Howling Stones (21 page)

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-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—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-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-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 I’ll 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 right. 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 needier.”

“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.

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-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-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-aid pack, wet-weather attire, shoe and clothing repair kit, and several padded sacks for carrying—and concealing—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 on-site; 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-built hut 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 forth-coming. 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 meter-high wooden pedestal shone with the skill and craftsmanship of which only the best Parramati carvers were capable. Light brown and black-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—a rock. A distinctly green-hued, irregularly shaped, singularly uninspiring lump of what appeared to be volcanic glass. It was not fastened, glued, or otherwise attached to the pedestal.