Howling Stones by Alan Dean Foster Read Free Book Online

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-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 reientlessly green Terran counterparts. Pulickel recognized variations of the star-crowned trees beneath which Fawn had awaited the arrival of the transport. Among the other botanical standouts was a medium-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 Sea-forth’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