

 enclosure shut. As with its opening, this took place in utter silence and

 without warning. Again, no door or hatch appeared. One moment egress to the

 outside world was readily available, and the next a red tinged barrier as

 transparent as the rest of the ovoid had silently taken its place.

 Perhaps it had finally detected the presence of living creatures within and

 responded appropriately. Possibly it self&#8209;activated after an indeterminate but

 predetermined period of time. Perhaps a sniff, or an especially deep breath, or

 the exact intonation of a word had activated some hidden mechanism. It was

 impossible to tell what had done the trick, and quite likely they would never

 know.

 Light, warmth, and a flow of fresh air emanated from the fog beneath. How the

 machine knew what of which the occupants required, Pulickel couldn't imagine, so

 he settled for being grateful instead. In finally sensing and reacting to their

 presence, the device had also sensed and reacted to their needs.

 Perhaps something outside changed as well, because a number of big persons were

 hopping frantically toward the ovoid. Their mouths were open and they were

 gesturing emphatically. Within the transparent egg, however, all was composed

 and surprisingly quiet. They could no longer hear the Parramati chanting or the

 howling of the stones.

 Leaning forward, Fawn pushed gently, then firmly, on the end of the new

 enclosure, on the place where they had entered. Unsurprisingly, it did not yield

 to her efforts. She sat back.

 "Won't budge," she reported tensely. "Whatever happens next, we're sealed in

 tight."

 "Something must be happening." Her colleague leaned close and pointed.

 The Parramati who had leaped so anxiously toward the ovoid had halted abruptly.

 All were staring while a number had begun to retrace their steps as fast as

 they had advanced. It looked like they were conversing loudly among

 themselves&#8209;Pulickel could clearly see their mouths moving&#8209;but the two

 xenologists and two big persons within the device could hear nothing beyond the

 ovoid wall.

 Ascela and Jorana were utterly calm, resigned to whatever might happen next.

 They were no less curious about this than their human companions&#8209;simply less

 concerned.

 As the world outside began to vanish, it took a moment for Pulickel to realize

 what was happening. The ovoid was sinking, or retreating, or being absorbed back

 into the efflorescent green mass from which it had partially emerged. He kicked

 experimentally at the front of the egg. It yielded no more readily to his foot

 than it had to Fawn's hands.

 Satisfied that they were safe&#8209;or trapped&#8209;he settled back to await whatever Fate

 and an ancient alien technology had in store for them.

 Chapter Nineteen

 

 Though they were being sucked into the very heart of the emerald radiance

 itself, the light outside actually dimmed slightly. While the composition of the

 transparent material encasing them did not appear to have changed, the potent

 efflorescence no longer fully penetrated their sanctuary.

 As the ovoid continued to be absorbed into the pulsating mass, their window on

 the outside world shrank proportionately. Soon only a small circle of visibility

 remained through the forward tip of their enclosure, and then that, too, was

 gone.

 It was black outside the ovoid. Black, but not threatening in the manner of the

 darkness Pulickel had experienced previously. Unlike that abomination, the

 current absence of light did not carry with it the flavor of evil. Within the

 device, the lambent fog beneath their feet provided enough pink&#8209;hued

 illumination for them to see one another without straining.

 There was also the slightest sensation of movement. Fawn found this especially

 interesting, because if the original pace of absorption had been maintained,

 they should long since have come out the other side of the main green mass. That

 they had not yet done so suggested that they had either halted somewhere in its

 depths or else moved on&#8209;somewhere else.

 The impression intensified. Nor was it restricted to the two humans, for Ascela

 and Jorana felt it equally. There was a definite sense of being impelled

 forward, though in what direction no one could say.

 Something gave them a sharp jolt, the ovoid rocked, and Pulickel instinctively

 grabbed for a handhold. There were none available, unless one counted his

 companions. Sound once more began to reach them, steady and unvarying. Only

 mildly surprised, he recognized it.

 The stones were howling afresh.

 Just when he didn't think he was going to be able to take it any louder, the

 whine leveled off. Beneath his feet and posterior, the ovoid vibrated like a

 well&#8209;tuned violin string. It was impossible to escape the feeling that they were

 going somewhere.

 Ascela confirmed it. "We are set upon a road&#8209;though by my grandmother's tail I

 cannot say what road that may be, or where it may lead." She rested back on her

 haunches in a position that would have painfully cramped any human but that the

 seni found most relaxing.

 Jorana tried to lighten the atmosphere within the ovoid. "I know this road. It

 is the road to wherever."

 "To wherever the howling stones lead," Ascela agreed.

 With nothing to see, nothing to do, and no control over either, Pulickel saw no

 reason why he should not emulate the attitude of their nonhuman fellow

 travelers. Shifting his body, he put his hands behind his head and leaned back

 against the pale red transparent wall. This was now slightly warm to the touch.

 Fawn attempted to do likewise, but the length of her limbs made it difficult

 for her to find a comfortable position. She was expectant, but not particularly

 happy.

 "So you have no idea where this `road' leads?" she queried their companions.

 "No," Jorana confirmed. "But I think we are going to find out."

 "Look here." Pulickel held out his wrist. "My chronometer's stopped."

 Fawn glanced down at herself and nodded. "Mine, also." She checked her other

 wrist. "Recorder's not working, either. Readout says the cell is drained, but

 I. put in a fresh one before I joined the rest of you."

 "Mine read half charged before I climbed in here." Removing the protective

 backplate, he slipped a fresh cell from his belt into the appropriate receptacle

 and snapped it shut. The readout did not change. "Dead, also. I have a feeling

 they've all been drained, or discharged, or Tesla knows what else."

 She nodded confirmation after checking her own inventory. "Then we'll just have

 to rely on the only recorders left to us." She pointed two fingers at her eyes.

 He nodded. "Let's hope nothing drains that power source."

 Tune passed without measure. They were still discussing the mystery of the

 depleted power cells when it happened&#8209;so suddenly no one had time to react or

 prepare. Subsequently, they were too overwhelmed to remember the exact moment

 when everything changed.

 Gone was the all&#8209;pervasive darkness as the ovoid burst out into a gigantic

 tunnel composed of brilliant streaks of excited plasma. Yellow, red, and blue

 flares darkening to deepmost purple twisted and writhed around there, raw energy

 disciplined and held in check by immense unseen forces. It was an electric pipe,

 a piece of hollow lightning, down which they were being sucked at

 inconceivable speed. The ovoid was channeling an aurora.

 It wasn't straight, their chosen course. It bent and looped, and, given the

 radical twists, they should by rights have been sick all over themselves. But

 while the universe outside went mad, something unseen maintained their internal

 equilibrium. No one upchucked, though Pulickel was about ready to throw out

 everything he'd ever learned about physics.

 And as if the astonishing road down which they were flying wasn't wonder enough,

 beyond the flaring walls of the tunnel could be seen dozens, hundreds of others

 of equally impossible brilliance, coiling about each other like mating pythons

 or flaring off in a thousand different directions. Awed, they could only stare.

 Numbed, Pulickel could only wonder how many ovoids like their own were racing

 along those improbable lengths at impossible velocities to unknown

 destinations. Fawn speculated aloud on who or what might be riding in them.

 Strands of a rope, threads of a weave, the tunnels were not inviolate.

 Occasionally a burst of sheer radiance would jump from one tunnel to another.

 The travelers looked in vain for signs of another voyaging ovoid similar to

 their own but saw none. It left them to wonder if they simply didn't know how

 to look, or if they were truly alone, the only ones abroad on the immense

 network.

 Within the speeding ovoid the air stayed pleasant and fresh, the temperature

 agreeable. Hearts, however, raced.

 "I wonder if we're traveling along some kind of natural structure," Fawn

 speculated, "or if someone actually built all thus."

 Pulickel stared at the web of plasma tunnels, thoroughly entranced. "If the

 latter, it would qualify as the most impressive piece of engineering in our part

 of the galaxy."

 She laughed softly, a sound that always made him think of fired brandy. "What

 makes you think that we're still in `our part of the galaxy'?"

 He smiled back. "Figure of speech. Everyone needs a reference point to start

 from."

 "Roads." Jorana was speaking. "There are an infinite number of roads leading to

 an infinite number of spaces."

 "Yes," Ascela agreed. "This one chose us. We did not choose it. We are not the

 masters of the howling stones."

 "Well, somebody must be." Fawn tried to stretch, had to settle for a half.

 "Roads have builders. And destinations."

 Pulickel recalled the naked, overpowering, soulcrushing evil he had

 encountered. Did one of these roads lead to that? Did the one they were on? But

 if anything, they continued to suffer from a surfeit of light and not its

 absence.

 Fawn was right. They had no idea where they were. Perhaps not even in the same

 galaxy or, for all he knew, in the same universe. What, after all, did roads of

 such magnitude and wonder connect? Different dimensions, parallel universes? He

 would have given a great deal to see just one star&#8209;one ordinary, everyday,

 spherical bail of thermonuclear fire. But there were none; there were only the

 roads.

 The two transportation stones he had taken and inadvertently activated had sent

 him careening wildly from place to place, with no control over direction or

 destination. This was different. This was controlled travel down a designated

 route. To where, neither human nor seni could say. But Fawn was right: a route

 implied a destination. He wondered what would happen when they reached it.

 If they reached it, he corrected himself. They knew nothing of the lifespan of

 the beings that had fabricated the network, nor of their tolerance for long&#8209;term

 travel. Perhaps a real&#8209;time journey of a century or more was like a week to

 them. In that event, when it finally slowed to a halt the ovoid would bring

 forth a load of desiccated corpses.

 He felt of his field pack. They had a few concentrates with them, a little juice

 and water. It wouldn't last very long and, consequently, neither would they. If

 they didn't stop fairly soon, they would have to try to turn the ovoid around or

 find another way back.

 He smiled sardonically to himself. Might as well try to reverse the spin of a

 pulsar. Which, though he did not know it, was an evaluation not far off the

 mark. Senisran, Earth, the whole Commonwealth seemed very far away. In that view

 he was completely correct.

 Eventually the maze of fiery, flaring plasma tunnels began to thin out until

 less than a hundred remained, twisting and coiling like emancipated Aztec

 deities in the vastness of empty space. As the ovoid sped on, showing no signs

 of slowing, this number was reduced until only a handful remained, then less

 than a dozen. Finally there was only the one, a cascade of explosive red and

 lambent purple, coruscating yellow and throbbing blue. Their tunnel. Their

 road.

 The notion of comparative velocity had long since lost any relevance. With

 nothing to measure themselves against, they had no way of estimating their

 speed. Faster than fast was the best description Fawn could come up with. No one

 was foolish enough to propose an actual number.

 Without warning, the plasma tunnel began to constrict around them, until it was

 no wider than the ovoid itself. This must be how a corpuscle in a capillary

 feels, Pulickel imagined. And then, as the tunnel walls drew tight, so at last

 did the cosmos.

 They were surrounded by stars. Ordinary, normal looking, unremarkable stars.

 Sol&#8209;types and red giants, white dwarfs and binaries, they were clearly visible

 through the blazing walls of the tunnel. They swam in a sea of coruscating

 nebulae, and Pulickel wanted to reach out and kiss each and every one of them.

 Instant conflagration aside, it would have taken him quite a while.

 More stars were visible than any of them had ever seen at any one time in a

 crystal&#8209;clear night sky or from an orbiting platform. So many stars that they

 crowded the nebulae for living space and threatened to eliminate the blackness

 of space in which they swam. Enough stars to make the middle of the Milky Way

 look empty and unpopulated. You could skip from star to star, hop from system

 to system, Fawn thought. Or such was the impression the sight created.

 A new sensation rippled through them: one of progressive deceleration. Curving

 to their right, the attenuated plasma tunnel carried them toward a yellow sun

 surrounded by a ring of matter and energy that coexisted in a state foreign to

 either xenologist's experience. Out past this striking system they flew, curving

 sharply above another star that boasted an entourage of no less than twenty

 planets plus assorted moons and comets and asteroids. Half these worlds were

 linked by lesser versions of the energy tunnel through which they were

 traveling.

 Still another system, arrayed around a black hole orbited by strange fan&#8209;shape

 objects whose mouths pointed toward the gravitational monster in their midst,

 drawing upon its energy, sucking up collapsed matter and feeding it to a world

 the size of Jupiter. There it was molded and shaped, energy bending energy into

 a bridge that spanned a galaxy. This galaxy.

 Pulickel and Fawn had already decided that they had abandoned one in favor of

 another, but they didn't know the half of it.

 Proceeding down the tunnel at speeds that had dwindled from the impossible to

 the merely incredible, they passed structures so immense and overawing as to

 leave them bereft of superlatives. How could they be expected to relate to an

 entirely artificial world built, as it were, from matter up?

 There was one individual fabrication so grandiose in the conception, so

 breathtaking in its execution, that it was difficult to believe in its

 existence. As the tunnel passed through a portal the size of lo, they found

 themselves confronted by a star that had been entirely englobed by an

 artificial structure. On its inner surface lived unknown beings in their

 quadrillions, warmed and nurtured by their captive star. The ovoid passed

 quickly through its orbit and out an opening on the far side of the englobement.

 New tunnels hove into view, passing close to a pulsar to boost their cargoes

 between the multitudinous stars at ever more incredible velocities. Here were

 suns enough, planets enough, for individuals who might desire it to have a whole

 world unto themselves. Desire company, and the plasma tunnels could bring it to

 you in less than a &#8209;day.

 Above one world someone or something was tracing abstract designs in the

 planet's upper atmosphere, using its ionosphere for a canvas. Elsewhere stellar

 winds were focused through hollow moons, resulting in true music of the spheres.

 It was a universe of wonders and enchantments.

 It was also very far from home.

 Once, a ship passed close. Or was it a planet, fitted out with engines and

 powered out of orbit, vacationing from one sun to the next? Pulickel couldn't be

 sure and size gave no clue. The scale of values and comparisons on which he

 relied for such things had long since crumbled to dust.

 A smaller speeding artifact came near enough for astonished faces to be seen

 staring back at the occupants of the ovoid. Anything but godlike visages of

 authority and power, they conveyed a certain shyness rather than omnipotence.

 Black and gray wraiths, hairless and wide eyed, they left in their wake a sense

 of startled surprise at the nature of the ovoid's passengers.

 Fawn felt a wrenching dislocation, as if they had suddenly reversed direction

 and picked up speed. Sooner than they had left them behind, they were once again

 surrounded by hundreds of the dazzlingly effulgent tunnels. She fought to

 recover her internal equilibrium.

 "What happened there? It felt like someone pulled the floor out from under us!"

 Pulickel swallowed several times, working to clear the rising gorge from his

 throat. "Maybe somebody did."

 "The gods saw us." Having long since resigned herself to whatever fate had in

 store for them, Ascela wasn't overly concerned. Jorana gestured agreement.

 "They didn't look much like gods to me," Pulickel countered. "They were small,

 and kind of skinny. Builders yes, engineers certainly, perhaps miracle&#8209;workers

 even, but gods? I don't think so."

 "I know what happened." Fawn squeezed her eyes shut, blinked once, and shook her

 head. "Somebody just pulled our superstring."

 He summoned up his usual subdued smile. "I wouldn't doubt it. I wonder what

 they're going to do with us now that they've seen us?"

 It didn't take long to find out. There was a renewed sense of slowing. Their

 tunnel took a sharp turn away from the mass of fiery filaments, which vanished

 rapidly behind them. This was followed by an interval of utter blackness.

 Not long thereafter, the ovoid stopped. Light slowly returned to the interior.

 Not light from a million stars, or a thousand blazing plasma tunnels, but a

 softer illumination. Moonlight, supplemented by the flickering dance of torches

 and lanterns.

 The ovoid was oozing its way out of the green mass. They were back.

 Through the transparent walls they could see a joyous mob of Parramati leaping

 and hopping toward them. And when the far end of the elliptical capsule

 evaporated, they could hear them, as well.

 Behind him, Fawn Seaforth was speculating on their unexpected return., "They

 sent us back. Reprogrammed the egg, or threw us into reverse, or whatever was

 necessary. But they sent us back." Rolling onto hands and knees, she prepared

 to exit in Pulickel's wake. "I have a feeling we weren't supposed to be where we

 were, sort of like a kid who borrows the family transport and goes for a run

 without first asking permission."

 "I disagree." Emerging from the ovoid, he fought to make sense of what they'd

 seen. "I think the process was automatic from beginning to end."

 Pushing past him, the jubilant Parramati surrounded Ascela and Jorana, embracing

 them exuberantly. There was much clasping of hands and rubbing of snouts. Ears

 bent forward to catch the travelers' every bark while sensitive nostrils sniffed

 for signs of foreign roads. Swallowed by the howling stones, the two big persons

 had been given up for lost. Their return, alive and in apparent good health, was

 cause for more than ordinary celebration.

 Congratulations were passed on to the humans, as well. Pulickel dimly heard

 Jorana explaining that they had visited the abode of the gods, seen many

 wonders, and traversed the preeminent road. It was a miraculous place, the

 Torrelauapan big person avowed, but not for Parramati. Torrelau, Mallatyah, and

 the rest of the islands were better. None disputed him, there being little merit

 in trying to remonstrate with an eyewitness.

 What it ultimately proved, of course, was that those who hewed to the ways of

 kusum would always have miracles and wonders at their beck and call, to enhance

 their lives and confound their enemies.

 A hand clutched at Pulickel's shoulder, one with five familiar fingers instead

 of three long, double&#8209;jointed ones. Fawn was looking down at him and smiling.

 "How did that compare to the trip you made with the transportation stones? At

 least this time nobody came back comatose."

 "Completely different. This time I felt like something was in control, that it

 wasn't random jumping from place to place." He looked past her, to the glowing

 green bulk. Its radiance had not diminished. "These howling stones assemble

 themselves into some kind of station or terminus. It's one tiny part of the

 incredible transportation system we saw. Those hundreds of tunnels&#8209;many if not

 all of them must begin and end with terminals just like or similar to this."

 Excitement shone in his eyes.

 She was nodding slowly. "Tunnels or highways, it's all the same. Thousands of

 them, all leading ... where?"

 "We can find out." His tone was urgent, eager. "Make a map, learn the routings."

 Her eyes widened. "Whoa, let's back up a step. We still don't know for certain

 that someone built these."

 "Of course we do. We even saw some of the builders."

 "We saw aliens. We don't know that they were the originators of the tunnel

 system, or that the builders even still exist. You don't have to be an engineer

 to find your way around on public transport."

 "No, but somebody keeps those tunnels functional. Somebody lives on that

 spherical artificial platform facing the enclosed sun, and somebody builds and

 operates starships the size of worlds. Or planiforms worlds into starships. If

 not the original builders, then who?"

 She made a face. "Ask me another simple one."

 "Leap of faith, remember? Sometimes you just have to accept, even in science."

 He was puzzled by her tentativeness. "These beings englobe stars and tap black

 holes for power. They string tubes of supercharged plasma between star systems,

 probably between galaxies, and maybe between adjoining universes. They're for

 real, and we have to make contact with them."

 She smiled wanly. "Excuse me if I don't feel up to monkeying with anything like

 that. I'm a field xenologist; not a philosopher, metaphysician, or theoretical

 physicist."

 "Same here," he retorted. "I just like to see what lies over the next mountain."

 He was looking past her now. "All those stars, all those systems! There could

 have been a thousand intelligent races out there."

 "A million," she added somberly.

 "Yes, a million&#8209;and we only saw the one. Don't tell me you didn't get the

 feeling that they reacted to our presence."

 "Reacted to it," she murmured, "by turning us around and getting rid of us."

 "The engineers." Pulickel was insistent. "The builders. I know they didn't look

 like much, but that doesn't mean anything."

 "So I've been told."

 He missed her sarcasm entirely. "But why a terminus here? And why abandon it who

 knows how long ago, along with the other stones? It's almost as if they wanted

 to break connections with this system, or this part of the galaxy, permanently."

 Extracting a drink cylinder from her pack, Fawn snapped the tip open. It chilled

 immediately and she downed half the contents in a series of long swallows, then

 looked long and hard at her colleague. "A reasonable interpretation of the

 evidence. Think about it."

 He turned away to eye the perfect, unpolluted night sky of Senisran. "But that

 still doesn't explain why this world?"

 She brooded. "Maybe Senisran isn't the only one with connections. Maybe if you

 know where and how to look, howling stones can be found on other worlds within

 the Commonwealth."

 He gestured sharply at the amorphous structure from which the cryptic emerald

 radiance continued to emanate powerfully. "Nobody's ever found anything like

 this."

 "You mean nobody's ever reported finding anything like this," she corrected him.

 "That's not the same thing as knowing for a fact that nothing like it has ever

 been found." She waved at the star&#8209;speckled but uninformative heavens. "There

 could be howling stones scattered across half the Arm without humans or thranx

 or AAnn or any of the other sentient races knowing about them." After draining

 the drink cylinder, she tucked the empty container back in her pack.

 "There are a lot of tribes and clans right here on Senisran, and of them all

 only the Parramati have access to and knowledge of the stones. And that probably

 by accident. Who knows? This may be the beginning of the discovery of sacred

 stones throughout the Commonwealth."

 His voice fell. "You're mocking me."

 "Nothing of the sort. Just being realistic." She looked back at the glowing

 green terminal, or whatever it was. "Maybe I'm just not ready to rethink

 everything I know about natural law."

 Before he could respond, Ascela hopped in between them. The Torrelauapan big

 person regarded them both. "We have made a decision. All the big persons of all

 the islands, resolving together. Jorana and I have told them of what we have

 seen and experienced, and a conclusion has been reached."

 Fawn brightened at this return to reality. "You mean you're going to accept the

 treaty?"

 Ascela peered up at her. "You have already been told: we make no treaties with

 anyone. This is not about treaties. Our kusum has just proven its superiority to

 all other ways of knowing and of acting. Commanding such knowledge frees us from

 any need to concern ourselves with your technology or that of the shiny&#8209;skinned

 AAnn.

 "There will be no treaties. No one will be allowed to come and dig in our

 islands. We readily forgo any benefits this might have brought to us." The

 seriousness of her pronouncement was confirmed by her careful inflection.

 "You have seen how the stones are tied to our kusum and how kusum relies for

 support on the stones. There will be no more demonstrations. The howling stones

 will be removed and returned to their places of rest throughout the islands."

 "No, you can't do that!" Seeing the look in the eyes of the two big persons and

 interpreting it correctly, an agitated Pulickel struggled to compose himself.

 "I mean, you need to think this through carefully. If the howling stones are

 disassembled, next time they may not fit together properly. Or the source of

 their energy could disappear."

 "It does not matter." Ascela was unyielding. "The Goggelai is ended. We have

 seen the meaning of the howling stones, and that is enough. It opens the road

 that does not heal, or make the heart grow, or bring happiness. A road that

 gives questions but not answers holds nothing for us. Closing it will keep kusum

 pure." She put her face close to the xenologist's. "It was to try to show you

 the importance of this that the Goggelai was held."

 At a gesture from Jorana, several big persons stepped forward. It was obvious to

 both visiting humans what the Parramati intended to do next. They had assembled

 the remarkable terminal stone by stone, and they were going to break it down by

 employing precisely the same procedure.

 Ignoring Fawn's warning, Pulickel rushed to place himself between the advancing

 big persons and the green mass. His words were hurried and so his enunciation of

 the alien words and phrases not as polished as usual.

 "Please, you cannot do this!" He indicated the edifice behind him, the

 protruding cone of the ovoid. "I cannot explain its importance unless you give

 me some time. There are concepts that are difficult to render in your language.

 But I can tell you, with every fiber of my being, that this is more important

 than mining rights, than any treaty, than my life, or yours, or the supposed

 sanctity of kusum.

 "Your traditions will not be harmed by leaving this as it is, to be examined and

 studied. Indeed, I promise you that they will be enhanced by the knowledge that

 is to be gained."

 Jorana had joined the gathering line of big persons. His reply was flat. "We

 will begin by removing the largest stone from the top. One by one, the stone

 masters will take their stones back home. This is the way of kusum."

 Ascela was less brusque. "We have learned what the Goggelai had to teach us,

 friend Pu'il. You should have learned it, too."

 Pulickel didn't move. "You can't just destroy something like this, just take it

 apart and throw away its promise!" Behind him, the front end of the ovoid still

 gaped temptingly, beckoning to long&#8209;vanished passengers.

 Standing off to one side, Fawn spoke gently. "I think we ought to listen to

 them, Pulickel. This&#8209;this is almost too big."

 He shot her a challenging look. '`What are you talking about? Are you siding

 with these aborigines?'

 She stiffened. "Put it that way if it makes you feel more comfortable. We have

 no conception of the possible ramifications of continuing to use this device.

 Neither do the Parramati. We're dealing with something more than mere science

 here. This is a door to a technology we can't begin to understand. Maybe, just

 maybe, we're not advanced enough, not mature enough to deal with it."

 His gaze narrowed. "Don't be oblique with me, Fawn. You know I can't stand that.

 What are you trying to say?" The Parramati held their ground, watching the two

 humans, listening to their strange speech.

 "You had a bad experience with the transportation stones. Just two stones." She

 nodded in the direction of the softly lambent terminal. "We were lucky this

 time. Next try might be different. A photo&#8209;trap is a wonderful piece of

 technology. They're placed all around the station to secure specimens for study.

 But the fauna they catch probably don't think they're such a wonderful piece of

 technology. They don't even know what's happened to them, or how. If we're not

 careful, we could find ourselves in a similar position."

 He shook his head sadly. "This is a modus for travel, not a trap! I am sorry,

 Fawn, but your analogy fails me. I cannot believe what I am hearing&#8209;and from a

 fellow scientist, no less." He spared a quick glance for the terminal, as if to

 assure himself it was still there.

 "This discovery may change our view of the entire cosmos. It's fundamental. The

 tunnels may give us access not to a few new worlds but to millions. It will

 alter humankind's entire future."

 "Yes," she murmured, "but how? New physics are one thing. New ways of thinking

 are harder to cope with. We can't even keep a lasting peace with the AAnn or

 maintain psychological peace among our own kind. What makes you think that

 we're ready to deal with hundreds, maybe thousands of new sentient species, at

 least one of whom is not just more advanced than we are but inconceivably more

 advanced? Beings who push worlds around like cookie crumbs."

 "There's nothing magical about this." He indicated the terminal. "Once the

 principles are understood, we can manufacture our own and access the tunnel

 network with them. I have yet to hear of a piece of engineering that dedicated

 research couldn't break down."

 "As easy as that," she muttered.

 "Yes," he replied defiantly, "as easy as that. We'll use the tunnels to travel

 wherever we wish. I'm not saying that the process will be simple, or immediate,

 but it will happen."

 "I'm not so sure." She took a step toward him. "I really think maybe it would be

 better to let the Parramati take charge of these stones. They'll keep them safe,

 and someday the humanx will discover the secrets of the tunnels on its own.

 When we're ready."

 "We stand on the threshold of the discovery of the ages and you stand there

 spouting Luddite cliches. " He eyed her pityingly.

 She was not to be moved. "I just believe in taking existence one universe at a

 time."

 He backed up until he was standing next to the ovoid "Come with me, Fawn."

 "Come with you? Come with you where?" She watched him warily. "What are you

 thinking now?"

 "We'll go back. Instead of racing about aimlessly we'll find some way to make

 contact. Draw attention to ourselves. It is the right thing to do. You'll see.

 I have so many questions ... "

 "Too many questions. I'm sorry, Pulickel, but you're wrong about this. Let the

 Parramati dismantle the terminal. Then we'll talk. I'm having enough trouble

 trying to deal with this one world without having to worry about thousands.

 Let's see if the humanx can get a proper handle on this one comer of this one

 galaxy before we expose it to a few thousand others we know nothing about and

 may not be able to handle. Somehow I don't think that we and the thranx are the

 only intelligent species with an agenda for advancement."

 He stared at her in disbelief, tight&#8209;lipped and quivering with anger and

 frustration. Had she lost her mind or just gone troppo? She'd been too long

 alone in this place.

 Finally he would get the recognition he deserved. Government&#8209;wide, society&#8209;wide

 recognition; not just piddling little promotions in the aftermath of each

 assignment successfully carried out. He would have anything he wanted. This

 would make him the most famous scientist in the Commonwealth, placing him on a

 level with Newton and Einstein and Kurita. And his colleague, his friend, wanted

 to consign it all to the care of a group of heavy&#8209;legged aboriginal aliens, who

 in their turn would reduce it to a pile of useless, inert green rocks.

 Absurd, unthinkable, mad. He would not be denied.

 He had only once used the pistol that was part of his field kit. It was intended

 for defense against Senisran's less benevolent species. But he'd carried similar

 devices on other worlds and was no stranger to their function. They were tools,

 nothing more. With&#8209;careful deliberation he removed it from its holster.

 "... and that's why we&#8209;" Fawn was telling Ascela and Jorana when she saw the

 gun. She stopped in midsentence, her eyes widening. Pulickel had seen her

 surprised before, but never shocked. A first time for everything, he told

 himself.

 "What ... do you think you are doing?"

 "You know, Fawn, a man waits all his fife for one big chance, one real

 opportunity to rise above the crowd, to distinguish himself from the herd. To

 take it and fail is bad, but not to take it at all is a hundred times worse." It

 felt good to give voice to his feelings. He might not convince her, but he was

 certainly convincing himself.

 "Most people never get that chance. I've spent a career toiling for the

 Department, doing good work but not great work, receiving commendations but not

 accolades. When the media want comments on the division's inner workings, I'm

 never the one they interview. When procedural decisions are made, I'm not the

 one consulted. I'm a valuable functionary, but nothing more. Well, I'm tired of

 being a cog."

 She did her best to reassure him, but she wasn't smiling. "Take away one cog

 and the whole machine stops."

 "Nice try. Please don't come any closer, Ascela." The big person had taken a

 short hop toward the diminutive xenologist. Now she retreated. Fawn had

 demonstrated the effectiveness of modern weapons for the Torrelauapans on

 several occasions. Ascela herself had seen a pistol cut a revavuaa in half. She

 passed a warning along to the increasingly restless big persons nearby.

 Retreating slowly, Pulickel used his left hand to feel behind him for the

 entrance to the ovoid. "Please keep back. It would distress me greatly if I had

 to shoot anyone."

 Fawn just stared at him. "Don't do this, Pulickel. You're not feeling well."

 "On the contrary, I feel fine. Very much alive, thank you. Exhilarated, even.

 I'm going back, Fawn. By myself, it seems. I'm going to try to make contact, to

 learn as much as I can, and then I am returning. I will see that you receive due

 credit for your degree of participation in this seminal exploration."

 Watching the weapon, she chanced a couple of steps in his direction. "You need

 to come back to the station with me, Pulickel. You need to rest. I'll take care

 of you." Striking a pose, she bestowed on him the most inviting, sexy smile in

 her considerable but infrequently unveiled arsenal. "Come with me, and we'll

 talk it over."

 "Just stay back, Fawn." The pistol didn't waver. "Tell everyone to keep away."

 This wasn't as difficult as he feared. Unable to see over the heads and ears of

 their tightly packed brethren, most of the Parramati were unaware of what was

 going on.

 Still pointing the gun, he climbed backward into the ovoid and sat down. It was

 easier now. They could only come at him from one direction. As he tried to watch

 Fawn and the nearest big persons simultaneously, it occurred to him that he was

 going to look very foolish if this time the device didn't react to his presence

 and nothing happened.

 Her expression a mix of hurt and anger, Fawn moved to converse with Ascela. He

 couldn't hear what they were saying, but they glanced frequently in his

 direction. Let them look all they wanted, he thought grimly. He was snug and

 secure within the ovoid.

 It was all bluff, of course. He couldn't shoot anyone. But the Parramati did not

 know that, and Fawn didn't know him well enough to count on it. Especially if

 she thought he'd gone off the deep end. By the time she reached the conclusion

 that he was incapable of harming another intelligent being, he would be long

 gone. Or so he hoped.

 As he sat pondering, the pistol positioned loosely between his knees, the

 entrance sealed over. The sensation of movement returned and the outside world

 darkened as for the second time the ovoid slid backward into the terminal.

 Outside, he could see Fawn shouting at him and gesticulating. No sound

 penetrated his shelter.

 He smiled to himself. Throughout his career, his official reports had been

 models of precision and organization. The one he intended to file from Torrelau

 would top them all. It had to, since it was destined to be filed alongside On

 the Origin of Species, A General Theory of Relativity, and Proposals for a

 Special Gravitational Algorithm for Space&#8209;Plus Routing.

 For a second time that night blackness enveloped the ovoid. Vibration increased.

 He was on his way.

 Chapter Twenty

 

 It seemed to take a little longer than the first time until the capsule burst

 out into the realm of fiery plasma tunnels and rampant rivers of channeled

 energy. Having some idea of what to expect, he was able to devote more time to

 studious observation and less to slack jawed amazement.

 After a while the tunnels began to fall from view, exactly as before, until

 only the one down which he was racing remained. Arching sharply to the left, it

 punched back into the star&#8209;rich region that had so entranced him and his fellow

 travelers previously.

 Somewhat to his own surprise, he recognized several systems and structures in

 passing. But then, he'd always been good at recording details for future

 analysis, and when some of those "details" were the size of entire worlds, they

 tended to remain firmly in memory.

 He saw new megastructures, as well, and marveled afresh at the skills of those

 who had fashioned them. Whoever these beings were, they had mastered the art of

 materials science, for art it had to be called. They had bent matter to their

 needs. He made notes using the oldfashioned stylus and paper he always carried

 in his pack, and sketched as best he could. That human technology, at least,

 seemed to function without difficulty in this place.

 Unexpectedly, the incredible starfield began to shift less rapidly around him.

 He was slowing, much sooner than on the previous journey. Putting up his writing

 materials, he turned within the ovoid. No immediate changes were visible, but

 then, the smooth interior offered little that was subject to alteration.

 External motion ceased. All about him, channeled plasma roared silently. The

 capsule came to, as near as he could tell in the absence of suitable reference

 points, a complete stop.

 While he did not panic, his curiosity was underscored by a growing tension. What

 if something had gone wrong? As ancient as the system was, it was not

 unreasonable to expect that individual components would break down from time to

 time. It was a dazzling, resplendent place to be marooned, but he could die here

 as readily as in total darkness. As alone as it was possible for a human being

 to be, he sat and meditated and waited&#8209; for something to happen.

 Only the sharp curve of the tunnel allowed him to see the object as it

 approached. Though a long way off, he was able to determine that it was

 definitely moving toward him. Immense beyond imagining, the star&#8209;treading torus

 was fringed with an exotic and unrecognizable assortment of protrusions and

 bulges. It was accompanied by a flotilla of other craft that darted and drifted

 about it like worker ants attending to their queen. The least of these vessels

 was far larger than the biggest KK&#8209;drive ship ever built.

 The plasma tunnel down which he had been racing was rapidly vanishing into the

 exact center of the toroidal wanderer. It did not reemerge on the other side.

 One did not have to be an alien mega&#8209;engineer to understand what was happening.

 The road&#8209;builders were taking up the pavement.

 Where the tunnel disappeared there flared an aurora the size of the Earth.

 Energy was not consumed so much as it was shifted. Unable in any way to affect

 his own destiny, he stared, enthralled, as the torus maintained its methodical

 advance. If it did not stop before it reached him, both he and the ovoid would

 vanish in an insignificant puff of ruptured particles.

 Then he was no longer alone. Vehicles too small to be seen at a distance, which

 had been dwarfed by the torus and its support craft, were suddenly hovering

 close by, just outside the raging tunnel wall. As the conduit collapsed around

 him, he was able to make out more of the big&#8209;eyed, smooth&#8209;skinned creatures he

 and his companions had glimpsed so briefly on their previous visit. His earlier

 impressions were confirmed. Physically, at least, these creatures . were

 decidedly unprepossessing. Slight of stature, they were small beings with big

 machines, and they were closing down the Parramati tunnel. All because of him?

 Their aversion to uninvited guests could no longer be denied.

 While several of the small superfast craft remained nearby, allowing their

 occupants to study him, others vanished, presumably returning to the vicinity of

 the advancing torus. He found that he was starting to sweat. Though he'd faced

 death on more than one world, it remained a confrontation he did not relish.

 A jolt sharp enough to knock him backward rattled the ovoid. Acceleration

 resumed. Gathering himself, he saw that the torus had begun to recede. Or more

 likely, he from it. His sanctuary had been thrust into reverse. At the whim of

 alien engineers, he was going to live a little while longer.

 Several of the small craft tracked his withdrawal, paralleling the ovoid as it

 retraced its path back up the tunnel. Though he felt he was moving more slowly

 than before, he soon lost sight of the plasma&#8209;consuming torus. When eventually

 the starfield vanished to be replaced by the Gordian knot of intertwined

 tunnels, so did his escort.

 For all their inconceivable physical accomplishments, the engineers had struck

 him as a timid species. It was an impression, a sensation, that ran deeper than

 a few brief visual contacts ought to have been able to convey, but no less

 tangible for that. As tangible as the feeling that they didn't want anything to

 do with him or with his kind.

 Though he couldn't be certain from what he'd seen, it seemed that they were in

 the process of closing down the tunnel permanently. Privacy and isolation were

 one thing, paranoia was another. Had the entire gigantic apparatus required to

 shut down the tunnel been brought into use only since his prior journey in the

 ovoid? Had that visit set off some kind of alarm? Certainly these cosmos

 spanning beings couldn't be that frightened of him.

 The corollaries were unsettling. They implied that there was something else to

 be afraid of. Something that on the basis of a tiny, insignificant intrusion

 would drive beings like these not just to close off but to break down a

 construct as complex as the plasma tunnel, to eliminate it from the fabric of

 existence. From within the safety of the ovoid he had seen many wonders. What

 was out there that he had not seen?

 What was out there that so terrified these masters of matter?

 The rationale for the terminal's original dissipation was clear enough. Its

 makers no longer had need of it and did not want it used. Its components had

 been taken apart and scattered, perhaps in haste. Evolving subsequently,

 primitive Parramati had learned that when combined, certain stones had useful

 consequences. By far the most complex of these combinations resulted in the

 auto&#8209;reconstitution of the Senisran terminal. No doubt the engineers hadn't

 counted on anyone discovering the component stones, much less their inherent

 recombinant capabilities.

 Among other things, it suggested that they had left in haste. That, too, was not

 a pleasant thought.

 The blackness returned, blotting out his view of other tunnels and rampaging

 energies. In contrast to previous journeying, the ride became bumpy and uneven.

 Once, a violent wrenching to the right slammed him against the opposite wall of

 the ovoid. Dazed, he lay on the floor, trying to focus on the rose&#8209;hued ceiling.

 How far behind him the consuming torus lay he did not know, but clearly its

 operation was affecting the entire length of the tunnel.

 He found himself wondering if it would collapse completely before he made it

 back to Senisran.

 The ovoid began to slow and he relaxed. Any moment now, he knew, it would start

 to emerge from the terminal, the end would open, and he would step out to rejoin

 Fawn and the waiting big persons. Feeling suddenly ashamed, he knew he owed all

 of them a general apology. Blinded by the light of potential discovery, he had

 acted in haste and, not to put too fine a point on it, rather badly. He

 determined to make things right with the Parramati as well as with his dismayed

 associate.

 The capsule came to a halt. Outside the transparent walls, darkness continued to

 reign supreme. No soft moonlight, no welcoming lanterns illuminated his anxious

 expression. He could see outside, but only into varying degrees of blackness. A

 feeling of dread crept over him.

 He had been here before.

 On the fringes, on the edge, on the half&#8209;safe periphery only, he sensed. This

 time penetration was different, deeper, darker. He had traveled to the place

 where thrived the worst nightmares of childhood, the threat of oblivion,

 purgatory, and damnation.

 They had sent him here, he realized as he tried to shrink back inside himself.

 The alien engineers had put him on course to this place, perhaps shunting the

 ovoid onto another tunnel. He'd been wondering what made them so uneasy, so

 apprehensive of visitation.

 Beware what questions you formulate, he thought feebly, for you may get answers.

 Bringing up his knees, he drew himself into a tight fetal ball with his soul in

 the center. Only the faint pink glow that emanated from the capsule walls kept

 him sane, gave him something to focus on. Though the tunnel that had brought him

 to this place remained intact, even the burning plasma of its substance was

 overwhelmed and subdued by the monstrous, invasive darkness that seemed to be

 everywhere and everything. While his senses fed him perceptions he didn't want,

 his mind conjured images he was unable to banish.

 Something was out there. A formless form, it was growing curious about the

 microscopic intrusion in its midst. He wanted to scream but feared provoking

 more intimate attention. He was also afraid that when he opened his mouth

 nothing would emerge. While the composition of the Presence remained unknown to

 him, he had no doubt as to its active nature.

 It was Evil.

 His mind shrank from confrontation, from contemplation. Once there might have

 been stars in this place. Suns, planets, people not unlike humans or seni or

 even alien mega&#8209;engineers. All gone now, all vanished; beaten down, overwhelmed,

 smothered by the darkness that occupied this space. There was only one of it,

 he sensed, and it was everywhere.

 It wanted more. It wanted totality, and was relentless in its search for

 pathways and conduits to other places. Tunnels, Pulickel told himself. It

 possessed no directing intelligence, no mindful purpose. It was a disease, a

 cosmotic pathogen, aimless and blind as a bacterium, and it had to be isolated.

 Vaster than imagination, it relentlessly consumed galaxies, whole universes,

 engulfing them like trophies, snuffing out the light of stars and intelligence,

 leaving behind not so much as a breath of interstellar hydrogen to begin the

 life&#8209;reaction anew.

 This, Pulickel knew, was what the engineers were so afraid of. They had used the

 tunnels to flee. He understood.

 Perhaps his understanding triggered some mental mechanical subset of a kind he

 could not understand, or possibly it had all been carefully timed. The engineers

 could not only build: they were also capable of compassion. They would show him

 this thing, but they would not leave even one intelligent being to it. To do so

 would have been to violate their own rationale for existence.

 Besides which, the dead could not lead by example.

 A mindless gibbering Something reached out to flay his soul, but he was already

 beyond its reach. The ovoid was moving again, carrying him away from that place

 of aversion and loathing, picking up speed as it fled. The doors of his mind,

 which had shut tight in self&#8209;defense, began to reopen. Cold sweat plastered

 shirt and shorts to his skin.

 He'd been exposed to only an insignificant portion of It, he knew, for a

 minuscule length of time, and that was too much.

 It felt as if days had passed, but in reality it had been only minutes. He'd

 returned full of questions to the universe of the engineers, and had received

 one answer too many. Now he wanted only to get away, to go home. Home was Earth,

 but Senisran would do. Anyplace there was light and life would do.

 Did universes bicker? he wondered. Oblivious and indifferent to what he thought

 of as life, did light do battle with the darkness? He'd always thought of the

 cosmos as a fractious place, but never before as a sinister one. The physical

 revelations and technological enlightenment for which he had embarked on his

 present journey seemed suddenly inconsequential. Everything seemed suddenly

 inconsequential.

 Careful, he told himself. That way lies the lassitude that leads to madness.

 Not long after he determined that he was likely to survive the experience, he

 found himself returned. Plainly visible through the transparent walls, agitated

 Parramati rushed the emerging ovoid. Many were armed. Towering above them, Fawn

 was borne along in their midst.

 Moving, the capsule stopped. Sealed, it opened. Trying to rise, he found that he

 couldn't move. So tightly had he balled himself up that his legs had cramped in

 position.

 "Help me," he heard himself say. It was a pale shadow of his normal voice, but

 his voice it was. He was astonished at how relieved he was to hear it.

 Several big persons squeezed into the ovoid. Their arms and hands were not

 strong enough to lift him, but they used their powerful hind legs to gently push

 him out the aperture.

 "Pulickel? You can get up now." Fawn was there, staring down at him with a

 mixture of mistrust and concern. When she saw that he couldn't move, her

 misgivings vanished. "He's alive but there's something wrong with him," she said

 to Ascela, who stood close at hand. As the Parramati bent to assist her

 colleague, she carefully removed his pistol from its holster.

 They carried him away from the terminal and over to the edge of the meadow. With

 her support and that of the attendant natives, the errant xenologist slowly

 regained the use of his limbs.

 Behind and around them, the chanting had resumed. Not quite a dirge, it rode on

 a cadence that was noticeably slower than what had gone before. Boosted by his

 fellows, a big person from Mallatyah stood atop the glowing green terminal. As

 the others looked on, he removed a large center stone from the summit and passed

 it down to waiting hands.

 The piercing shaft of emerald light winked out. Near the base, the glassy ovoid

 sank back into the interior. One by one, the howling stones were detached from

 the remarkable structure they had formed and were distributed among the

 gathering, like a sugar cube being dissembled by ants. The resonant whine that

 had filled the meadow and reverberated through the surrounding trees faded to

 silence.

 The Goggelai was over.

 Clouds masked the moon, enhancing the importance of lanterns and torches. Fawn

 eyed her colleague reproachfully. "Think you can walk?"

 Bending, he massaged his thighs. "I hope so. I'd like to walk. How do I look?"

 She squinted in the intermittent light. "Like you've been through hell."

 "Something like that." He looked behind him. "I see that they're taking the

 terminal apart. Good."

 "Good?" She frowned in confusion. "That's not what you were saying a little

 while ago. What made you change your mind?"

 Haunted eyes gazed back at her. "Being through hell. I will explain later, as

 best I can. There's a lot to explain. I got answers to questions, but they

 weren't the ones I wanted to ask." Turning, he started purposefully toward the

 shrinking mound that had been the terminal. "This is taking too long. Let's help

 them."

 She hesitated. "That may not be such a good idea. A number of them want to kill

 you. A few would like to kill me, as well."

 He nodded understandingly. "They can't hurt me. I've already died. If they don't

 do anything to me, I am certain they will not harm you."

 She moved to join him. "You're very sure of yourself. What happened to you in

 there?"

 "A minor epiphany. I'm pretty sure I'm the same person I was when I left, but I

 believe that the basic model has suffered some improvements."

 They were not allowed to join in the dismantling. Before they could reach the

 remnants of the terminal, they were surrounded by a cluster of excited big

 persons.

 "Do not try to talk to us again. We do not wish an alliance, a treaty, with

 either you or the AAnn," the leader of the group declared loudly.

 Pulickel's response was an apologetic smile. "I know. We won't try to force one

 on you anymore." Fawn looked at him sharply but he ignored her. "You must do as

 kusum dictates, and we will abide by that."

 Clearly his response was not the one they had been expecting. Gradually weapons

 were put up and much soft barking ensued. It was Jorana who finally spoke.

 "Be warned. You know the stones, but if any others of your kind come to study

 them, we will throw them into the deep sea."

 The stones, Pulickel wondered, or any newcomers? He hoped to avoid either

 eventuality. It was evident that the stones could be studied only with the aid

 and acquiescence of the Parramati. Any further attempts to push the issue would

 result in the loss to science of the stones and all they represented. He wanted

 very much to learn more about them. He just didn't want to use them to go

 traveling.

 He'd done enough of that.

 The cluster of armed Parramati wavered. Pulickel jumped on their indecision. "I

 promise that if you let us go, neither I nor F'an will speak of this night to

 our big persons. No others will coarse&#8209;at least, not for a long time. Let us

 stay and learn the ways of kusum. Isn't that what you want?"

 "We never tried to prevent it," Jorana responded. "It was only that you and the

 shiny&#8209;skinned ones thought you knew better, that your ways were superior."

 Flashing, slitted eyes came close to exanune the xenologist's face. "I see that

 you now know otherwise."

 "I'm not sure about that," Pulickel replied, "but I do know that certain roads

 are meant to be avoided. F'an and I must follow our own kusum, but that does not

 mean we cannot learn from yours.

 "We will report that the Parramat Archipelago is not ready for development.

 Requests for mining concessions will be denied and actively discouraged. We will

 help you maintain your kusum."

 The Parramati discussed the xenologist's words. Though Pulickel listened

 intently, he was unable to decipher their overlapping dialogue. But their

 posture was no longer threatening, and he allowed himself to feel hopeful.

 Conversation ceased and Jorana turned to face the two humans. "We will accept

 this if F' an will guarantee it." The senior big person looked pointedly at

 Pulickel. "She has never broken her word to us."

 "Of course I guarantee it." She put a hand on Pulickel's shoulder and squeezed

 firmly. "I'll keep him in line."

 Now that the tension had been released, he couldn't repress a grin. "I believe

 I would like that."

 Jorana's lips curled approvingly. "It is good that you finally recognize the

 truth of kusum." A three&#8209;fingered hand reached for his own. "Now we can be

 friends again."

 The xenologist accepted the proffered fingers in the traditional entwined

 manner, having to strain his less flexible joints to accommodate those of the

 far more limber seni. "I am sorry for what happened and for what I did.

 Sometimes if you want something badly enough, it can make you blind and dumb."

 Fatigue and the lateness of the hour led to the gradual breakup of the great

 gathering. Carrying their respective stones, individual big persons retired to

 their assigned longhouses and huts. Tomorrow, Fawn knew, the impressive armada

 of outriggers lined up on the beach below would once more put out to sea,

 swallowed up in ones and twos by the blue horizon on their way back to outlying

 alien islands replete with unknown mysteries and exotic names.

 They slept in Torrelauapa that night. By midmorning, Pulickel avowed as how he

 thought he could manage the hike back to the station. Taking no chances, she

 monitored his vital signs at regular intervals. A couple of times he stumbled,

 but without injury. By the time they topped the last ridge he was near

 exhaustion.

 "I wonder," she hypothesized as they started down, "if the Parramati have the

 only correct view of existence and every other sentient species is wrong. Maybe

 we should all adopt their belief system."

 "Not if it means having to live by the rules of the sacred stones." Pulickel

 spoke with feeling. "Learning their properties is one thing, letting them govern

 your existence is another." He shook his head. "Too many surprises there."

 "If we don't report an occasional revelation, we'll be replaced here," she

 warned him.

 He wasn't worried. "We'll handle it. If we do things right, eventually Ophhlia

 authority will tire of reading pleasant nothings about the Parramat Archipelago

 and focus on more fertile and accommodating island groups. We'll bore them with

 mildly entertaining but commercially unviable discoveries. Meanwhile we'll learn

 what we can about the stones."

 "And then?" she prompted him.

 He stepped carefully over a slippery spot. "I don't know, but I'm sure we'll

 find out." He smiled. "Kusum will tell us how to proceed."

 She frowned at him. "You sound like a convert. What happened in there? Did you

 have some kind of religious experience?"

 To her surprise, he took his time replying. "I don't know. I haven't decided yet

 if it's quantifiable. But I will let you know if and when I figure it all out."

 He wasn't joking, she saw. A ready quip sprang to mind, and then she remembered

 the expression that had been frozen on his face when they'd hauled him out of

 the ovoid. She decided, for now at least, to swallow the joke.

 She watched him carefully all the rest of that day and into the morning of the

 next. By breakfast time he was nearly his usual imperturbable, infuriating self.

 "How do you feel?" She picked at her reconstituted omelet.

 "Worn out, dizzy, utterly drained." He sipped at his juice. "Thoroughly ashamed

 of myself."

 "Forget it. The Parramati forgave you. I guess I can, too." She waved a utensil

 at him. "I understand temptation. I gave in to it once. It wasn't

 profession&#8209;related, but it did cost me a piece of myself."

 "Want to tell me about it?" he inquired solicitously.

 "No. Let's just say it had to do with the male need to triumph and conquer over

 all odds." She didn't look up at him.

 "Don't gender&#8209;generalize me."

 "Why not?" Now she did look up. "It's one of those psychological components of

 human society that we'll never be able to rid ourselves of entirely. Deal with

 it. I've had to."

 "I think we should start with a growing stone," he said calmly, changing the

 subject. "A small one. From its study we can hopefully extrapolate and infer a

 great deal."

 "I'll speak to Ascela about it." Her comment was noncommittal. "When the time

 is right." They ate for a while in silence before he spoke again.

 "I don't think it's going to matter if the howling stones are ever used to

 reassemble the terminal again or not. Because they were shutting down the

 tunnel behind me. The engineers."

 "Shutting it down?" She eyed him uncertainly. "How do you `shut down' something

 like what we experienced? It's too big, it's&#8209;"

 "Small," he told her. "Very small. In the scheme of things. On the scale of

 mega&#8209;engineering. While they were doing it they sent me someplace else." The

 dark spot in his mind that wouldn't go away flared like burning oil. "They

 wanted to show me something."

 "Is that what you meant before, when you spoke about being through hell?" Her

 tone was gentle.

 "It was the worst thing you can imagine. Universal evil. Or maybe a universe of

 evil, I don't know. All I do know is that I am glad no one will ever be able to

 access it from Senisran. The engineers are hiding from it. At least, that's the

 impression I received."

 "I'm not sure I understand."

 "I am not certain I do, either." He finished the last of his juice.

 "Why put a terminal on Senisran?" she wondered after a pause. "Why this world?"

 "Why not Senisran? Maybe you were right, Fawn, and there are disassembled

 terminals on other worlds. Now that we know what to look for, we might be able

 to find them." His voice fell. "I'm just not so sure that would be such a good

 idea. We might accidentally open a tunnel to the wrong place. To that place.

 Only when we know more about the stones, about how they function and on what

 levels, will humanxkind be able to think seriously about collecting howling

 stones and accessing tunnels."

 She nodded understandingly. "Other worlds will have to be searched, of course.

 It's the way we're made."

 46I know. But there are all kinds of searches. Vigilant and circumspect is best.

 To be safe, the knowledge must be restricted and access controlled."

 "I'm certainly not sorry I missed what you went through," she told him.

 "Yes. Be glad that you did. Try as I may, and believe me, I intend to, it's

 something that will never leave me. Each time I relive it, I will die a little.

 But there is something I will always wonder about."

 Leaning back in her chair, she deliberately put her amazing legs up on the table

 for him to enjoy. "What's that?"

 "If the race we've been calling the engineers, with their sun&#8209;girdling

 artificial worlds and plasma tunnels and blackhole energy vents, moved from

 here to there&#8209;and why. Or if this galaxy, this universe, was just another way

 point in their travels. In their search."

 With effortless and unsurpassing grace, she crossed her legs. "Search? What kind

 of search?"

 Reluctantly he shifted his eyes away from the expanse of exposed flesh. "For a

 safe place."

 Swinging her feet to the floor and rising from her seat, she walked around the

 table until she was standing behind him. With great deliberation, she put one

 hand on his forehead and eased him back against her. She could not see him close

 his eyes, but she could hear him sigh.

 "The Parramati are right about one thing, Pulickel Tomochelor. Each of us picks

 his or her own road. Me, I choose not to worry about whether one universe is

 battling for dominance over another, or over several." She stroked his brow,

 enjoying the slight but solid weight of him against her. "For a long time I

 wasn't sure that I liked you. Then I wasn't sure what was going to happen to

 this installation, or to us. Now I'm not entirely sure what I want to do next."

 His voice was easy now, relaxed. "You're not sure of very much, are you?"

 "What do you expect? I'm human." He sensed rather than saw her smile. "It's my

 kusum."

 Epilogue

 

 In another space, in another place unimaginably far away and incalculably

 difficult to reach, the Xunca considered what had happened. They would not

 interfere, of course. They had fled for reasons that could not be compromised

 and in the quiet interval that resulted had raised their civilization to heights

 greater than even they had once thought possible.

 Others were not so fortunate. The Xunca monitored them, and so knew. But they

 never interfered, limiting their concern to their own safety and well&#8209;being.

 They could do nothing for others lest they pique the interest of the thing. If

 that happened, they would be forced to move again, and that was no longer such a

 simple matter. Besides, they had grown fond of their current cosmos.

 They were confident but frightened, assured but afraid. Perhaps some day their

 science would reach a level that would enable them to deal finally with the

 ancient nemesis. Until then they could only live, and strive, and hide. Lesser

 civilizations would have to fend for themselves.

 In their observations they had made note of one exception. Unpretentious and

 easy to overlook, it was so extravagantly different even they failed to

 understand it. Whether it could affect the thing they did not know. It seemed

 unlikely, but it was such an anomaly that nothing could be ruled out. Or ruled

 in.

 So they continued to watch and monitor and observe. Not out of concern for the

 survival of the anomaly's species, or out of any elevated sense of altruism, but

 because despite their grand and unparalleled accomplishments, they had not

 lost the curiosity that had raised them to their present lofty level of

 accomplishment.

 Also, they were lonely.

 

 *******************************************************

 Note: Map of the Commonwealth and its Chronology Published in 05: Flinx in Flux

 *******************************************************

 

 ALAN DEAN FOSTER was born in New York City in 1946 and raised in Los Angeles,

 California. After receiving a bachelor's degree in political science and a

 master of fine arts degree in motion pictures from UCLA in 1968&#8209;69, he worked

 for two years as a public relations copywriter in Studio City, California.

 

 He sold his first short story to August Derleth at Arkham Collector Magazine in

 1968, and other sales of short fiction to other magazines followed. His first

 try at a novel, The Tar&#8209;Aiym Krang, was published by Ballantine Books in 1972.

 Since then, Foster has published many short stories, novels, and film

 novelizations.

 

 Foster has toured extensively around the world. Besides traveling, he enjoys

 classical and rock music, old films, basketball, body surfing, and

 weightlifting. He has taught screenwriting, literature, and film history at UCLA

 and Los Angeles City College.

 

 Currently he resides in Arizona.

 


