The Howling Stones

by Alan Dean Foster

  "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‑key hu­mor. "If you are right and it is some kind of boat, Jorana, then I think it will have outriggers‑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‑handedly, "There is room enough for all of us."

  A three‑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‑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‑bodied, heavy‑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‑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‑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‑by‑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‑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‑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‑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‑Pulickel could clearly see their mouths moving‑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‑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‑or trapped‑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‑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‑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‑tuned violin string. It was impossible to escape the feeling that they were going somewhere.

  Ascela confirmed it. "We are set upon a road‑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‑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‑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 w
here 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‑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‑term travel. Perhaps a real‑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.