Dragons Dawn
by: Anne McCaffrey
Copyright 1988

VERSION 1.1 (Feb 16 00). If you find and correct errors in
the text, please update the version number by 0.1 and
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PROFOUND
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book could not have been written without the advice, assistance, and
aid of Dr. Jack Cohen, D. Sc., lately Senior Lecturer of Reproductive
Biology at Birmingham University, England, whose expertise and enthusiasm
helped me create the dragons of Pern, and attendant botany/biology/ecology.
Jack made fact out of myth, and science out of legend. I am not the only
writer of his acquaintance who owes him a tremendous debt of gratitude.
        I am also indebted to Harry Alm, Naval Engineer of New Orleans,
Louisiana, for his configuration of the Thread Fall Patterns, based on only
casual remarks in various of my books. To his wife, Marilyn, I owe the
patient and correct transmission by Compuserve of this incredible technical
data.

PART ONE
Landing

»Probe reports coming through, sir,« Sallah Telgar announced without taking
her eyes from the flickering lights on her terminal.
        »On the screen, please, Mister Telgar,« Admiral Paul Benden
replied. Beside him, leaning against his command chair, Emily Boll kept her
eyes steadily on the sunlit planet, scarcely aware of the activity around
her.
        The Pern Colonial Expedition had reached the most exciting moment
of its fifteen-year voyage: the three colony ships, the Yokohama, the
Bahrain, and the Buenos Aires were finally approaching their destination.
In offices below the bridge deck, specialists eagerly awaited updates on
the reports of the long-dead Exploration and Evaluation team that, 200
years earlier, had recommended Rukbat´s third planet for colonization.
        The long journey to the Sagittarian Sector had gone without a
hitch, the only excitement being the surprise when the Oort cloud
encircling the Rukbat system had been sighted. That phenomenon had
continued to engross some of the space and scientific personnel, but Paul
Benden had lost interest when Ezra Keroon, captain of the Bahrain and the
expedition´s astronomer, had assured him that the nebulous mass of
deep-frozen meteorites was no more than an astronomical curiosity. They
would keep an eye on it, Ezra had said, but although some comets might form
and spin from its depths, he doubted that they would pose a serious threat
to either the three colony ships or the planet the ships were fast
approaching. After all, the Exploration and Evaluation team had not
mentioned any unusual incidence of meteor strikes on the surface of Pern.
        »Screening probe reports, sir,« Sallah confirmed, »on two and
five.« Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Admiral Benden smile slightly.
        »This is sort of anticlimactic, isn´t it?« Paul murmured to Emily
Boll as the latest reports flashed onto the screens.
        Arms folded across her chest, she hadn´t moved since the probes had
been launched, except for an occasional twiddling of fingers along her
upper arms. She lifted her right eyebrow in a cynical twitch and kept her
eyes on the screen.
        »Oh, I don´t know. It´s one more procedure which gets us nearer the
surface. Of course,« she added dryly, »we´re sort of stuck with whatever´s
reported, but I expect we can cope.«
        »We´ll have to, won´t we?« Paul Benden replied a trifle grimly.
        The Trip was one-way -- it had to be, considering the cost of
getting over six thousand colonists and supplies to such an out-of-the-way
sector of the galaxy. Once they reached Pern the fuel left in the great
transport ships would be enough only to achieve and maintain synchronous
orbit above their destination while people and cargo were shuttled down to
the surface. To be sure, they had homing capsules that would reach the
headquarters of the Federated Sentient Planets in a mere five years, but to
a retired naval tactician like Paul Benden, a fragile homing capsule did
not offer much in the way of an effective backup. The Pern expedition was
composed of committed and resourceful people who had chosen to eschew the
high-tech societies of the Federated Sentient Planets. They expected to
manage on their own. And though their destination in the Rukbat system was
rich enough in ores and minerals to support an agriculturally based
society, it was poor enough and far enough from the center of the galaxy
that it should escape the greed of the technocrats.
        »Only a little while longer, Paul,« Emily murmured, her voice
reaching his ears alone, »and we´ll both be able to lay down the weary
load.«
        He grinned up at her, knowing that it had been as difficult for her
as it had been for him to escape the blandishments of technocrats who had
not wished to lose two such charismatic war heroes: the admiral who had
prevailed in the Cygni Space Battle, and the governor-heroine of First
Centauri. But no one could deny that the two were the ideal leaders for the
Pern expedition.
        »Speaking of loads,« she went on more loudly, »I´d better be there
to referee my team now the reports are coming in. I suppose specialists
have to consider their own disciplines the most important ones, but such
contentiousness!« She stifled a groan, then grinned, her blue eyes
twinkling in her rather homely face. »Just a few more days of talking, and
it´ll be action stations, Admiral.«
        She knew him well. He hated the interminable debate over minor
points that seemed to obsess those in charge of the landing operation. He
preferred to make quick decisions and implement them immediately, instead
of talking them to death.
        »You´re more patient with your teams than I am,« the admiral said
quietly. The last two months, as the three ships had decelerated into the
Rukbat system, had been made tedious with meetings and discussions which
seemed to Paul to be nit-picking over procedures that had been thoroughly
thrashed out seventeen years before in the planning stages of the venture.
        Most of the 2900 colonists on the Yokohama had passed the entire
journey in deep sleep. Personnel essential to the operation and maintenance
of the three great ships had stood five-year watches. Paul Benden had
elected to stand the first and last five-year periods. Emily Boll had been
revived shortly before the rest of the environmental specialists, who had
spent their time railing at the superficiality of the Exploration and
Evaluation Corps report. She saw no point in reminding them of their
enthusiasm for the same words when they had signed up for the Pern
expedition.
        Paul continued to absorb the display information, eyes flicking
from one screen to another, absently rubbing the thumb of his left hand
across three fingers. Though not the sort of man Emily was attracted to,
Paul Benden was undeniably handsome, and Emily much preferred him with his
hair grown out of the spaceman´s crop that had been his trademark. She
thought that the thick blond mass softened the strong features: the blunt
nose, the forceful jaw, and the wide thin-lipped mouth, just then pulled
slightly to the left in a little smile.
        The trip had done him good: he looked fit and well able to face the
rigors of their next few months. Emily remembered how terribly thin he had
been at the official ceremony commemorating his brilliant victory at
Cygnus, where he and the Purple Sector Fleet had turned the tide of war
against the Nathis. Legend said that he had remained awake and on duty for
the entire seventy hours of the crucial battle. Emily believed it. She had
done something of the sort herself during the height of the Nathis attack
on her planet. There were many things a person could do if pushed, she knew
from experience. She expected that one paid for such physical abuses later
on in life, but Benden, well into his sixth decade, looked vigorously
healthy. And she certainly felt no diminution of her own energies. Fourteen
years of deep sleep seemed to have cured the terrible fatigue that had been
the inevitable result of her defense of First Centauri.
        And what a world they were now approaching! Emily sighed, still
unable to look away from the main screen for more than a second. She knew
that all those on duty on the bridge, along with those of the previous
watch who had not left, were totally bemused by the magnificent sight of
their destination.
        Who had named it Pern, she did not recall -- quite probably the
single letters blazoned across the published report had stood for something
else entirely -- but it was Pern officially, and it was theirs. They were
on an equatorial heading; as she watched, the planet´s lazy rotation hid
the northern continent and the spine of mountains up its coast, while the
western desert of the southern landmass was revealed. The dominant
topographical feature was the wide expanse of ocean, slightly greener than
that of old Earth, with a ring of islands splattered across it. The
atmosphere was currently decorated with the swirling cloud curl of a
low-pressure area moving rapidly northeast. What a beautiful, beautiful
world! She sighed again and caught Paul´s quick glance. She smiled back at
him without really taking her eyes from the screen.
        A beautiful world! And theirs! By all the Holies, this time we
won´t botch it! she assured herself fervently. With all that magnificent,
productive land, the old imperatives don´t apply. No, she added in private
cynicism, people are already discovering new ones. She thought of the
friction she had sensed between the charterers, who had raised the
staggering credits needed to finance the Pern expedition, and the
contractors, the specialists hired to round out the basic skills required
for the undertaking. Each could end up with a largeous amount of land or
mineral rights on this new world, but the fact that the charterers would
get first choice was a bone of contention.
        Differences! Why did there always have to be distinctions,
arrogantly displayed as superiorities, or derided as inferiorities?
Everyone would have the same opportunity, no matter how many stake acres
they could claim as charterer or had been granted as contractor. On Pern,
it would truly be up to the individual to succeed, to prove his claim and
to manage as much land as he and his cared for. That would be the catholic
distinction. Once we´ve landed, everyone will be too bloody busy to fret
over »differences,« she consoled herself, and watched in fascination as a
second low-pressure area began to spin down from the hidden north across
the sea. If the two weather systems melded, there would be a tremendous
storm over the eastern curve of the oceanic islands.
        »Looking good,« Commander Ongola murmured in his deep, sad bass
voice. Emily had not seen him smile once in the six months she had been
awake. Paul had told her that Ongola´s wife, children, and entire family
had been vaporized when the Nathi had attacked their service colony; Paul
had specifically requested him to join the expedition. Stationed at the
science desk, Ongola was monitoring the meteorology and atmospherics
displays. »Atmospheric content as expected. Southern continent temperatures
appear to be normal for this late winter season. Northern continent
enjoying considerable precipitation due to low-pressure air masses.
Analyses and temperatures consistent with EEC report.«
        The first probe was doing a high-altitude circumnavigation in a
pattern that would allow it to photograph the entire planet. The second,
taking a low-level course, could reexamine any portion required. The third
probe was programmed for topographical features.
        »Probes four and six have landed, sir. Five is on hold,´´ Sallah
went on, as she interpreted the new lights that had begun to flash.
»Scuttlebugs deployed.«
        »Show them on the screens, Mister Telgar,« the admiral said. She
transferred the displays to screens three, four, and six.
        Pern´s image continued to dominate the main screen as the planet
rotated slowly to the east, from night to day. The southern continent´s
coastline was day-lit; the spinal range of mountains and the tracks of
several rivers were visible. The thermal scan was showing the effect of
daylight on the late winter season of the southern continent.
        Probe scuttlebugs had been landed at three not-yet-visible specific
points in the southern hemisphere and were relaying updates on current
conditions and terrain. The southern continent had always been favored as
the landing site the survey-team report mentioned the more clement weather
patterns on the high plateaus; a wider variety of plant life, some of it
edible by humans; eminently suitable farmland; and good harbors for the
tough siliplex fishing vessels that existed as numbered pieces in the holds
of the Buenos Aires and the Bahrain. The seas of Pern teemed with aquatic
life, and at least a few of the species could be safely consumed by humans.
The marine biologists had high hopes of populating the bays and estuaries
with Terran piscine types without harming the present ecological balance.
The deep-freeze tanks of the Bahrain contained twenty-five dolphins who had
volunteered to come along. Pern´s seas were eminently suitable for the
support of the intelligent mammals, who enjoyed sea-shepherding as well as
the opportunity to see new worlds.
        Soil analyses had indicated that Terran cereals and legumes, which
had already adapted well to Centauran soil, should flourish on Pern, a
necessity as the native grasses were unsuitable for Terran animals. One of
the first tasks facing the agronomists would he to plant fodder crops to
sustain the variety of herbivores and ruminants that had been brought as
fertilized ova from the Animal Reproduction Banks of Terra.
        In order that the colonists could ensure the adaptability of Terran
animals to Pern, permission to use certain of the advanced biogenetic
techniques of the Eridanis -- mainly mentasynth, gene paring, and
chromosome enhancements -- had been grudgingly granted. Even though Pern
was in an isolated area of the galaxy, the Federated Sentient Planets
wanted no further disasters like the bio-alts, which had aroused the strong
Pure Human Life Group.
        Emily Boll repressed a shudder. Those memories belonged to the
past. Displayed on the screen in front of her was the future -- had best
get down and help the specialists organize it. »I´ve dallied long enough,«
she murmured to Paul Benden, touching his shoulder in farewell.
        Paul pulled his gaze from the screen and smiled at her, giving her
hand a friendly pat. »Eat first!« He waggled a stern finger at her. »You
keep forgetting we´re not rationed on board the Yoko. » She gave him a
startled look. »I will. I promise.«
        »The next few weeks are going to be rough.«
        Hmm, but so stimulating!« Her blue eyes twinkled. Then her stomach
audibly rumbled. »Gotcha, Admiral.« She winked again and left.
        He watched her as she walked to the nearest exit off the bridge, a
lean, almost bony woman, with gray and naturally wavy hair which she wore
shoulder length. What Paul liked most about her was her wiry strength, both
moral and physical, which was combined with a ruthlessness that sometimes
startled him. She had tremendous personal vitality -- just being in her
presence gave one´s spirits a lift. Together they would make something of
their new world.
        He looked back to the main screen and the enthralling vista of
Pern.

The large lounge had been set up as an office for the heads of the various
teams of exobiology, agronomy, botany, and ecology, along with six
representatives of the professional farmers, who were still a bit groggy
from their term in deep sleep. The room was ringed by multiple screens
displaying a constantly altering range of microbiology reports, statistics,
comparisons, and analyses. There was much debate going on. Those hunched
over desk monitors, busily collating reports, tried to ignore the tension
emanating from the departmental heads who occupied the very center of the
room in a tight knot, each one with an eye out for the screens displaying
reports on his or her specialty.
        Mar Dook, head agronomist, was a small man whose Earth Asiatic
ancestry was evident in features, skin tone, and physiology: he was wiry,
lean, and slightly bowed in the shoulders, but his black eyes gleamed with
eager intelligence and the excitement of the challenge.
        »The schedule has long been decided, my dear colleagues. We´re in
the first wave down. The probes do not contradict any of the information we
already have. The dirt and vegetation samples match. There´s some sort of
red and green algae reported along the shoreline.
Marine life has been sighted by the sea probe. One of the low probes has
caught a comforting variety of insects, which the EEC also found. The
aerial fax that came up with that flyer reported -- what did the team call
them? -- wherries.«
        »Why ‘wherries´?« Phas Radamanth asked. He scrolled through the
report searching for that particular annotation. »Ah,« he said when he
found it. »Because they resemble airborne barges -- squat, fat and full.«
He allowed himself a little smile for the whimsy of that long-dead team.
        »Yeah, but I don´t see mention of any other predators,« Kwan
Marceau said, his rather high forehead creased, as usual, with a frown.
        »There´s sure to be something that eats them,« Phas replied
confidently.
        »Or they eat each other,« Mar Dook suggested. He received a stern
frown from Kwan. Suddenly Mar Dook pointed excitedly to a new fax coming up
on one screen. »Ah, look! The scuttlebug got a reptiloid. Rather a large
specimen, ten centimeters thick and seven meters long. There´s your wherry
eater, Kwan.«
        »Another scuttle has just run through a puddle of excretal matter,
semiliquid, which contains intestinal parasites and bacteria,« Pol Nietro
said, hurriedly tagging the report for later reference. »There do seem to
be plenty of wormlike soil dwellers, too. rather a significant variety, if
you ask me. Worms like nematodes, insectoids, mites that really wouldn´t be
out of place in a Terran compost heap. Ted, here´s something for you:
plants like our mycorrhizas -- tree fungi. Speaking of that, I wonder where
the EEC team found that luminous mycelium.«
        Ted Tubberman, one of the colony botanists, gave a contemptuous
snort. He was a big man, not carrying any extra flesh after nearly fifteen
years in deep sleep, who tended to be overbearing. »Luminous organisms are
usually found in deep caves, Nietro, as they use their light to attract
their victims, generally insects. The mycelium reported by that team was in
a cave system on that large island south of the northern continent. This
planet seems to have a considerable number of cave systems. Why weren´t any
scuttles scheduled for subterranean investigations?« he asked in an
aggrieved tone.
        »There were only so many available, Ted,« Mar Dook said
placatingly.
        »Ah, look! Now, this is what I´ve been waiting for,« Kwan said his
usually solemn face lighting up as he bent until his nose almost touched
the small screen before him. »There are reef systems. And yes, a balanced
if fragile marine ecology along the ring islands. I´m much encouraged.
Possibly those polka dots they saw are from a meteorite storm.«
        Ted dismissed that instantly. »No. No impact, and the formation of
new growth does not parallel that sort of phenomenon. I intend looking into
that problem the first moment I can.«
        »What we have to do first,« Mar Dook said, his tone gently
reproving, »is select the appropriate sites, plow, test, and, where
necessary, introduce the symbiotic bacteria and fungi, even beetles needed
for pastureland.«
        »But we still don´t know which landing site will be chosen.« Ted´s
face was flushed with irritation.
        »The three that are now being surveyed are much of a muchness,« Mar
Dook replied with a tolerant smile. He found Tubberman´s petulant
restlessness tedious. »All three give us ample scope for experimental and
control fields. Our basic tasks will be the same no matter where we land.
The essential point is not to miss this first vital growing season.«
        »The brood animals must be revived as soon as possible.« Pol Nietro
said. The head zoologist was as eager as everyone else to plunge into the
practical work ahead. »And reliance on the alfalfa trays for fodder is not
going to adjust their digestions to a new environment. We must begin as we
mean to go on, and let Pern supply our needs.«
        There was a murmur of assent to his statement.
        »The only new factor in these reports,« Phas Radamanth, the
xenobiologist, said encouragingly, without turning his eyes from his
screens, »is the density of vegetation. We may have to clear more than we
thought in the forty-five south eleven site. See here -- « He gestured to
the disparate images. »Where the EEC pic showed sparse ground cover, we now
have heavy vegetation, some of it of respectable size.«
        »There should be at least that, after two-hundred-odd years,« Ted
Tubberman said irritably. »I never was happy about the barrenness Smacked
of a depauperate ecology. Hey, most of those circular features are
overgrown. Felicia, run up the EEC pics that correspond. He bent his big
frame to peer over her shoulder at the double screen below the probe
broadcast. »See, those circles are barely discernible. The team was right
about botanical succession. And that isn´t a grassoid. If that´s mutant
vegetation . . .« He trailed off, shaking his head and jutting his chin
out. He had loudly and frequently insisted that the success of Pern as a
colony would depend on botanical health.
        »I, too, am happier to see succession, but according to the EEC
reports, it´s -- « Mar Dook began.
        »Shove the EEC reports. They didn´t tell us the half of what we
really need to know,« Ted exclaimed. »Survey, they called it. Quick dip at
the trot. No depth to it at all. The most superficial survey I´ve ever
read.«
        »I quite agree,« said the calm voice of Emily Boll, who had entered
while the botanist was ranting. »The initial EEC report does seem to have
been less than complete now that we can compare it to our new home. But the
most crucial, salient points were covered for us. We know what we needed to
know, and the FSP was quite happy to turn the planet over to us because it
certainly doesn´t have anything to interest them. And it´s not a planet
that the syndicates would fight over. Which is why we were allowed to have
it. I think we have to be grateful to that team, not critical.« Her smile
swept everyone in the crowded room. »The important elements -- atmosphere,
water, arable soil, ores, minerals, bacteria, insects, marine life -- are
all present, and Pern is eminently suitable for human habitation. The gaps,
the in-depth investigations that report did not contain, are what we shall
spend a lifetime filling in. A challenge for each and every one of us, and
our children!« Her low-pitched voice rang in the crowded room. »Let´s not
worry at this very late date about what we weren´t told. We´ll find the
answers soon enough. Let´s concentrate now on the great work we have to
begin in just two days´ time. We´re ready for any surprises Pern might have
for us. Now, Mar Dook, have you seen anything in the updates to suggest we
must alter the schedule?«
        »Nothing,« Mar Dook replied, warily glancing at Ted Tubberman, who
was frowning at Emily Boll. »But those soil and vegetable matter samples
would occupy us usefully.«
        »I´m sure they would.« Emily grinned broadly at him. »We´ll be busy
enough -- ah, here´s the information you need. And what a bumper crop to
digest.«
        »We still don´t know where we´re landing,« Ted complained.
        »The admiral is discussing that right now, Ted, Emily replied
equably. »We´ll be among the first to know.«
        Agronomists were to be in the first shuttle loads to reach the
surface, for it was vital to the colony´s future to break land for crops as
soon as possible. Even while the engineers were setting up the landing
grids, agronomists would be plowing fields, and Ted Tubberman and his group
would be setting up sheds and seeding the precious soil brought from Earth.
Pat Hempenstall would set up a control shed using indigenous dirt, to see
if Earth or colonial variants would thrive unassisted in an alien soil.
Sufficient packaged organisms had also been brought to introduce symbiotic
bacteria.
        »I will be very glad,« Pol Nietro murmured, »if the reports confirm
those insectoids, winged and subterranean, reported by the EEC team. If
they should prove sufficient to do the work of dung beetles and flies on
our Terran-style detritus, agronomy will be off to a good start. We´ve got
to get nutrients back into the soil and introduce the rumen bacteria,
protozoans, and yeasts for our cows, sheep, goats and horses so they´ll
thrive.«
        »If not, Pol,« Emily replied, »we can ask Kitti to work a bit of
micro-magic and rearrange innards that can deal with what Pern has to
offer.« She smiled with great deference at the tiny lady seated in the
center of the little cluster.
        »Soil samples coming up,« Ju Adjai said into the pause. »And here´s
vegetable mash for you, Ted. Get your teeth in that.«
        Tubberman launched himself to the position next to Felicia, his big
fingers nimble and accurate over the keyboard.
        In moments the rattling of keys, punctuated by assorted mutters and
other monosyllables of concentration, filled the room. Emily and Kit Ping
exchanged glances tinged with amused condescension for the vagaries of
their younger colleagues. Kit Ping then turned her eyes back to the main
screen and continued her contemplation of the world they were rapidly
approaching.
        As Emily sat down at her workspace, she wondered how under the suns
the expedition had lucked out enough to include the most eminent geneticist
in the Federated Sentient Planets -- the only human who had ever been
trained by the Eridanis. Emily had only seen pics of the altered humans who
had made the first abortive mission to Eridani. She suppressed a shudder.
Pern wouldn´t ever require that kind of abominable tinkering. Maybe that´s
why Kit Ping was willing to come to the edge of the galaxy -- to end what
had already been a long and incredible life in a quiet backwater where she,
too, could practice selective amnesia. There were many on the colony´s roll
who had come to forget what they had seen and done.
        The grassoid on that eastern landing site is going to be hell to
cut through,« Ted Tubberman said, scowling. »High boron content. It´ll dull
cutting edges and foul gear.«
        »It´d cushion the landing,« Pat Hempenstall said with a chuckle.
        »Our landing craft have landed safely on far more inhospitable
terrain than that,« Emily reminded the others.
        »Felicia, run a comparison on the botanical succession around those
crazy polka dots,« Ted Tubberman went on, staring at his own screens.
»There´s something about that configuration that still bothers me. The
phenomenon is all over the planet. And I´d be happier if we could get an
opinion from that geologist whiz, Tarzan -- « He paused.
        Tarvi Andiyar,« Felicia supplied, accustomed to Ted´s memory
lapses.
        »Well, memo him to meet me when he´s revived. Damn it, Mar, how can
we function with only half the specialists awake?«
        We´re doing fine, Ted. Pern is coming up roses for us. Not a joggle
off the report data.«
        »That´s almost worrying,« Pol Nietro said blandly.
        Tubberman snorted, Mar Dook shrugged, and Kitti Ping smiled.

Admiral Benden´s chrono tingled against his wrist, reminding him that it
was time for his own meeting.
        Commander Ongola, take the conn.« Reluctantly, his eyes focusing on
the main screen until the access panel of the exit closed, Paul left the
bridge.
        The corridors of the great colony ship were becoming more crowded
by the hour, Paul noticed as he made his way to the wardroom. Newly revived
people, clutching the handrails, were jerkily exercising stiff limbs and
trying to focus body and mind on the suddenly hazardous task of remaining
upright. The old Yoko would be packed tighter than reserve rations while
colonists awaited their turn to reach the surface. But with the promise of
the freedom of a whole new world as the reward of patience, the crowding
could be endured.
        Having paid close attention to the various probe reports, Paul had
already decided which of the three recommended landing sites he would
choose. Naturally he would accord his staff and the other two captains the
courtesy of a hearing, but the obvious choice was the vast plateau below a
group of strato volcanoes. The current weather there was clement, and the
nearly level expanse was adequate to accommodate all six shuttles. The
updates had only confirmed a tentative preference made seventeen years ago
when he had first studied the EEC reports. He had never anticipated much
difficulty with landing; it was a smooth and accident-free debarkation that
caused him anxiety. There was no rescue backup hovering solicitously in the
skies over Pern, nor disaster teams on its surface.
        In organizing the debarkation, Paul had chosen as flight officer
Fulman Stone, a man who had served with him throughout the Cygnus campaign.
For the past two weeks, Fulmar´s crews had been all over the Yoko´s three
shuttle vehicles and the admiral´s gig, ensuring that there would be no
malfunction after fifteen years in the cold storage of the flight deck. The
Yoko´s twelve pilots, under Kenjo Fusaiyuki, had gone through rigorous
simulator drills well spiced with the most bizarre landing emergencies.
Most of the pilots had been combat fighters, and were fit and fully
experienced at extricating themselves from tricky situations, but none had
quite the record of Kenjo Fusaiyuki. Some of the less experienced shuttle
pilots complained about Kenjo´s methods; Paul Benden had courteously
listened to the complaints -- and ignored them.
        Paul had been surprised and flattered when Kenjo had signed up with
the expedition. Somehow, he had thought the man would have signed on to an
exploratory unit where he could continue to fly as long as his reflexes
lasted. Then Paul remembered that Kenjo was a cyborg, with a prosthetic
left leg. After the war, the Exploration and Evaluation Corps had had their
choice of experienced, whole personnel, and cyborgs had been shunted into
administrative positions. Automatically, Paul made his left hand into a
fist, his thumb rubbing against the knuckles of the three replacement
fingers which had always worked as well as his natural ones. But there was
still no feeling in the pseudoflesh. Consciously, he relaxed the hand,
certain once again that he could hear a subtle plastic squeak in the joints
and the wrist.
        He turned his mind to real problems, like the debarkation ahead,
knowing that unforeseeable delays or foul-ups could stall the entire
operation as cargo and passengers began to flow from the orbiting ships. He
had appointed good men as supercargoes: Joel Lilienkamp as surface
coordinator, and Desi Arthied on the Yoko. Ezra and Jim, of the Bahrain and
Buenos Aires, were equally confident in their own debarkation personnel,
but one minor hitch could cause endless rescheduling. The trick would be to
keep everything moving.
        The admiral turned starboard off the main corridor and reached the
wardroom. Once again, he hoped that the meeting would not drag on. As he
raised his hand to brush the access panel, he could see that he had arrived
with two minutes to spare before the other two captains screened in. First
there would be the brief formality of Ezra Keroon, as fleet astrogator,
confirming the exact ETA at their parking orbit, and then the landing site
would be chosen.
        »The betting´s eleven to four now, Lili,« Paul heard Drake Bonneau
saying to Joel as the access panel to his wardroom whooshed open.
        »For or against?« Paul asked, grinning as he entered. Those
present, led by Kenjo´s example, shot to their feet, despite Paul´s
dismissing gesture. He took in the two blank screens which in precisely
ninety-five seconds would reveal the faces of Ezra Keroon and Jim Tillek,
and to the center one where Pern swam tranquilly in the black ocean of
space.
        »There´re some civilians don´t think Desi and me can make the
deadline, Paul,« Joel answered with a smug wink at Arthied, who nodded
solemnly. Not a tall man, Lilienkamp was chunkily built; he had an engaging
monkey face, framed with graying dark hair that curled tightly against his
skull. His personality was ebullient, volatile and could be caustic. His
quick wits included an eidetic memory that allowed him to keep track of not
only any bet he made, for how much and with whom and what odds, but every
parcel, package, crate, and canister in his keeping. Desi Arthied, his
second-in-command, often found his superior´s levity a trial, but he
respected Lilienkamp´s abilities. It would be Desi´s job to shift the cargo
that Joel designated to the loading decks and on board the shuttles.
        »Civilians? Who don´t know you very well, do they?« Paul asked
dryly, taking his seat and smiling noncommittally at Avril Bitra, who had
been in charge of the simulation exercises. Ambition had hardened her. He
wished that he had not spent so much of his waking time during the voyage
involved with the sultry brunette, but she was stunning. Soon they would
all be too busy for personal relationships. More and more attractive young
women were appearing in the corridors. He wanted one of them to want to
marry Paul Benden, not » the admiral.« Just then, the two screens lit up,
the right-hand one displaying Ezra Keroon´s saturnine countenance, with his
distinctive fringe of gray hair, and the left showing Jim Keroon, his
square face wearing his usual cheerful expression.
        »G´day, Paul,« he said, just ahead of Ezra´s more formal salute.
        »Admiral,« Ezra said solemnly. »I beg to report that we have
maintained our programmed course to the minute. Estimated arrival to
parking orbit is now forty-six hours, thirty-three minutes, and twenty
seconds. No deviations anticipated at this point in time.«
        »Very good, Captain,« Paul said, returning the salute. »Any
problems?«
        Both captains reported that their revival programs were continuing
without incident and that their shuttles were ready for launch once orbit
had been achieved.
        »Now that we know when, the matter of where is open for
discussion,« Paul said, leaning back in his chair to signal that comment
was invited.
        »So, tell us, Paul,« Joel Lilienkamp said with his usual disregard
for protocol, »where´re we landing?« All through the Nathi War, Joel´s
impertinence had amused Paul Benden at a time when amusement was scarce,
and he had consistently proved himself a near miraculous scavenger. His
impudence caused Ezra Keroon to frown, but Jim Tillek chuckled.
        »What are the odds, Lili?« he asked, his expression sly.
        »Let us discuss the matter without prejudice,« Paul suggested
wryly. »The three sites recommended by the EEC team have now all been
probed. If you will refer to the chart, the sites are at thirty south by
thirteen point thirty, forty-five south by eleven, and forty-seven south by
four point seven five.«
        »There´s really only one, Admiral, from my point of view,« Drake
Bonneau interrupted excitedly, jabbing his finger at Paul´s own choice, the
strato site. »Scuttlebug scans say it´s almost as level as if it had been
graded for us, and broad enough to accommodate all six shuttles. The site
at forty-five south eleven is waterlogged right now, and the western one is
too far from the ocean. Temperature readings are near freezing.«
        Paul saw Kenjo´s nod of agreement. He glanced at the two screens.
Ezra´s growing bald spot was evident as he bent to consult his notes;
unconsciously, Paul smoothed back his own thick hair.
        »That thirty south is nearer sea for me,« Jim Keroon remarked
amiably. »Good harbor about fifty klicks away. River´s navigable, too.«
Keroon´s interest in sailing vessels was exceeded only by his love of
dolphins. Accessibility to open water would be a high factor in his choice.
        »Good heights for observatory and met stations all right,« Ezra
replied, »though we´ve no real criterion from those reports about
climatology. Don´t fancy settling that close to volcanoes myself.«
        »A point, Ezra, but -- « Paul paused to screen the relevant data
for a quick scan. »No seismic readings were recorded, so I don´t see
volcanic activity as an immediate problem. We can have Patrice de Broglie
do a survey. Ah, yes, no seismic readings from the EEC, so even the one
that has erupted has been dormant for well over two hundred years. And the
weather and general conditions on the other two sites do mitigate against
them.«
        »Hmm, so they do. Doesn´t look from a met point of view as if the
conditions at either will improve in two days,« Ezra conceded.
        »Hell, we don´t have to stay where we land,« Drake exclaimed.
        »Unless there´s some freak weather brewing up,« Jim Keroon said,
which I´m sure the met boys will be able to spot, let´s settle on the
thirty-south site. That´s the one the EEC team favored, anyhow. Besides,
the scuttlebugs say it´s got a thick ground cover, That should cushion the
shock when you bounce, Drake.«
        »Bounce?« Drake´s gray eyes widened at the mild jibe. »Captain
Keroon, I haven´t bounced a landing since my first solo.«
        »Very well, then, gentlemen, have we settled on our landing site?
Paul asked. Ezra and Jim nodded. »Relevant updates and detailed charts will
be in your hands by 2200 hours.«
        »Well, Joel,« Jim Keroon said, his sly grin broadening, »didja win?
        »Me, Captain?« Joel´s expression was that of injured innocence.´´
»I never bet on a sure thing.«
        »Any other problems to raise at this point, Captains?« Paul paused
courteously, looking from one screen to the other.
        »All ahead go, Paul, now I know I´ll land this bucket in her
parking space on time,« Jim said, »and where to send my shuttle.« He waved
a casual salute toward Ezra and then his screen blacked out.
        »Good evening, Admiral,« Ezra said more formally. His image faded.
        »Is that all now, Paul?« Joel asked.
        We´ve got the time and the place,« Paul replied, »but that´s a
tough timetable you´ve set, Joel. Can you keep it?«
        »There´s a lot of money says he will, Admiral,« Drake Bonneau
quipped.
        »Why do you think it took me so long to load the Yoko, Admiral;
Joel Lilienkamp replied with a wide grin. »I knew I´d have to unload it all
fifteen years later. You´ll see.« He winked at Desi, whose expression
showed the faintest hint of skepticism.
        »Then, gentlemen,« the admiral said, standing up, »I´ll be in my
cabin if any problems do arise.«
        As he swung out of the wardroom, Paul heard Joel asking for bets on
how soon knowledge of the landing site would circulate the Yoko.
        Avril´s throaty voice replied. »those odds, Lili.« Then the door
panel whooshed shut.
        Morale was high. Paul hoped that Emily´s meeting had been as
satisfactory. Seventeen years of planning and organization were about to be
put to the test.

On the deep-sleep decks of all three colony ships, the medics were working
double shifts to arouse the fifty-five hundred or so colonists. Technicians
and specialists were being revived in order of the usefulness to the
landing operation, but Admiral Benden and Governor Boll had been insistent
that everyone be awake by the time the three ships achieved their
temporarily programmed parking position in a stable Lagrangian orbit, sixty
degrees ahead of the larger moon, in the L-5 spot. Once the three great
ships had been cleared of passengers and cargo, there would be no more
chance to view Pern from outer space.
        Sallah Telgar, coming off duty from her watch on the bridge decided
that she had had quite enough space travel for one lifetime. As the only
surviving dependent of serving officers, she had spent her childhood being
shunted from one service post to another. When she had lost both parents,
she had been eligible to sign on as a charter member of the colony. War
compensations had permitted her to acquire a substantial number of stake
acres on Pern, which she could claim once the colony had become solidly
established. Above all other considerations, Sallah yearned to set herself
down in one place and stay there for the rest of her natural life. She was
quite content that that place be Pern.
        As she exited bridge territory for the main corridors, she was
surprised to see so many people about. For nearly five years she had had a
cabin to herself. The cabin was not spacious even for single occupancy, and
with three sharing, it offered no privacy at all. Not eager to return,
Sallah made for the off-duty lounge, where she could get something to eat
and continue planet-gazing, courtesy of the lounge´s large screen.
        At the lounge entrance, Sallah hauled up sharp, surprised at how
few seats were available. In the brief moments it took her to collect food
from the dispensers, her options were narrowed down to one: a wall-counter
seat well to the port side of the big room, with a slightly distorted view
of Pern.
        Sallah shrugged diffidently. Like an addict, she would take any
view she could get of Pern. However, as she slipped into the seat, she
realized that her nearest neighbors were also the people she least liked on
board the Yokohama: Avril Bitra, Bart Lemos, and Nabhi Nabol. They were
seated with three men she did not know, whose collar tabs identified them
as mason, mechanical engineer, and miner. The six were also about the only
people in the room not avidly watching the screen. The three specialists
were listening to Avril and Bart, their faces carefully expressionless,
though the oldest man, the engineer, occasionally glanced around to check
on the attention of those nearby. Avril had her elbows on the table, her
handsome face marred by the arrogant, supercilious sneer she affected, her
black eyes glinting as she leaned forward toward homely Bart Lemos, who was
enthusiastically punching his right fist into his left palm to emphasize
his quick low words. Nabhi was wearing his perpetual expression of hauteur,
an expression not far removed from Avril´s sneer, as he watched the
geologist.
        Their attitudes were enough to spoil anyone´s appetite, Sallah
thought. She craned her neck to see Pern.
        Gossip had it that Avril had spent a good deal of the last five
years in Admiral Paul Benden´s bed. Candidly, Sallah could see why a virile
man like the admiral would be sexually attracted by the astrogator´s dark
and flashing beauty. A mixture of ethnic ancestors had given her the best
of all possible features. She was tall, neither willowy nor overripe, with
luxuriant black hair that she often wore loose in silky ripples. Her
slightly sallow complexion was flawless and her movements gracefully
studied, but her eyes, snapping with black fire, indicated a highly
intelligent and volatile personality. Avril was not a woman to cross, and
Sallah had carefully maintained her distance from Paul Benden, or anyone
else seen more than three times in Avril´s company. If the unkind pointed
out Paul Benden´s recent marked absence from Avril´s side, the charitable
said that he was needed for long conferences with his staff, and the time
for dalliance was over. Those who had been victims of Avril´s sharp tongue
said that she had lost her bid to be the admiral´s lady.
        However, Sallah had other matters on her mind than Avril Bitra´s
ploys. She was waiting to hear which site had been chosen for landing. She
knew that a decision had been made, and that it was to be kept secret until
the admiral´s formal announcement. But she knew, too, that the news was
bound to leak. Bets had been surreptitiously made about how soon the rest
of the ship would know. The news should percolate through the lounge real
soon now, Sallah thought.
        »This is where,« a man suddenly exclaimed. He strode to the screen
jabbing his forefinger at a point that had just become visible. He wore the
agronomy plow tab on his collar. »Right -- « He paused as the screen image
moved fractionally. »Here!« He planted his forefinger at the base of a
volcano, discernible only as a pinpoint but nevertheless recognizable as a
landmark.
        »How much did Lili win on that one?« someone demanded.
        »Don´t care about him,« the agronomist shouted. »I´ve just won an
acre off Hempenstall!«
        There was a ripple of applause and good-natured joking, infectious
enough to make Sallah grin, until her gaze happened to spot the
contemptuous smile of superiority on Avril´s face. Seeing the astrogator´s
expression, Sallah knew that Avril had known the secret and withheld the
information from her table companions. Bart Lemos and Nabhi Nabol leaned
closer to exchange terse sentences.
        Avril shrugged. »The landing site is immaterial.« Her sultry voice
though low, carried to Sallah´s ears. »The gig´s equipped to do the job,
believe me.« She glanced away and caught Sallah´s eyes. Instantly her body
tensed and her eyes narrowed. With a conscious effort she relaxed and
leaned indolently back in her chair, maintaining eye contact with an
insolence that Sallah found aggravating.
        Sallah looked away, feeling slightly soiled. She drank the last
gulp of coffee, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. The ship´s coffee was
lousy, but she would miss even that facsimile when the supply was
exhausted. Coffee had failed on all the colony planets so far, for reasons
no one had yet discerned. The survey team had discovered and recommended a
Pernese shrub bark as a coffee substitute, but Sallah did not have much
faith in that.
        After the identification of the landing site, the noise level in
the lounge had risen to an almost intolerable pitch. With a sigh, Sallah
ditched her rubbish in the disposer, passed her tray under the cleanser,
and stacked it neatly with others. She permitted herself one last long look
at Pern. We won´t spoil this planet, she thought. I personally won´t let
anyone spoil it.
        As she turned to leave, her glance fell on Avril´s dark head. Now
there´s an odd one to be a colonist, Sallah thought, not for the first
time. Avril was listed as a contractor, with a handsome stake as a
professional fee, but she scarcely seemed the sort who would be comfortable
in a rural environment. She had all the sophisticated manners of the
citified. The Pern expedition had attracted some first rate talents, but
most of those to whom Sallah had talked had been motivated to leave behind
the syndicate-ridden technocracy and its ever-spiraling need for resources.
        Sallah liked the notion of joining a self-reliant society so far
from Earth and her other colonies. From the moment she had read the Pern
prospectus she had been eager to be part of the venture. At sixteen, with
service compulsory at that point in the bitterly fought Nathi War, she had
chosen pilot training, with additional studies in probe and surveillance
techniques. She had completed her training just as the war ended and then
used her skills to map devastated areas on one planet and two moons. When
the Pern expedition was put together, she had not only been eligible to be
a charterer, but had the experience and skills that would make her a
valuable addition to the professional complement.
        She left the off-duty lounge to return to her quarters, but she was
not sure she would be able to sleep. In two days, they would reach their
long-awaited goal. Then life would get interesting!
        Just as Sallah turned into the main corridor, a little girl with
burnished deep red hair lurched into her, tried to regain her balance, and
fell heavily at Sallah´s feet. Bursting into loud sobs, more from
frustration than from hurt, the child clung to Sallah´s leg in a grip
astonishingly strong for one so young.
        »There now, not to cry. You´ll get your balance back, pet,« Sallah
said soothingly, reaching down to stroke the child´s silky hair and then to
loosen her frantic grip.
        »Sorka! Sorka!« An equally redheaded man holding a little boy by
one hand, and a very pretty brunette woman by the other, moved unsteadily
toward Sallah. The woman had all the signs of someone only just awake: her
eyes didn´t quite focus, and while she was trying to respond to the
situation, she was unable to concentrate.
        The man´s eyes flicked to Sallah´s collar emblem. »I do apologize
Pilot,« the redheaded man said, grinning apologetically. »We´re really not
awake yet.«
        He was trying to disencumber one hand to come to Sallah´s
assistance, but the woman refused to relinquish her grasp, and plainly he
could not let go of the tottering boy.
        »You need help,« Sallah said pleasantly, wondering which medic had
let the totally unstable quartet out on their own.
        »Our quarters are only a few steps along.« He nodded towards the
splinter aisle behind Sallah. »Or so I was told. But I never appreciated
how far a few steps could be.«
        »What´s the number? I´m off duty.«
        »B-885 1.«
        Sallah looked at the plates on the corridor corners and nodded. »It
is just the next aisle. Here, I´ll help. There now, Sorka -- is that your
name? Here, I´ll just -- «
        »Excuse me,« the man interrupted as Sallah moved to lift the child
into her arms. »They kept telling us we´d be better off walking. Trying to
walk, that is.«
        »I can´t walk,« Sorka cried. »I´m lopsided.« She clung more
fiercely to Sallah´s legs.
        »Sorka! Behave yourself!« The redhead frowned at his daughter.
        »Got an idea!« Sallah said in a brisk friendly tone. »You take both
my hands -- ´´ She peeled Sorka´s fingers from her leg and grabbed each
little hand firmly in her own. » -- and walk in front of me. I´ll keep you
on an even keel.«
        Even with Sallah´s help, the family made slow progress, impeded by
the more agile walkers rushing by on private errands, and by the
uncertainty of their own steps.
        »I´m Red Hanrahan,« the man said when their progress improved.
        »Sallah Telgar.«
        »Never thought I´d need help from a pilot before we reached Pern,«
he said with a wide grin. »This is my wife, Mairi, my son, Brian, and
you´ve got Sorka.«
        »Here we are,« Sallah said, reaching their compartment and throwing
open the door. She grimaced at the size of the accommodation and then
reminded herself that their occupancy would only be for a short time. Even
though the bunks were strapped up against the walls in their daytime
position, the remaining floor space allowed for little movement.
        »Not much larger than the quarters we just vacated,« Red remarked
equably.
        »How are we supposed to exercise in here?« his wife demanded, a
rather shrill note in her voice as she rolled her body around the doorjamb
and got a good look at the size of their cabin.
        »One by one, I guess,« Red said. »It´s only for a few days, pet,
and then we´ll have a whole planet to range. In you go, Brian, Sorka. We´ve
kept Pilot Telgar long enough. You really saved us, Telgar. Thanks.«
        Sorka, who had propped herself against the inside wall of their
cabin as her father encouraged the rest of his family to enter, slid to a
sitting position on the floor, her little knees against her chest. Then she
cocked her head to peer up at Sallah. »Thanks from me, too,« she said,
sounding more self possessed. »It´s really silly not knowing up from down,
and side from side.«
        »I agree, but the effect will disappear very quickly. We all had to
go through it when we woke up.«
        »You did?« Sorka´s incredulous expression turned into the most
radiant smile Sallah had ever seen, and she found herself grinning too.
        »We did. Even Admiral Benden,« she said mendaciously. She ruffled
the child´s silky, magnificently titian hair. »I´ll see you around. Okay?«
        »While you´re in that position, Sorka, do those exercises we were
shown. Then it´ll be Brian´s turn,« Red Hanrahan was saying as Sallah
closed the door behind her.
        She reached her own quarters without further incident, though the
corridors were filled with recent sleepers lurching about, their
expressions ranging from intense concentration to horrified dismay. The
moment Sallah opened the door, she was aware of the occupants asleep
inside. She grimaced. Very carefully she slid the panel back and leaned
against it, wondering what to do. She was too keyed up to sleep yet: she
had to wind down somehow. She decided to go to the Pilots´ ready room for
some stimulating simulator practice. The moment of truth for her abilities
as a shuttle pilot was rapidly approaching.
        Her route was impeded by another recently awakened colonist whose
coordination suffered from prolonged disuse. He was so rake thin that
Sallah feared he would break a bone as he lurched from side to side.
        »Tarvi Andiyar, geologist,« he said, courteously introducing
himself as soon as she had supported him to a vertical stance. »Are we
really orbiting Pern?« His eyes crossed as he looked at her, and Sallah
managed to suppress the grin that his comical expression evoked. She told
him their position. »And you have seen with your own bright and pretty eyes
this marvelous planet?«
        »I have and it´s every bit as lovely as forecast,« Sallah assured
him warmly. He smiled broadly in a relief, showing her very white and even
teeth. Then he gave a shake of his head, which seemed to correct the
aberrant focus of his eyes. He had one of the most beautiful faces she had
ever seen on a man -- not Benden´s rugged, warrior features but a
sophisticated and subtle arrangement, almost sculpted, like some of the
ancient Indic and Cambodian princes on ruined stone murals. She hushed as
she remembered what those princes had been doing in the murals.
        »Would you know if there are any updated probe reports? I am
exceedingly eager to get to work.«
        Sallah laughed, amusement easing the sensual jolt his face had
given her. »You can´t even walk and you want to get to work?«
        »Isn´t fifteen years´ holiday long enough for anyone?« His
expression was mildly chiding. »Is that not cabin C 8411?«
        »It is indeed,« she said, guiding him across the corridor.
        »You are as beautiful as you are kind,« he said, one hand on the
panel for support as he tried to make a very courtly bow. She had to grab
at his shoulders as he overbalanced. »And quick.« With a more judicious
inclination of his head, and with considerable dignity under the
circumstances, he opened his door.
        »Sallah!« Drake Bonneau exclaimed, striding down the corridor
toward her. »Anybody told you where we´re landing?« He had the eager
expression of someone about to confer a favor on a friend.
        »It took no more than nine minutes for the scuttlebutt to
circulate,« she said coolly.
        »That long?« He pretended disdain and then produced one of the
smiles that he assumed would charm anyone. »Let´s drink to it. Not much
longer to enjoy our leisure, eh? Just you and me, huh?«
        She suppressed her distrust of his flattery. He was probably not
even conscious of the triteness of his glib phrases. She had heard him trot
out the same smooth lines for any reasonably attractive female, and at the
moment, his casual insincerity irritated her. Yet he was not a bad sort,
and certainly he had had courage enough to spare during the war. Then she
realized that her uncharacteristic annoyance was a reaction to the sudden
bustle, noise, and proximity of so many people after the last few years of
quiet. Relax, she told herself sternly, it´s only for a few days and then
you´ll be too busy flying to worry about crowds and noise.
        »Thanks, Drake, but Kenjo has me down for simulator practice in --
« She glanced at her wrist. » -- five minutes. Getcha another time.«
        To avoid the crowded corridors, she took the emergency tube down to
the flight deck, then made her way past the variety of cargo secured there
to the admiral´s gig, the Mariposa. It was a compact little craft, with its
delta wing and its perky, pointed nacelle, but it would be full of quiet
and unoccupied space. Sallah punched the hatch release.

* * * * *

Sallah shared her next watch, the dogwatch, with Kenjo Fusaiyuki. There was
little for either of them to do, bar reacting if a glitch halted the
programs. Sallah was hacking around, trying to find something interesting
enough to keep her awake, when she noticed that Kenjo had activated one of
the smaller screens on his position.
        »What have you got there?« she asked before she remembered Kenjo
was not generally outgoing and might resent her interruption.
        »I was decoding the gen on that eccentric wanderer,« he replied
without looking up from the screen.
        »Oh, the one that had the astronomers all excited?« Sallah asked.
She grinned, remembering the unusual spectacle of the rather staid,
pedantic astronomer, Xi Chi Yuen, flushed with excitement and dancing about
the bridge.
        »Quite likely,« Kenjo said. »It does seem to have an enormously
eccentric orbit, more cometary than planetary, though its mass indicates
its planetary size. Look.« He tapped out a sequence that brought up the
satellites of Pern´s star system in relation to their primary and to one
another. »It computes to come in farther than the usual fourth planet
position and actually intrudes on the Oort cloud at aphelion. This is
supposed to be an old system, or so the EEC report leads one to believe,
and that planet ought to have a more unconventional orbit.«
        »There was talk that it could be a stray that the Rukbat sun
attracted.«
        Kenjo shook his head. »That has been ruled out.« He typed out
another sequence and the diagram on the screen shifted to another
projection. In a few seconds, equations overlaid the system diagram. »Look
at the odds against that.« He pointed to the blinking nine figure
probability. »It would have to be a cometary-type orbit, right into the
system. But it´s not.« His long, bony fingers reset the screen. »I can´t
find a harmonic with the other planets. Ah, Captain Keroon registers the
opinion that it might have been captured by Rukbat about ten of its cycles
ago.«
        »No, I think Xi Chi Yuen ruled that out. He computed it to be just
after aphelion right now,« Sallah said. »What did he say? Ah . . .« She
tried to remember.
        Kenjo was already accessing that file. »His report actually says
that the eccentric planetoid had just exited the Oort cloud, pulling some
of the cloud matter with it.«
        »He also said, and I remember that distinctly, that in about eight
years´ time, we´ll have a rather spectacular meteorite show as our new
world goes through the wisps of Oort material.«
        Kenjo snorted. »I´d rather we didn´t. I don´t have much faith in
that EEC report now that it´s being compared with what´s there. Those polka
dots may be meteor damage after all.«
        »I´m not going to lose any sleep over it.«
        »Nor I.« Kenjo crossed his arms over his chest as the report
continued to scroll up the screen. »Yuen apparently believes that with such
an eccentric, almost parabolic orbit, this Pluto body may exit the star
system again, or fall into the sun.«
        »Which wouldn´t much notice, would it?«
        Kenjo shook his head, his eyes still scanning the report. »Frozen
solid. Much too far from Rukbat to get any warmth during most of its orbit.
There´s a possibility of a cometary tail visible when it´s close in.« He
exited that program and tapped out a new sequence. ‘´Pern´s two moons are
much more interesting.«
        »Why? We´re not colonizing them. Anyway, fuel consumption allows
for only the one trip to the moons, to set up the relay disks.«
        Kenjo shrugged. »You always leave yourself an escape route.«
        »To a moon?« Sallah was openly skeptical. »C´mon, Kenjo, we´re not
at war with anyone or anything this far from the Hub. Give over.« She spoke
kindly, knowing that Kenjo had had several very narrow escapes in the Nathi
War.
        »Old habits die hard,« he murmured in such a low voice that she
almost missed it.
        »Yeah, they do. But we´re all going to be able to start fresh.«
        Kenjo merely grunted, signaling an end to his talkative mood.

As the colony ships slowed, they were filled with constant activity as
sleepers continued to be awakened, and the immense cargo pods were opened
and their contents transferred to decks, spilling into access corridors.
When the shuttles had been secured for the long voyage, they had already
been loaded with the grid components and other necessities to build a safe
landing field for the mass of material and people to be discharged from the
colony ships. The urgency was to have the next shipment -- agricultural
tools and supplies -- ready to be hustled on board as soon as the shuttles
returned. The agronomists had promised to break ground before the next
shuttle flight could reach the planet.
        There were six shuttles between the three ships: three in the Yoko,
and two in the Buenos Aires, and one in the Bahrain, the latter equipped
with special fittings for transporting livestock. Once the vessels had
achieved their Lagrangian orbit, debarkation would commence.
        Twelve hours before that event, all the sleepers had been revived.
There was a fair amount of grumbling about the crowding. Many felt that the
unessential people, especially young children, should have been kept on
until planetside accommodations were completed. But despite the
inconvenience, Sallah agreed with the governor´s announcement that no one
should be denied the chance to witness the end of the long journey and the
incredible vision of their new world spiraling in black space. Sallah could
not keep her eyes off Pern and watched on whatever screen was available,
even the tiny one in her quarters. She had also managed to get on the duty
roster for the most important watch of the entire trip.
        Afterward, Sallah always stoutly averred that she had known the
instant the Yokohama reached its orbital position. The great ship had been
slowing for days; the slight puff of the retros as they reduced the forward
motion to a match with the planet below was infinitesimal. Suddenly they
were turning with the planet, in position over a real point on Pern,
seeming to come to a halt in relation to the geography below them. Somehow
Sallah sensed that moment. She actually looked up from her console just as
the helmsman, with suppressed excitement, turned to salute the commander.
        »We have arrived, sir,« the helmsman announced.
        At the same instant, a similar report came in from the Bahrain and
the Buenos Aires, and those on the bridge erupted into cheers and
undisciplined expressions of relief and exultation. Commander Ongola
immediately informed the admiral of the completion of the maneuver and
received formal thanks. Then he ordered all screens to focus on the planet
spread out below them, curving away into night on the one side, and into
brilliant day on the other.
        Sallah joined in the hullaballoo until she noticed a break in the
chatter from the probe and checked the monitor. The probe was merely
switching its site as programmed. As she looked up, she caught a very sad,
oddly pensive expression on Commander Ongola´s face. Aware of her scrutiny,
he arched one eyebrow in query.
        Sallah smiled back in sympathy. The end of his last voyage, she
thought. Who wouldn´t be sad?
        Both of Ongola´s heavy eyebrows went up, and with great dignity he
turned his head away, giving the order for the shuttle-bay doors to be
opened. The crew and the initial landing party were already strapped into
their seats aboard the shuttles, awaiting the history making order. Under
her breath, Sallah murmured a good luck to Kenjo, Drake, and Nabol, who
were piloting the Yoko´s three shuttles.
        Klaxons announced the imminent departure, and immediately the main
screen turned its eye to the landing site. The watch officers sat alert at
their stations. Smaller screens showed the opened shuttle doors from
several angles, so that the bridge personnel could watch the shuttles begin
to drift from their mother ship, dropping quickly on puffs of their jets
before the main engines were ignited. They would spiral down across the
planet, entering Pern´s atmosphere on the western edge of the northern
continent, and braking as they continued on down and around the globe until
they reached their landing site on the eastern end of the southern
continent. Exterior cameras picked up the other three shuttles, which took
their positions in the flotilla. Gracefully, all six arrowed down and then
out of sight over the curve of the planet.
        Sallah´s watch ended before the estimated time of arrival on Pern
but she made herself small against the side wall, along with everyone else
from her watch, in order to have the best view possible. She knew that
every screen on the ship was broadcasting the same information, and that
the visual of the actual landing would flash simultaneously on all three
colony vessels -- but somehow it seemed more official to see it all from
the bridge. So she stayed, reminding herself to breath from time to time
and shifting from one tired swollen leg to another. She would be relieved
when the spin went down in order to facilitate the moving of cargo -- but
soon she would be planetside, with no convenient spin to turn off to reduce
the effects of gravity.

»Got rid of your mates?« Stev Kimmer asked, stepping quickly into Avril´s
room after a quick glance over his shoulder. He closed the door behind him.
        Avril turned to face him, arms extended; she flicked her finger to
indicate unoccupied space, and smiled in smug satisfaction. »Rank has
privileges. I used mine. Lock it. Occasionally that oaf Lensdale tries to
foist someone off on me, but I added three names below mine and he may have
given up.«
        Kimmer, due shortly at the loading bay to take his place in one of
the Yoko´s shuttles, got straight to the point. »So where is this
incontrovertible proof of yours?«
        Still smiling, Avril opened a drawer and took out a dark wood box
with no apparent seam. She handed it to him, and he shook his head.
        »I told you I´ve no time for puzzles. If this is a ploy to get a
man into your bed, Avril, your timing´s way off.«
        She grimaced, annoyed by his phrasing as well as the fact that
changed circumstances forced her to seek assistance from others. But her
first plan had run aground on the reef of Paul Benden´s sudden and totally
unexpected indifference to her. Smiling away her distaste, she repositioned
the box on her left palm, made a pass at the side facing her, then
effortlessly lifted the top. As she had predicted, Stev Kimmer inhaled in
surprise, the sparkle in his eyes fleetingly reflecting the rich glow of
the ruby that sat nestled in the box. His hands made a movement toward it,
and she tilted the box ever so slightly causing the gem to twinkle wickedly
in the light.
        »Magnificent, isn´t it?« Avril´s voice was soft with affectionate
possession as she turned her hand, letting him see the brilliance in the
heart of the rose-cut gem. Abruptly, she took the jewel from its bed and
handed it to him. »Feel it. Look at it through the light. Flawless.
        »How did you get it?« He shot her an accusing glance, his features
set with a combination of envy, greed, and admiration. The latter was all
for the magnificent jewel as he held it up to the lighting strip and
examined its perfection.
        »Believe it or not, I inherited it.« At his suspicious expression,
she leaned gracefully against the small table, arms folded across her well
formed breasts, and grinned. »My grandmother at seven removed was a member
of the EEC team that explored this mudball. Shavva bint Faroud, to give her
her maiden name.«
        »Fardles!« Stev Kimmer was genuinely astounded.
        »Furthermore,« Avril went on, enjoying his reaction, »I have her
original notes.«
        »How did your family manage to keep this all those years? Why, it´s
priceless.«
        Avril raised her lovely arched eyebrows. »Great-grandmother was no
fool. That bauble was not the only thing she brought back from here, or the
other planets she explored.«
        »But to bring this with you?« It was all Kimmer could do not to
clench his fingers around the beautiful gem.
        »I´m the last of my line.«
        »You mean, you can claim part of this planet as a direct descendant
of the EEC team?« Stev was beginning to warm to such possibilities.
        She shook her head angrily at his misconstruction. »The EEC takes
bloody good care that doesn´t happen. Shavva knew that. She also knew that
sooner or later the planet would be opened for colonization. The ruby and
her notes -- « Avril paused dramatically. » -- were handed down to me. And
I -- and her notes -- are now in orbit around Pern.«
        Stev Kimmer regarded her for a long moment. Then she reached over
and took the ruby from him, negligently tossing it in one hand while Kimmer
nervously watched.
        »Now, do you want in on my scheme?« she asked. »Like my beloved and
far-seeing predecessor, I have no wish to remain at the end of the galaxy
on a seventh-rate world.«
        Stev Kimmer narrowed his eyes and shrugged. »Have the others seen
the ruby?«
        Not yet.« She smiled slowly with sly malice. »If you´ll help me
they may never need to.«
        By the time Stev Kimmer made a hurried departure to the loading
dock. Avril was sure of his participation. She glanced at the chrono and
was pleased to see that her timing was perfect. She smoothed her hair,
dabbed on a bit more of the heavy musk scent she preferred, and burnished
her nails for a few moments before she heard a discreet knock on the door.
        Nabhi Nabol entered. »Are your roommates out?«

Kenjo Fusaiyuko tensed at the first shudder as the shuttle hit atmosphere.
The admiral, seated between Kenjo and Jiro Akamoto the copilot, leaned
forward eagerly, straining at his safety harness and smiling in
anticipation. Kenjo permitted himself to smile, too. Then he carefully
blanked his expression. Things were going far too well. There had been no
problems with the countdown checklist. For all its fifteen years of
inactivity, the shuttle Eujisan handled perfectly. They had achieved an
excellent angle of entry and should make a perfect landing on a site that,
according to probe report, was as level as a natural area could be.
        Kenjo had always worried about possible contingencies, a habit that
had made him one of the best transport pilots in Cygnus Sector Fleet in
spite of the fact that the few emergencies he had faced had never been ones
that he could have foreseen. He had survived because, in planning for
foul-ups, he had been ready for anything.
        But the Pern landing was different. No one, apart from the long
dead Exploration and Evaluation team, had set foot on Pern. And, in Kenjo´s
estimation, the EEC team had not spent enough time on the planet to have
made a proper assessment.
        Beside him, Jiro murmured reassuring readings from his
instrumentation, and then both pilots felt the resistance as the shuttle
dug deeper into the atmospheric layer. Kenjo tightened his fingers around
the control yoke, setting his feet and his seat deep for steadiness. He
wished the admiral would lean back -- it was unnerving to have someone
breathing down his neck at a time like this. How had the man managed to
find so much slack in his safety harness?
        The exterior of the shuttle was heating up, but the internal
temperature remained steady. Kenjo shot a glance at the small screen. The
passengers were riding well, too, and none of the cargo had shifted under
its straps. His eyes flicked from one dial to the next, noting the
performance and health of his vehicle. The vibration grew more violent, but
that was to be expected. Had he not pierced the protective gases of a
hundred worlds in just the same way, slipping like a penknife under the
flap of an envelope, like a man into the body of his beloved?
        They were on the nightside now, one moon casting a brilliant full
light on the dark landmass. They were racing toward day over the immense
sea of Pern. He checked the shuttle´s altitude. They were right on target.
The first landing on Pern simply could not be perfect. Something would have
to go amiss, or his faith in probability would be shattered. Kenjo searched
his control panel for any telltale red, of any blinking yellow malfunction
light. Yet the shuttle continued its slanting plunge as the sweat of
apprehension ran down Kenjo´s spine, and moisture beaded his brow under his
helmet.
        Beside Kenjo, Jiro looked outwardly calm, but then he bit nervously
at the corner of his lower lip. Seeing that, Kenjo turned his head away,
careful not to let his expression betray the satisfaction he felt at the
revelation that his copilot, too, was experiencing tension. Between them
Admiral Benden´s breath was becoming more rapid.
        Would the old man expire in joy beside him? Kenjo felt a sudden
stab of alarm. Yes, that could be it. The shuttle would land safely, but
Admiral Benden would die on the point of arrival at his promised land. Yes,
that would be the flaw in the trip. A human error, not mechanical failure.
        As Kenjo´s mind played with the ramifications of that disaster,
resistance on the skin of the shuttle decreased as it dropped below the
speed of sound. Skin heat was okay, the shuttle was responding smoothly to
the helm, and they were at the correct altitude, dropping as programmed.
        Remember, Kenjo, use as little fuel in retro as possible. The more
fuel saved, the more trips can be made. And then -- Kenjo cut off that line
of thinking. There would still be the atmosphere planes to drive for many
years to come. Power packs lasted for decades if carefully recharged. And
if he could scrounge the right parts . . . His spirit would not be grounded
for a long time yet.
        He took quick altitude readings, checked his compass, trimmed the
flaps, did a quick calculation on his speed, and squinted ahead toward the
shoreline, which was coming up in plain sight ahead of him. His screens
told him that the other shuttles were following at the prescribed safe
intervals. The shuttle Eujisan, with Kenjo at the helm and both Admiral
Benden and Governor Boll aboard, would be the first to touch down on Pern.
        The shuttle was hurtling over the eastern ocean, its shadow
preceding it on the water as it overpassed the lumps of islets and larger
masses in the archipelago that extended northeastward from their landing
site. As he spotted a perfect strato volcano rising above the water, Kenjo
nearly lost his concentration: its resemblance to the famed Mount Fuji was
incredible. Surely that volcano was a good sign.
        Kenjo could see surf boiling at the base of the rocky promontory
that signaled their approach to the chosen landing site.
        »Retro-rockets, two-second blast,« he said, pleased to hear his
voice steady and calm, almost bored. Jiro acknowledged, and the shuttle
tugged back slightly but evenly as the retros broke its forward speed.
Kenjo lifted the nose, slightly bleeding airspeed. »Landing gear down.«
        Jiro nodded. As Kenjo watched, hand hovering over the retros in
case the landing gear failed to emerge, the green lights came on
unwinkingly, and then he felt the pull of air against the great wheels as
they locked into position. The shuttle´s speed was a shade too high for
landing. The vast field was coming up under them, a field that undulated
like the sea. Kenjo fought down the panic. He checked the drag, windspeed,
and, wincing at the necessity, fired the retros again briefly and pulled
the nose up as he persuaded the shuttle to settle to the surface of Pern.
        Once the big wheels touched, the shuttle bounced a bit over the
uneven ground. Braking judiciously and making full use of his flaps Kenjo
swung the shuttle in a wide circle so that it faced the way it had just
come and rolled to a complete stop.
        Kenjo permitted himself a small smile of satisfaction, then
returned his attention to the control panel, to begin the landing
checklist. Noting the fuel expended, he gave a grunt of pleasure at his
economy. Liters under the allowance.
        »Fine landing, Kenjo! Jiro! My compliments,« the admiral exclaimed.
Kenjo decided that he would forgive him that enthusiastic clout on the
shoulder. Then suddenly he and Jiro were startled by unexpected sounds: the
snapping of metal clasps, and the sudden noise of air rapidly evacuating.
        Alarmed, Kenjo turned just in time to see the admiral and the
Governor disappearing down the cabin´s escape hatch. Kenjo glanced
frantically at his console, certain that the expedition´s leaders must be
reacting to an emergency of some sort, but only the red brake light was on.
Smells of burning grass and oil and rocket fuel wafted up to the two pilots
through the open hatch. Simultaneously they were aware of the shouts from
the passenger cabin -- shouts of joy, not cries of panic. A glance in the
screens proved to Kenjo that their passengers were releasing their safety
harnesses. A few had risen and were tentatively stretching legs and arms,
talking excitedly in anticipation of stepping out on the surface of their
new home. But why had the admiral and the governor left the shuttle so
precipitously -- and through the escape hatch instead of the main exit?
        Jiro eyed him questioningly. All Kenjo could think to do was shrug.
Then, as the cheering subsided into a silence punctuated by nervous
whispers, Kenjo realized that, as pilot, it fell to him to take charge. He
activated the cargo-hold release mechanism, then switched the sensors to
exterior, setting the cameras to record the historic moment. Above all, he
must pretend that everything was in order, despite the strange behavior of
the admiral and the governor.
        Kenjo unstrapped himself, motioning for Jiro to do the same. He
stooped, briefly, to activate the hatch closure. Then he took the three
steps to the panel between the two cabins and palmed it open.
        Cheers greeted him and, modestly, he dropped his head and eyes. The
cheers subsided expectantly as he reached the rear of the payload cabin and
undogged the passenger hatch. With an unnecessary but satisfying force, he
pushed open the door. As the aperture opened and the ramp extended, the
fresh air of the new world poured in. He was not the only one to take a
deep breath of the oxygen-rich, aromatic air. Kenjo was debating with
himself the protocol of such an occasion, since the logical candidates had
already evacuated the vehicle, but Jiro, beside him, began to point
excitedly. Kenjo peered around the slowly opening hatch and blinked in
astonishment.
        There, visible not only to him but to the other five shuttles which
had landed in due order behind him, were two brilliant banners. One was the
gold and blue of the Federated Sentient Planets. The other was the
brand-new standard for the planet Pern: blue, white, and yellow, with the
design of sickle and plow in the upper left-hand corner, signifying the
pastoral nature of the colony. Occasionally hidden by the flapping of the
banners in the steady breeze over the meadow were the triumphant figures of
Admiral Benden and Governor Boll. The pair of them were grinning like
idiots, Kenjo saw, as they enthusiastically beckoned the passengers to
emerge.
        »Let us welcome you, my friends, to the planet Pern,« the admiral
cried in a stentorian voice.
        »Welcome to Pern!« the governor shouted. »Welcome! Welcome!«
        They looked at each other and then began the formal words in an
obviously well rehearsed unison.
        »By the power vested in us by the Federated Sentient Planets, we
hereby claim this planet and name it Pern!«

* * * * *

The engineers, the power-resource group, the jacks-of-all-trades, and every
able-bodied man and woman who knew which end of a hammer to grip were set
to work putting down the landing-strip grids. A second work force erected
the prefabricated sections of the landing control and meteorology tower, in
which Ongola and the other meteorologists would be based.
        The tower was three stories high, two square sections supported by
a wider and longer rectangular base. Initially the ground level would serve
as headquarters for the admiral, the governor, and the informal council.
When the proper administrative square had been built later on, the entire
installation would be turned over to meteorology and communications.
        The third and smallest group -- all eight of Mar Dook´s
agronomists, plus a dozen able-bodies, Pol Nietro from zoology, Phas
Radamanth and A. C. Sopers of xenobiology and Ted Tubberman and his crew --
had the task of choosing the site for the experimental farm. Others were
detailed to scout for varieties of vegetation that might be efficiently
converted into various plastics which the colony would need for building.
On the one minisled brought along, Emily Boll flew between the agronomy
survey and the control tower, correlating data. Once the emergency
infirmary was set up, medics were kept busy patching bruises and scrapes,
and peremptorily ordering rest periods for the older workers who were
overextending themselves in enthusiasm.
        By midday, those in orbit had a nonstop show of the disciplined but
constant activities on the surface.
        »It keeps people home,« Sallah remarked to Barr Hamil, her copilot,
as they traversed nearly empty corridors on their way back from the main
hangar where they had been checking cargo manifests for their first trip
down.
        »It´s fascinating, Sal. And we´ll be there tomorrow!« Barr´s eye´s
were shining, and she wore a silly grin. »I really can´t believe we´re
here, and will be there!« She pointed downward. »It´s like a dream. I keep
being afraid I´ll wake up suddenly.«
        They had reached their own quarters and both had eyes only for the
vid screen in the corner.
        »Good,« Barr said with a relieved sigh. »They´ve got the donks
assembled.«
        Sallah chuckled. »Our job is to get the shuttle down in one piece,
Barr. Unloading is someone else´s problem.« But she, too, was relieved to
see the sturdy load handlers lined up at the end of the almost completed
landing strip. The donks would greatly facilitate unloading, and speed up
the shuttles´ return to their mother ships for the next run. Already there
were informal competitions between the various units to bring their
projects in faster and more efficiently than programmed time allowed.
        Sallah and Barr watched, as everyone did, until the dark tropical
moonless night rendered the broadcasts impossible to interpret. Broadcasts
from the surface would be primitive until Drake Bonneau and Xi Chi Yuen, in
the admiral´s gig, had a chance to install the commsats on the two moons.
Nonetheless, the last scene raised a nostalgic lump in Sallah´s throat,
reminding her of the hunting trips that she and her parents had enjoyed in
the hills around First on Centauri.
        The screen showed tired men and women seated around an immense
campfire, eating an evening meal that had been prepared in a huge kettle
from freeze-dried Terran vegetables and meats. In the failing light, the
white strips of the runway grids and the wind sock having convulsions in
the brisk breeze, were just barely visible. The planetary flag, so proudly
displayed that morning, had wrapped itself around the pole above the
control tower. Someone began to play softly on a harmonica, an old, old
tune so familiar that Sallah couldn´t name it. Someone else joined in with
a recorder. Softly and hesitantly at first, then with more confidence, the
tired colonists began to sing or hum along. Other voices added harmony, and
Sallah remembered that the song was called »Home on the Range.« There
certainly had been no »discouraging words« that day. And the evening
serenade did make the landing site seem a bit more like a home.
        The next morning Sallah and Barr had been up long before the klaxon
sounded, assembling their passengers and making last-minute weight
calculations. The pilots had been given a very serious briefing from
Lieutenant Commander Ongola on the necessity of conserving of fuel.
        We have just enough liquid fuel to get every man, woman and child,
beast, parcel, package, and reusable section of the ships down to the
surface. Waste not, want not. Fools waste fuel! We have none to waste.
Nor,« he added, with his sad wistful smile, »fools among us.«
        Watching on the loading-bay screens, Sallah and Barr could follow
the six shuttles lifting from the planet´s surface. Then the scene shifted
to a panoramic view of the main landing site.
        It´s breathtaking, Sal, breathtaking,« Barr said. »I´ve never seen
so much unoccupied, unused land at one time in my life.«
        »Get used to it,´´ Sallah replied with a grin.
        With the activities of the landing party to watch, it seemed like
no time at all before the shuttles were locking on. The loading detail were
trundling the first crates into the hold before Kenjo and Jiro could exit.
Sallah was a little annoyed with Kenjo for his brusque dismissal of Barr´s
excited questions. Even Jiro looked abashed by his senior´s truculence as
Kenjo succinctly briefed Sallah on landing procedures, advice on handling
the shuttle´s idiosyncrasies, and the frequency for the tower
meteorological control. He wished her a safe drop, saluted, and, turning on
his heel, left the bay.
        »Well, hail and farewell,« Barr said, recovering from the snub.
        »Let´s do the preflight even if Fussy Fusi has made such a big deal
of turnover,« Sallah said, sliding into the lock of the Eujisan an inch
ahead of the next big crate being loaded. They had finished their check by
the time loading was complete. Barr did passenger inspection, making very
certain that General Cherry Duff, the oldest charterer and the pro tem
colony magistrate, was comfortable, and then they were cleared for the
drop.

»We were barely there,« Barr complained as Sallah taxied the Eujisan into
takeoff position at the end of the runway eight hours later. »And now we´re
away again.«
        »Efficiency is our guide. Waste not, want not,« Sallah told her,
eyes on the instrumentation as she opened the throttle on the Eujisan for
lift-off thrust. She grimaced, eyes flicking between fuel gauge and rev
counter, not wanting to use a cc more of fuel than necessary. »Kenjo and
the next eager set of colonists will be chewing hunks out of the cargo
hatch. We must up, up, and away!«
        »Kenjo never made an error in his life?« Barr asked of Sallah
sometime later after the famous pilot had made a disparaging remark about
the shuttle´s consumption of fuel during the trips made by the two women.
        »That´s why he´s alive today,« Sallah replied. But his comment
rankled. Though she knew that she had expended no more fuel than was
absolutely necessary, she began keeping a private record of consumption on
each of her trips. She noticed that Kenjo generally oversaw the Eujisan´s
refueling and supervised its fifty-hour checks. She knew that she was a
better than average pilot, in space or atmospheric craft, but she did not
want to make waves with a hero pilot who had far more experience than she
did -- not unless she absolutely had to, and not without the ammunition of
accurate records.
        Patterns were quickly established. Those on the ground began each
morning by erecting the housing and work areas for those due to arrive
during the day. The agronomy teams handily cleared the designated fields.
The infirmary had already dealt with its first clients fortunately, all the
accidents so far had been minor. And despite all the hard work, senses of
humor prevailed. Some wit had put up street signs with estimated distances
in light-years for Earth, First Centauri and The homeworlds of the other
members of the Federated Sentient Planets.

Like everyone else waiting to drop, Sorka Hanrahan spent a lot of time
watching the progress of the settlement, which had been informally dubbed
»Landing.« To Sorka, watching was only a way to pass the time. She was not
really interested, especially after her mother kept remarking that they
were seeing history made. History was something one read about in books.
Sorka had always been an active child, so the enforced idleness and the
constriction of shipboard life quickly became frustrating. It was small
comfort to know how important her father´s profession of veterinary surgeon
was going to be on Pern when all the kids she had met in the mess halls and
corridors were getting down to Pern faster than she and her brother were.
        Brian however, was in no hurry. He had made friends with the Jepson
twins, two aisles away. They had an older brother Sorka´s age, but she did
not like him. Her mother kept telling her that there would be girls her age
on Pern whom she would meet once she got to school.
        »I need a friend now,« Sorka murmured to herself as she wandered
through the corridors of the ship. Such freedom was a rare privilege for a
girl who had always had to be on guard against strangers. Even home on the
farm in Clonmel, she had not been allowed out of sight of an adult, even
with old Chip´s protective canine presence. On the Yokohama, not only did
she not have to watch out, but the whole ship was open to her, provided she
kept out of engineering or bridge territory and didn´t interfere with crew.
But at that moment she did not feel like exploring; she wanted comfort. So
she headed for her favorite place, the garden.
        On her first long excursion, she had discovered the section of the
ship where great broad-leafed plants arched over the ceiling, their
branches intertwining to make green caves below. She loved the marvelous
aroma of moist earth and green things, and felt no inhibition about taking
deep lungfuls of air that left a clean, fresh taste at the back of her
mouth. Beneath the giant bushes were all sorts, of herbs and smaller plants
with tags on them, soon to be transported to the new world. She did not
recognize most of the names, but she knew some of the herbs by their common
names. Back at home her mother had kept an herb garden. Sorka knew which
ones would leave their fragrances on her fingers and she daringly fingered
the marjoram, then the tiny thyme leaves. Her eyes drank in the blues and
pale yellows and pinks of the flowers that were in bloom, and she gazed
curiously at the hundreds of racks of shoots in little tubes of water --
nutrient fluids, her dad had told her -- sprouted only a few months back,
to be ready for planting once they reached Pern.
        She had just bent to gently feel the surface of an unfamiliar hairy
sort of silver-green leaf -- she thought it had a nice smell -- when she
saw a pair of very blue eyes that no plant had ever sprouted. She
swallowed, reminding herself that there were no strangers on the ship; she
was safe. The eyes could belong only to another passenger, who, like
herself, was investigating the peaceful garden.
        »Hello,« she said in a tone between surprise and cordiality.
        The blue eyes blinked. »Go ‘way. You don´t belong here,« a young
male voice growled at her.
        »Why not? This is open to anyone, so long as you don´t damage the
plants. And you really shouldn´t be crouched down in there like that.
        »Go ‘way.« A grubby hand emphasized the order.
        »I don´t have to. Who´re you?«
        Her eyes, adjusted to the shadows, clearly read the boy´s resentful
expression. She hunkered down, looking in at him. »What´s your name?´´ she
asked.
        »I doan gotta tell nobody my name.« He spoke with a familiar
accent.
        »Well, excuse me, I´m sure,« she said in an affected tone. Then she
realized that she recognized his accent. »Hey, you´re Irish. Like me.«
        »I´m not like you.«
        »Well, deny you´re Irish.« When he didn´t -- because he couldn´t
and they both knew it -- she cocked her head at him, smiling agreeably. »I
can see why you´d hide in here. It´s quiet and it smells so fresh. Almost
like home. I don´t like the ship either; I feel -- « Sorka hugged herself »
-- sort of cramped and squashed all the time.« She lengthened the words to
make them express her feelings. »I come from Clonmel. Ever been there?«
        »Sure.« The boy´s tone was scornful, but he brushed a strand of
long orange hair from his eyes and shifted his position so that he could
keep his eyes on her.
        »I´m Sorka Hanrahan.« She looked inquiringly at him.
        »Sean Connell,« he admitted truculently after considerable delay.
        »My dad´s a vet. The best in Clonmel.«
        Sean´s expression cleared with approval. »He works with horses?«
        She nodded. »With any sick animal. Did you have horses?«
        »While we was still in Ballinasloe.« His expression clouded with
resentful grief »We had good horses,« he added with defensive pride.
        »Did you have your own pony?«
        The boy´s eyes blinked, and he dropped his head.
        »I miss my pony, too,« Sorka said compassionately. »But I´m to get
one on Pern, and my dad said that they´d put special ones in the banks for
you.« She wasn´t at all sure of that, but it seemed the proper thing to
say.
        »We´d better. We was promised. We can´t get anywhere ‘thout horses
‘cause this place isn´t to have hovervans er nothing.«
        »And no more gardai.« Sorka grinned mischievously at him. She had
just figured out that he must be one of the traveling folk. Her father had
mentioned that there were some among the colonists. »And no more farmers
chasing you out of their fields, and no more move-on-in-twenty-four-hours,
or lousy halts, and no roads but the ones you make yourself, and -- oh,
just lots of things you really want, and none of the bad things.«
        »Can´t be all that good,« Sean remarked cynically.
        Suddenly the comm unit in the garden erupted into sound. »The
boarding call has been issued for the morning drop. Passengers will
assemble immediately in the loading bay on Deck Five.«
        Like a turtle, Sean drew back into the shadows.
        »Hey, does he mean you?« Sorka tried to make out Sean´s face in the
darkness. She thought she saw a faint nod. »Boy, are you lucky going so
soon. Third day! What´s the matter? Don´t you want to go?« She got down on
her hands and knees to peer in at him. Then slowly he drew back. She had
seen real fear often enough to recognize it in Sean. »Gee, I´d trade places
with you. I can´t wait to get down. I mean, it´s not that long a trip. And
it´ll be no different from getting to the Yoko from Earth,« she went on,
thinking to reassure him. »That wasn´t so bad, was it?« She had been so
excited, even knowing that she would be put in deep sleep almost as soon as
they got on board, that she had been unaware of anything but the first
pressure of take-off.
        »We was shipped up asleep.« His words were no more than a terrified
mutter.
        »Gee, you missed the best part. Of course, half the adults,« she
added condescendingly, »were weeping about their last view of old Terra. I
pretended that I was Spacer Yvonne Yves, and my brother, Brian, he´s much
younger than we are, but he made like he was Spacer Tracey Train.«
        »Who´re they?«
        »C´mon, Sean. I know you all had vidscreens in your caravans.
Didn´t you ever see Space Venturers?«
        He was openly scornful. »That´s kid stuff.«
        »Well, you´re a Space Venturer right now, and if it´s only kid
stuff, there´s nothing to be afraid of, is there?«
        ‘Who said I was afraid?«
        »Well, aren´t you? Hiding away in the garden.«
        »I just needed a decent breath of fresh air.« Suddenly he pushed
himself out.
        »When you´ve a planet full of fresh air below you, only hours way?«
Sorka grinned at him. »Just pretend you´re a space hero.«
        The comm unit came alive, and she could hear the edge to the
embarkation officer´s voice. Desi Arthied had not had to remind another
load of passengers to assemble. »The shuttles drop in precisely twenty
minutes. Passenger scheduled for this drop who default go to the end of the
list.«
        »He´s angry,« Sorka told Sean. She gave him a little push towards
the door. »You´d better git. Your parents´ll skin you alive if you keep
them from making their drop.«
        »That´s all you know,« he said savagely. He stomped out of the
garden room.
        »Scaredy-cat,« she said softly, then sighed exaggeratedly. »Well,
he can´t help it.«
        Then she turned back to examine the fragrant plant.

By the sixth day all essential personnel were on the surface. Seating was
removed from all but one of the shuttles and set about the bonfire square
until needed again. Mountains of supplies were dropped, distributed, and
stored. Delicate instruments packed in shockproof cocoons followed, along
with sperm and the precious fertilized ova from Earth and First -- Sallah
was certain that Barr did not take a deep breath throughout those drops.
Immediately fertilized eggs were implanted in those cows, goats, and sheep
that had fully recovered from their deep sleep. Small sturdy types had been
brought, not themselves the best genotypes available on Earth but suitable
for surrogate dams; the embryos were different again, specially adapted for
hardiness and resistance. The resultant progeny would, it was hoped, be
able to digest Pern-grown fodder, which would have much more boron in it
than the usual Terran produce, and a good variety of native weeds. If there
were problems, Kitti Ping and her granddaughter, Wind Blossom, would use
the Eridani techniques to alter the next generation appropriately. The plan
was for at least some of the animals to be tailored to make the required
enzymes in their own glands, instead of using symbiotic bacteria as their
ancestors had on earth.
        Admiral Benden proudly remarked that by the time the ships were
completely evacuated, the first chicken eggs were likely to hatch on Pern.
He went on to announce that there was evidence that the planet harbored its
own egg-layers, too, for broken shells had been found above the high-tide
line on the beach where the harbor and the fish hatchery were being
constructed. Zoologists were trying to figure out what sort of creature had
laid the chickenlike eggs; they hoped it was the rather beautiful and
unusual avians mentioned by the EEC team, but so far, the reptiloid
creatures mentioned in the survey report had not been observed. As the
analysis of the shells showed a high level of boron, the team put egg and
its inhabitant on the dubious list indigenous inedibles.
        The shuttles made only two trips a day for the next four, since the
loading and unloading of all that materiel was time-consuming.
        »I prefer a few passengers,« Barr remarked as the off-duty pilots
were enjoying dinner in the mess hall, »as a leaven to crates and crates,
big, little, medium. Or all those absolutely irreplaceable herbs and
bushes. There´s still plenty of people to go down.« The mess hall, not
nearly so crowded anymore, was still full of diners.
        Looking about, Sallah noticed the redheaded family seated at the
far left. She waved, smiling brightly because the youngsters looked so
glum.
        »Gorgeous red hair, isn´t it?« Sallah said wistfully.
        »Too unusual,« Avril Bitra said derisively.
        »I dunno,« Drake remarked, staring at the party. »Makes a nice
change.«
        »She´s too young for you, Bonneau,« Avril said.
        »I´m a patient man,« Drake countered, grinning because it was not
often that he got a rise out of the sultry beauty. »I´ll know where to find
her when she grows up.« He appeared to consider the prospect.
        If course, the boy is much too young for you, Avril. A full
generation away.«
        Avril gave him a long, disgusted look and, grabbing the wine
carafe, stalked to the dispensers. Sallah exchanged glances with Barr.
Avril was scheduled first the next morning, and the wind factors provided
sufficient danger even without alcohol-blurred reactions. They both looked
toward Nabol, her copilot, but he shrugged indifferently. Sallah hadn´t
hoped for much support from the man. No one had much influence on Avril.
        »Hey, Avril, hold off on the sauce,« Drake began, rising to
intercept her. »You did promise me a rematch in gravity ball. The court´ll
be empty now.« His smile was challenging, and from where she sat Sallah
could see his hand slide caressingly up Avril´s arm. The astrogator´s mouth
assumed a less discontented line. »We´d best use it while we may,« he
added, his smile deepening. Moving his arm up to her shoulders, he took the
carafe from her hand and placed it on the nearest table as he guided her
out of the mess hall without a backward look.
        »Wow! Charm has its uses,« Barr said.
        »Shall we see if it´s ball they´re playing in the grav court?«
Nabol suggested, an unsettling glitter in his eyes.
        »There´s ball games and ball games,« Sallah said with a diffident
shrug. »I´ve seen ‘em all. Excuse me.« She stood up and strode over to the
Hanrahans´ table. She knew she had left her friend stranded, Barr could
leave, too, if Nabol made her uncomfortable. »Hi, there. When do you drop?«
she asked, as she reached the Hanrahans.
        »Tomorrow,« Red said with a welcoming grin. He pulled a chair over
from the next table. »Join us? I think we´re on your ship.«
        »We are.« Sorka beamed at Sallah.
        »You´ve had a long wait,« Sallah remarked, sitting down.
        »I´m vet, and Mairi´s childcare,« Red replied. »We aren´t exactly
essential personnel.«
        »Perhaps not now,« Sallah replied with a wide grin that
acknowledged the future importance of their specialties.
        Is it really as nice down there as it looks?« Sorka asked.
        »I can´t say I´ve had much time to find out,« Sallah said with a
rueful expression. »We drop, unload, and lift. But the air is like wine.«
She flared her nostrils in deprecation of the recycled atmosphere of the
ship. »And a breeze, too.« She laughed. »Sometimes a bit stiff.« She
pantomimed fighting with the control yoke of the shuttle. Mairi looked
wistful, while her husband looked eager. Sallah turned to the kids. »And
school´s great. Outdoors! Teaching you all we know about our new home.« The
two children had groaned at her first phrase, but began to brighten as she
went on. »Sometimes the teachers are just a skip ahead of the students.«
        »They didn´t have bonfires last night,« Brian said, disappointed.
        »That´s because they got light pylons up, but watch tonight. You
aren´t the only one who missed ‘em. I heard they decided to have a bonfire
square, and every night someone new gets a chance to light it if they´ve
worked very hard and earned the privilege.«
        »Wow!« Brian was elated. »Whaddya have to do to get to light it?
        »You´ll think of something, Brian,« his father assured him.
        »See you all bright and early?« Sallah rose, giving Sorka´s hair a
ruffle.
        »Be there before you,« Red replied with a grin.
        To Sallah´s surprise, they were, for Mairi had insisted on
reassuring herself that their precious personal baggage was safely stowed
in the cargo hold. Mairi had worried and worried about her precious family
heirlooms, especially the rosewood dower chest which had been in her family
for generations. It had been carefully unglued and took up most of the
weight allowed them, but Mairi had insisted that it accompany them to Pern.
Indeed Sorka could not recall her parents´ bedroom without the dower chest
under the window. Sorka had been forced to reduce her treasured collection
of toy horses to three of the smallest, and her book tapes to ten. Brian´s
ship models had been dismantled, and he, too, fretted about finding the
proper glue.
        That was his urgent question when Sallah and Barr greeted them.
        »Glue?« Sallah repeated in surprise. »They´ve dropped everything
else; why on earth would they leave glue out?´´ She winked at Red, who
grinned. »Otherwise our local experts are sure to be able to whomp
something up. Pern seems to be well supplied. On board with you now, Clan
Hanrahan. We´re only a skip ahead of today´s horde.«
        As the first arrivals, the Hanrahans got their choice of seats, and
Sorka suggested that they take the last row so they would be the first out.
It was almost agonizing to have to wait until everyone else was strapped in
and the drop begun. Excitement almost strangled Sorka. She was disappointed
that the forward screen was malfunctioning, because then she did not know
exactly when the shuttle left its bay. And a display would have given her
something to distract her from the shuttle´s vibrations. She looked
anxiously at her parents, but they had their eyes closed. Brian looked as
bug-eyed as she felt, but she would not give him the satisfaction of
appearing scared. Then, suddenly, she remembered Sean Connell, hiding in
the garden, and forced herself to imagine Spacer Yvonne Yves leading an
exciting mission to a mysterious planet.
        And then they were there. The retros pushed her back into her
padded seat, nearly depriving her of breath, and the shuttle bumped lightly
as its landing gear made contact.
        »We´ve landed! We made it!« she cried.
        »Don´t sound so surprised, lovey!« her father said with a laugh,
and reached over to give her knee a pat.
        »Can we eat when we get out?« Brian asked petulantly. Someone up
front chuckled.
        Sorka heard the whoosh as the passenger hatch was cracked. Then the
two pilots appeared at the top of the aisle and gave the order to
disembark. A blast of sunlight and fresh air streamed into the spacecraft,
and Sorka felt her heart give an extra thump of gladness.
        Laughing, her father flipped open her safety belt and urged her to
move. But a moment of nervousness held her back.
        »Go on, you little goose,« Red said, grinning to let her know that
he understood her hesitation.
        »Hey, Sorka, you can leave now,« Sallah called.
        Sorka´s legs were a bit wobbly as she stood. »I´m heavy again,« she
exclaimed. Full weight was a new sensation after the half gravity of the
Yoko. At the exit, she stopped, awed by her first glimpse of Pern, a vast
panorama of the grassy plateau, with its knobs of funny bluish bushes and
the green-blue sky.
        »Don´t block the exit, dear,« said a woman who was standing outside
by the ramp.
        Sorka hastily obeyed, though how she got down the ramp with so much
looking around to do, she never knew. The ground cover was subtly different
from grass on the farm. The bushes were more blue than green, and had
funny-shaped leaves, like the put-together geometric shapes of a toy she
had played with as a toddler.
        »Look, Daddy, clouds! Just like home!« she cried, excitedly
pointing to the sky.
        Her father laughed and, with an arm about her shoulders, moved her
forward with him.
        »Maybe they followed us, Sorka,« he said kindly, smiling broadly
and Sorka knew that he was just as excited as she was to be landing on Pern
at last.
        Sorka threw her head back to the fresh breeze which rippled across
the plateau. It smelled of marvelous things, new and exciting. She wanted
to dance, free once more under a sky, without ceiling or walls to constrict
her.
        »Are you Hanrahan or Jepson?« the woman asked, a recorder in her
hand.
        »Hanrahan,« Red replied. »Mairi, Peter, Sorka, and Brian.«
        »Welcome to Pern,« she said, smiling graciously before she made a
tick on her sheet. »You´re House Fourteen on Asian Square. Here is your
map. All the important facilities are clearly marked. Now if you´ll just
lend a hand to unload and clear the shuttle . . .« She handed him a sheet,
gestured toward the float that was backing up to the open cargo hatch, then
moved on to the Jepsons, who had just emerged.
        We made it, Mairi love,« Red said, embracing his wife. Sorka was
surprised to see tears in her parents´ eyes.
        There was more to be unloaded than just the personal luggage of the
passengers. Cartons of stores still had to be checked off the supercargo´s
lists.
        »Tell the dispatcher that more furnishings are required,« Sallah
was told once the shuttle´s hold had been emptied. »Or some people won´t
have beds tonight.´´
        »That´s efficiency for you,« Sallah remarked to Barr. She waved to
the Hanrahans as she closed the hatch to prepare for the return flight.
»Soon there won´t be anyone above and precious little left of the ships but
the hulls.«
        »I know,« Barr replied. »I half expect to find our bunks already
gone.«
        The two began their take-off check and Sallah grinned as she made
her notations. She had the glide down to perfection, which meant that she
was saving nearly twenty liters every journey. The wind was veering to
stern, and she warned Barr to speed up her checklist.
        »Want to take advantage of that tail wind. Saves fuel.«
        »Good Cod, Sal, you´re as bad as Fussy Fusi.« But Barr completed
her list with a flourish. »What I want to know is why are we busting ass
saving fuel? We can´t go anyplace useful with what we´d be saving. And once
the ships are gutted, there isn´t any use for space shuttles now is there?«
        Sallah gave her a searching stare and then chuckled drolly. »A very
good point, my friend. A very good point. I think,« she added after a
moments thought, »I´ll check the tanks while Fussy´s dropping.«
        But when she had done that, she was not that much wiser. If they
were saving so much fuel, then the level in the tanks should have been
higher. Barr, who was enjoying a flirtation with one of the resource
engineers, forgot her idle observation. But Sallah did not. During one of
Kenjo´s drops, she did a bit of checking in the mainframe´s banks.
        Fuel consumption was at acceptable levels in both of Yoko´s
remaining tanks. Sallah computed in her average fuel consumption per trip
plus an estimate of Kenjo´s, and came up with a total that should have left
them with an extra two thousand liters of available fuel. She knocked off a
percentage, based on consumption during her heavier trips, when drift and
wind factors had required a higher expenditure of fuel. Once again she came
up with a deficit figure, slightly lower than before but still higher than
the amount available.
        What good would it do anyone to hoard fuel? Avril? But Avril and
Kenjo were not at all friendly. In fact, Avril had made snide remarks about
Kenjo on several occasions, unacceptable ethnic-based slander. »Of course,
if you wanted to put someone off the track . . .«Sallah murmured to
herself.
        Checking the distance to the nearest system, which had been
interdicted a century before by the EEC team, and the distance to the
nearest habitable system, and computing in the cruising range and speed of
the captain´s gig, Sallah came up with the answer that the Mariposa could,
even with the most careful management, make it only to the uninhabitable
system. But what good would that do anyone? Disgusted by the waste of the
afternoon, Sallah went in search of Barr. They had the evening run to make,
and that meant that they would get to sleep planetside.

* * * * *

To Sorka´s utter delight, school on Pern concentrated on adapting the
students to their new home. Everyone was given safety instruction about
common tools, and those over fourteen were taught how to operate some of
the less dangerous equipment. They were shown specimens of the plants to be
avoided and lectured on the botany so far catalogued: the varieties of
fruit, leafy vegetables, and tubers that were innocuous and could be eaten
in moderation. One of the jobs for the young colonists, they were told,
would be to gather any edible plants they found to supplement the
transported foodstuffs. They were also shown slides of native insectoids
and herpetoids. Finally those under twelve gathered in the main classroom,
while the older ones assembled outside to be assigned work with adult team
leaders.
        »During this settling-in period,« Rudi Shwartz, the official
headmaster, told the older children, »you will have a chance to work with a
variety of specialists, learning what craft or profession you´d like to
pursue within the context of the work force on Pern. We´re going to revive
an apprentice system here. It worked pretty well on old Earth and has been
successful on First Centauri, and is particularly suitable to our pastoral
colony. All of us will have to work hard to establish ourselves on Pern,
but diligence will be rewarded.«
        »What with?« asked a boy at the back of the class. He sounded
slightly contemptuous.
        »A sense of achievement and,« Mr. Shwartz added, raising his voice
and grinning at the skeptic, »grants of land or material when you reach
your maturity and want to strike out for yourself. All of us have the same
opportunities here on Pern.«
        »My dad says the charterers will still end up with all the good
land,« a young male voice said from the anonymity of the group.
        Surveying the children through slightly narrowed eyes, Rudolph
Shwartz waited to answer until his audience began to move restlessly.
        »The charter permits them first choice, it is true. This is a large
planet with millions of acres of arable land. Even charterers have to prove
the land they claim. There will be some left for your father and you. Now .
. . how many of you already know how to manage the basic sled controls?«
        Sorka had been sizing up her fellow students, and reluctantly
concluded that there were no girls her age. The clutch of teenaged girls
had already formed a group excluding her, and the other girls were all much
younger than she was. Resigned, Sorka then looked in vain for Sean Connell.
Wasn´t it just like a tinker to skip school as soon as possible?
        That initial morning session was concluded with instructions on how
to apply to the commissary for their needs, from the carefully rationed
candy and treats of Earth, to field boots or fresh clothing. Everyone,
their headmaster insisted, had the right to certain luxury items. If an
item was available, it would be issued. After a short lecture on
moderation, the students were dismissed to enjoy a lunch served from the
communal kitchens set up near Bonfire Square and told to report back to the
school at 1300 hours for their afternoon duties.
        After nearly two weeks of inactivity on the ship, Sorka welcomed
the fetch-and-carry tasks. She was almost alone in her preference. The
older girls in particular were appalled to be put to rough labor. Farmbred
Sorka felt rather superior to those city lilies, and worked so diligently
in helping to clear stones from the fields that her agronomist team leader
cautioned her to take it easy.
        »Not that we don´t appreciate your vigor, Sorka,« the woman said
with a wry grin, »but don´t forget you were inactive for fifteen years.
Work those muscles in gently.«
        »Well, at least I´ve got some,« Sorka replied with a scornful
glance at a team of girls who scowled sullenly as they held plastic poles
in place for fencing.
        »They´ll get used to Pern. They´re here to stay.« The team leader
gave a sort of snort. »We all are.«
        Sorka sighed with such contentment that the older woman reached out
to ruffle her hair. »Ever consider a career as an agronomist?«
        »Naw, I´m going to be a vet like my dad,« Sorka replied cheerfully.
        The agronomist team leader was the first of many adults who would
have liked to have Sorka Hanrahan as an apprentice. She was only a few days
on the rock-picking detail before she and five others were sent down to the
harbor and the hatchery.
        »You´ve proved you can work without supervision, Sorka.« Headmaster
Shwartz told her approvingly. »Just the attitude we need to get Pern
going.«
        After a morning learning to recognize those marine specimens that
had already been catalogued, she and the other five youngsters were split
into two groups and sent in opposite directions along the immense sweep of
the natural harbor to gather any unidentified types of seaweeds and
grasses, or anything new that might have been trapped in tidal pools after
the previous night´s storm. Delighted, Sorka went off happily with Jacob
Chernoff, who, as the oldest, was appointed leader and given a beeper for
emergencies.
        »This sand ought to be different, not just the same,« the third
member of the group complained as they set off.
        »Chung, oceans grind stones on Pern the same way they do it on
Earth and the result just has to be the same: sand,« Jacob said amiably.
»Where were you from?«
        »Kansas,« Chung replied. »Betcha don´t know where that is.« His
mocking glance fell on Sorka.
        »Bounded by the old states of Missouri on the east, Oklahoma on the
south, Colorado in the west, and Nebraska on the north,« Sorka replied with
studied diffidence. »And you don´t have sand out there. You got dirt!«
        Say, you know your geography,« Jacob said to Sorka with a smile of
admiration. »Where are you from?«
        »Colorado?« Chung demanded sarcastically.
        »Ireland.«
        »Oh, one of those European islands,« Chung said dismissively.
        Sorka pointed to a large purplish branch of weed just ahead of
them. »Hey, do they have this one yet?«
        »Don´t touch,« Jacob warned as they reached it. With tongs, he
lifted the weed for a closer examination. It had thick leaves that branched
irregularly from a central stem.
        »Looks like it grew from the sea bottom,« Sorka remarked, pointing
to a clump of tendrils at the base that looked like roots.
        »They didn´t show us anything that big,« Chung said. So they
wrapped it in a specimen bag to bring back for study.
        That was almost their only find that afternoon, though they sifted
through many piles of already identified sea vegetation. Then they rounded
an outcropping of the rough gray stone that punctuated the long crescent
beach, and came upon a sizable pool in which were trapped a variety of
marine life, things that scurried on multiple legs, a couple of purple
bladderlike objects that Sorka was certain would be poisonous, and some
finger-long transparent creatures that seemed almost like fish.
        »How can they be almost fish?« Chung demanded when Sorka voiced her
opinion. »They´re in the water, aren´t they? That makes them fish.«
        »Not necessarily,« Jacob replied. »And they don´t really look like
fish. They look like . . . well, I don´t know what they look like,« he
admitted. The life-form seemed to have layers of fins along its side, some
of which were in constant motion. »Hairy, they look.«
        »All I know is we didn´t see anything like ‘em in the tanks at the
hatchery,« Chung said. Taking out a specimen bottle, he lowered himself to
the edge of the pool to catch one.
        Though Jacob was able to get one of the bladders into a jar, and
three samples of the many-legged species almost leaped into captivity the
finger fish eluded both boys.
        »When Sorka´s suggestions for capture were dismissed, she wandered
farther down the beach. Around a second pile of boulders, she found a
massive outcropping that resembled a man´s heavy-featured head, complete
with brow ridges, nose, lips, and chin, though part of the chin was buried
in the sand and lashed by the waves. Delighted and awed, Sorka stood in
rapt admiration. It was wonderful, and she had found it. One of the girls
in her own Asian Square had fallen down a hole that turned out to be one of
the many entrances to a series of caves to the south and west of Landing.
They had been logically named the Catherine Caves after their inadvertent
discoverer.
        Sorka´s Head? She murmured the title under her breath. No, people
might think it was her head, and she didn´t look like that at all. As she
pondered the question she glanced above the splendidly imposing cliff. It
was then that she saw the creature, seemingly suspended in the air. She
gasped in wonder, for in that moment the sun caught and dazzled the
creature into a golden statue. Abruptly it dove and swooped out of sight,
behind the pate of the stone head.
        No one had shown her anything that resembled that marvelous
creature, and Sorka was filled with excitement. She would have something
stupendous to report when she got back to the hatchery. She ran toward the
vast head, which was beginning to lose its illusory resemblance. That no
longer mattered to Sorka. She had discovered something far more important:
a creature of Pern.
        She had to scramble up a series of boulders to reach the summit.
She paused just before she reached the top and peered over, hoping to catch
a closer glimpse of the winged life-form. But she stood up in
disappointment. There was nothing visible but naked rock, pitted here and
there by faults and holes. She drew back hastily when the surf, beating
against the cliff face, became a fountaining plume through one of the
holes, showering her with cold sea water.
        Disconsolate, she completed her climb onto the pate, keeping well
away from the spume holes. The height gave her a splendid view of the
crescent harbor. She could see Jacob and Chung sprawled by the tidal pool
and even distinguish some activity at the hatchery and the first of the
fishing ships riding at anchor. She looked to the west and saw a
magnificent vista of small beaches bounded by more outcroppings of the same
type of rock she stood on. Ahead of her was nothing but ocean, though she
knew that the northern continent was somewhere over the curve of the
planet.
        She turned about, looking at the thick vegetation growing up the
edge of the cliff. She was thirsty suddenly. Seeing what she thought was a
red fruit tree, she decided to pick one. She could cut a few to bring to
the boys, too. They were probably ready for a break.
        Two things happened at once: she nearly stepped into a large hollow
that was occupied by a number of pale, mottled eggs, and something dove at
her, its claws just missing her head.
        Sorka dropped to the stone surface, peering anxiously about to see
what had attacked her. It zoomed in on her again, talons extended, and she
waited, as she had done once with an angry bull, to roll away at the last
moment. A wave of anger and outrage swept over her, so intense that Sorka
inadvertently called out.
        Confused by the unexpected emotions but fully aware of her
immediate danger, Sorka scrambled to her feet and ran, half-crouched to the
cliff edge. Screams of rage and frustration split the air and lent speed to
Sorka´s descent. She heard a whoosh of air and ducked instinctively to
evade another attack, then edged under a rocky overhang. Flattening herself
against the rock face, she had an all too vivid look at her assailant,
something dominated by eyes that rippled with red and orange fire. The
creature´s body was gold; its almost translucent wings were a paler shade
against the green-blue sky, their dark frames clearly outlined.
        The creature screamed in confusion and surprise, and soared up, out
of sight. Sorka wondered if it could not see her in the shadow under the
ledge. She heard it calling again, the sound muted by, she hoped, distance
and the noise of the waves.
        Abruptly a wave broke over the rocks about her, soaking her
thoroughly. Anxiously she realized that the slight Pernese tide was
bringing waves higher on the shoreline, and she would be well advised to
move. Soon.
        Cautiously she looked about her, listening, but the creature´s
cries were still distant. A second wave added a certain urgency, and Sorka
began to edge down and toward the bluff. Her feet slipped on the wet rocks,
and the last meter was an uncontrollable fall. Arms thrashing for balance,
she landed on the beach. Still young enough to cry when she was hurt, Sorka
let out an anguished wail, as hands, chin, and knees were scraped in the
bruising fall.
        From overhead came such a replica of her sounds that she forgot her
pain and stared above her to where the flying creature hovered.
        »Are you making fun of me?« Sorka suddenly felt as irritated as if
one of her peer group had taunted her. »Well, are you?« she demanded of the
golden creature. Abruptly it disappeared.
        »Wow!« Sorka blinked, then scanned the sky for the creature, amazed
by the speed with which it had disappeared from sight. Wow! Faster than
light.«
        Rising slowly to her feet, Sorka turned a complete circle, certain
that the flyer had to be visible somewhere. Then another wave crashed at
her feet, and she hastily stepped back, though she was thoroughly soaked
already. But her hands and knees were stinging from the salty water, and
she had a long walk back to the hatchery ahead of her with really nothing
to show for her scrapes. She had unconsciously decided not to mention the
flyer to anyone yet.
        She jumped in surprise when the bushes on the bluff above her
parted and a blond head poked through.
        You fecking gobshite, you iggerant townie. You skeered her away!«
        Sean Connell came slithering down the slope, his skin no longer
white but red with sunburn, his blue eyes flashing. »I´ve been lying doggo
since dawn, hoping she´d walk into my snare, and you, you blow it all on
me. Fecking useless you are!«
        »You´d snare her? That lovely creature? And keep her from her
eggs?« Appalled, Sorka flung herself on Sean, her hands automatically
flattening, her fingers tight as she sliced at the boy in hard blows. Don´t
you dare! Don´t you dare harm her!«
        Sean ducked and managed to evade the full force of her blows.
        »Not to harm! To tame!« he yelled, dodging with his hands up to
deflect her jabs. »We don´t kill nuthing. I want her. For me!«
        In an unexpected lunge, Sean tackled Sorka, sending her sprawling
onto the sand where he fell on top of her. His longer and slightly heavier
frame effectively pinned her. Recovering her breath, she squirmed, trying
to angle her legs to kick at him.
        »Don´t be so stupid, girl. I wouldn´t harm her. I´ve been watching
her for two days. An´ I haven´t told a soul about her.«
        Finally understanding what he was saying, Sorka lay quiescent
eyeing him suspiciously. »You mean that?«
        »Yup.«
        »It´d still be wrong.« Sorka heaved against him experimentally, but
he pressed her harder into the sand. Stones were bruising her back. »Taking
her from her eggs.«
        »I was gonna keep watch on ‘em.«
        »But you don´t know if her hatchlings need her or not. You can´t
take her.«
        Sean regarded Sorka with equally angry suspicion. »An´ what were
you going to do? There´s a reward for such as her. An´ we need the money a
lot more than you do.«
        »There isn´t any money on Pern! Who needs it?« Sorka regarded him
with surprise and then sympathy for the dismay in his face. »You can get
anything you need at Stores. Didn´t they explain that to you when you went
to school?« Sean regarded her warily. »Oh, you didn´t even stay in school
long enough to learn that, did you?« She gave a disgusted snort. »Let me
up. I´ve got stones digging holes in my back. You really are the absolute
end.« She got to her feet and swatted at the worst of the sand on her
clothes. She faced Sean again. »Did you at least wait to find out what was
poisonous?« When he gave her a slow nod, she exhaled in relief. »School
isn´t all bad. At least, not here.«
        »No money?« Sean seemed unable to grasp that astonishing idea.
        »Not unless someone brought some old coins for keepsake. I doubt
it: coins´d be heavy. Look,« she said quickly, catching his arm when he
started to twist away. »You go to the Stores building at Landing. It´s the
biggest one. Tell them what you want, sign your name on a chit, and if they
have it, they give it to you. That´s called requisitioning, and every one
of us, kids included, are entitled to requisition things from Stores. Well,
reasonable things.« She grinned, hoping to lighten his scowl. »What are you
doing way out here?« She felt a twinge of annoyance as she realized that if
he and his family were in that area then she had not been the first person
to see the headland, and she could not ask to have it named after her.
        »Like you told me on the spaceship -- « He grinned suddenly, a
smile full of charm and mischief. »Once we got here, we could go where we
please. Only we can´t go really far yet until we get some horses.«
        »Don´t tell me you brought your wagons with you?« Sorka was
appalled at the weight those would take up in a cargo hold.
        »Wagons were brought for us,« he told her. »Only we´ve nothing to
pull ‘em with.« He waved toward the thick underbrush. »But we are free
again, and camping where we want until we get our animals.«
        »That´s going to take a couple of years, you know,« she said
earnestly. Once again he nodded solemnly. »But we´ve started. My dad´s a
vet and he said they´d woken up some horse and donkey mares, cows, goats,
and sheep and made ‘em pregnant with our kinds, of animals.«
        »Woken up?« Sean´s eyes protruded.
        »Sure, who could muck livestock out for fifteen years? But it´ll
still take eleven months for the horses to be born. if that´s what you´re
waiting for.«
        »Horses, always. We were promised horses.« Sean sounded wistful as
well as emphatic, and she experienced a moment of kindliness toward him.
        »You´ll get them, too. My father said so,« she added mendaciously.
He said that the ti -- the traveling folk were first on the list.«
        »We´d better be.« Sean glowered darkly. »Or there´ll be trouble.«
        »You see me before you make any trouble here. My da always got on
well with your people in Clonmel. Believe me, you´ll get your horses.« She
could see that he was skeptical. »Now, mind, I hear that you´ve harmed our
creature and I´ll see you don´t, Sean Connell! She held up a warning hand
the flat edge in an offensive position. Not that you could catch her. She´s
smart, that one. She understands what you´re thinking.«
        Sean eyed her, more scornful than skeptical. »You know so much
about her?«
        »I´m good with animals.« She paused, then grinned. »Just like you
are. See you ‘round. And remember about requisitioning!«
        She turned and started back down the beach to catch up with Jacob
and Chung -- just in time to help carry the samples back to the hatchery.

When Sallah Telgar heard the call for volunteers to make up a skeleton crew
so that those who had not yet been down to the surface could have a weekend
break on Pern, she hesitated until she saw the names of the first three
volunteers: Avril, Bart, and Nabhi. That trio did nothing that did not
further themselves. Why would they volunteer? Suspicious, she scrawled her
name down immediately. Also, she was still curious about what Kenjo had
been up to with his fuel economies. The Eujisan had drawn its quota
regularly, yet her private calculations indicated a growing balance that
had neither been burned up by the Eujisan nor was in the Yoko´s fuel tanks.
Very strange. Soon there would be no place on the old Yoko to hide a
thimbleful of fuel, much less the volume of the shortfall she had
calculated. But Kenjo was not among the volunteers.
        All six shuttles went up to relieve the ships´ crews and to bring
down more bits and pieces. Sallah flew the Eujisan up with the skeleton
crew for the Yoko. Avril had a smile on her face, smug enough to satisfy
Sallah that the woman had personal plans for her weekend. Bart Lemos looked
apprehensive and fidgeted while Nabhi continued to look supercilious. They
were up to something, Sallah was sure. But what it might be she couldn´t
imagine.
        When Sallah sprang the hatch on the Yoko´s landing deck, she was
nearly bowled over by the jubilant men and women waiting to board the
Eujisan for their first trip to the surface of their new home. Sallah had
never seen a faster loading. Shortly all that would remain of the Yoko
would be bare hull and the corridors leading to the bridge, where the
mainframe computer banks would remain intact. Most of the computer´s vast
memory had been duplicated for use on the surface, but not all -- the bulk
of the naval and military programs were protected and, in any case,
irrelevant. Once passengers and crew left the three spaceships in their
orbit, there would be no need to know how to fight space battles.
        The volunteers were given their orders by the crew members they
were replacing and then the shore-leave party merrily departed.
        »Gawd, this place is eerie,« Boris Pahlevi whispered as he and
Sallah made their way to the bridge through the echoing corridors which had
been stripped of siding and were down to the central plank of flooring.
        »Will the last man off roll the plank up behind him?« Sallah asked
facetiously. She shuddered when she noticed that the safety hatches between
sections had been removed. Lighting had been reduced to three units per
corridor. She watched where she put her feet.
        »It´s rape, though,« Boris remarked in a lugubrious tone, as he
gazed around, »gutting the old girl this way.«
        »Ivan the Terrible,« Sallah said. That was the pilots´ nickname for
the ship´s quartermaster in charge of the removal process. He´s Alaskan,
you know, and a real scrounger scrooge.«
        »Tut-tut,« Boris said with a mock stern expression. »We´re all
Pernese now, Sal. But what´s Alaskan?«
        »Fardles, you is the most iggerant bastard, Boris, even for a
second-generation Centauran. Alaska was a territory on Earth, not far from
its arctic circle, and cold. Alaskans had a reputation for never throwing
anything away. My father never did. Must have been a genetic trait because
he was reared on First, although my grandparents were Alaskan.« Sallah
sighed with nostalgia. »Dad never threw anything away. I had to chuck the
whole nine yards before we shipped out. Eighteen years of accumulated --
well, it wasn´t junk, because I got good prices on practically everything
in the mountain, but it was some chore. Hercules and the Augean stables
were clean in comparison.«
        »Hercules?«
        »Never mind,« Sallah said, wondering if Boris was teasing her by
pretending ignorance of old Earth legends and peoples. Some people had
wanted to throw everything out, literature, legend, language, all things
that had made people so interestingly different from each other. But wiser,
more tolerant heads had prevailed. General Cherry Duff, the colony´s
official historian and librarian, had insisted the records of all ethnic
written and visual cultures be taken to Pern. Those who had craved a
completely fresh start consoled themselves with the fact that anything not
valid in the new context would eventually fall into disuse as new
traditions were established.
        »You never know,« Cherry Duff frequently admonished, »when old
information becomes new, viable, and valuable. We keep the whole schmear!«
The valiant lady defender of Cygnus III, a healthy woman in her eleventh
decade with great-grandchildren making the trip with her on the Buenos
Aires, affected idiomatic speech in order to make her points memorable.
»Takes up no space at all on the chips we´ve got.
        Sallah and Boris found the bridge territory reassuringly intact.
Even the danger doors were still in place. Boris took the command chair and
asked Sallah to confirm the stability of their orbit. He was an engineer
who dabbled in computer programming, and as weekend duty officer, he would
probably spend all his time on the mainframe. He was certainly competent to
detect and deal with any untoward deviation from orbit. He had welcomed the
respite from outdoor work, as he had forgotten to protect a fair skin
against sunburn while he was helping to erect temporary power pylons for
the hydroelectric unit. He was annoyed with himself for ignoring a simple
precaution just because everyone around him had been shucking shirts to get
planet-brown.
        »Program´s been left up,« Sallah told him, sliding into the chair
at the navigator´s position. »The Yoko´s smack dab on orbit.«
        »The duty officer really should have remained here until I
officially took over,« Boris muttered. Then he exhaled. »But I suppose she
was afraid that they´d leave without her. No harm done, at any rate.«
        Boris began calling in the other manned stations, confirming the
duty personnel from the roster he´d been given. Avril Bitra and Bart Lemos
were assigned to Life Support, and Nabhi Nabol was in Supply. While Boris
was involved in roll call, Sallah began some discreet checking of her own
from the big terminal. She initiated a program to discover who else had
been accessing the mainframe.
That sort of internal check was a function of the bridge terminal and not
available on any of the others, except the one that had once been in the
admiral´s suite. By the time Sallah left the Yoko, she would know who had
asked for what, if not why.
        »D´you know if they´ve got all the library tapes down below yet?«
Boris asked, relaxing in the command chair once the call had been completed
and logged in.
        »I think General Duff said they are, but why not get your own
copies while there´s tape left?«
        »Well, I´ll just do a few for private consumption. After all, my
hide has been flayed to produce power to run ‘em.«
        Sallah laughed, but she could not help but feel compassion. Poor
Boris´s face was raw with sunburn, and he wore the loosest possible
clothing. She regarded him casually until he became absorbed in a perusal
of the library; then she turned back to the computer.
        Avril was asking for figures on the remaining fuel in the tanks of
all three colony ships. Nabol was inquiring about machine parts and
replacement units that had already been landed. He was accessing their
exact locations in Stores. So he won´t have to ask to get them, Sallah
thought. More worrisome were Avril´s programs, for she was the only fully
qualified and experienced astrogator. If anyone could make use of available
fuel, it was Avril. And where were the liters and liters that Kenjo had
scrounged?
        Avril requested the coordinates for the nearest planet capable of
sustaining humanoids. Two had EEC reports that indicated developing
sentient life. They were distant, but within the range of the admiral´s
gig. Just. Sallah could not quite see why Avril would be at all interested
in those planets, even if they were within reach of the Mariposa. Granted
Avril could calculate her way there, but it would be a long, harrowing trip
even at the maximum speed the gig could achieve. Then Sallah remembered
that the gig had two deep sleep tanks: a last resort and not one she
herself would undertake. If she were in deep sleep, she would prefer to
have someone awake and checking the dials. The method was not as foolproof
as all that. But there were two tanks. So who was the lucky one to go with
Avril? If escape from Pern was what she planned. But why would anyone
escape from Pern when she had just got there, Sallah wondered mystified. A
whole new sparkling world, and Avril was not going to wait until she had
given it a chance? Or was she?
        Sallah continued her surveillance throughout the three-day stint
and took hard copy before she erased the file. By the time she boarded the
shuttle to return planetside, she understood why the crews had needed shore
leave. The poor old nearly gutted Yoko was a depressing place. The two
smaller ships, Buenos Aires and Bahrain, would be claustrophobic. But the
stripping was nearly complete, and soon the three colony ships would be
abandoned to their lonely orbit, visible at dawn and dusk only as three
points of light reflecting Rukbat´s rays.

* * * * *

Despite her parents´ tacit disapproval of Sean Connell as a friend for
their daughter, Sorka found many reasons to continue seeing him, once he
had relaxed his natural suspicions of her. Curiously enough, Sorka also
noticed that his family was no keener on his friendship with her than her
own was. That added a certain fillip.
        They were bound together by their fascination with their creature
and her clutch of eggs. Sorka was watching the nest with Sean, as much to
be sure that he did not succeed in his efforts to snare her as to be
present when the eggs hatched.
        That morning -- a rest day -- Sorka had come prepared for a long
vigil with sandwiches in her pack. She had brought enough to share with
Sean. The two children had hidden, bellies down, in the underbrush that
bordered the headland rock, in a spot where they, could keep the nest in
sight. The little gold animal sunned herself on the seaside; they could see
her eyes glittering as she maintained her watch over her eggs.
        »Just like a lizard,« Sean murmured, his breath tickling Sorka´s
ear.
        »Not at all,« Sorka protested, recalling illustrations in a book of
fairy tales. »More like a little dragon. A dragonet,« she said almost
aggressively. She did not think that »lizard« was at all appropriate for
such a gorgeous being.
        She carefully waved away another one of the many-legged bugs that
was urgently trundling its three-sectioned body through the underbrush.
Felicia Grant, the children´s botany teacher, had called them a form of
millipede and was happy to see them. She had explained their reproductive
cycle to the class: the adult produced young, which remained attached to
the parent until it reached the same size, whereupon it was dropped off.
Two maturing offspring were often in tow.
        Sean was idly building a dam of leaves to turn the bug away from
him. »Snakes eat a lot of these, and wherries eat snakes.«
        »Wherries also eat wherries,« Sorka said in a disgusted tone of
voice, recalling the scavengers at work.
        A subtle crooning alerted them as they sprawled, half-drowsing in
the midday heat. The little golden dragonet spread her wings.
        »Protecting them,« Sorka said.
        »Nope. Welcoming them.«
        Sean had a habit of taking exactly the opposite line in any
discussions they had. Sorka had grown used to it, even expected it.
        »It could be both,« she suggested tolerantly.
        Sean only snorted. »I´ll bet that trundle-bug was running from
snakes.«
        Sorka suppressed a shudder. She would not let Sean see how much she
detested the slithery things. »You´re right. She´s welcoming them.« Sorka´s
eyes widened. »She´s singing!«
        Sean smiled at the sound that was growing more lyrical. The little
creature tilted her head so that they could see her throat vibrating.
        Suddenly the air about the rock was busy with dragonets. Sean
grasped Sorka´s arm, as much in surprise as to command her to silence. Open
mouthed in astonishment, Sorka could not have uttered a sound; she was too
delighted with the assembly to do more than stare. Blue, brown, and bronze
dragonets hovered in the air, blending their voices with that of the little
gold.
        »There must be hundreds of the dragonets, Sean.« The way they were
wheeling and darting about, the air seemed overladen with them.
        »Only twelve lizards,« Sean replied, impervious. »No, sixteen.«
        »dragonets,« Sorka said firmly.
        Sean ignored her interruption. »I wonder why.«
        »Look!« She pointed to a new flight of dragonets that appeared
suddenly, trailing large branches of dripping seaweeds. More arrived each
with something wiggling in its mouth, the burden deposited on the seaweeds
that made an uneven circle about the nest. »Like a damn,« Sorka murmured
wonderingly. More avians, or perhaps the same ones on a return trip,
brought trundle-bugs and sandworms which flopped or burrowed in the weeds.
        Then, as they saw the first of the eggs crack and a little wet head
poke through, Sorka and Sean clung to each other in order to contain their
excitement. Pausing in their harvesting, the airborne creatures warbled an
intricate pattern of sound.
        »See, it is welcome!« Sean knew that he had been right all along.
        »No! Protection!« Sorka pointed to the blunt snouts of two huge
mottled snakes at the far side of the underbrush.
        The intruders were spotted by the flyers, and half a dozen dove at
the protruding heads. Four of the dragonets sustained the attack right into
the vegetation, and there was considerable agitation of branches until the
attackers emerged, chittering loudly. In that brief interval four more eggs
had cracked open. The adult avians were a living chain of supply as the
first arrival shed its shell and staggered about keening woefully. Its dam
herded it, with wing motion and encouraging chirps, toward a nearby
dragonet that was holding a flopping fishling for the hatchling to devour.
        A bolder snake, emerging from the sand where it had hidden itself,
attempted a rush up the rock face toward another hatchling. It braced its
middle limbs as it raised its head, its turtlelike mouth agape, to grab its
prey. Instantly the snake was attacked by the airborne dragonets. With a
good sense of preservation, the hatchling lurched over the damlike ramparts
of seaweed, toward the bush under which Sorka and Sean hid.
        »Go away,« Sean muttered between clenched teeth. He waved his hand
at the keening juvenile, shooing it away from them. He had no wish to be
attacked by its adult kin.
        »It´s starving, Sean,« Sorka said, fumbling for the packet of
sandwiches. »Can´t you feel the hunger in it?«
        »Don´t you dare mother it!« he muttered, though he, too, sensed the
little thing´s craving. But he had seen the flyers rend fish with their
sharp talons. He would prefer not to be their next victim.
        Before he could stop her, Sorka tossed a corner of her sandwich out
onto the rock. It landed right in front of the weaving, crying hatchling,
who pounced and seemed to inhale the bit. Its cry became urgently
demanding, and it hobbled more purposefully towards the source. Two more of
the little creatures raised their heads and turned in that direction,
despite their dam´s efforts to shoo them towards the adults holding out
succulent marine life.
        Sean groaned, »Now you´ve done it.«
        »But it´s hungry.« Sorka broke off more bits and lobbed them at the
three hatchlings.
        The other two scurried to secure a share of the bounty. To Sean´s
dismay, Sorka had crawled out of their hiding place and was offering the
foremost hatchling a piece directly from her fingers. Sean made a grab for
her but missed, bruising his chin on the rock.
        Sorka´s creature took the offered piece and then climbed into her
hand, snuffling piteously.
        »Oh, Sean, it´s a perfect darling. And it can´t be a lizard. It´s
warm and feels soft. Oh, do take a sandwich and feed the others. They´re
starving of the hunger.«
        Sean spared a glance at the dam and realized with intense relief
that she was far more concerned with getting the others fed than with
coming after the three renegades. His fascination with the creatures over
came caution. He grabbed a sandwich and, kneeling beside Sorka, coaxed the
nearer brown dragonet to him. The second brown, hearing the change in its
sibling´s cries, spread its wet wings and, with a screech, joined it in a
frantic dive. Sean found that Sorka was right: the critters had pliant
skins and were warm to the touch. They did not feel at all lizardlike.
        In short order, the sandwiches had been reduced to bulges in
lizard´s bellies, and Sorka and Sean had unwittingly made lifelong friends.
They had been so preoccupied with their three that they had failed to note
the disappearance of the others. Only the empty shards of discarded eggs in
a hollow of the rock bore witness to the recent event. »We can´t just leave
them here. Their mother´s gone,« Sorka said, surprised by the abandonment
of dragonet kin.
        I wasn´t going to leave mine any road,« Sean said, slightly
derisive of her quandary. »I´m keeping ‘em. I´ll keep yours, too, if you
don´t want to bring it back to Landing. Your mother won´t let you have a
wild thing.«
        »This one´s not wild,« Sorka replied, taking offense. With her
forefinger, she stroked the back of the tiny bronze lizard curled in the
crook of her arm. It stirred and snuggled closer, exhaling on something
remarkably like a purr. »My mother´s great with babies. She used to save
lambs that even my father thought might die.´´
        Sean was pacified. He had put the browns in his shirt, one on
either side, and tightened the leather belt he had dared requisition. The
ease with which he had accomplished that at the Stores building had
encouraged him to trust Sorka. It had also proved to his father that the
»others« were fairly distributing the wealth of materiel carried to Pern in
the spaceships. Two days after getting his belt, Sean began to see proper
new pots replacing discarded tins over the campfire, and his mother and
three sisters were wearing new shirts and shoes.
        The brown dragonets felt warm against his skin and a bit prickly
where their tiny spikes pressed, but he was more than pleased with his
success. They only had three toes, the front one folded against the back
two. Everyone in his father´s camp had been hunting for lizard -- well,
dragonet -- nests and snake holes along the coast. They looked for signs of
the legendary lizards for fun, and hunted the snakes for safety. The
scavenging reptiles were dangerous to people who camped in rough shelters
of woven branches and broad-leaf fronds. Reptiles had eaten their way into
the shelters and had bitten sleeping children in their blankets. Nothing
was safe from their predatory habits. And they were not good eating.
        Sean´s father had caught, skinned, and grilled several snakes and
had sampled a tiny bite of each variety and instantly had to washed his
mouth out, as the snake flesh stung and caused his mouth to swell. So the
order had gone to everyone in the camp: snare and kill the vermin. Of
course, as soon as they had terriers or ferrets to go down the holes, they
could make short work of the menace. Porrig Connell had been upset because
the other members of the expedition seemed not to understand how urgent it
was for his people to have dogs. The animals were not pets -- they were
necessary adjuncts of his folk´s lifestyle. It was proving the same on Pern
as on Earth: the Connell´s were the last to get anything useful and the
first to be given the back of the hand. But he had had each of his five
families put in for a dog.
        »Your dad´ll be pleased,« Sorka said, expansive in her own
pleasure. »Won´t he, Sean? Bet they´ll be better even than dogs at going
after snakes. Look at the way they attacked the mottleds.«
        Sean snorted. »Only because the hatchlings were being attacked.«
        »I doubt it was just that. I could almost feel the way they hate
the snakes.« She wanted to believe that the flying lizards were unusual
just as she had always believed that their marmalade tom, Duke was the best
hunter in the valley, and old Chip the best cattle dog in Tipperary. Doubt
suddenly assailed her. »But maybe we should leave them here for their dam.«
        Sean frowned. »She was shooing the others off to the sea fast
enough.´´
        Of one mind, they rose and, walking carefully so as not to disturb
their sleeping burdens, headed for the summit of the headland.
        »Oh, look!« Sorka cried, pointing wildly just as something pulled
the tattered body of a hatchling under the water. »Oh, oh, oh.« Sean
watched impassively. Sorka turned away, clenching her fists. »She´s not a
very good mother after all.«
        »Only the best survive,« Sean said. »Our three are safe. They were
smart enough to come to us!« Then he turned, cocking his head and peering
at her through narrowed eyes. »Will yours be safe at Landing?« They´ve been
after us to bring ‘em specimens, you know. ‘Cause my dad´s special at
trapping and snaring.«
        Sorka hugged her sleeping charge closer to her body. »My father
wouldn´t let anything happen to this lad. I know he wouldn´t.´
        Sean was cynical. »Yeah, but he´s not head of his group, is he? He
has to obey orders, doesn´t he?«
        »They just want to look at life-forms. They don´t want to cut ‘em
up or anything.«
        Sean was unconvinced, but he followed Sorka as she moved away from
the sea and made her way through the undergrowth to the edge of the
plateau.
        »See ya tomorra?« Sean asked, suddenly loath to give up their
meetings now that their mutual vigil had now come to an end.
        »Well, tomorrow´s a workday, but I´ll see you in the evening? Sorka
didn´t even pause a moment to think about her reply. She was no longer
hampered by the stern tenets of Earth restrictions on her comings and
goings. She was beginning to accept her safety on Pern as easily as she
accepted her responsibility to work for her future here. Sean was also part
of that sense of personal safety, despite his innate distrust of all but
his own people. Even if Sean was unaware of it, a special link had been
forged between Sean and her after the momentous experience on the rock
head.

Are you sure these creatures will hunt the snake?« Porrig Connell asked as
he examined one of Sean´s sleeping acquisitions. It remained motionless
when he extended one of the limp wings.
        »If they´re hungry,« Sean replied, holding his breath lest his
father inadvertently hurt his little lizard.
        Porrig snorted. »We´ll see. At least it´s a creature of this place.
Anything´s better than being eaten alive. One of the blue mottled ones took
a huge chunk out of Sinead´s babee last night.«
        ‘Sorka says the snakes can´t get in their house. Plastic keeps ‘em
out.«
        Porrig gave another of his skeptical grunts, then nodded towards
the sleeping hatchling. »Watch ‘em now. They´re your problem.«
        At Residence Fourteen in Asian Square, there was considerably more
enthusiasm about Sorka´s creature. Mairi dispatched Brian to bring his
father from the veterinary shed. Then she made a little nest in one of the
baskets she had been weaving from the tough Pernese reeds, lining it with
dried plant fiber. Tenderly she transferred the creature from Sorka´s arm
to its new bed, where it immediately curled itself into a ball and, with a
tremendous sigh that inflated its torso to the size of its engorged belly,
fell deeper into sleep.
        »It´s not really a lizard, is it?« she said, softly stroking the
warm skin. »It feels like good suede. Lizards are dry and hard to the
touch. And it´s smiling. See?«
        Obediently Sorka peered down and smiled in response. »You should
have seen it wolf down the sandwiches.«
        »You mean, you´ve had no lunch?« Aghast, Mairi immediately bustled
about to remedy that situation.
        Though the communal kitchens catered for most of the six thousand
regular inhabitants of Landing, more and more of the family units were
beginning to cook for themselves for all but the evening meal. The
Hanrahans´ home was a typical accommodation for a family: one medium-sized
bedroom, two small, a larger room for general purposes, and a sanitary
unit; all the furnishings but the treasured rosewood dower chest were
salvaged from the colony ships or made by Red in his infrequent spare time.
At one end of the largest room was a food-preparation unit, compact but
adequate. Mairi prided herself on her culinary skills and was enjoying a
chance to experiment with new foods.
        Sorka was halfway through her third sandwich when Red Hanrahan
arrived with zoologist Pol Nietro and microbiologist Bay Harkenon.
        »Don´t wake the little thing,« Mairi instantly cautioned them.
        Almost reverently the three peered at the sleeping lizard. Red
Hanrahan let the specialists monopolize it while he gave his daughter a hug
and a kiss, ruffling her hair with affectionate pride. »Who´s a clever
girl!« he exclaimed.
        He sat down at the table, stretching his long legs underneath, and
slid his hands into his pockets as he watched the two tut-tutting over a
genuine Pernese native.
        »A most amazing specimen,« Pol remarked to Bay as they
straightened.
        »So like a lizard,« she replied, smiling with wonder at Sorka.
»Will you please tell us exactly how you enticed the creature to you?«
        Sorka hesitated only briefly, then, at her father´s reassuring nod,
she told them all she knew about the lizards, from her first sight of the
little gold beast guarding her eggs, to the point where she had coaxed the
bronze one to eat from her hand. She did not, however, mention Sean
Connell, though she knew from the glances her parents exchanged that they
mised that he had been with her.
        »Were you the only lucky one?« her father asked her in a low voice
while the two biologists were engrossed in photographing the sleeping
creature.
        »Sean took two brown ones home. They have an awful time with snakes
in their camp.«
        »There´re homes waiting for them on Canadian Square,« her father
reminded her. »And they´d have the place to themselves.«
        All the ethnic nomads in the colony´s complement had been duly
allotted living quarters, thoughtfully set to the edge of Landing, where
they might not feel so enclosed. But after a few nights, they had all gone,
melting into the unexplored lands beyond the settlement. Sorka shrugged.
        Then Pol and Bay began a second round of questions, to clarify her
account.
        »Now, Sorka, we´d like to borrow your new acquisition for a few
hours.« Bay emphasized the word »borrow.« »I assure you we won´t harm a --
well, a patch of its hide. There´s a lot we can determine about it simply
from observation and a judicious bit of hands-on examination.«
        Sorka looked anxiously at her parents.
        »Why don´t we let it get used to Sorka first?« Red said easily, one
hand resting lightly on his daughter´s clenched fists. »Sorka´s very good
with animals; they seem to trust her. And I think it´s far more important
right now to reassure this bitty fellow than find out what makes it tick.«
Sorka remembered to breathe and let her body relax. She knew she could
count on her father. »We wouldn´t want to scare it away. It only hatched
this morning.«
        »Zeal motivates me,« Bay Harkenon said with a rueful smile. »But I
know you´re right, Red. We´ll just have to leave it in Sorka´s capable
care.« The woman gathered herself to rise when her associate cleared his
throat.
        »But if Sorka would keep track of how much it eats, how often, what
it prefers -- « Pol began.
        »Besides bread and sandwich spread,« Mairi said with a laugh.
        »That would improve our understanding.« Pol had a charming grin
that made him appear less gray and frowzy. »And you say that all you had to
do was entice it with food?«
        Sorka had a sudden mental image of the rather stooped and
unathletic Pol Nietro lurking in bushes with a basket of goodies, luring
lizards to him.
        I think it had something to do with its being so dreadfully hungry
after it hatched,« she replied thoughtfully. »I mean, I´ve had sandwiches
in my pockets every morning this week on the beach, and the dam never came
near me for food.«
        »Hmmm. A good point. The newly hatched are voracious.« Pol
continued to mumble to himself, mentally correlating the information.
        »And the adults actually held food for the hatchlings?« Bay
murmured. »Fish and insects? Hmm. Sort of an imprinting ritual, perhaps?
The juveniles could fly as soon as the wings dried? Hmmm. Yes. Fascinating.
The sea would be the nearest source of food.« She gathered up her notes and
thanked Sorka and her parents. Then the specialists left the house.
        »I´d best go back myself, loves,« Red said. »Good work, Sorka. Just
shows what old Irish know-how can achieve.«
        »Peter Oliver Plunkett Hanrahan,« his wife immediately chided him.
»Start thinking Pernese. Pernese. Pernese.« With each repetition she raised
her voice in mock emphasis.
        »Pernese, not Irish. We´re Pernese,« Red obediently chanted.
Grinning unrepentantly, he did a dance step out of the house to the tempo
of »Pernese, Pernese.«
        That night, to Sorka´s intense and embarrassed surprise, and to the
total disgust of her envious brother, she was called upon to light the
evening bonfire. When Pol Nietro announced why, there were cheers and
vigorous applause. Sorka was astonished to see that Admiral Benden and
Governor Boll, who had made a point of attending that little evening
ceremony, were shouting and clapping like everyone else.
        »It wasn´t just me,« Sorka said in a loud clear voice as she was
formally presented with the torch by the acting mayor of Landing. »Sean
Connell got two brown lizards, only he isn´t here tonight. But you should
know that he found the nest first, and both of us watched it.«
        She knew that Sean Connell would not care if he was given due
credit or not, but she did. With that thought, she plunged the burning
brand into the heart of the bonfire. She jumped back quickly as the dry
material caught and flared brightly.
        »Well done, Sorka,« her father said, lightly resting his hands on
her shoulders. »Well done.«

Sorka and Sean remained the only proud owners of the pretty lizards for
nearly a full week, even though there was an evening rush to the beaches
and headlands. But bit by bit, nests were staked and vigilantly guarded.
Guided by the routine that Sorka had accurately reported, several more of
the little creatures were finally acquired. And her name for the creatures
-- »dragonets« -- was adopted popularly.
        The acquisition, as Sorka soon discovered, had two sides. Her
little dragonet, whom she nostalgically named Duke after her old marmalade
tomcat, was voracious. It ate anything at three-hour intervals the first
night disturbing the entire square with its hungry keening. Between
feedings, it slept. When Sorka noticed that its skin was cracking, her
father prescribed a salve, prudently concocted of local fish oils, with the
help of a pediatrician and a biologist. The pediatrician was so pleased
with the result that she had the pharmacist make up more as an ointment for
dry skin in general.
        »Duke is growing, and his skin is stretching,« was Red´s diagnosis.
        The male designation was arbitrary, since no one had been able to
examine the creature closely enough to discover it´s sex, or even if it had
any. The golden dragonets had demonstrated a generally more feminine role
in egg-laying, though one of the biologists qualified that by reminding
people that the males of some species on Earth were the egg-tenders. The
dead skin flakes were assiduously collected for analysis. The eager
zoologists had not been able to X-ray Duke, for he seemed to know the
moment someone had designs on him. On the second day of his advent, the
zoologists had attempted to place him under the scope, while Sorka waited
nervously in the next room.
        »My word!«
        »What?«
        Sorka heard the startled exclamations from Pol and Bay at the same
moment that Duke reappeared above her head, considerably agitated. Dropping
to her shoulder with cries of relief and anger, he wrapped his tail firmly
about her neck and hooked his talons into her hair, scolding furiously, his
many-faceted eyes rippling with angry reds and oranges.
        The door behind Sorka opened suddenly, and Pol and Bay burst into
the room, their eyes wide with amazement.
        »He just appeared,« the girl told the two scientists.
        Recovering their composure, the two exchanged glances. Pol´s broad
face became wreathed in a smile, and Bay looked remarkably pleased.
        »So the Amigs do not have a monopoly on telekinetic abilities,« Bay
said with a smug smile. »I always maintained, Pol, that they could not be
unique in the galaxy.«
        »How did he do that?« Sorka asked, not quite certain as she
remembered other instances of perplexingly rapid departures.
        »Duke must have been frightened by the scope. He is rather small
and it does look menacing,« Bay said. »So he teleported himself away.
Fortunately back to you, whom he considers his protector. The Amigs use
teleportation when threatened. A very useful capability.
        »I wonder if we can discover how the little creatures do it?« Pol
mused.
        »We could try the Eridani equations,« Bay suggested.
        Pol looked at Duke. The lizard´s eyes were still red with anger,
and he continued to cling tenaciously to Sorka, but he had folded his wings
to his back.
        »To try them, we need to know more about this chap and his species.
Perhaps if you held him, Sorka?« Pol suggested.
        Even with Sorka´s gentle reassurance, Duke would not permit himself
to be placed under the scope. After a half hour, Pol and Bay reluctantly
allowed their unwilling subject to be taken away. Reassuring him every
step, Sorka carried her still-outraged lizard to his birthplace. Sean was
there, stretched out in the shade cast by the bushes, his two browns curled
up against his neck. They heard Sorka coming and peered up at her, their
eyes whirling a mild blue-green. Duke chirped a greeting to which they
replied in kind.
        »I was just getting some sleep,« Sean muttered petulantly not
bothering to open his eyes to see who had arrived. »M´da made me bunk in
with the babees to see if these fellers would scare off the snakes.«
        »Well, did they?« Sorka asked when he seemed to be falling asleep
again.
        »Yup.« Sean yawned hugely and swatted idly at an insect. One of the
browns immediately snapped it out of the air and swallowed it.
        »They do eat anything.« Sorka´s tone was admiring. »Omnivorous Dr.
Marceau called them.« She sat down on the rock beside Sean. »And they can
go between places when they´re scared. Dr. Nietro tried to scope Duke and
made me leave the room. The next thing I knew Duke was clinging to me like
he´d never let go. They said he can teleport. He uses telekinesis.« She was
proud that she had gotten the words out without stumbling over them.
        Sean opened one eye and cocked his head to stare up at her. »What
does that mean?«
        »He can project himself out of danger instantly.«
        Sean gave a huge yawn. »Yeah? We´ve both seen them do the
disappearing act. And they don´t do it always because of danger.« Sean
yawned again. »You were smart to take only one. If one isn´t eating the
other is. What with that and guarding the babees, I´m fair knackered.« He
closed his eye again, settled his hands across his chest, and went back to
sleep.
        »I shall play gold then and guard you, lest a big nasty mottled
blunt-nose comes and takes a bite out of you!«
        She did not rouse him even when she saw a flight of the lizards in
the sky, looping and diving in an aerial display that left her breathless.
Duke watched with her, crooning softly to himself, but despite her initial
consternation that he might choose to join them, he didn´t even ease his
tailhold about her neck. Before she returned home, Sorka left Sean a jar of
the ointment that had been made for Duke´s skin.

Sorka was not the only person on Pern watching aerial acrobatics that day.
Half a continent to the south and west, Sallah Telgar´s heart was in her
mouth as she watched Drake Bonneau pull the little air sled out of a
thermal elevator above the vast inland lake that he was campaigning to call
Drake´s Lake. No member of their small mining expedition would deny him
that privilege, but Drake had a tendency to beat a subject to death.
Similarly, he would not stop showing off; he seemed bent on stunning
everyone with his professional skill. His antics were a foolish waste of
power, Sallah thought, and certainly not the way to her heart and esteem.
He had taken to hanging around her quarters, but so far he had met with no
great success.
        Ozzie Munson and Cobber Alhinwa emerged from the shelter where they
had just stored their gear and paused to see what Sallah was staring at.
        »Oh, my word, he´s at it again,« Ozzie said, grinning maliciously
at Sallah.
        »He´ll crash hisself,« Cobber added, shaking his head, »and that
bleeding lake´s so deep we´d never find ‘im. Or the sled. And we need
that.«
        Seeing Svenda Olubushtu coming to join them, Sallah hastily turned
and headed for the main shelter of the small prospecting camp. She did not
care to listen to Svenda´s snide, jealous remarks. It was not as if Sallah
encouraged Drake Bonneau. On the contrary, she had emphatically, publicly,
and frequently made her disinterest plain enough.
        Maybe I´m going about discouraging him the wrong way, she thought.
Maybe if I´d run after him, hang on his every word, and ambush him every
chance I get, the way Svenda´s doing, he´d leave me alone, too.
        In the main shelter, she found Tarvi Andiyar already marking the
day´s findings on the big screen, muttering to himself as he did so, his
spidery fingers flicking at the terminal keys so fast that even the word
processor had trouble keeping up with him. No one understood him when he
talked to himself like that; he was speaking in his first language, an
obscure Indic dialect. When asked about his eccentricity he would respond
with one of his heart-melting smiles.
        »For other ears to hear this beautiful liquid language, so it will
be spoken even here on Pern, so that there will be one person alive who
still speaks it fluently, even after all these centuries,« he always told
those who asked. »Is it not a lovely language, lilting, melodic, a joy to
the ear?«
        An intuitive, highly trained mining engineer, Tarvi had a
reputation of being able to trace elusive veins through many subterranean
shifts and faults. He had joined the Pern expedition because all the
glorious hidden »blood and tears of Mother Earth,« as he chose to describe
the products of mining, had been pried from her bosom. He had prospected on
First, too, but the alien metals had eluded his perceptions and so he had
traveled across a galaxy to ply his trade in what he called his »declining
years.«
        As Tarvi Andiyar had only reached his sixth decade, that remark
generally brought the reassurances he required from the kindly, or hoots of
derision from those who knew his ploys. Sallah liked him for his wry and
subtle wit, which he generally turned on his own short-comings, and would
never think to use to offend anyone else.
        Since Sallah had first encountered him after coldsleep, he had not
put even so much as an ounce more on his long, almost emanciated frame. »My
family has had generations of gurus and mahatmas, all intent on fasting for
the purification of their souls and bowels, until it has become a genetic
imperative for all Andiyars to be of the thinness of a lathe. But I am
strong. I do not need bulk and thews and bulging muscles. I am every bit as
strong as the strongest sumo wrestler.« Everyone who had seen him work all
day without respite beside Ozzie and Cobber knew that his claim was no idle
boast.
        Sallah found herself more attracted to the lanky engineer than to
any of the other men in the colony. But if she could not impress on Drake
Bonneau how little she cared for him, she was equally unable to get closer
to Tarvi.
        »What´s the tally, Tarvi?« she asked, nodding to Valli Lieb, who
was already relaxing with a quikal drink.
        One of the first things human settlers seemed to do on any new
world was to make an immediate and intensive search for fermentables, and
to devise an alcoholic beverage in the quickest possible time. Every lab at
Landing, no matter what its basic function, had experimented with
distilling or fermenting local fruits into potable beverages. The quikal
still had been the first piece of equipment assembled when the mining
expedition had set up its base camp, and no one had objected when Cobber
and Ozzie had spent the first day producing imbibables from the fermented
juices they had brought along. Svenda had berated them fiercely, while
Tarvi and Sallah had merely carried on with the surveying. That first
evening in the camp the drink had been more than a tradition: it was an
achievement.
        As Svenda entered the shelter, Sallah poured herself a glass of
quikal. Valli moved over on the bench to make room for her. Valli looked
freshly washed and in far better shape than when she had emerged from the
brush that afternoon, covered with slime but bearing some very interesting
samples for assay.
        At that moment they heard the sound of the sled landing outside the
shelter. Svenda craned her neck to watch Drake´s progress up from the pad;
she barely moved as Ozzie and Cobber brushed past her to enter the room.
        »What was the assay, Valli?« Sallah asked.
        »Promising, promising,« the geologist said, her face glowing with
achievement. »Bauxite has so many uses! This strike alone makes this
expedition profitable.«
        »However, your find -- « Cobber bowed formally to Valli. » -- will
be easier to work in an open pit.
        »Ha! We have enough to mine both,« Ozzie said. »High-grade ore´s
always needed.«
        »And,« Tarvi put in, joining them at the table though he refused
the drink Svenda always offered him, »there is copper and tin enough within
reasonable distance so that a mining town could profitably be established
by this beautiful lake, with hydroelectric from the falls to power
refineries, and a good waterway to transport the finished products to the
coast, and thence to Landing.«
        »So,« Svenda asked, »this site is viable?« She looked about her
with an air of possession that struck Sallah as slightly premature.
Charterers had first choice, before contract specialists.
        »I shall certainly recommend it,« Tarvi said, smiling in the
avuncular way he had that always annoyed Sallah. He was not old. He was
very attractive, but if he kept thinking of himself as everyone´s uncle,
how could she get him to really look at her? »I have recommended it,« he
went on. »Especially as that slime into which you fell today, Valli, is
high-yield mineral oil.« When the cheers had subsided, he shook his head.
»Metals, yes. Petroleum, no. You all know that. To establish this as an
effective colony, we must learn how to function efficiently at a lower
technological level. That´s where the skill comes in, and how skills are
remembered.«
        »Not everyone agrees with our leaders on that score,« Svenda said,
scowling.
        »We signed the charter and we all agreed to honor it,« Valli said,
quickly glancing at the others to see if anyone else concurred with Svenda.
        »Fools,« was the blond girl´s derisive rejoinder. Slopping more
quikal into her beaker, Svenda left the shelter.
        Tarvi looked after her, his mobile face anxious.
        »She´s all wind and piss,« Sallah said softly to him.
        He raised his eyebrows, his dark eyes regarding her
expressionlessly for a moment. Then his usual smile reappeared, and he
patted her shoulder -- unfortunately just as one would pat an obedient
child. »Ah, and here is Drake with our supplies and news of our comrades.«
        »Hey, where is everyone?« Drake demanded the moment he entered,
well laden with bundles. »There´s more in the sled, too.
        Sallah dropped her head to hide her expression. »We´re celebrating,
Drake,« Valli said, taking him a glass of quikal. »Two new finds, both of
them rich and easily worked. We´re in business.«
        »So, the Drake´s Lake Mining and Refinery is in business?«
        Everyone laughed and, when he raised his glass in a toast, no one
refuted the title.
        »And I´ve news for you,« he said after he drank. »We´re all to go
back to landing three days from now.«
        His announcement was met with great consternation. Grinning with
anticipated pleasure, Drake raised his free hand for silence. »For a
Thanksgiving.«
        »For this? How´d they know?« Valli asked.
        »That should be in the fall, after harvest,« Sallah said.
        »Why?« was Tarvi´s simple response.
        »For this auspicious start to our new life. The last load from the
starships has reached Landing. We are officially landed.«
        »Why make a fuss over that?« Sallah asked.
        »Not everyone is a workaholic like you, my lovely Sallah,« Drake
said, pinching her chin affectionately. Seeing that he meant to kiss her,
Sallah ducked away, grinning to take away the sting of her rejection. He
pouted. »Our gracious leaders have so decided, and it is to be the occasion
of many marvelous announcements. All the exploratory teams are being called
back, and a grand time will be had by all.«
        Sallah was almost resentful. »We only got here last week!«
        As an escape from several unpalatable but unprovable conclusions,
she had taken on the assignment of flying the geologists and miners to the
immense inland lake where the EEC survey had reported ore concentrations.
She had hoped that distance might provide some objective answers to the
events she had witnessed.
        A week before, returning one evening to the Mariposa to look for a
tape she had left on board during one of her early stints as Admiral
Benden´s pilot, she had seen Kenjo emerging from the small rear service
hatch, a brace of sacks in each hand. Curious, she had followed him as he
hurried off into the shadows. Then he had seemed to disappear. She hid
behind a bush and waited until he had reemerged empty-handed. Then she
retraced his steps, and tried to find out where he had put his burden.
        After some scrambling about, a couple of bruised shins, and a
scraped hand, she had stumbled into a cave -- and she was appalled to see
the amount of fuel he had purloined. Tons of it, she judged, checking a tag
for the quantity, all stashed in easily handled plasacks. The rock fissure
was well hidden at the extreme end of the landing grid behind a clump of
the tough thorny bushes that the farmers were clearing from the arable
acres.
        Two nights later, she had overheard a disturbing conversation
between Avril and Stev Kimmer, the mining engineer whom Sallah had seen her
with the day the landing site had been announced.
        »Look, this island is stuffed with gemstones,« Avril was saying,
and Sallah, dropping into the shadow of the delta wing of the shuttle,
could hear the sound of plasfilm being unrolled. »Here´s the copy of the
original survey report, and I don´t need to be a mining specialist to
figure out what these cryptic symbols mean.« The plasfilm rippled as Avril
jabbed her finger at various points. »A fortune for the taking!« There was
a ring of triumph in her wheedling voice. »And I intend to take it.«
        »Well, I grant you that copper, gold, and platinum are useful on
any civilized world,« Stev began.
        »I´m not talking industrial, Kimmer,« Avril said sharply. »And I
don´t mean little stones. That ruby was a small sample. Here, read Shavva´s
notes.«
        Kimmer snorted in dismissal. »Exaggerations to improve her bonus!«
        »Well, I have forty-five carats of exaggeration, man, and you saw
it. If you´re not in this with me, I´ll find someone who can take a
challenge.«
        Avril certainly knew how to play her hook, Sallah thought grimly.
        »That island´s not on the schedule for years,« Stev pointed out.
        Avril gave a low laugh. »I can navigate more than spaceships, Stev.
I´m checked out on a sled and I´m as free as everyone else on this mudball
to look for the measly amount of stake acres I´m entitled to as a
contractor. But you´re charter, and if we pool our allotments, we could own
the entire island.«
        Sallah heard Kimmer´s intake of breath. »I thought the fishers
wanted the island for that harbor.«
        »They only want a harbor, not an island. They´re fishermen,
dolphineers. The land´s no use to them.«
        He muttered, shifting his feet uneasily.
        »Who´d know anyhow?« Avril demanded silkily. »We could go in, on
the weekends, begin on the most accessible stuff, stash it in a cave.
There´re so many that you could search for years and never find the right
one. And we wouldn´t have to draw attention to our activities by staking it
officially, unless we´re forced to.«
        »But you said there was stuff in the Great Western Range.«
        »And so there is,« Avril agreed with a little chuckle. »I also know
where. A short hop from the island.«
        »You´ve got it all worked out, haven´t you?« Kimmer´s voice had an
edge of sarcasm.
        »Of course,« Avril agreed easily. »I´m not going to live out the
rest of my life in this backwater, not when I´ve discovered the means to
live the style of life I very much prefer.« Again there was that rippling
laugh and then a long silence, broken by the sound of moist lips parting.
»But while I´m here, and you´re here, Kimmer, let´s make the most of it.
Here and now, under the stars.«
        Sallah had slipped away, both embarrassed and disgusted by Avril´s
blatant sexuality. Small wonder Paul Benden had not kept the woman in his
bed. He was a sensual man, Sallah thought, but unlikely to appreciate
Avril´s crude abandon for long. Ju Adjai, elegant and serene, was far more
suitable, even if neither appeared to be rushing a noticeable alliance.
        But Avril´s voice had dripped with an insatiable greed. Had Stev
Kimmer heard what Sallah had? Or had her enticement clouded his thinking?
Sallah had always been aware of Pern´s gemstone wealth. The Shavva Ruby had
been as much part of the legend of Pern as the Liu Nugget. Pern´s distance
from the Federated Sentient Planets outweighed any major temptation its gem
deposits might have held for the greedy. But if a person did manage to
return to Earth with a shipload of gems, he or she would undoubtedly be
able to retire to a sybaritic life-style.
        Avril´s plot would hardly deplete Pern´s resources. What worried
Sallah was how Avril would contrive the fuel for such a journey. Sallah
knew that there was fuel left in the Admiral´s gig, the Mariposa. That was
not common knowledge, but as a pilot, Avril would have access to that
information. Judging by the computations Avril had made during her time on
the Yokohama, Sallah knew that the woman could actually make it to an
uninhabited system. But then what?
        Sallah had liked surveying with Ozzie, Cobber, and the others, and
she had been kept too tired to think of her dilemma. But with return to
Landing imminent, her questions came flooding back. While she had no
compunction about reporting Avril, she realized that she would also have to
mention Kenjo´s activities. She wished she knew why Kenjo had held back
fuel. Did he have some crazy notion about exploring the two moons? Or the
wayward planet which was expected to cross Pern´s orbit in roughly eight
years?
        It was impossible to imagine Kenjo being involved with someone like
Avril Bitra. Sallah was certain that the obvious animosity between the two
was not feigned. She suspected that to Kenjo flying was both a religion and
an incurable disease. But he did have all of Pern to fly over, and the
packs that powered the colony´s air sleds would, if used circumspectly,
allow for several decades of such flight.
        What worried Sallah most was the possibility, however remote, of
Avril´s discovering Kenjo´s cache. She had thought of confiding in one of
the other pilots, but Barr Hamil could not handle such a problem, Drake
would not take it seriously, and Jiro, Kenjo´s copilot would never betray
his superior. She did not know the others well enough to judge their
reactions to such a disclosure. Go to the top, she told herself. This sort
of thing is safest there. She was sure that Ongola would listen to her. And
he would know whether or not to burden Paul and Emily with her suspicions.
        Damn! Sallah´s fists clenched at her sides. Pern was supposed to be
above petty schemes and intrigues. We´re all working to a common goal, she
thought. A secure, bountiful future, without prejudice. Why must someone
like Avril touch that beautiful vision with her sour egocentricity?
        Then Ozzie touched her arm, bringing her out of her depressing
thoughts.
        »You´ll gimme a dance, Sallah?« he asked in his slightly nasal
twang, his eyes twinkling with a challenge.
        Sallah grinned and accepted. As soon as she returned to Landing,
she would find Ongola and tell him. Then she would be able to trip the
light fantastic with an easy conscience.
        »And then,« Ozzie went on irrepressibly, »Tarvi can dance with you
and give me time to rest my sore toes.«
        Tarvi gave her a look of rueful assent, not having much choice,
Sallah realized, with so many witnesses and without a chance to prepare an
excuse. But she was grateful to sly old Ozzie.

By the time the mining party returned to Landing, the fire was well started
in Bonfire Square and the party was gathering momentum. From her high
vantage point as she swung the sled to the perimeter and down to the strip,
Sallah almost did not recognize the utilitarian settlement. Lights were on
in almost every window, and every lamp standard glowed. A dais had been
erected across one side of Bonfire Square, and colored spotlights strung on
a frame above it. Drake had said that there was a call out for anyone who
could play an instrument to take a turn that evening. The white cubes of
old plastic packers dotted the dais to serve as stools for the musicians.
        Tables and chairs had been brought from residences and set up in a
freshly mowed space beyond the square. Firepits had been drug to roast huge
wherries; on smaller spits the last of the frozen meats brought from Earth
browned along with several other carcasses. The aroma of roasting meat and
grilling fish was mouth-watering. The colonists were all dressed in their
best clothes Everyone was bustling around, helping, toting, arranging, and
fixing the last of the delicacies brought from the old worlds and saved for
one last gorge on the new.
        Sallah parked her sled crosswise on the landing grid, thinking that
if more were set down at random along the straightaway, the Mariposa parked
at the other end of the field would not have sufficient space for takeoff.
But how long would there be that many sleds at Landing?
        »Hey, hurry up, Sallah,« Ozzie called as he and Cobber jumped out
of the sled.
        »Gotta check in at the tower,« she said, waving cheerfully at them
to go on.
        »Oh, leave it the once,« Cobber suggested, but she waved them on
again.
        Ongola was just leaving the meteorology tower as she reached it. He
gave her a resigned nod and opened the door again, noticing as he did so
the position of her sled. »Wise to leave it like that, Sallah?«
        »Yes A precautionary measure, Commander,« she said in a tone
intended to warn him that she had come on a serious errand.
        He did not seat himself until she was halfway through her
suspicions, and then he lowered himself into the chair with such weariness
that she hated herself for speaking out.
        »Forewarned is forearmed, sir,« she said in conclusion.
        »It is, indeed, Mister Telgar.« His deep sigh stressed the return
of doubt. He motioned her to be seated. »How much fuel?«
        When she reluctantly gave him the precise figures, he was surprised
and concerned.
        »Could Avril know of Kenjo´s hoard?« Ongola sat up so quickly that
she realized he found her suspicions of the astrogator far more worrying
than Kenjo´s theft. »No, no, he corrected himself with a quick wave of his
hand, »their dislike of each other is genuine. I will inform the admiral
and the governor.«
        »Not tonight, sir,« Sallah said, inadvertently raising her hand in
protest. »It´s only because this was the first chance I´ve had to approach
you . . .«
        »Forewarned is forearmed, Sallah. Have you mentioned these
suspicions to anyone else?«
        She shook her head vigorously. »No, sir! It´s bad enough suspecting
there are maggots in the meat without offering anyone else a bite.«
        »True! Eden is once again corrupted by human greed.«
        »Only one human,« Sallah felt obliged to remind him.
        He held up two fingers significantly. »Two, Kimmer. And who else
was she speaking to on board?«
        »Kimmer, Bart Lemos, and Nabhi Nabol, and two other men I´ve never
met.«
        Ongola did not seem surprised. He took a deep breath and sighed
before he put both hands on his thighs and rose to his full height. »I am
grateful, and I know that the admiral and the governor will also be
grateful.´
        »Grateful?« Sallah stood, feeling none of the relief she had hoped
to gain from telling her superior.
        »We had actually anticipated some problems as people began to
realize that they are here,« Ongola said, stabbing one long finger
downward, »and cannot go anywhere else. The euphoria of the crossing is
over; tonight´s celebration is planned to defuse a rebound as that
realization sinks in. Well-fed, well-oiled people who have tired themselves
with dancing are unlikely to plot sedition.«
        Ongola opened the door, gesturing courteously for her to precede
him. No one locked doors on Pern, even doors to official administrative
offices. Sallah had been proud of that fact, but now she was worried.
        »We´re not that stupid, Sallah,« Ongola said, as if he had read her
mind. He tapped his forehead. »This is still the best memory bank ever
invented.«
        She gave a sigh of relief and managed a more cheerful expression.
        »We still have a great deal to be thankful for on Pern, you know,«
he reminded her.
        »Indeed I do!« she replied, thinking of her dance with Tarvi.
        By the time she had washed, changed into her own finery, and
reached Bonfire Square, the party was in full swing and the impromptu
orchestra was playing a polka. Halting in the darkness beyond all that
light and sound, Sallah was astonished at the number of unexpected
musicians who were stomping time as they waited their turns.
        The music changed constantly as new musicians replaced those who
had already played. To Sallah´s utter amazement, even Tarvi Andiyar
produced pan pipes and played an eerie little melody, quite haunting and a
quiet change after the more raucous sets.
        The informal group went from dance tunes to solos, calling on the
audience to sing old favorites. Emily Boll took a turn on the keyboard, and
Ezra Keroon enthusiastically fiddled a medley of hornpipes that had
everyone foot-tapping while several couples did hilarious imitations of the
traditional seamen´s dance.
        Sallah had enjoyed not one dance with Tarvi, but two. In the middle
of the second, as they swayed to an ancient tune in three quarter time,
there came a heart-stopping moment when it seemed as if Pern, too, had
decided to dance to the new tunes it heard. Every dish on the trestle
tables rattled, dancers were thrown off balance and those seated felt their
chairs rock.
        The quake lasted less than the time between two heartbeats and was
followed by complete and utter silence.
        »So Pern wants to dance, does it?« Paul Benden´s amused voice rang
out. He jumped to the musicians´ platform, arms outspread as if he
considered the quake an oblique sign of welcome. His comment caused
whispers and murmurs, but it eased the tension. Even as Paul signaled the
musicians to resume their music, he was scanning the audience, looking for
certain faces.
        Beside Sallah, Tarvi gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head
and dropped his arms away from her. »Come, we must go check the rhythm of
this dance.«
        Sallah tried to hide her intense disappointment at having her dance
with Tarvi cut short. The quake had to be given precedence. She had never
felt an earth tremor before, but that had not prevented her from instantly
understanding what had just occurred. Even as she and Tarvi made their way
from the dancing square, she moved warily, as if to forestall the surprise
of another shock.
        Jim Tillek gathered his mariners to see that the boats were moored
well within the newly reinforced breakwater, and hoped that if there were a
tsunami, it would dissipate its force against the intervening islands. The
dolphineers, with the exception of Gus, who was coerced into remaining
behind to play his accordion, went to the harbor to speak to the marine
mammals. They could signal the arrival of the tsunami and estimate its
destructiveness.
        Patrice de Broglie took a group to go set seismic cores, but in his
professional opinion the shock had been a very gentle one, originating from
a far-distant epicenter.
        Sallah got to finish her dance with Tarvi, but only because he was
told that the absence of too many specialists might cause alarm.
        By morning, the epicenter had been located, east by northeast, far
out in the ocean, where volcanism had been mentioned by the EEC team. As
there were no further shocks penetrating to the mainland the geologists
were able to dispel the ripple of uncertainty that had marred the
Thanksgiving festivities.
        When Tarvi wanted to join Patrice to investigate the epicenter,
Sallah volunteered to pilot the big sled. She did not even mind that the
sled was crowded with curious geologists and packed with equipment. She saw
to it that Tarvi occupied the right hand driving seat.

* * * * *

After the Thanksgiving celebration, the colonists settled down to more
routine work. The dolphins had a high old time tracking the tsunami wave;
it had, as Tarvi had predicted, raced across the Northern Sea, spending the
worst of its violence on the eastern extrusion and the western tip of the
northern continent and the big island. Jim Tillek´s harbor was safe,
although combers brought a ridge of bright red seawrack well up the
beaches. The deep-sea plant was unlike anything so far discovered, and
samples were rushed to the lab for analysis. An edible seaweed would be
valuable.
        The dolphins were excited by the earthquake, for they had sensed
its imminence from the reactions of the larger marine forms that scurried
for safety, and they were pleased to learn of such awareness in the life of
their new oceans. As Teresa had told Efram in indignant clicks and hisses,
they had rung and rung the seabell installed at the end of the jetty, but
no one had come. The marine rangers had had their work cut out to soothe
and placate the blues and bottlenoses.
        »What was the sense,« Teresa, the biggest blue, had demanded, »of
going through all that mentasynth infection if you humans don´t come to
hear what we have to tell you?«
        Meanwhile, high-quality copper, tin, and vanadium ores were assayed
in the north at the foot of a great range, fortuitously near a navigable
river by which ore could be carried down to the great estuary. Tarvi, who
was now head of mine engineering on Pern, had inspected the site with that
mining team´s leader, and they had proposed to the council that a secondary
settlement there would be feasible. Ore could be processed in situ and
shipped down river, saving a lot of time, effort, and trouble. The power
resources committee agreed that the nearby cataracts would provide ample
hydroelectric power. The council proposed to bring the matter up at the
next monthly congregation. In the meantime, the geology teams were to
continue their explorations of both continents.
        Other progress was being made on land and sea. Wheat and barley
were thriving; most of the tubers were doing well; and though several
species of squash were having trouble, those crops were being sprayed with
nutrients. Unfortunately, the roots of cucumbers and all but two of the
gourds seemed to be susceptible to a Pernian fungus-worm, and unless the
agronomists could combat it with a little cross-parasitism, they might lose
the entire family Cucurbitacae. Technology was looking into the problem.
        The orchard stock, bar a few samples of each variety, had bloomed
and was leafing well. Transplants of two varieties of Pern fruit plants
appeared to thrive near Earth types, and technology was hoping for some
symbiosis. Two Pernian food plants showed evidence of being attacked by a
human-brought virus, but it was too early to tell if it would prove
symbiotic or harmful. Land suitable for rice cultivation fill had not been
found, but the colony cartographer, busy translating probe pictures to
survey maps, thought that the southern marshlands might work out.
        Joel Lilienkamp, the stores manager, reported no problems and
thanked everyone, especially the children, for doing such a grand job of
bringing in edible stuffs. The mariners, too, got special thanks for their
catches. Some of the indigenous fishlike creatures were very tasty despite
their appearance. He once again warned people to be careful of the fins on
what they had dubbed »packtails,« for they would infect any cuts or
scratches. He would gladly supply gloves now that plastics was able to
produce a tough, thin film for handwear.
        On the zoological front, Pol Nietro and Chuck Havers delivered a
cautious report on the success of gestations. Some of each big species were
progressing well, but the initial turkey eggs had not survived. Three
bitches were expecting imminently, and there were seventeen kittens from
four tabbies, though one mother cat had given birth to only one. Six more
bitches and the other two female cats would be in heat soon and would
shortly be inseminated or receive embryos. It had regretfully been decided
not to use the Eridani techniques, especially mentasynth on the dogs, due
to the considerable trouble with such adaptations on Earth. Some of the
stock, and indeed many of the human beings, had ancestors who had been so
»enhanced,« and their descendants still showed signs of extreme empathy,
something that dogs apparently could not adapt to.
        Geese, ducks, and chickens had no problems, and were laying
regularly. They were kept in outdoor runs, too valuable yet to be allowed
to range free, and the runs were much visited by both adults and children.
It took nearly six weeks for the omnivorous wherries, as the EEC team had
named the awkward fliers, to discover that new source of food and for
hunger to overcome their cautious, though some termed it cowardly, nature.
But when they finally attacked, they attacked with a vengeance.
        Fortunately, by that time there were thirty of the little dragonets
in Landing. Although smaller than their adversaries, the dragonets were
more agile aerial fighters and seemed able somehow to communicate with one
another so that as soon as one wherry had been driven off one dragonet,
usually a big bronze, would keep pace with it to be sure it left the area,
while the other dragonets would go to assist their fellows in fending off
the next attacker.
        Watching from the crowd of onlookers, Sorka noticed something very
odd in the dragonets´ staunch defense: her Duke had appeared to attack one
very aggressive wherry with what looked suspiciously like a little flame.
Certainly there was smoke puffing up above the combatants, and the wherry
broke off its attack and fled. It happened so fast that she was not sure
what she had seen, so she did not mention the phenomenon to anyone.
        There was always a cloud of smell accompanying wherries, like the
sulfurous odor of the river estuary and the mud flats. If the fliers were
anywhere upwind their presence was obvious. The dragonets smelled cleanly
of sea and salt and sometimes, Sorka noticed when Duke lay curled on her
pillow, a little like cinnamon and nutmeg, spices that would soon be
memories unless there was more success in the green houses.
        There was no question in the colonists´ minds that the dragonets
had preserved the poultry from danger.
        »By all that´s holy! What warriors they make,« Admiral Benden
declared respectfully. He and Emily Boll had seen the attack from their
vantage point in the met tower and hurried to help conduct the defense.
        Though startled and unprepared, the settlers had rushed to the
poultry run, grabbing up brooms, rakes, sticks -- whatever was near to
hand. The firemen, who were well drilled and had already had to control
small fires, arrived with firehoses, which held off the few wherries that
evaded the little defenders. Adults and kids herded the squawking,
frightened poultry back into their hutches. One of the funnier sights,
Sorka told Sean afterward, was watching the very dignified scientists
trying to catch chicks. Although some people bore scratches from the raking
talons of the wherries, there would have been more -- and probably serious
-- casualties if the dragonets had not intervened.
        »Too bad they´re not bigger,« the admiral remarked, »they´d make
good watch animals. Maybe our biogeneticists can create a few flying dogs
for us.« He inclined his head respectfully toward Kitti and Wind Blossom
Ping. Kitti Ping gave him a frosty nod. »Not only did those dragonets use
their own initiative, but, by all that´s holy, I swear they were
communicating with each other. Did you see how they set up a perimeter
watch? And how they combined their attacks? Superb tactics. Couldn´t have
improved on it myself.«
        Pol Nietro, himself impressed by the incident, was momentarily
between phases of his scheduled projects and not the sort of personality to
put leisure time to leisure use. So, when order had been restored and
reliable young colonists set as sentinels against a repeat of the
incursion, he and Boy paid a visit to Asian Square.
        Mairi Hanrahan smiled at his request. »You´re in luck, Pol, for she
happens to be home. Duke´s getting an extra-special meal for his defense of
the poultry yard.«
        »Ah, he was there, then.«
        »Sorka would have it that he led the fair of dragonets,« Mairi said
in a low voice, her eyes twinkling with maternal pride and tolerance. She
ushered him into their living room, which had been transformed from
utilitarian to homey, with bright curtains at the windows, and pots of
flowering plants, some native and some obviously from Terran seed. Several
etchings made the walls seem less bare, and brightly colored pillows
improved the comfort of the plastic chairs.
        Fair of dragonets? Like a pride of lions? Or a gaggle of geese? Yes
very ‘fair´ description,« Pol Nietro said, his eyes twinkling at mother and
daughter. »Not that you´re apt to have that kind of cooperation in the
ordinary ‘fair.´ «
        Pol Nietro, if you´re casting aspersions on Donnybrook Fairs . . .«
Mairi began with a grin.
        Cast aspersions, Mairi? Not my way at all.« Pol winked at her. »But
that fair of dragonets proved very useful. They did, indeed, seem to work
well together to a common goal. Paul Benden noticed this particularly and
wants Kitti and myself to -- «
        Mairi caught his arm, her expression altered. »You wouldn´t -- «
        »Of course not, my dear.« He patted her hand reassuringly. »But I
think Sorka can help us, and Duke, if they´re willing. We have already
amassed quite a good deal of information about our small friends. Their
potential has just taken a quantum leap. And our understanding of them! We
brought no creatures with us to ward off such vicious aerial scavengers as
the wherries.«
        Sorka was feeding a nearly sated Duke, who sat upright, tail
extended on the top of the table, the tip twitching with a more decisive
movement each time he daintily secured the morsel Sorka offered him. There
was about him an odd, not completely pleasant odor which, out of deference
to his heroism, she was trying to ignore.
        »Ah, the servant is worthy of his hire,« Pol said.
        Sorka gave him a long look. »I don´t mean to be cheeky, sir, but I
don´t think of Duke as a servant of any kind. And he certainly proved he
was a friend to us!« She waved her hand to indicate the entire settlement.
        »He and his . . . cohorts,« Pol said tactfully, »most certainly
proved their friendship today.« He sat down beside Sorka, watching the
little creature pinch the next piece of food in its claws. Duke regarded
the morsel from all sides, sniffed, licked, and finally took a small bite.
Pol watched admiringly.
        Sorka giggled. »He´s stuffed, but he never turns down food.« Then
she added, »Actually, he´s not eating as much as he used to. He´s down to
one meal a day, so he may be reaching maturity. I´ve kept notes on his
growth, and really, sir, he does seem to be as big as the wild ones.«
        »Interesting. Do please give me your records, and I shall add them
to the file.« Pol shifted his body a bit. »Really, you know, this is a
fascinating evolution. Especially if those plankton eaters the dolphins
report could represent a common ancestor for the tunnel snakes and
dragonets.«
        Mairi was surprised. »Tunnel snakes and dragonets?«
        »Hmm, yes, for life evolved from the seas here on Pern just as it
did on Earth. With variations, of course.« Pol settled happily into his
lecturing mode with an attentive if incredulous audience. »Yes, an aquatic
eel-like ancestor, in fact. With six limbs. The first pair -- « He pointed
at the dragonet still clutching his morsel in his front pincers. » --
originally were nets for catching. See the action of the front claw against
the stationary back pair. The dragonets dropped the net in favor of three
digits. They opted for wings instead of stabilizing middle fins, while the
hind pair are for propulsion. The dry-land adaptation, our tunnel snake,
was to make the front pair diggers, the middle set remained balancers,
especially when they have food in the front pair, and the rear limbs are
for steering or holding on. Yes, I´m sure we´ll find that the plankton
eaters are like the common ancestors of our good friends here.« Pol beamed
warmly down at Duke, who was deliberating taking a fresh morsel from Sorka.
»However . . .« He paused.
        Sorka waited politely, knowing that the zoologist had some purpose
in his visit.
        »Would you happen to know of any undisturbed nests?« he asked
finally.
        »Yes, sir, but it´s not a big clutch, and the eggs are rather
smaller than others I´ve seen.«
        »Ah, yes, perhaps the eggs of the smaller green female,« Pol said,
placatingly. »Well, since the green is not as protective of her nest as the
gold, she will suffer no great pangs if we borrow a few. But I did want to
ask you one other, greater favor. I particularly remember your mentioning
seeing the body of a hatchling in the water. Is this a frequent hazard?«
        Sorka considered that and replied in the same objective tone of
voice. »I think so. Some of the hatchlings just don´t make it. Either they
can´t feed themselves enough to make up for the hatching trauma,« she began
to explain. She didn´t see the slight grin tuggin at Pol Nietro´s mouth.
»Or they are struck down by wherries. You see, just before hatching, the
older dragonets bring seaweed to form a ring about the clutch, and offer
fish and crawlies and anything else they can find to the hatchlings.«
        »Hmm, definitely imprinting, then,« Pol murmured.
        »By the time they´ve filled their stomachs, their wings have dried,
and they can fly off with the rest of the fair. The older dragonets do a
first-rate job of keeping off snakes and wherries, to give the babies a
chance. One day, though, Sean spotted some eel-like thing attacking from
the sea during a high tide. The hatchling didn´t have a chance.«
        »Sean is your elusive but oft-mentioned ally?«
        »Yes, sir. He and I discovered the first nest together and kept
watch on it.«
        »Would he assist us in finding nests, and . . . the hatchlings?«
        Sorka regarded the zoologist for a long moment. He had always kept
his word to her, and he had been very good about Duke that first day. She
decided that she could trust him, but she was also aware of his high rank
in Landing, and what he might be able to do for Sean.
        »If you promise, promise -- and I´d vouch for you, too -- that his
family gets one of the first horses, he´ll do just about anything for you.«
        »Sorka!« Mairi was embarrassed by her daughter´s proposal. The girl
spent entirely too much time with that boy and was learning some bad habits
from him. But to her amazement, Pol smiled cheerfully and patted Sorka´s
arm.
        »Now, now, Mairi, your daughter has good instincts. Barter is
already practiced as an exchange system on Pern, you know.« He regarded
Sorka with proper solemnity. »He´s one of the Connells, is he not?« When
she nodded solemnly, he went on briskly. »In point of fact, that is the
first name on the list to receive equines. Or oxen, if they prefer.«
        »Horses. Horses are what they´ve always had,« Sorka eagerly
affirmed.
        »And when can I have a few words with this young man?«
        »Anytime you want, sir. Would this evening do? I know where Sean is
likely to be.« Out of lifelong habit, she glanced at her mother for
consent. Mairi nodded.

On consultation, Sean agreed that there were only green eggs nearby, but
suggested that they would do well to look on the beaches a good distance
from Landing´s well-trampled strands. Sorka had found him on the Head, his
two dragonets fishing in the shallows for the finger fish often trapped
between tides.
        »May we request your services in this venture, Sean Connell?« Pol
Nietro asked formally.
        Casually, Sean cocked his head and gave the zoologist a long and
appraising look. »What´s in it for me to go off hunting lizards?«
        »Dragonets,« Sorka said firmly.
        Sean ignored her. »There aint no money here, and me da needs me in
the camp.«
        Sorka moved restlessly beside Pol, unsure if the scientist would
rise to the occasion. But Pol had not been head of a prestigious zoology
department in the huge university on First without learning how to deal
with touchy, opinionated fellows. The young rascal who eyed him with
ancient, inherited skepticism merely presented a slightly different aspect
of a well-known problem. To any other young person, the zoologist might
have offered the chance to light the evening bonfire, which had become a
much-sought-after privilege, but he knew that Sean would not care about
that.
        »Did you have your own pony on Earth?« Pol asked, settling himself
against a rock and folding his short arms across his chest.
        Sean nodded, his attention caught by such an unexpected question.
        »Tell me about him.«
        »What´s to tell? He´s long gone to meat, and even them what ate him
is probably worms, too.«
        »Was he special in some way? Apart from being special to you?«
        Sean gave him a long sideways look, then glanced briefly at Sorka,
who kept her face expressionless. She was not going to get involved
further; she was feeling the slightest twinge of guilt for having given Pol
a hint about Sean´s deepest desire.
        »He was part Welsh mountain, part Connemara. Not many like him
left.«
        »How big?«
        »Fourteen hands high,« Sean said almost sullenly.
        »Color?«
        »Steel gray.« Sean frowned, growing more suspicious. »Why d´ya
wanna know?«
        »D´you know what I do on this planet?«
        »Cut things up.«
        »That, too, of course, but I also combine things, among them,
traits, color, gender. That is what I and my colleagues generally do. By a
judicious manipulation of gene patterns, we can produce what the client --
« Pol waved one hand toward Sean. » -- wants.«
        Sean stared at him, not quite understanding the terms used and not
daring to hope what Pol Nietro seemed to be suggesting.
        »You could have Cricket again, here on Pern,« Sorka said softly,
her eyes shining. »He can do it, too. Give you a pony just like Cricket.«
        Sean caught his breath, darting glances from her to the old
zoologist who regarded him with great equanimity. Then he jerked his thumb
at Sorka. »Is she right?«
        »In that I could produce a gray horse -- if I may venture to
suggest that you´re too tall now for a pony -- with all the physical
characteristics of your Cricket, yes, she´s correct. We brought with us
sperm as well as fertilized eggs from a wide variety of the Terran equine
types. I know we have both Connemara and Welsh genotypes. They´re both
hardy, versatile breeds. It´s a simple matter.«
        »Just to find lizard eggs?« Sean´s suspicious nature overcame his
awe.
        »Dragonet eggs.« Sorka doggedly corrected him. He scowled at her.
        We´re trading eggs for eggs, young man. A fair exchange, with a
riding horse from your egg in the bargain, altered to your specifications
as a gratuity for your time and effort in the search.«
        Sean glanced once more at Sorka, who nodded reassurance. Then,
spitting into the palm of his right hand, he extended it to Pol Nietro.
Without hesitation, the zoologist sealed the bargain.
        The speed with which Pol Nietro organized an expedition left many
of his colleagues as well as the administration staff gasping for breath.
By morning, Jim Tillek had agreed that they could use the Southern Cross If
he captained the crew. He was asked to provision it for a coastal trip of
up to a week´s length; the Hanrahans and Porrig Connell had given their
permission for Sorka and Sean to go; an Pol had persuaded Bay Harkenon to
bring along her portable microscope and a quantity of specimen cases,
slides, and similar paraphernalia. To Sorka´s surprise and Sean´s
amusement, Admiral Benden was at the jetty to wish them good luck with the
venture, and helped the crew cast off the stern lines. With that official
blessing, the Southern Cross glided out of the bay on a fine brisk breeze.
        Landbred Sean was not all that happy about his first sea voyage,
but he managed to suppress both fear and nausea, determined to earn his
horse and not to show weakness in front of Sorka, who showed every evidence
of enjoying the adventure. He spent most of the voyage sitting with his
back against the mast, facing forward and stroking his brown dragonets, who
liked to sleep stretched out on the sunny deck. Sorka´s Duke remained
perched on her shoulder, one pincer holding delicately to her ear to
balance himself while his tail was lightly but firmly wrapped about her
neck. From time to time, she would nuzzle him reassuringly or he would
croon some comment in her ear just as if he was certain of her
understanding.
        The forty-foot sloop, Southern Cross, could be sailed with a crew
of three, slept eight, and had been designed to serve as an exploratory
ship as well as a fast courier. Jim Tillek had already sailed as far west
as the river they had christened the »Jordan,« and, along with a crew to
measure volcanism, as far east as the island volcano whose eruption had
interrupted the Thanksgiving feast. He was hoping to get permission to make
the longer crossing to the large island off the northern continent, and to
explore the delta of the river proposed to carry the ore or finished metals
from the projected mining site. He had, he told the enthralled Sorka,
sailed all the seas and oceans of Earth during his leaves from captaining a
merchantman on the Belt runs, and up as many rivers as were navigable:
Nile, Thames, Amazon, Mississippi, St. Lawrence, Columbia, Rhine, Volga,
Yangtze, and less well known streams.
        »Course, I wasn´t doing that as a professional man, and there
wasn´t much call on a sailor on First yet, so this expedition was my chance
to ply my hobby as trade, as ‘twere,« he confided. »Damned glad I came!« He
inhaled deeply. »The air here´s fabulous. What we used to have back on
Earth. Used to think it was the ozone! Take a deep breath!«
        Sorka inhaled happily. Just then Bay Harkenon emerged from the
cabin, looking much better than she had when she had hastily descended to
be nauseated in private.
        »Ah, the pill worked?« Jim Tillek inquired solicitously.
        »I cannot thank you enough,« the microbiologist said with a
tremulous but grateful smile. »I´d no idea I was susceptible to motion
sickness.«
        »Had you ever sailed?«
        Bay shook her head, the clusters of gray curls bobbing on her
shoulders.
        »Then how would you know?« he asked affably. He squinted into the
distance, where the peninsula and the mouth of the Jordan River were
already visible. Portside, the towering Mount Garben -- named after the
senator who had done so much to smooth the expedition´s way through the
intricacies of the Federated Sentient Planets´ bureaucracy -- dominated the
landscape, its cone suitably framed against the bright morning sky. There
had been some lobbying to name its three small companions after Shavva,
Liu, and Turnien, the original EEC landing party, but no decision had yet
been made at the monthly naming sessions held around the evening campfire
after the more formal official sittings of the council.
        Captain Tillek dropped his gaze to the charts and, using his
dividers, measured the distance from the jetty to the river mouth, and
again to the land beyond.
        »Why do the colors stop here?« Sorka asked, noticing that the bulk
of the chart was uncolored.
        Grinning in approval, he tapped the chart. »Fremlich did this for
me from the probe pics, and they´ve been accurate to the last centimeter so
far, but as we ourselves walk across the land and sail the coast, I color
it in appropriately. A good way of knowing where we´ve been and where we´ve
yet to go. I´ve also added notations that a sailor might need, about
prevalent winds and current speeds.«
        It was only then that Sorka noticed those additional marks. »It´s
one thing to see, and another to know, isn´t it?«
        He tweaked one of her titian braids. »Indeed, it is being there
that matters.«
        »And we´ll really be the first people -- here?« She laid the tip of
her forefinger on the peninsula.
        »Indeed we shall,« Tillek said with heartfelt satisfaction.
        Jim Tillek had never been so contented and happy before in a life
that had already spanned six decades. A misfit in a high-tech society
because of his love of seas and ships, bored by the monotonous Belt runs to
which his lack of tact or incorruptible honesty restricted him, Tillek
found Pern perfect, and now he had the added fillip of being one of the
first to sail its seas and discover their eccentricities. A strongly built
man of medium height, with pale blue, far-seeing eyes, he looked his part,
complete with visored cap pulled down about his ears and an old guernsey
wool sweater against the slight coolness of the fresh morning breeze.
Though the Southern Cross could have been sailed electronically from the
cockpit with the touch of buttons, he preferred to steer by the rudder and
use his instinct for the wind to trim the sheets. His crew were forward,
making all lines fair on the plasiplex decks and going about the routine of
the little ship.
        »We´ll put in at dusk, probably about here, where the chart tells
me there´s a deep harbor in a cove. More color to be added. We might even
find what we´re looking for there, too.« He winked at Sorka and Bay
Harkenon.
        When the Southern Cross was anchored in six fathoms, Jim took the
shore party to the beach in the little motorboat. Sean, who had had quite
enough company for a while, told Sorka to search for dragonet nests to the
east while he went west along the beach. His two browns circled above his
head, calling happily as they flew. Galled at the way Sean ordered the girl
about, Jim Tillek was about to take the lad to task, but Pol Nietro sent
him a warning look and the captain subsided. Sean was already ducking into
the thick vegetation bordering the strand.
        »We ll have a hot meal for you when you return,« Pol called after
the two youngsters. Sorka paused to wave acknowledgment.
        When they returned at dusk for the promised food, both children
reported success.
        »I think The first three I found are only greens,« Sorka said with
quiet authority. »They´re much too close to the water for a gold. Duke
thinks so, too. He doesn´t seem to like greens. But the one we found
farthest away is well above high-tide marks, and the eggs are bigger. I
think they´re hard enough to hatch soon.«
        »Two green clutches and two I´m positive are gold,« Sean said
briskly, and began to eat, pausing only to offer his two browns their share
of his meal. »There´s a lot of ‘em about, too. Are you going to take back
all you can find?«
        »Heavens, no!« Pol exclaimed, throwing both hands up in dismay. His
white hair, wiry and thick, stood out about his head like a nimbus giving
him a benign appearance that matched his personality. »We won´t make that
mistake on Pern.«
        »Oh, no, never,« Bay Harkenon said, leaning toward Sean as if to
touch him in reassurance. »Our investigative techniques no longer require
endless specimens to confirm conclusions, you know.«
        »Specimens?« Sean frowned, and Sorka looked apprehensive.
»Representative would perhaps be the better word.«
        »And we´d use the eggs . . . of the green, of course,« Pol added
quickly, »since the female greens do not appear to be as maternally
inclined as the gold.«
        Sean was confused. »You don´t want a gold´s eggs at all?«
        »Not all of them,« Bay repeated earnestly. »And only a dead
hatching of the other colors if one can be obtained. We´ve had more than
enough green casualties.«
        »Dead is the only way you´d get one,« Sean muttered.
        »You´re likely correct,« Bay said with a little sigh. She was a
portly woman in her late fifth decade but fit and agile enough not to
hinder the expedition. »I´ve never been able to establish a rapport with
animals.« She looked wistfully at Sorka´s bronze lying in the total
relaxation of sleep around the girl´s neck, legs dangling down her chest,
the limp tail extending almost to her waist.
        »A dragonet´s so hungry when it´s born, it´ll take food anywhere it
can,« Sean said with marked tactlessness.
        »Oh, I don´t think I could deprive someone of -- «
        We´re all supposed to be equal here, aren´t we?« Sean demanded.
»You got the same rights as anyone else, y´know.«
        »Well said, young nipper,« Jim Tillek said. »Well said!«
        »If the dragonets were only a little bigger,« Pol murmured, as much
to himself as to the others, and then he sighed.
        »If dragonets were only a little bigger what?« Tillek asked.
        »Then they´d be an equal match for the wherries.«
        »They already are!« Sean said loyally, stroking one of his browns.
If he had named them, he kept their names to himself. He had trained them
to answer his various whistled commands. Sorka felt too shy to ask him how
he had done it. Not that Duke ever disobeyed her -- once he had figured out
what she wanted.
        »Perhaps you´re right,« Pol said, giving his head a little shake.
        »Tinkering isn´t something lightly undertaken. You know how many
efforts abort or distort.« Bay smiled to ease her gentle chiding.
        »Tinker?« Sean came alert.
        »They didn´t mean you, silly,« Sorka assured him in a low voice.
        »Why would you want to . . . ahem . . . manipulate,« Jim Tillek
asked, »critters that have been doing quite well in protecting themselves
for centuries. And us.«
        »Out of the stew of creation so few survive, and often not the
obvious, more perfectly designed or environmentally suited species,« Pol
said with a long patient sigh. »It is always amazing to me what does win
the evolutionary race to become the common ancestors of a great new group.
I´d never have expected anything as close to our vertebrates as wherries
and dragonets on another planet. The really strange coincidence is that our
storytellers so often invested a four legged, two-winged creature in
fantasy, although none ever existed on Earth. Here they are, hundreds of
light-years away from the people who only imagined them.« He indicated the
sleeping Duke. »Remarkable. And not as badly designed as the ancient
Chinese dragons.«
        »Badly designed?« the seaman asked, amused.
        »Well, look at him. It´s redundant to have both forelimbs and
wings. Earth avian species opted for wings instead of forelimbs, though
some have vestigial claws of what had once been the forefinger before the
limb became a wing. I´ll grant you that a curved rear limb is useful for
springing off the ground -- and the dragonet´s are powerful, with muscles
into the back to provide assistance -- but that long back is vulnerable. I
wonder how they arrange their mechanics so that they can sit up for so long
without moving.« Pol peered at the sleeping Duke and touched the limp tail.
»There is one slight improvement: the excretory hole in the fork of the
tail instead of under it. And there are dorsal nostrils and lungs, which
are a distinct improvement. Humans are very poorly designed, you know,« he
went on, happy to be able to exercise his favorite complaint to a rapt
audience.
        »I mean, surely you can see how ridiculous it is to have an air
pipe -- « He touched his nose. » -- that crosses the food pipe. He touched
his rather prominent Adam´s apple. »People are always choking themselves to
death. And a vulnerable cranium: one good crack, and the concussion can
cause impairment if not fatality. Those Vegans have their brains well
protected in tough internal sacs. You´d never concuss a Vegan.«
        »I´d rather have bellyaches in my middle than headaches,« Tillek
said in a droll tone. »Though, from what I saw once, some of the other
Vegan operating mechanisms are exceedingly unhandy, particularly the sexual
and reproductive arrangements.«
        Pol snorted. »So you think having the playground between the sewers
makes more sense?«
        »Didn´t say that, Pol,« Jim Tillek answered hurriedly with a glance
at the two children, though neither were paying the adults much heed. »It´s
a bit handier for us, though.«
        »And more vulnerable. Oh my, oh my, there I go again, falling into
the lecture attitude. But there are endless ways in which we humans could
be profitably improved . . .«
        »We are doing that, though, aren´t we, Pol, dear?« Bay said kindly.
        »Oh, yes, cybernetically we do, and in vitro we can correct certain
gross genetic mistakes. It´s true that we are allowed to use the Eridani
mentasynth, though personally I don´t know whether our response to it is a
boon or not. It makes people too empathic with their experimental animals.
But we can´t do much yet, of course, with the laws that the Pure Humans
forced through to prohibit drastic changes.«
        »Who´d want to?« Tillek asked with a frown.
        »Not us,« Bay assured him hastily. »We don´t have that kind of need
on this world. But I sometimes feel that the Pure Human Life Group was
wrong to oppose alterations that would permit humans to use those water
worlds in Ceti IV. Lungs exchanged for gills and webbing on hands and feet
is not that great or blasphemous an adaptation. The fetus still goes
through a similar stage in utero, and there´s good evidence for a more
aquatic past for adults. Think how many planets would be open to humans if
we weren´t so limited to land areas that met our gravitational and
atmospheric requirements! Even if we could provide special enzymes for some
of the dangerous gases. Cyanides have kept us out of so many places. Why .
. .´´ She threw up her hands as words failed her.
        Sean was peering at the two specialists with some suspicion.
        »Campfire talk,« Sorka told him sagely. »They don´t mean it.«
        Sean snorted and, carefully positioning his two brown dragonets,
rose to his feet. »I plan to be up tomorrow before dawn. Best time to catch
the dragonets feeding and know who´s minding the nests.«
        »Me, too,« Sorka said, standing.
        Tillek had rigged shelters well above the high-tide marks,
protection against the sudden squalls that seemed characteristic of the
early summer season. Thermal blankets had been stitched into sleeping bags,
and Sorka gratefully crawled into one. Duke, without apparently waking,
accommodated himself to her new position. She had a little trouble falling
asleep because, for a while, the beach seemed to heave beneath her,
mimicking the motions of the waves.
        A little warning chirp from Duke roused her. Snores drifted over
from the adults, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the predawn darkness,
she saw Sean rising. She could just see him turn his head toward her and
then westward. With an economy of movement he crept to the ashes of the
previous night´s fire and rummaged quietly in the supply sacks, taking
several items which he stuffed into his shirt.
        Sorka waited until he was out of sight and then she rose. Then,
after taking a pack of rations and one of the red fruits they had gathered
before dinner, she left a note telling the adults that she and Sean had
gone to check nests and would be back soon after dawn to report.
        As she trotted along the beach, she ate the red fruit, discarding
the blemished side where a mold had gotten at it, just as she had once
eaten windfall apples and thrown away the brown bits back on Earth. At a
little distance from each of the nests, she had piled small cairns of
white, ocean-smoothed stones so that she could find each clutch without
stepping into it. She found the first two with no problem and hurried
toward the third, the one she thought might be a gold´s nest. There was a
faint trace of brightness in the eastern sky, and she wanted to be hidden
in the bushes before day actually broke.
        It was wonderful to be alone, and safe, in a part of a world that
had never felt the tread of feet. Sorka had studied the EEC survey reports
and maps often enough to know that those intrepid people had not been on
that particular beach. She exulted in the special magic of being first and
sighed at being so privileged. Her earlier desire to be able to tag a
special place with her name had altered to a dream of finding the most
beautiful spot on the new world, a really unique place for which she, too,
could be remembered. Better still would be for the colonists to wish to
name a mountain or a river or a valley after Sorka Hanrahan because of
something special that she had done.
        She was so lost in that dream that she nearly stumbled over the
cairn and into the half-buried clutch. Duke saved her from the error with a
warning cheep.
        She stroked his little head in gratitude. If she could alter one
thing about Duke, it would be to give him speech. She had learned to
interpret his various noises accurately and was able to understand what
other dragonets said to their owners, but she wished she could communicate
with Duke in a common language. But someone had said that forked tongues
could not manage speech, and she certainly did not want any drastic changes
in Duke -- especially not in his size. Any bigger and he would not fit on
her shoulder so comfortably.
        Maybe she should have a chat with the marine rangers who worked
with the dolphins. They communicated with one another about complex
matters. It was just as likely that the dragonets did, too, judging by the
way they had routed the wherries. Even Admiral Benden had commented on it.
        Thinking of the hero of Cygnus, she decided that she, too, must use
careful strategy and hide her tracks. The gold dragonets were a lot smarter
than the stupid green ones. She found a thickly fronded branch from the
underbrush and covered her footprints in the dry sand, retreating into the
brush before making her way back to a good vantage point close to but
obscured from the beach and the nest.
        Dawn coincided with a cheerful morning chorus as a fair of
dragonets swooped down to the foreshore. Only the gold approached the nest;
the others, brown and bronze and blue, remained a discreet distance from
it. Watching their bodies outlined against the white sands, Sorka could
appreciate the difference in their sizes. The golden female was the
largest, taller in the shoulder by the span of two fingers than the
bronzes, who seemed to be the next in size, though one or two of the browns
were nearly as big. The blues were definitely smaller, moving with quick
nervous steps, examining seaweeds, discarding some and hauling others
toward the nest with many smug chirps. The bronzes and browns seemed to be
discussing something, murmuring and cheeping to themselves while the blues
were clearly interested only in what might be edible. Or were they? The
nest was being surrounded by a circle of weed. When it was completed, the
browns and bronzes got busy, depositing the scuttling sea things she had
seen at Duke´s hatching.
        With an almost peremptory screech, the gold female rose from the
nest, swooping down over the heads of the bronzes and browns and dipping
wings at the blues as she raced toward the sea. The others followed, not as
gracefully, Sorka thought, but swiftly. She saw them climb over the gently
lapping surf and then suddenly dive at the waves, chirping triumphantly as
they fished. Then, abruptly, they all disappeared. One moment they were
there, suspended above the ocean; the next moment the sky was completely
clear of flashing dragonet bodies. Sorka blinked in astonishment.
        Then she had an idea: If the eggs were that close to hatching, and
if she could get one back to Bay Harkenon in time for her to feed it, Bay
would finally have a creature of her own. The scientist was a nice, kind
lady, not the least bit stuffy like some of the section heads were, and
dragonet would be a companion to her.
        Sorka didn´t think about it any further; she acted. Darting out of
her hiding place, she streaked to the nest, made a grab for the nearest egg
on the top of the pile, and scurried as fast as she could back to the
underbrush.
        She was only just in time, the branches still swaying from her
swift passage, when the dragonets were back again, in what seemed to be
greater numbers than before. The little golden one landed right by the eggs
while bronzes, browns, and blues were depositing helplessly flapping fish
within the seaweed circle. Suddenly the welcoming chorus began, and Sorka
was torn between the desire to watch the magical moment of hatching and the
need to get her purloined egg to Bay in time. Then she felt the egg, which
she had tucked under her pullover for warmth and protection, move against
her skin.
        »Don´t you dare make a sound, Duke!« she whispered harshly when she
heard Duke´s chest begin to rumble. She caught his little jaw between her
fingers and glared straight into his faceted eyes which had begun to whirl
with happy colors. »She´ll kill me!«
        He clearly understood her warning and hunched closer to her,
clinging with sharp nails to her hair and hiding his face against her
braid. Then she crawled backward from the beach edge until she was screened
sufficiently to risk standing up. Dead fronds and branches tangled her feet
as she ran, and she encountered a disheartening variety of thorny bushes
and needley plants. But she plunged on.
        When she could no longer hear the cries of the dragonets, she
turned west and crashed back out to the beach. She pelted down the sands as
fast as she could, ignoring the stitch in her side in deference to the
antics of the egg beating at her ribs. Duke circled about her head, keening
with obediently muted anxiety.
        Surely she must be almost back at the camp. Was that the first
cairn she had passed, or the second? She stumbled, and Duke cried out in
terrible alarm, a shrill strident shriek like the cries of the peacocks
that had inhabited her father´s farm, a ghastly sound like someone in
extreme agony. He swooped, tugging valiantly at her shoulder, as if he
himself could support her.
        His shriek had been sufficient to rouse the sleepers. Jim Tillek
was the first one to struggle to his feet, which got tangled in the bag for
the first few steps. Pol and Bay were more laggard until they recognized
Sorka.
        Sorka, ignoring both Tillek´s urgent queries and helping hands,
staggered to the plump microbiologist, dropping heavily to her knees and
fumbling to get the egg into Bay´s hands for she could feel a crack
beginning to run along the shell.
        »Here! Here, this is yours, Bay!« she gasped, grabbing the
astonished woman´s hands and closing them about the egg.
        Bay´s reaction was to thrust it back to Sorka, but the girl had
thrown herself toward the supply packs, rummaging for something edible,
fumbling to open a packet of protein bars and break one into tiny pieces.
        »It´s cracking, Sorka. Pol! What do I do with it? It´s cracking all
over!« Bay exclaimed uncertainly.
        »It´s yours, Bay, an animal that will love only you,« Sorka said in
gasps, floundering back with full hands. »It´s hatching. It´ll be yours.
Here, feed it these. Pol, Captain, see what you can find under the seaweed
for it to eat. You be bronzes. See, watch what Duke´s going after.«
        Duke, chirping with exultation, was dragging a huge branch of
seaweed up from the high-tide line.
        »Just bundle the seaweed up, Pol,« Tillek said moments later as he
demonstrated.
        »It´s cracked!« Bay cried, half-afraid, half-delighted. »There´s a
head! Sorka! What do I do now?«
        Twenty minutes later the risen sun shone on a weary but excite
quartet as Bay, with the most beatific and incredulous expression on her
face, cradled a lovely golden dragonet on her forearm. Its head was an
ornament on the back of her hand, its forearms loosely encircled her wrist.
Its distended belly had support from Bay´s well-fleshed limb, its hind legs
dangled by her elbow, and its tail was lightly twined around her upper arm.
A slight noise, similar to a snore, could be discerned. Bay stroked the
sleeping creature from time to time, dazed by the texture of its skin, by
the strong but delicate claws, the translucent wings, and the strength of
the newborn´s tail about her arm. She constantly extolled its perfections.
        Jim Tillek regenerated the fire and served a hot drink to
counteract the chilly breeze from the sea.
        »I think we should go back to the nest, Pol,« Sorka said, »to see
if . . if . . .«
        »Some didn´t make it?« Jim finished for her. »You need to eat.«
        »But then it´ll be too late.«
        »It´s probably too late already, young lady,« Tillek said firmly.
»And you´ve acquitted yourself superbly anyhow, delivering the gold. That´s
the highest status of the species, isn´t it?«
        Pol nodded, peering detachedly at Bay´s sleeping charge. »I don´t
think any other biologist actually has one yet. Ironic that.«
        »Always the last to know, huh?« Jim asked, screwing his eyebrows
sardonically but grinning. »Ah, what have we here?« He pointed his long
cooking fork at the figure plodding from the west. »He´s got something. Can
you make it out better, Sorka, with your young eyes?«
        »Maybe he´s got more eggs and you´ll have one, too, Pol and Jim.«
        »I tend to doubt Sean´s altruism, Sorka,« Pol remarked dryly. She
flushed. »Now, now, child. I´m not being critical. It´s a difference of
temperament and attitude.«
        »He´s carrying something, and it´s larger than an egg, and his two
dragonets are very excited. No,« Sorka amended. »They´re upset!«
        On her shoulder, Duke raised up on to his hind legs, uttering one
shrill query. She could feel him sag as he received an answer, and he gave
a little moan, almost a sob, she thought. She reached up to stroke him. He
nuzzled her hand as if he appreciated her sympathy. She could feel the
tension in his small frame, and in the way his feet gripped her pullover.
Once again she was glad that her mother had reinforced the fabric to
prevent his claws from puncturing through to her skin. She turned her head,
rubbing his side with her cheek.
        Everyone watched as Sean made his way toward the camp. Soon his
bundle could be distinguished as layers of wide leaves, closely wrapped and
bound with green climber vine. He was aware of their scrutiny and he looked
tired. Sorka thought he also looked unhappy. He came right up to the two
scientists and carefully deposited his bundle by Pol.
        »There you are. Two of ‘em. One barely touched. And some of the
green eggs. Had to search both nests to find some that snakes hadn´t sucked
dry.«
        Pol laid one hand on Sean´s offering. »Thank you, Sean. Thank you
very much. Are the two . . . from a gold´s clutch or a green´s?«
        »Gold´s, of course,« Sean said with a disgusted snort. »Greens
rarely hatch. They´re snake-eaten. I got there just in time.« He looked
almost challengingly at Sorka.
        She did not know what to say.
        »So did Sorka,« Jim Tillek replied proudly, nodding to Bay.
        Only then did Sean see the sleeping dragonet. A fleeting look of
surprise, admiration, and annoyance crossed his face, and he sat down with
a thump.
        Sorka did not quite meet his eyes. »I didn´t do as well,« she heard
herself saying. »I didn´t get what we were sent after. You did.«
        Sean grunted, his face expressionless. Above his head, his browns
exchanged news with her bronze in a rapid fire of cheeps, chirps, and
murmurs. Then each gave a flip to its wings to close them back and settled
in the sun to catch the warming rays.
        »Chow´s up,« Jim Tillek said. He began filling plates with fried
fish and rings of one of the fruit nuts that was improved by cooking.

* * * * *

»So, Ongola, what have you to report?« Paul Benden asked.
        Emily Boll poured a measure of Benden´s precious brandy into three
glasses and passed them around before taking her own seat. Ongola used the
interval to organize his thoughts. The three had gathered, as they often
did, in the meteorology tower beside the landing grid now used by the sleds
and the one shuttle that had been altered for sparing use as a cargo
carrier.
        Both admiral and governor, naturally pale of skin, had become
almost as brown as the swarthy Ongola. All three had worked hard in the
fields, in the mountains, and on the sea, actively participating in every
aspect of the colony´s endeavors.
        Once the colonists took up their stake acres and Landing´s purpose
had been accomplished, the ostensible leaders would turn consultants, with
no more authority than other stakeholders. The council would convene
regularly to discuss broad topics and redress problems that affected the
entire colony. A yearly democratic meeting would vote on any issues that
required the consent of all. Magistrate Cherry Duff administered justice at
Landing and would have a circuit for grievances and any litigation. By the
terms of the Pern Charter, charterers and contractors alike would be
autonomous on their stake acres. The plan was idealistic, perhaps, but as
Benden repeatedly insisted, there was more than enough land and resources
to allow everyone plenty of latitude.
        There had been no more than a few grumbles so far about Joel
Lilienkamp´s disposition of supplies and materiel from their stores.
Everyone knew that once the imported supplies were exhausted, all would
have to learn to make do with what they had, to replace with their own
industry, or to barter with the appropriate crafters. Many people prided
themselves on being able to improvise, and everyone took good care of
irreplaceable tools and equipment.
        Between the weekly informal gatherings and the monthly mass meeting
where most administrative matters were put to a democratic vote, the colony
was running smoothly. An arbitration board had been voted on at one of the
first mass meetings, comprising three ex-judges, two former governors, and
four non-legal people who would hold their offices for two years. The board
would look into grievances and settle such disputes as might occur about
staking acres or contractual misunderstandings. The colony had four trained
legists and two attorneys, but it was hoped that the need for such
representations would be minimal.
        »There is no dispute so bitter that it cannot be arbitrated by an
impartial board or by a jury of peers,« Emily Boll had stated fervently and
persuasively at one of the earliest mass meetings attended by everyone,
including sleeping babies in their cradles. »Most of you know war
firsthand.« She had paused dramatically. »Wars of attrition over land and
water, wars of terrible annihilation in space itself. Pern is now far, far
from those former battlefields. You are here because you wished to avoid
the contagion of territorial imperatives that has plagued humans since time
began. Where there is a whole planet with diverse and magnificent lands and
wealth and prospects, there is no longer a need to covet a neighbor´s
possessions. Stake your own acres, build your homes, live in peace with the
rest of us, and help us all build a world truly a paradise.«
        The power of her ringing voice and the sincerity of her fervent
phrases had, on that glorious evening, motivated everyone to fulfill that
dream. Also a realist, Emily Boll knew very well that there were dissident
factors among those who had listened so politely before giving her a
cheering ovation. Avril, Lemos, Nabol, Kimmer, and a handful of others had
already been tagged as possible troublemakers. But Emily devoutly hoped
that the dissidents would become so involved in their new lives on Pern
that they would have little time, energy, or occasion to indulge in
intrigue.
        The charter and the contracts had incorporated the right to
discipline the signatories for »acts against the common good.« Such acts
had as yet to be defined.
        Emily and Paul had argued about the necessity for any sort of penal
code. Paul Benden favored the »punishment fitting the crime« as an object
lesson for miscreants and frequent breakers of the »peace and tranquillity
of the settlement.« He also preferred to mete out community discipline on
the spot, shaming offenders in public and requiring them to do some of the
more disagreeable tasks necessary to the running of the colony. So far that
rough justice had been sufficient.
        Meanwhile, the discreet surveillance continued on a number of folk,
and Paul and Emily met with Ongola from time to time to discuss the general
morale of the community and those problems that were best kept discreet.
Paul and Emily also made sure to be constantly accessible to all the
colonists, hoping to solve small discontents before they could grow into
serious problems. They kept official »office hours« six days of the
established seven-day week.
        »We may not be religious in the archaic meaning of the word, but it
makes good sense to give worker and beast one day´s rest,« Emily stated in
the second of the mass meetings. »The old Judean Bible used by some of the
old religious sects on Earth contained a great many commonsensible
suggestions for an agricultural society, and some moral and ethical
traditions which are worthy of retention« -- she held up a hand, smiling
benignly -- »but without any hint of fanatic adherence! We left that back
on Earth along with war!«
        While the two leaders knew that even that loose form of democratic
government might be untenable once the settlers had spread out from Landing
to their own acres, they did hope that the habits acquired would suffice.
Early American pioneers on that western push had exhibited a keen sense of
independence and mutual assistance. The later Australian and New Zealand
communities had risen above tyrannical governors and isolation to build
people of character, resource, and incredible adaptability. The first
international Moonbase had refined the art of independence, cooperation,
and resourcefulness. The original settlers on First had been largely the
progeny of ingenious Moon and asteroid-belt miner parents, and the Pern
colony included many descendants of those original pioneering groups.
        Paul and Emily proposed to institute yearly congregations of as
many people from the isolated settlements as possible to reaffirm the basic
tenets of the colony, acknowledge progress, and apply the minds of many to
address any general problems. Such a gathering would also be the occasion
for trading and social festivities. Cabot Francis Carter, one of the
legists, had proposed setting aside a certain area, midway on the
continent, that would be the center for these annual assemblies.
        »That would be the best of all possible worlds,« Cabot had said in
a mellifluous bass voice that had often stirred Supreme Courts on Earth and
First. Emily had once told Paul that Cabot was the most unlikely of their
charter members, but it was his legal guild that had produced the actual
charter and rammed it through the bureaucracy to be ratified by the FSP
council. »We may not achieve it on Pern. But we can damn sure try!«
        Alone with Emily and Ongola, Paul recalled that stirring challenge
as he ticked off names on his long callused fingers. »Which is why I think
we should continue to keep tabs on people like Bitra, Tashkovich, Nabol,
Lemos, Olubushtu, Kung, Usuai, and Kimmer. The list is, mercifully, short,
considering our numbers. I´m not adding Kenjo, because he´s shown
absolutely no connection with any of the others.«
        »I still don´t like it. Secret surveillance smacks too much of the
subterfuges used by other governments in more parlous times,« Emily said
grimly. »It feels demeaning to myself and to my office to use such
tactics.«
        »There´s nothing demeaning in knowing who´s agin you,« Paul argued.
»An intelligence section has always proved invaluable.«
        »In revolutions, wars, power struggles, yes, but not here on Pern.«
        »Here as well as everywhere else in the galaxy, Em,« Paul replied
forcefully. »Mankind, not to mention Nathi, and even the Eridanites to some
degree, prove in many ways that greed is universal. I don´t see the bounty
of Pern changing that trait.«
        »Forgo that futile old argument, my friends,« Ongola said with one
of his wise, sad smiles. »The necessary steps have already been taken to
defunction the gig. I have, as you recommended -- « He inclined his head to
Paul. » -- stripped the gig of several minor but essential parts in the
ignition system, the effect of which would be obvious early on, and
substituted two dud chips in the guidance module, something that would not
be so obvious.« He gestured out the window. »Sleds are allowed to park any
which way, effectively but surreptitiously blocking the gig from taking
off. But I don´t really know why she would.«
        Paul Benden winced, and the other two looked away from him, knowing
that he had allowed himself to be too intimate with her for an injudicious
length of that outward voyage.
        »Well, I´d be more worried if Avril knew about that cache of
Kenjo´s,« Paul said. »Telgar´s figures indicate that there´s half a tank´s
worth for the Mariposa.« He grimaced. He had found it hard enough to
believe that Kenjo Fusaiyuko had scrounged so much fuel. Paul had a
grudging admiration for the sheer scope of the theft, even if he could not
understand the motive, and especially for the risks that Kenjo had gotten
away with during all those fuel-saving shuttle trips.
        »Avril favors us so seldom with her company that I don´t worry that
she´d discover the hoard,« Emily said with a wry smile. »I´ve also managed
to have Lemos, Kimmer, and Nabol assigned to different sections, with few
occasions to return here. ‘Divide and conquer,´ the man said.«
        »Inappropriate, Emily,« Paul replied, grinning.
        »If, and I do stress that improbability, Avril should discover and
use Kenjo´s purloined fuel,« Ongola began, holding up a finger for each
point, »manage to find the missing pieces, and fly the gig out of here
undetected, she would have a half-full tank. She would not then drain the
ships´ reserves to a danger point. Frankly, we would be well rid of her and
whoever she deigns to take with her. I think we dwell too much on the
matter. Those seismic reports from the eastern archipelago are far more
worrying. Young Mountain is smoking again and twitching its feet.«
        »I agree,« Paul said, quite willing to turn to the more immediate
problem.
        »Yes, but for what purpose did Kenjo take so much fuel?« Emily
asked. »You haven´t answered that question. Why would he risk the safety of
passengers and cargo? And he is a genuinely eager colonist! He´s already
chosen his stake acreage.«
        »A pilot of Kenjo´s ability risked nothing,« Paul replied smoothly.
»His shuttle flights were without incident. I do know that flying is his
life.«
        Ongola regarded the admiral in mild surprise. »Hasn´t he done
enough flying for one lifetime?«
        Paul smiled with understanding. »Not Kenjo. What I do completely
appreciate is that flying a mere power sled is a come-down, a loss of
prestige, face, considering the kind of craft he´s flown and where he´s
been. You say that he´s chosen his acres, Emily? Where?«
        »Down beyond what people are beginning to call the Sea of Azov, as
far away from Landing as he can get but on rather a pleasant plateau, to
judge by the probe report,« Emily replied. She hoped that the meeting would
conclude soon. Pierre had promised her a special meal, and she found that
she was enjoying those quiet dinners more than she had thought she would.
        »Howinell is Kenjo going to get those tons of fuel there?« Benden
asked.
        »I suspect we´ll have to wait and see,« Ongola replied with the
trace of a smile on his lips. »He´s got the same right as everyone else to
use power sleds to transport his goods, and he´s done some close trading
with work units at the commissary. Shall I have a word with Joel about
Kenjo´s requisitions?«
        Emily glanced quickly at Paul, who was adamant in his defense of
Kenjo. »Well, I don´t like unsolved riddles. I´d prefer some sort of
explanation, and I think you would, too, Paul.« When Benden nodded
reluctantly, Emily said that she would speak to Joel Lilienkamp.
        Which brings us back to that third tremor,« Paul Benden said.
»How´s work progressing on buttressing the stores warehouses and the one
with all the medical supplies?
We can´t afford to lose such irreplaceable items.«
        Ongola consulted his notes. He wrote with a bold angular script
that looked, from Emily´s angle, like ancient manuscript ornamentations.
All three of them, as well as most section heads, had made a point of
reverting to less sophisticated methods of note-taking than speech
processors. The power packs, whose rechargeability was good but not
infinite, were to be reserved for essential uses, so everyone was
rediscovering the art of calligraphy.
        »The work will be completed by next week. The seismic net has been
extended as far as the active volcano in the eastern archipelago and to
Drake´s Lake.«
        Paul grimaced. »Are we going to let him get away with that?«
        »Why not?« Emily asked, grinning. »No one´s contesting it. Drake
was the first to see it. A community settling there would have ample space
to grow, and plenty of industry to support it.«
        »Is it scheduled for a vote?« Paul asked after an appreciative sip
of his brandy.
        »No,« Ongola said with another hint of a grin. »Drake is still
campaigning. He doesn´t want any opposition, and whatever there might have
been is now worn down.«
        Paul snorted, and Emily cast her eyes upward in amused exasperation
with the flamboyant pilot. Then Paul pensively regarded the remainder of
the brandy in his glass. As Emily went on to the next point on their
informal agenda, he took another sip, rolling the liquor around in his
mouth, savoring the soon-to-be-exhausted beverage. He could and did drink
the quikal but found it harsh to a palate trained to subtleties.
        »We are proceeding well in general terms,« Emily was saying
briskly. »You heard that one of the dolphins died, but Olga´s death was
accepted by her community with considerable equanimity. According to Ann
Gabri and Efram, they had expected more fatalities. Olga was, apparently,«
she added with a grin, »older than she said she was and hadn´t wished to
let her last calf go into the unknown without her.«
        All three chuckled and followed Paul´s lead as he raised a toast to
maternal love.
        »Even our . . . nomads . . . have settled in,« Emily went on, after
checking her notepad. »Or, rather, spread out.« She tapped it with her
pencil, still unused to handwriting notes but struggling to get accustomed
to archaic memory assists. The only voice-activated device still operable
was the surface interface with the main computer banks on the Yokohama, but
it was rarely used anymore. »The nomads´ve made rather a lot of inroads on
clothing fabrics, but when those are depleted, that´s the end of it and
they´ll have to make their own or trade, the same as the rest of us. We
have located all their campsites. Even on foot, the Tuareg contingent can
travel astonishing distances, but they camp for a while, in two separate
sections.«
        »Well, they´ve a whole planet to lose themselves in,« Paul said
expansively. »Have they posed any other problems, Ongola?«
        The dark man shook his heavy head, lowering the lids of his deep
set eyes. He was agreeably surprised by the nomads´ smooth transition to
life on Pern. Every week each tribe sent a representative to the veterinary
sheds. The forty-two mares brought in coldsleep by the colony were all in
foal, and the nomads´ leaders had accepted the fact that a mare´s gestation
period was eleven months on Pern as it had been on Earth.
        »As long as the vets keep their sense of humor. But Red Hanrahan
seems to understand their ways and deals with them.«
        »Hanrahan? Didn´t his daughter find the dragonets?«
        »She and a boy, one of the travelers,« Ongola replied. »They also
provided the corpses which the bios have been clucking over.«
        »Could be useful creatures,« Benden said.
        »They already are,« Emily added stoutly.
        Ongola smiled. One day, Ongola thought, he would find a nest at the
critical hatching point and he would have one of those charming and
friendly, nearly intelligent creatures as a pet. He had once learned
Dolphin, but he had never been able to overcome his fear of being
constricted underwater to share their world properly. He needed space about
him. Once, when Paul was sharing one of the long watches with him on the
journey to Pern, the admiral had argued most eloquently that the dangers of
outer space were even more inimical to human life than those of inner sea.
        »Water is airless,« Paul had said, »although it contains oxygen,
but when and if the Pure Lives´ hold on human adaptations is broken, humans
will be able to swim without artificial help. Space has no oxygen at all.«
        »But you are weightless in space. Water presses down on you. You
can feel it.«
        »You´d better not feel space,« Paul had replied with a laugh, but
he had not argued the point further.
        »Now, to more pleasant matters,« Paul said. »How many contract
marriages are to be registered tomorrow, Emily?«
        Emily smiled, riffling pages of her notepad to come to the next
seventh-day sheet, since that had become the usual time for such
celebrations. In order to widen the gene pool in the next generation the
charter permitted unions of varying lengths, first insuring the support of
a gravid woman and the early years of the resultant child. Prospective
partners could choose which conditions suited their requirements, but there
were severe penalties, up to the loss of all stake acres, for failing to
fulfill whatever contract had been agreed and signed before the requisite
number of witnesses.
        »Three!«
        »The numbers are falling off,« Paul remarked.
        »I´ve done my bit,« Ongola said, slyly glancing at the two
staunchly single leaders.
        Ongola had courted Sabra Stein so adroitly that neither of his
close friends had realized he had become attached until the couple´s names
had appeared on the marital schedule six weeks earlier. In fact, Sabra was
already pregnant, which had led Paul to remark that the big gun was not
firing blanks. He had let his bawdy humor disguise his relief for he knew
that Ongola still grieved for the wife and family of his youth. Ongola´s
hatred of the Nathi and his implacable desire for revenge had sustained the
man throughout the war. For a long while, Paul had worried that his
favorite aide and valued commander might be unable to alter that
overpowering hatred even in a more peaceful clime.
        »Emily, has Pierre consented yet?« Ongola asked, a knowing grin
lighting a somber face that even his present felicitous state did not
completely brighten.
        Emily was astonished. She had thought that she and Pierre had been
discreet. But she had recently noticed in herself a tendency to smile more
easily and to lose the thread of conversations for no apparent reason.
        She and Pierre were an unlikely combination of personalities, but
that was half the pleasure of it. Their relationship had begun quite
unexpectedly about the fifth week after Landing, when Pierre had asked her
opinion of a casserole composed entirely of indigenous ingredients. He
administered the mass catering of Landing, and very well, she thought,
considering the wide range of tastes and dietary requirements. He had
started to serve her special dishes when she ate at the big mess hall.
Then, when she would often have to work through the lunch hour, Pierre de
Courci would bring over the tray she ordered.
        »If I were the possessive type, I would keep his cooking to
myself.« she replied. »Kindly remember that I am past child-bearing, an
advantage you men have over me. How about it, Paul? Will you do your bit?«
Emily knew that her tone had a snap to it, born of envy. None of her
children, all adults, had wished to accompany her on a one-way journey.
        Unperturbed, Paul Benden merely smiled enigmatically and sipped at
his brandy.

»Caves. Sallah cried, nudging Tarvi´s arm and pointing to the rock barrier
in front of them. Sunlight outlined openings in its sheer face.
        He reacted instantly and enthusiastically, with the kind of almost
innocent joy of discovery that Sallah found so appealing in him. The
continually unfolding beauties of Pern had not palled on Tarvi Andiyar.
Each new wonder was greeted with as much interest as the last one he had
extolled for its magnificence, its wealth, or its potential. She had
wangled ruthlessly to get herself assigned as his expedition pilot. They
were making their third trip together -- and their first solo excursion.
        Sallah was playing it cautiously, concentrating on making herself
so professionally indispensable to Tarvi that an opportunity to project her
femininity would not force him to retreat into his usual utterly courteous,
utterly impersonal shell. She had seen other women who made a determined
play for the handsome, charming geologist rebuffed by his demeanor; they
were surprised, puzzled, and sometimes hurt by the way he eluded their
ploys. For a while, Sallah wondered if Tarvi liked women at all, but he had
shown no preference for the acknowledged male lovers in Landing. He treated
everyone, man, woman, and child, with the same charming affability and
understanding. And whatever his sexual preference, he was nonetheless
expected to add to the next generation. Sallah was already determined to be
the medium and would find the moment.
        Perhaps she had found it. Tarvi had a special fondness for caves;
he had at various times called them orifices of the Mother Earth, entrances
to the mysteries of her creation and construction, and windows into her
magic and bounty. Even though this was Pern, he worshipped the same mystery
that had dominated his life so far.
        Their current trip was to make an aerial reconnaissance of the
location of several mineral deposits noted by the metallurgy probes. Iron,
vanadium, manganese, and even germanium were to be found in the mountainous
spine that Sallah was aiming at as they followed the course of a river to
its source. She was also operating under the general directive that unusual
sites should be recorded and photographed to offer the widest possible
choice. Only a third of those with stake acreage had made their selection.
There was a subtle pressure to keep everyone in the southern continent --
at least in the first few generations -- but there was no such directive in
the charter. The broad, long river valley that lay to their right as they
approached the precipice was, to Sallah´s mind, the most beautiful they had
seen so far.
        Rene Mallibeau, the colony´s most determined vintner, was still
looking for the proper type of slope and soil for his vineyards, though to
get his project started he had actually released some of his hoard of
special soils from their sealed tanks for his experiments in viniculture.
Quikal was not a universally accepted substitute for the traditional
spirits. Despite being poured through a variety of filters with or without
additives, nothing could completely reduce the raw after taste. Rene had
been promised the use of ceramic-lined metal fuel tanks which, once
thoroughly cleansed, would provide him with wine vats of superior quality.
Of course, once the proper oak forests had reached adequate size for use as
staves, his descendants could move back to the traditional wooden barrel.
        »Rather spectacular, that precipice, isn´t it, Tarvi?« Sallah said,
grinning rather foolishly, as if the view were a surprise that she herself
had prepared for him.
        »Indeed it is. ‘In Xanadu did Kublai Khan,´ » he murmured in his
rich deep voice.
        » ‘Caverns measureless to man´?« Sallah capped it, careful not to
sound smug that she recognized his source. Tarvi often quoted obscure
Sanskrit and Pushtu texts, leaving her groping for a suitable retort.
        »Precisely, O moon of my delight.«
        Sallah suppressed a grimace. Sometimes Tarvi´s phrases were
ambiguous, and she knew that he did not mean what his phrase suggested. He
would not be so obvious. Or would he? Had she penetrated that bland
exterior after all? She forced herself to contemplate the immense stone
bulwark. Its natural fluted columns appeared carved by an inexperienced or
inattentive sculptor, yet the imperfection contributed to the overall
beauty of the precipice.
        »This valley is six or seven klicks long,« she said quietly, awed
by the truly impressive natural site.
        From the steep, right-angled fall of a spectacular diedre, the
palisade led in a somewhat straight line for about three klicks before
falling back into a less perfectly defined face that sloped down in the
distance to meet the floor of the valley. She angled the sled to starboard
facing upriver, and they were nearly blinded by the brilliant sunlight
reflecting from the surface of the lake that had been charted by the probe.
        »No, land here,« Tarvi said quickly, actually catching her arm to
stress his urgency. He was not much given to personal contact, and Sallah
tried not to misinterpret excitement for anything else. »I must see the
caves.«
        He released the safety harness and swiveled his seat around. Then
he walked to the back of the sled, rummaging among the supplies.
        »Lights, we´ll need lights, ropes, food, water, recording devices,
specimen kit,« he muttered as his deft movements filled two backpacks.
»Boots? Have you on proper boots . . ah, those will do, indeed they will.
Sallah, you are always well prepared.« He compounded his inadvertent injury
to her feelings by one of his more ingratiating smiles.
        Once again, Sallah shook her head over her whimsical fancy, which
had managed to settle on one of the most elusive males of her acquaintance.
Of course, she consoled herself, anything easily had is rarely worth
having. She landed the sled at the base of the towering precipice, as near
to the long narrow mouth of the cave as she could.
        »Pitons, grappling hook -- that first slab looks about five meters
above the scree. Here you are, Sallah!«
        He handed her pack over, waiting only long enough to see her grab a
strap before he released the canopy, jumped down, and was striding toward
the towering buttress. With a resigned shrug, Sallah flipped on beacon,
comm unit, and recorder for incoming messages, fastened her jacket, settled
the rather hefty pack on her back, and followed him, closing the canopy
behind her.
        He scrambled up the scree and stood with one palm flat against the
slab, looking up its imposing and awesome spread, his face rapt with
wonder. Gently, as in a caress, he stroked the stone before he began to
look right and left, assessing how best to climb to the cave. He dashed her
an ingenuous smile, acknowledging her presence and assuming her
willingness.
        »Straight up. Not much of a climb with pitons.«
        The climb proved strenuous. Sallah could have used a breather as
she crawled onto the ledge, but there was the cave opening, and nothing was
going to deter Tarvi from immediate entrance and a leisurely inspection.
Ah, well, it was just 1300 hours. They had time in hand. She rolled to her
feet, unlatching the handlight from her belt just a few seconds after he
had done the same, and was at his side as he peered into the opening.
        »Lords, gods, and minor deities!«
        His invocation was a mere whisper, solemn and awed, a susurrous
echo. The vast initial cavern was larger than the cargo hold of the
Yokohama. Sallah made that instant comparison, remembering how eerie that
immense barren space had seemed on her last trip, and in the next second,
she wondered what the cavern would look like occupied. It would make a
spectacular great hall, in the tradition of medieval times on Earth -- only
even more magnificent.
        Tarvi held his breath, hesitantly extending his still-dark
handlight, as if reluctant to illuminate the majesty of the cavern. She
heard his intake of breath, in the manner of one steeling himself to commit
sacrilege, and then the light came on.
        Wings whirred as shadows made silent sinuous departures to the
darker recesses. They both ducked as the winged denizens departed in flight
lines just clearing their heads, though the cave entrance was at least four
meters high. Ignoring the exodus, Tarvi moved reverently into the vast
space.
        »Amazing,« he murmured as he shined the light up and judged that
the shell of the outer wall above them was barely two meters thick. »A very
thin face.«
        »Some bubble,« Sallah said, feeling impious and wanting to regain
her equilibrium after her initial awe. »Look, you could carve a staircase
in that,« she said, her light picking out a slanting foot of rock that rose
to a ledge where a large darkness indicated yet another cave.
        She spoke to inattentive ears, for Tarvi was already prowling about
determining the width of the entrance and the dimensions of the cave. She
hurried after him.
        The first chamber of the cave complex measured an awesome
fifty-seven meters deep at its widest, tapering at either end to forty-six
meters on the left and forty-two meters on the right. Along the back wall,
there were innumerable irregular openings at random levels some were on the
ground level leading into apparent tunnel complexes, most of which were
high enough to admit Tarvi´s tall frame with considerable head space;
others, like great dead eyes, peered down from higher up the inside wall.
Entranced as Tarvi was by their discovery, he was a trained scientific
observer. With Sallah´s aid he began to draft an accurate plan of the main
chamber, the openings of secondary ones, and the tunnel complexes leading
inward. He penetrated each to a depth of a hundred meters, roped to a
nervous Sallah who kept glancing back at the cave´s opening for the
reassuring sight of the waning day.
        His rough notes were refined by the light of the gas fire on which
Sallah cooked their evening meal. Tarvi had elected to camp far enough into
the cave to be protected from the stiff breeze that blew down the valley,
and far enough to the left so as not to interfere with the habits of the
cave´s natural residents. Later, a low flame from the protected gas fire
would discourage most of Pern´s wildlife from investigating the intruders.
        Somehow, in the cave Sallah did feel like an intruder, though she
had not previously been bothered by that notion. The place was truly
awe-inspiring.
        Tarvi had gone down to the sled to bring up more drafting tools and
the folding table over which he had hunched almost immediately. With no
comment, he had eaten the stew she had carefully prepared, absently handing
back his plate for a second helping.
        Sallah was of two minds about Tarvi´s concentration. On the one
hand, she was a good cook and liked to have her skill acknowledged. On the
other hand, she was as glad that Tarvi was distracted. One of the
pharmacists had given her a pinch of what she swore was a potent indigenous
aphrodisiac; Sallah had used it to season Tarvi´s share. She did not need
it herself, not with her mind and body vibrating to his presence and their
solitude. But she was beginning to wonder if the aphrodisiac was strong
enough to overcome Tarvi´s enchantment with the cave. Just her luck to get
him to herself for a night or two and then have him be totally enthralled
by Dear Old Mother Earth in Pernese costume. But she had not bided her time
to waste a sterling opportunity. She could wait. All night. And tomorrow.
She had enough of the joy dust to use the next night, too. Maybe it just
took a while to act.
        »It is truly magnificent in its proportions, Sallah. Here, look!«
He straightened his torso, arching his back against his cramped muscles,
and Sallah came up behind him, knelt, and considerately began to knead his
taut shoulder muscles as she peered over his shoulder.
        The two-dimensional sketch had been deftly drawn with bold lines:
he had added back, front, and side elevations, truthfully ending them where
his measurements ended. But that only made the cavern more imposing and
mysterious.
        »What a fort it would have been in the olden days!« He looking
toward the black interior, his wide liquid eyes shining, his face alight as
imagination altered the chamber before him. »Why, it would have housed
whole tribes. Kept them secure for years from invasion. There´s fresh
water, you understand, down the third left-hand tunnel. Of course, the
valley itself would be defensible and this the protected inner hold, with
that daunting slab to defeat climbers. There are no less than eighteen
different exits from the main chamber.«
        She had worked her hands up the column of his neck, then across the
trapezius muscles, and down to the deltoids, massaging firmly but letting
her fingers linger in a movement that she had found immensely effective on
other occasions when she had wished to relax a man.
        »Ah, how kind you are, Sallah, to know where the muscles bind.« He
twisted slightly, not to evade her seeking, kneading fingers but to guide
them to the sorest points. He pushed the low table to one side so that his
arms could fall naturally to his lap as he rotated his head. »There´s a
point, eleventh vertebrae . . .« he suggested, and she dutifully found the
knot of muscle and smoothed it expertly. He sighed like a lithe dark feline
being stroked.
        She said nothing, but moved ever so slightly forward so that her
body touched his. As she walked her fingers back to his neck, she dared to
press against him so that her breasts lightly touched his shoulder blades.
She could feel her nipples harden at the contact, and her respiration
quickened. Her fingers ceased to knead and began to caress, moving down
over his chest in long slow motions. He caught her hands then, and she
could feel the stillness of him, a stillness of mind and breath, as his
body began to tremble slightly.
        Perhaps this is the time,« he mused as if alone. »There will never
be a better. And it must be done.«
        With the suppleness that was as much a trademark of Tarvi Andiyar
as his ineffable charm, he gathered her in his arms, pulling her across his
lap. His expression, oddly detached as if examining her for the first time,
was not yet quite the tender, loving expression she had so wished to evoke.
His expressive and large brown eyes were almost sad, though his perfectly
shaped lips curved in an infinitely gentle smile -- as if, the thought
intruded on Sallah´s delight in her progress, he did not wish to frighten
her.
        »So, Sallah,« he said in his rich low and sensual voice, »it is
you.«
        She knew she should interpret that cryptic remark, but then he
began to kiss her, his hands suddenly displaying an exceedingly erotic mind
of their own, and she no longer wished to interpret anything.

* * * * *

Four mares, three dolphins, and twelve cows produced their young at
precisely the same moment, or so the records for that dawn hour stood. Sean
had even agreed to allow Sorka to observe the birth of the foal designated
for him by Pol and Bay. He had maintained a pose of skepticism over the
color and sex of the creature although, three days previously, he had
already witnessed that the first of the draft animals produced for his
father´s group was exactly as requested, a sturdy bay mare with white socks
and a face blaze who had weighed over seventy kilos at birth and would be
the image of the long-dead Shire stallion whose sperm had begot her.
        Some wit had quipped that Landing´s records were turning into the
biblical begottens of Pern´s chronicle. In two years, the new generation
was well begun and increasing daily. Human births were less minutely
reported than the successes of animal kind, but at least as well
celebrated.
        Sheep and the Nubian strain of goats that had somehow adapted where
other tough breeds had failed grazed Landing´s meadows and would soon go to
farm-stake acres in the temperate belts of the southern continent. The
growing herds and flocks were patrolled by such a proliferation of
dragonets that the ecologists were becoming concerned that the animals
would lose their natural abilities to fend for themselves. The tame
dragonets were proving to be extraordinarily faithful to the humans who had
impressed them at hatching, even after their voracious appetites abated
with maturity and they were well able to forage on their own.
        The biology department was learning more about the little creatures
every day. Bay Harkenon and Pol Nietro had discovered a particularly
surprising phenomenon. When Bay´s little queen mated with a bronze that Pol
had impressed, the sensuality of their pets surprised them with its
intensity. They found themselves responding to the exciting stimulus in a
human fashion. After the initial shock, they came to a mutual conclusion
and took a larger residence together. Awed by the empathic potential of the
dragonets, Bay and Pol asked for, and got, Kitti Ping´s permission to try
mentasynth enhancement on the fourteen eggs that Bay´s Mariah had conceived
in her mating flight. They fussed considerably more over the little golden
Mariah than was necessary, but neither the dragonet nor her clutch
suffered. When Mariah produced her enhanced eggs in a specially constructed
facsimile of a beach, Bay and Pol were smugly pleased.
        Incorporation of mentasynth, which had originally been developed by
the Beltrae, a reclusive Eridani hive culture, sparked latent empathic
abilities. Dragonets had already demonstrated such an ability, amounting to
an almost telepathic communication with a few people. The dragonets were
clearly a remarkable evolutionary attempt which, like dolphins, had
produced an animal that understood its environment -- and controlled it.
So, inspired by the success of the dolphins´ mentasynth enhancement, Bay
and Pol hoped that the dragonets would come to an even closer empathy with
people.
        Initially, humans from Beltrae who had been »touched« were regarded
with great suspicion, of course, but as soon as their remarkable empathic
powers with animals and other people were realized, the technique became
widespread. Many groups eventually had valued healers whose abilities had
been amplified that way. Luckily, that all happened well before the Pure
Human group became powerful.
        From their studies of the tunnel snakes and wherries, Bay and Pol
had come to an appreciation of the potential of the charming and useful
dragonets. It had taken many experiments with dragonet tissues, and with
several generations of the little tunnel snakes, to incorporate the
mentasynth system successfully, but long time experience with such species
as dolphins -- and, of course, man -- paid off.
        Everyone in Landing had come to have a working knowledge of the
habits of the dragonets, biological as well as psychological, for there was
good cause to be grateful to the creatures and to tolerate their few
natural excesses. Theoretically, Bay had known that some of the owners
seemed to feel the »primitive urges« of the creatures: hunger, fear, anger,
and an intense mating imperative. She had simply never thought that she
would be as vulnerable as her younger colleagues. It had been an
exceedingly delightful surprise.
        Red and Mairi Hanrahan were thankful that Sorka and Sean had
impressed -- the word, meaning the act of imprinting a dragonet, had
somehow crept into the language -- dragonets that would not want to mate
with each other. They still did not approve of Sorka´s close attachment to
the boy and felt that she was too young to be subjected to irresistible
sensual urges.
        On that morning, nearly twelve months after Landing, the mare Sean
had chosen to produce his promised foal was laboring to give birth, there
was no doubt that Sorka, who had turned thirteen, and Sean two years older,
were in rapport with their eagerly anticipating dragonets. The two browns
and the bronze had perched on the top rail of the stable partition, their
eyes whirling with growing excitement as they crooned their birth song. The
little chestnut mare dropped to the straw to deliver the forelegs and head
of her foal. Above, the rafters of the barn seemed to ripple with its
temporary adornment of the dragonet population of Landing, crooning and
chirping continual encouragement.
        Dragonets were sentimental about births and missed none in Landing,
bugling in high-pitched tenor voices at each new arrival. Fortunately, they
discreetly remained outside human habitations. The colony´s obstetricians
had lately been working nonstop and had drafted the nurses and taken on
apprentices. An array of dragonets on a roof became an irrefutable sign of
impending birth: the dragonets were never wrong. The obstetricians could
gauge the labour progress by the growing intensity of the dragonets´
welcoming song. The chorus might deprive neighbors of sleep, but most of
the community took it in good humor. Even the most jaundiced had seen the
dragonets protecting the flocks and herds, and had to appreciate their
value.
        The chestnut mare heaved again, extruding the foal farther. Since
its legs, head, and forequarters were wet with birth fluids, Sean could not
distinguish the animal´s color. Then the rest of the body emerged,
followed, with a final push, by the hindquarters. There was no doubt that
he was not only darkly dappled but male. With a crow of incredulous joy,
Sean dropped to the little fellow´s head to mop it dry, even before the
mare could form her bond. Tears streaming down her dusty face, Sorka hugged
herself in joy. Dimly she heard the excited comments of the other animal
midwives sharing the large barn.
        »He´s the only colt,« her father said, returning to Sean and Sorka.
»As ordered.« Though the colony actually needed as many female animals as
it could breed, Sean´s preference for a colt had been duly considered. And
one local stallion would be a safeguard, though there were more than enough
varied sperms in reserve. »Grand fellow, though,« Red remarked, nodding his
head approvingly. »Make a good sixteen hands, if I´m any judge. A sturdy
nine stone, I´d say. Fine good fellow, and she bore him like a trooper.« He
stroked the neck of the little mare, who was licking the colt as he suckled
her with vigor. »Come now, Sorka,« he went on, seeing her tear-streaked
face. »I´ll keep my promise that you´ll have a horse, too.« He gave her a
reassuring hug.
        »I know you will, Da,« she said, burrowing into his chest. »I´m
crying because I´m so happy for Sean. He didn´t believe Bay, you know. Not
for one moment.«
        Red Hanrahan laughed softly, for it wouldn´t do for Sean to hear.
Not that the boy was aware of anything but the colt, twisting its stump of
a tail as if that would speed its suckling. For once, Sean´s customary
wary, often cynical expression had softened with amazed tenderness as he
devoured the colt with his eyes.
        After Sorka gave her father a hug for his assurances, she stepped
away from him, and her bronze glided down to her shoulder, chattering in a
happy social tone as he wrapped his tail possessively about her neck. Then
Duke leaned down Sorka´s chest, his eyes sparkling blue and green as he,
too, examined the new arrival closely. Encouraged, Sean´s brown pair
dropped to the lower rail of the foaling box, exchanging cheeps and chirps
with Duke.
        »You approve?« Sean asked them, grinning despite the challenge in
his tone.
        Bobbing their heads up and down vigorously, they extended wings,
each complaining that the other´s wing was in the way, then they flicked
their wings to their backs and assured Sean volubly that they approved. He
grinned back at them.
        »He´s a real beauty, Sean. Just what you wanted,« Sorka said.
        Unaccountably Sean shook his head, looking dubious. »Too young to
tell if he´ll match Cricket.«
        »Oh, you are the utter limit!« Sorka snapped angrily. She left the
box, nearly jamming the door rail as she closed it with considerable
vehemence.
        »What´d I say?« Sean demanded of Red Hanrahan.
        »I think you´ll have to figure that one out yourself, boyo!« Red
clapped him on the shoulder, torn between amusement and a certain concern
for his daughter. »Give the mare her feed before you leave will you, Sean?«
        As Red Hanrahan walked down the aisle, checking on the other new
arrivals, he considered Sorka´s behavior. She was thirteen but a
well-developed girl who had been menstruating for nearly a year. That she
doted on Sean was patent to everyone but Sean. He tolerated her. As did
Sean´s family. Mairi and Red had talked it over, wary of the boy´s
background though both Hanrahans acknowledged that it was time to discard
old attitudes and opinions.
        Sean, too, had made several notable concessions. Whether spurred by
competition with Sorka or mere male arrogance, he had improved his reading
and writing skills and frequently used a viewer to scan veterinary texts in
Red´s office. Red had carefully cultivated the boy´s interest and
encouraged him to help with the breeding stock. The boy unquestionably had
a way with animals, not just horses, though he ignored sheep altogether.
        »Sean says sheep are for stealing, trading, and eating,« Sorka told
her father when he had remarked on that exception.
        Mairi did worry occasionally that Sorka was inevitably partnered
with Sean when they were assigned together to the zoological expeditions.
But, as Sorka blithely explained, she got along with Sean, and they were
both more used to handling animals and wildlife than urban-bred young
people. As long as they did their obligatory share of work for the colony,
and enjoyed it, they were ahead of the game. Sean was also making more of a
contribution to Landing´s efforts than most of his people. It was just that
Sean and Sorka were becoming linked together in the collective Landing
mind, Mairi wistfully remarked one evening to Red. To his surprise, Red
found himself in the position of devil´s advocate. But then, like Sorka, he
had grown accustomed to Sean´s ways and knew what to ignore.
        Sorka´s exhibition of female exasperation that morning was the
first of its kind, to Red´s knowledge, and he wondered ruefully if her
patience with Sean´s obtuseness was exhausted, or if their relationship was
merely entering a new phase. Sorka had been given an appropriate
theoretical education in sexual relationships but until today had shown
only a patient acceptance of Sean´s behavior and eccentricities. He would
have to talk with Mairi. When he got the chance.
        »Red! Reeeeddd!« another veterinarian called in alarm.
        Red ran to consult. It was not until much later that night that he
remembered the problem of Sorka and Sean, but Mairi was already long asleep
and, as well as being in the second trimester of a pregnancy, she was
working hard enough in the creche to deserve her rest.

The westward jutting finger of the northern continent pointed directly at
the big island, which loomed lavender above the gray of the morning sea.
Avril had lifted off from the desert camp well before dawn, leaving a
message that she was taking a day off. The others would not mind, and she
was as tired of Ozzie Munson and Cobber Alhinwa as they were of her.
        Yesterday, the two miners had found some really good turquoise and
refused to tell her where, tantalizing her with brief glimpses of the very
fine sky-blue-banded rock. She had known when they came into camp the
previous evening that they were excited about the hunk that they were
tossing back and forth. She had merely asked to see it, and had allowed
herself to become irritated when the two miners had responded with secrecy.
She would have to be very cautious with those two, she thought. They
thought themselves so clever. Anyhow, turquoise, though valued for its
rarity on Earth, was not really worth the trouble of ingratiating herself
to those two jerks.
        Then, at supper, when they were still whispering between themselves
and glancing at her with sly smiles, she began to wonder if they had heard
something in particular to make them react as they had to her polite and
diffident query.
        She tried to remember if they had ever teamed up with Bart Lemos.
But he was at Andiyar´s ore mountain. He must, for once, have kept quiet
about the gold nuggets that he had been panning out of a mountain stream
above the camp. Obedient to the pact they had made on the Yoko, he had
given them to her to hide in her cache at Landing. She had not confided
much of her scheme to him, for, given a few mugs of quikal, Bart Lemos
would give anyone his life history.
        Maybe Stev Kimmer was not as good a choice of ally as she had
initially thought, hearing his sly and witty complaints during the last
year of that interminable journey to this god forsaken planet. He was more
attractive than the others; in fact, he was extremely attractive and, more
importantly, lusty, with a willingness to experiment that the much vaunted
Admiral Benden had never displayed. A bit of a bore in bed, our dear
admiral. Damn Paul Benden. Why had he turned so cool toward her? After all
those protestations of admiration and devotion. She had been so certain
that she had felt the marriage contract in her hand. Then, a scant year
away from their destination, when Rukbat had grown from a spark to a gleam
in the blackness of space, Benden had altered. He suddenly had had no time
for her at all. Well, he would find out what Avril Bitra was made of. And
then it would be too late.
        Colonizing had seemed like a good idea back on Earth when the
excitement of the Nathi War had died down. Any alternative, save First
Centauri, which everyone knew was controlled by the First Families and
founding companies, was no better than Earth or moldering at grade on a
lumbering merchantman. She had even toyed with the challenge of navigating
mining ships within the Belts until the Roosevelt Dome had exploded for no
apparent reason, killing all but a handful of the ten thousand inhabitants.
The chance to rule a new world had drawn her. Over the years, she had had
enough experience with psycho profiles to know how to control her pulse and
what answers to give to the asinine questions that were supposed to
separate truth from fiction. And so she had been accepted as astrogator for
the Pern expedition.
        But since she had failed to capture Paul Benden, who would be
Pern´s first leader-in her estimation, the less colorful Emily Boll would
be over shadowed by the more flamboyant admiral once they landed on Pern --
she had decided that living the rest of her life in obscurity at the end of
the Milky Way was insupportable. She was, after all, a competent astrogator
and, given a ship, charts, and a deep-sleep tank, she could make her way to
some other civilized and sophisticated planet that catered to the
life-style she wished to enjoy.
        She had begun with Stev Kimmer, partly just to ease the pain of
losing Paul Benden. When she had noticed that Bart Lemos managed to attach
himself to her whenever Stev was on duty, she encouraged him, too. Nabhi
Nabol joined the group one evening, along with several others. Bart and
Nabhi were pilots, each with a useful secondary skill: Bart in mining, and
Nabhi in computers. Stev was a mechanical engineer with an uncanny ability
to diagnose computer failures and rearrange chips to do twice the work they
had been designed to handle.
        For the plan taking shape in her mind, she assembled useful
cronies. Most were contractors like herself, or small-stake charters
beginning to feel that they had been shortchanged on their deals. In the
back of Avril´s mind was the notion that it would be fun to see if she
could foment sufficient discord to overthrow their benevolent leaders and
rule Pern on her own, instead of as Paul Benden´s consort. But that would
have to wait for a propitious moment once the colony had been settled in
and troubles began.
        So far, except for minor hitches, there had been no trouble of the
type that she could use for her purposes. Everyone was too busy scurrying
around, settling in, raising livestock, and zipping here and there looking
at real estate. She despised the colonists for being so enthusiastic about
the ghastly empty wasteland of a world, with its noisy wildlife and the
thousands of things that crawled, wriggled, or flew. There was not a decent
useful animal native to the entire planet and she was getting very tired of
eating fish or wherry, which sometimes tasted more like fish than what came
out of the sea. Even tank beef would have been an acceptable substitute.
        More and more her determination to leave this wretched backwater
world was reinforced. But she would leave it in style, and the hell with
the rest of them.
        Stev Kimmer was essential to that escape. He was constructing an
emergency beacon for her from parts he had »found« on the Yokohama; without
that essential piece of equipment, her scheme would have to be aborted.
Kimmer had to be kept on the mark, too, for when she wanted to appropriate
the captain´s gig.
        More important was his willingness to participate in her plan to
stake the right sections of the island to prospect for the gemstones that
she knew were there. Grandmama Shavva had left her single remaining
descendant a legacy that had to be grasped.
        Kimmer was to requisition a sled for seven days in a quite
legitimate search for a stake. He was supposed to imply that he was looking
about the southern continent. As a veteran of the Nathi War, he had twice
Avril´s allotment. That the charterers had more than any contractor,
including herself, the astrogator, who had delivered them safely to the
wretched place, was a fact that had never set well with her.
        Damn Munson and Alhinwa. They could have told her where they had
unearthed the turquoise. Pern was a virgin world, with metal and mineral
aplenty, untouched as yet by careless prospectors and greedy merchants.
There was plenty for everyone. Back on sophisticated worlds, any large,
well-colored hunks of that sky-blue stone would be snatched up by ardent
collectors -- the higher the asking price the more collectible!
        And why had she not heard from Nabhi? She suspected that he might
be trying to run a program of his own, instead of the one she had set. She
would have to watch that one: he was a devious sort. Much as she was. In
the long run, she had the upper hand, since she was the astrogator, and
Nabhi did not have the skills required to get home by himself. He had to
have her, but she did not have to have him -- unless it suited her. Nabol
was not as good overall for her purposes as Kimmer was, but he would do in
a pinch.
        She had almost bridged the distance between continent and island
and could see waves lashing the granite rock. She veered to port looking
for the mouth of the natural harbor where the long-dead survey team had
made camp. She had told Kimmer to meet her there. She felt better about
being someplace that had already been occupied. She could not stand
listening to the idiot colonists going on and on about being »first« to see
that or »first« to step there, or the naming arguments that continually
dominated conversation night after night around the bonfire. Shit in
Drake´s Lake! Fatuous ass! Lousy gravity-ball player!
        She corrected her course as she spotted the two natural spurs of
rock that formed a breakwater to the roughly oval natural harbor. Kimmer
would have hid the sled anyhow just in case . . . She caught herself and
snorted in sour amusement. As if anyone on this goody-good world is
checking up on anyone else! »We are all equal here.« Our brave and noble
leaders have so ordained it. With equal rights to share in Pern´s wealth.
You just bet. Only I´ll get my equal share before anyone else and shake
this planet´s dirt off my boots!
        Just as she passed over the breakwater, she saw the glint of metal
under the lush foliage to starboard on a ledge above the sandy shore-line.
Nearby was the smoke of Kimmer´s small fire. She landed her sled neatly
beside his.
        »You were right about this place, baby,« he greeted her, a closed
fist upraised and shaken in victory. »I got here yesterday afternoon, good
tail wind all the way, so I did a decco. And see what I found first thing!«
        »Let me see,« she said, displaying a bright breathless eagerness,
though she did not at all like his presumptive solo explorations.
        He smiled broadly as he slowly opened his fingers and let his hand
drop so that she could see the large gray rock he held. Her eagerness
drained with discouragement until he turned the stone just slightly and she
caught the unmistakable glint of green, half buried in one end.
        »Fardles!« She snatched the stone from his hand and whirled to the
sun, which had risen over the ocean by then. She wet her finger and rubbed
at the green glint.
        »I also found this,« Kimmer said.
        Looking up, she saw him holding a squarish green stone the size of
a spoon bowl, rough-edged where it had been prized from a limestone cavity.
        She almost threw away the rock with its still-bidden treasure in
her eagerness to take the rough emerald from him. She held it to the sun
and saw the flaw, but had no complaint about the clear deep green. She
weighed it in her hand. Why, it had to be thirty or forty carats. With
clever lapidary to cut beyond the flaw, there would be fifteen carats of
gemstone. And if that stone was just a sample . . . The idea of
apprenticing as a gemstone cutter and using that magnificent jewel to learn
on amused her.
        »Where?« she demanded, her breath constricted with urgency?
        »Over there.« He half turned, pointing up into the thick
vegetation. »There´s a whole cave of them embedded in the rock.«
        »You just walked in and it winked at you?« She forced herself to
speak lightly, amusedly, smiling up approvingly at his beaming face. He
looked so bloody pleased with himself. She continued to smile but ground
her teeth.
        »I´ve klah for you,« he said, gesturing to the fire where he had
rigged a spit and a protecting rock for his kettle.
        »That abominable stuff,« she exclaimed. She had a fleet-incurred
preference for strong coffee, and the last had been served at that pathetic
Thanksgiving shindig -- and spilled when the tremor had shaken the urns
from their stands. The last coffee from Earth had seeped, undrunk, into the
dirt of Pern.
        »Oh, if you use enough sweetening, it´s not all that bad.« He
poured her a cup even though she had not said that she wanted one. »They
say it´s got as much caffeine in it as coffee or tea. The secret´s in
drying the bark thoroughly before grinding and steeping it.
        He had lashed sweetener into the cup and handed it to her,
expecting her to be grateful for his thoughtfulness. She could not afford
to alienate Kimmer even if he sounded revoltingly like a good little
colonist, approving of good colonial substitutes.
        »Sorry, Stev,« the said, smiling apologetically at him as she took
the cup. »Early morning nerves. I really do miss coffee.«
        He gave a shrug. »We won´t for long, now, will we?«
        She kept her smile in place, wondering if he knew how inane he
sounded. Then, she cautioned herself severely, if she had only been more
careful with Paul, she might have been first lady on Pern. What had she
done wrong? She could have sworn she would be able to maintain his interest
in her. All had gone perfectly right up until they entered the Rukbat
system. Then it had been as if she no longer existed. And I got them here!
        »Avril?«
        She came back to the present at the impatience in Stev Kimmer´s
voice. »Sorry!« she said.
        »I said that I´ve already got food for the day, so as soon as you
finish that we can go.«
        She tipped her cup, watching the dark liquid momentarily stain the
white sand. She jiggled the cup to scatter the last drops, put it upside
down by the fire like a good little colonist, and rose to her feet, smiling
brightly at Kimmer. »Well, let´s go!«

PART TWO
Thread

4.5.08 Pern
Perhaps it was because people were so accustomed to dragonets after nearly
eight years of close association that they no longer paid much attention to
the creatures´ behavior. Those who noticed their unusual antics thought
that the dragonets were merely playing some sort of a new game, for they
were inventively amusing. Later people would remember that the dragonets
attempted to herd the flocks and herds back to the barns. Later marine
rangers would remember that the bottlenoses Bessie, Lottie, and Maximilian
had urgently tried to explain to their human friends why the indigenous
marine life was rushing eastward to a food source.
        At her home in Europe Square, Sabra Ongola-Stein actually thought
that Fancy, the family dragonet, was attacking her three-year-old son at
play in the yard. The little gold was grabbing at Shuvin´s shirt,
attempting to haul him from his sandpile and his favorite toy truck. As
soon as Sabra had rescued the boy, batting at Fancy, the dragonet had
hovered over her, cheeping with relief. It was puzzling behavior to be
sure, but, though the fabric of the shirt was torn, Sabra could see no
marks on Shuvin´s flesh from the dragonet talons. Nor was Shuvin crying. He
merely wanted to go back to his truck while Sabra wanted to change his
shirt.
        To her utter surprise, Fancy tried to duck into the house with
them, but Sabra got the door closed in time. As she leaned against it
catching her breath, she noticed through the rear window that other
dragonets were acting in the most peculiar fashion. She was some-what
reassured by the fact that there had never been reports of dragonets
hurting people, even in the ardor of mating, but that did not seem to be
what was agitating them, because greens were wheeling as frantically as the
other colors. Greens always got out of the way when a gold was mating. And
it was certainly the wrong time for Fancy to be in season.
        As Sabra changed Shuvin´s shirt, deftly handling the little boy´s
squirms, she realized that the cries that penetrated the thick plastic
walls of the house sounded frightened. Sabra knew the usual dragonets
sounds as well as anyone in Landing. What could they be frightened of?
        The large flying creature -- perhaps a very big wherry -- that had
been occasionally spotted soaring near the Western Barrier Range would be
unlikely to range so far east. What other danger could there be on a fine
early spring morning? That smudge of gray cloud far off on the horizon
suggested rain later on in the day, but that would be good for the crops
already sprouting in the grain fields. Maybe she should get the clothes in
off the line. Sometimes she missed the push-button conveniences that back
on old Earth had eliminated the drudgery of monotonous household tasks. Too
bad that the council never considered requiring miscreants to do domestic
duties as punishment for disorderly conduct. She pulled Shuvin´s shirt down
over his trousers, and he gave her a moist, loving kiss.
        »Truck, Mommie, truck? Now?«
        His wistful question made her aware, suddenly, of the silence, of
the absence of the usual cheerful cacophony of dragonet choruses which was
the background to daily life in Landing and in nearly every settlement
across the southern continent. Such a complete silence was frightening.
Startled, restraining Shuvin who wanted urgently to get back out and play
in the sand, Sabra peered out the back window, then through the plasglas
behind her. She saw not a dragonet in sight. Not even on Betty
Musgrave-Blake´s house where there had been the usual natal congregation.
Betty was expecting her second child; and Sabra had seen Basil, the
obstetrician, arriving with Greta, his very capable apprentice midwife.
        Where were the dragonets? They never missed a birth.
        As well established as Landing was, one was still supposed to
report anything unusual on Pern. She tried Ongola´s number on the comm
unit, but it was engaged. While she was using the handset, Shuvin reached
his grubby hand up to the door pull and slid it open, with a mischievous
grin over his shoulder at his mother as he performed that new skill. She
smiled her acquiescence as she tapped out Bay s number. The zoologist might
know what was amiss with her favorite critters.

Well east and slightly south of Landing, Sean and Sorka were hunting wherry
for Restday meals. As the human settlements spread, foragers were having to
go farther afield for game.
        »They´re not even trying to hunt, Sorka,« Sean said, scowling.
»They´ve spent half the morning arguing. Fardling fools.« He lifted one
muscular brown arm in an angry gesture to his eight dragonets. »Shape up,
you winged wimps. We´re here to hunt!«
        He was ignored as his veteran browns seemed to be arguing with the
mentasynths, most aggressively with Sean´s queen, Blazer. That was
extraordinary behavior: Blazer, who had been genetically improved by Bay
Harkenon´s tinkering, was usually accorded the obedience that any of the
lesser colors granted the fertile gold females.
        »Mine, too,« Sorka said, nodding as her own five joined Sean´s.
»Oh, jays, they´re coming for us! »Slackening her reins, she began to
tighten her legs around her bay mare but stopped when she saw Sean,
wheeling Cricket to face the oncoming dragonets, hold up an imperious hand.
She was even more startled to see the dragonets assume an attack formation,
their cries clamors of unspeakable fright and danger.
        »Danger? Where?« Sean spun Cricket around on his haunches, a trick
that Sorka had never been able to teach Doove despite Sean´s assistance and
her own endless patience. He searched the skies and stayed Cricket as the
dragonets solidly turned their heads to the east.
        Blazer landed on his shoulder, swirling her tail about his neck and
left bicep, and shrieked to the others. Sean was amazed at the interaction
he sensed. A queen taking orders from browns? But he was distracted as her
thoughts became vividly apprehensive.
        »Landing in danger?« he asked. »Shelter?«
        Once Sean had spoken, Sorka understood what her bronzes were trying
to convey to her. Sean was always quicker to read the mental images of his
enhanced dragonets, especially those of Blazer, who was the most coherent.
Sorka had often wished for a golden female, but she loved her bronzes and
brown too much to voice a complaint.
        »That´s what they all give me, too,« Sorka said, as her five began
to tug various parts of her clothing. Though Sean could hunt bare to the
waist, she bobbled too much to ride topless comfortably; her sleeveless
leather vest provided support, as well as protection from the claw holds of
the dragonets. Bronze Emmett settled on Doove´s poll long enough to secure
a grip on one ear and the forelock, trying to pull the mare´s head around.
        »Something big, something dangerous, and shelter!« Sean said,
shaking his head. »It´s only a thunderstorm, fellas. Look, just a cloud!«
        Sorka frowned as she looked eastward. They were high enough, on the
plateau to have just a glimpse of the sea.
        »That´s a funny-looking cloud formation, Sean. I´ve never seen
anything like it. More like the snowclouds we´d have now and again in
Ireland.«
        Sean scowled and tightened his legs. Cricket, picking up on the
dragonets´ urgent fears, pranced tensely in place in the piaffe he had been
taught, but it was clear that he would break into a mad gallop the minute
Sean gave him his head. The stallion´s eyes were rolling white in distress
as he snorted. Doove, too, was fretting, spurred by Emmett´s peculiar
urgency.
        »Doesn´t snow here, Sorka, but you´re right about the color and
shape. By jays, whatever it´s raining, it´s damned near visible. Rain here
doesn´t fall like that.«
        Duke and Sean´s original two browns saw it and shrieked in utter
frustration and terror. Blazer trumpeted a fierce command. The next thing
Sean and Sorka knew, both horses had been spurred by well placed dragonet
stabs across their rumps into a headlong stampede which the massed fair of
dragonets aimed north and west. Rein, leg, seat, or voice had no effect on
the two pain-crazed horses, for when ever they tried to obey their riders,
they got another slash from the vigilant dragonets.
        »Whatinell´s got into them?« Sean cried, hauling on the hackamore
that he used in place of a bit in Cricket´s soft mouth. »I´ll break his
bloody nose for him, I will.«
        »No, Sean,« Sorka cried, leaning into her mare´s forward plunge.
»Duke´s terrified of that cloud. All of mine are. They´d never hurt the
horses! We´d be fools to ignore them.«
        »As if we could!«
        The horses were diving headlong down a ravine. Sean needed all his
skill to stay on Cricket, but his mind sensed Blazer´s relief that she had
succeeded in moving them toward safety.
        »Safety from what?« he muttered in a savage growl, hating the
feeling of impotence on an animal that had never disobeyed him in its seven
years, an animal that he had thought he understood better than any human on
the whole planet.
        The headlong pace did not falter, even when Sean felt the gray
stallion, fit as he was, begin to tire. The dragonets drove both horses
onward, straight toward one of the small lakes that dotted that part of the
continent.
        »Why water, Sean?« Sorka cried, sitting back and hauling on Doove´s
mouth. When the mare willingly slowed, Duke and the other two bronzes
screamed a protest and once again gouged her bleeding rump.
        Neighing and white-eyed with fear, the mare leapt into the water
nearly unseating her rider. The stallion plunged beside her, galled by the
spurred talons of Sean´s dragonets.
        The lake, a deep basin collecting the runoff from the nearby hills,
had little beach and the horses were soon swimming, determinedly herded by
the dragonets toward the rocky overhang on the far side. Sean and Sorka had
often sunbathed on that ledge; they enjoyed diving from their high perch
into the deep water below.
        »The ledge? They want us under the ledge? The water´s fardling deep
there.«
        »Why?« Sorka still asked. »It´s only rain coming.« She was swimming
beside Doove, one hand on the pommel of her saddle, the other holding the
reins, letting the mare´s efforts drag her forward. »Where´d they all go?«
        Sean, swimming alongside Cricket, turned on his side to look back
the way they had come. His eyes widened. »That´s not rain. Swim for it,
Sorka! Swim for the ledge!«
        She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw what had startled the
usually imperturbable young man. Terror lent strength to her arm; tugging
on the reins, she urged Doove to greater efforts. They were nearly to the
ledge, nearly to what little safety that offered from the hissing silver
fall that splatted so ominously across the woods they had only just left.
        »Where are the dragonets?« Sorka wailed as she crossed into the
shadow of the ledge. She tugged at Doove, trying to drag the mare in behind
her.
        »Safer where they are, no doubt!« Sean sounded bitterly angry as he
forced Cricket under the ledge. There was just room enough for the horses´
heads to remain above the level of the water, but there was no purchase for
their flailing legs.
        Suddenly both horses ceased resisting their riders and began to
press Sean and Sorka against the inner wall, whinnying in abject terror.
        »Jack your legs up, Sorka! Balance against the inside wall!« Sean
shouted, demonstrating.
        Then they heard the hiss on the water. Peering around the
frightened horses´ heads, they could actually see the long, thin threads
plunging into the water. The lake was suddenly roiling and cut every which
way with the fins of the minnows that had been seeded in the streams.
        »Jays! Look at that!« Sean pointed excitedly to a small jet of
flame just above the lake´s surface that charred a large tangle of the
stuff before it landed in the water.
        »Over there, too!« Sorka said, and then they heard the agitated but
exultant chatter of dragonets. Crowded back under the ledge, they caught
only fleeting glimpses of dragonets and the unexpected flames.
        All at once Sorka remembered that long-ago day when she had first
witnessed the dragonets defending the poultry flocks. She had been certain
then that Duke had flamed at a wherry. »That happened before, Sean,« Sorka
said, her fingers slipping on his wet shoulder as she grabbed at it to get
his attention. »Somehow they breathe fire. Maybe that´s what the second
stomach is for.«
        »Well, I´m glad they weren´t cowards,« Sean muttered, cautiously
propelling himself to the opening. »No,« he said in a relieved voice,
expelling a big sigh. »They´re by no means cowards. C´mere, Sorka.
        Glancing anxiously at Doove, Sorka joined Sean and cried out with
surprised elation. Their fair of dragonets had been augmented by a mass of
others. The little warriors seemed to take turns diving at the evil
rainfall, their spouts of flame reducing the terror to char, which fell as
ashes to the surface of the lake, where quick fish mouths gobbled it up.
        »See, Sorka, the dragonets are protecting this ledge.«
        Sorka could see the menacing rain falling unimpeded to the lake on
either side of the dragonet fire zone.
        »Jays, Sean, look what it does to the bushes!« She pointed to the
shoreline. The thick clumps of tough bushes they had ridden through only
moments before were no longer visible, covered by a writhing mass of
»things« that seemed to enlarge as they watched. Sorka felt sick to her
stomach, and only intense concentration prevented her from heaving her
breakfast up. Sean had gone white about the mouth. His hands, moving
rhythmically to keep him in position in the water, clenched into fists.
        »No bleeding wonder the dragonets were scared.« He smashed impotent
fists into the water, sending ripples out. Sorka´s Duke appeared instantly,
hovering just outside and peering in. He waited just long enough to squeak
a reassurance, and then literally disappeared. »Well, now,« Sean said. »If
I were Pol Nietro, I´d call that instantaneous flit of theirs the best
defense mechanism a species could develop.« A long thread slithered from
the ledge and hung a moment in front of their horrified eyes before a flame
charred it.
        Revolted, Sean splashed water on the remains, whisking the floating
motes away from Sorka and himself. Behind them the horses breathing showed
signs of real distress.
        »How long?« Sean said, gliding over to Cricket´s head and soothing
the horse with his hands. »How long?«

It is not mating activity,« Bay told Sabra when she called, »and it is a
totally irrational pattern of behavior.« Her mind riding through all she
knew and had observed about the dragonets, Bay continued to peer out her
window. As she watched, a sled lifted from a parking spot near the met
tower, and it headed at full speed toward the storm. »Let me check my
behavioral files and have a word with Pol. I´ll call you back. It really is
most unusual.«
        Pol was working on the vegetable patch behind their home. He saw
her coming and waved cheerfully, tipping back his visored cap and mopping
his brow. The garden soil had been carefully enriched and enhanced by a
variety of Terran beetles and worms that were as happy to aerate the soil
of Pern as of Earth and augmented the local, lazier kinds. Bay saw Pol
stop, his hand in midwipe, and stare about him; she guessed he had only
then noticed the absence of the dragonets.
        »Where´ve they all gone?« He glanced toward other residential
squares and Betty´s empty roof. »That was sudden, wasn´t it?«
        »Sabra´s just been on to me. She said their Fancy appeared to
attack little Shuvin. For no reason, although her claws did not pierce the
skin. Fancy then attempted to enter the house with them. Sabra said she
sounded frightened.«
        Pol raised his eyebrows in surprise and continued to wipe his brow
and then the hat band before recovering his head. Leaning on his hoe, he
glanced all around. It was then that he saw the gray cloud.
        »Don´t like the look of that, m´luv,« he said. »I´ll take a bit of
a break until it blows over.« He smiled at her. »While we access your notes
on the menta-breed. Fancy´s a menta, not a native.«
        Suddenly the air was full of shrieking, screaming, bugling, and
very frightened dragonets.
        »Where have they been, the little pests?« Pol demanded, snatching
off his cap to wave it furiously in front of his face. »Faugh! They stink!«
        Bay pinched her nostrils, hurrying toward the refuge of the house.
»They do, indeed. Positively sulfurous.«
        Six dragonets detached themselves from the swirling hundreds and
dove for Bay and Pol, battering at their backs and screeching to hurry them
forward.
        »I do believe they´re driving us into the house, Pol,« Bay said.
When she stopped to study the eccentric behavior, her queen grabbed a lock
of her hair, and the two bronzes secured holds on the front of her tunic,
pulling her forward. Their cries grew more frantic. »I believe you´re
correct. And they´re doing it to others, too.«
        »I´ve never seen so many dragonets. We don´t normally have such a
concentration here,« Bay went on, cooperating to the point of a lumbering
jog trot. »Most of them are wilds! Look how much smaller some queens are. A
preponderance of greens as well. Fascinating.«
        »Extremely,« Pol remarked, mildly amused that the dragonets who
were their particular friends had entered the house and were cooperating in
a joint effort to close the door behind the humans. »Most remarkable.«
        Bay was already sitting down at the terminal. »Patently, it´s
something harmful to them as well as to us.«
        »I´d prefer them to settle,« Pol said. Their dragonets were
flitting about the lounge and into the bedroom, the bathroom, and even the
addition to the house that had been made into a small but well equipped
home laboratory for the two scientists. »This is a bit much. Bay, tell your
queen to settle, and the others will follow suit.«
        »Tell her yourself, Pol, while I access the behavioral program.
She´ll obey you as well as me.«
        Pol attempted to coax Mariah to land on his arm. But the moment she
touched down she was off again, and the others after her. A tidbit of her
favorite fish was ignored. Pol was no longer amused. He looked out the
window to see if others were experiencing the same mass hysteria and
noticed that the squares had been cleared of people. He could see clouds of
dust over by the veterinary barns, and the dark dashes of dragonets
attempting to herd the animals. He could also hear the distant discord of
frightened beasts.
        »There had better be an explanation for this,« he murmured, pausing
behind Bay to read the screen. »My word, look at Betty´s house!« He pointed
over the screen and out the window toward a structure fully clothed in
dragonets. »My God, should I call them to see if they need help?«
        When he put his hand out to reach for the door pull, Mariah,
screaming with anger, dove at his hand and pushed it away, scratching him.
        »Don´t go, Pol. Don´t go out, Pol! Look!«
        Bay had half risen from her chair and remained frozen in the
semicrouch, a look of utter horror on her face. As Pol threw a protective
arm about her shoulders, they both heard the hiss of the terrible rain that
fell on Landing. They could see the individual elongated raindrops« strike
the surface, sometimes meeting only dust, other times writhing about the
shrubs and grasses, which disappeared, leaving behind engorged sluglike
forms that rapidly attacked anything green in their way. Pol´s nicely
sprouting garden became a waste of squirming grayish »things,« bloating
larger within seconds on each new feast.
        Mariah let out a raucous call and disappeared from the house. The
other five dragonets followed instantly.
        »I don´t believe what I saw,« Pol said in an amazed whisper.
»They´re teleporting in droves, almost formations. So the telekinesis was
developed as a survival technique first. Hmm.«
        The hideous rain had advanced, spreading its mindless burden behind
and inexorably falling across Pol´s neatly patterned stone-work patio
toward the house.
        »They can´t devour stone,« Pol remarked with clinical detachment.
»I trust our silicon plastic roof provides a similar deterrent.«
        »The dragonets have more than one unexplored skill, Pol, my dear,«
Bay said proudly and pointed.
        Outside, their dragonets were swooping and soaring, breathing flame
to incinerate the attacking life-form before it could reach the house.
        »I would be happier if I knew the things could not penetrate
plastic,« Pol repeated with a slight tremor in his voice, looking up at the
opaque roof. He winced and hunched in self-protection as he heard a
slithering impact, then another, then saw the flame spurt briefly in gouts
across the dark roof material.
        »Well, that´s a relief,« he said, straightening his shoulders.
        »They did strike the roof, however, until the dragonets, bless
their little hearts, set them ablaze.« Bay peered out the window facing
Betty Musgrave-Blake´s house. »My word! Look at that!«
        The house seemed to be ringed by fiery whirls and gouts as an
umbrella of dragonets frantically made certain that not a single piece of
the grotesque rain reached the home of a woman in labor.
        Pol had the presence of mind to collect his binoculars from the
clutter on a shelf. He turned them on the fields and the veterinary sheds.
»I wonder if they´ll protect our livestock. There´re too many animals to
get all safely under shelter. But dragonets do seem to be massing in that
area.«
        Keenly interested in the safety of the herds and flocks they had
helped to create, Pol and Bay took turns watching. Bay suddenly dropped the
glasses, shuddering as she passed them wordlessly to Pol . She had been
shocked by the sight of a full-grown cow reduced in a few moments to a
seared corpse covered by masses of writhing strings. Pol altered the focus
and then groaned in helpless dismay, dropping the binoculars.
        »Deadly, they are. Voracious, insatiable. It would appear they
consume anything organic,« he murmured. Taking a deep, resolute breath, he
raised the binoculars again. »And, unfortunately, to judge by the marks on
the roofs of some of those shelters we put up first, carbon-based plastics,
too.«
        »Oh, dear. That could be terrible. Could this be a regional
phenomenon?« Bay asked, her voice still trembling. »There were those odd
circles on the vegetated areas, the ones in the original survey fax . . .
Turning away from the disaster, she sat down at the keyboard and, clearing
the screen, began to call up files.
        »I hope no one is foolish enough to go out after those last few
cows and sheep, Pol said, an edge to his voice. »I hope they got all the
horses in safely. The new equine strain is too promising to lose, even to a
ravening disaster.«
        Almost as an afterthought the alarm klaxon on the meteorology tower
began to bleat.
        »Now that´s a bit after the fact, old fellow,« Pol said, turning to
focus the binoculars on the tower. He could see Ongola in the tower holding
a rag against his cheek. The sled that had gone out to investigate the
storm was parked so close to the tower entrance that Pol guessed that
Ongola had probably dived directly from sled to the tower door.
        »No, the sound carries and sets off the relays,« Bay said absently
as her fingers flew over the keys.
        »Ah, yes, I´d forgot that. Quite a few people went out on hunting
parties this morning, you know.«
        Bay´s quick fingers stilled, and she turned slowly in the swivel
chair to stare at Pol, her face ashen.
        »There now, old dear, so many people have dragonets now, and at
least one of the smarter mentas you developed.« He crossed to her and gave
her a reassuring pat on the head. »They´ve done a first-class job of
warning and protecting us. Ah! Listen!«
        There was no mistaking the exultant warble of the dragonets that
always heralded a birth. Despite the bizarre disaster occurring on Pern at
that moment, a new life had entered it. The welcome did not however,
interfere with the protective net of flame about the house.
        »The poor baby! To be born now!« Bay mourned. Her plump cheeks were
drawn, her eyes sunken in her face.

Heedless of the stinging pain on the left side of his face, Ongola kept one
finger on the klaxon even as he began calling out to the other stations on
the network.
        »Mayday! Mayday! Mayday at Landing! Take shelter! Get livestock
under cover! Extreme danger. Shelter all living things.« He shuddered,
recalling the horrific sight of two wayward sheep consumed in an eye-blink
by the descending vileness. »Shelter under rock, metal, in water! An
unnatural rain heading westward in uneven fall. Deadly! Deadly! Shelter.
Mayday from Landing. Mayday from Landing. Mayday from Landing!« Drops of
blood from his head and neck dripped in punctuation to his terse phrases.
»Cloud unnatural. Rainfall deadly. Mayday from Landing! Take shelter!
Mayday. Mayday.«
        His own home was barely visible through the sheeting fall, but he
did see the gouts of flame above those houses in Landing still occupied. He
accepted the amazing reality of the thousands of dragonets massing to
assist their human friends, of the living, flaming shield over Betty
Musgrave-Blake´s home, of the multitude swirling above the veterinary sheds
and the pastures, and he remembered that Fancy had tried to fly into the
window where he had been sitting out his watch. When he had suddenly
realized that none of the meteorological devices were registering the cloud
mass approaching steadily from the east, he had phoned Emily at her home.
        »Go have a look, Ongola. Looks like just a good stiff equinoctial
squall, but if the water-vapor instruments are not registering, you´ better
check the wind speed and see if there´s hail or sleet in the clouds.
There´re hunters and fishers out today, as well as farmers.«
        Ongola had gotten close enough to the cloud to register its unusual
composition -- and to see the damage it did. He tried to raise Emily on the
sled´s comm unit. When that did not work, he tried to reach Jim Tillek at
Harbor Control. But he had taken the nearest sled, a small fast one that
did not have the sophisticated equipment the bigger ones did. He tried
every number he could think of and only reached Kitti, who generally stayed
in her home, frail in her tenth decade despite prostheses that gave her
some mobility.
        »Thank you for the warning, Ongola. A prudent person is well
advised. I will contact the veterinary sheds for them to get the livestock
under cover. A hungry rain?«
        Ongola had thrown the little sled to its maximum speed, hoping that
there was enough power in the packs to withstand such a drain. The sled
responded, but he only just made it back to the tower, the engine dying
just as he touched ground.
        The stuff pelted down on the sled canopy. He had not managed to
outrun the leading edge. He grabbed the flight-plan board, an inadequate
shield from the deadly rain but better than nothing. Taking a deep breath,
he punched auto-close, then ducked out. He took three long strides, more
jump than run, and made it to the tower door just as a tangle descended.
The tilted edge of the board deflected the stuff right onto the unprotected
left side of his head. Screaming with pain, Ongola batted the stuff from
his ear just as a dragonet came flaming up to his assistance. Ongola
shouted a »Thanks« for the dragonet´s aid as he threw himself inside and
slammed the door. Automatically he threw the bolt, snorting at useless
instinct, and took the steps to the tower in twos and threes.
        The stinging pain continued, and he felt something oozing down his
neck. Blood! He blotted at the injury with his handkerchief, noticing that
the blood was mixed with black fragments, and he became aware of the stench
of burned wool. The dragonet´s breath had scorched his sweater.
        The warning delivered, he was flipping on the recording when a
second stinging pain on his left shoulder made him glance down. He saw the
front end of a waving strand that did not look at all like wool. The pain
seemed to accompany the strand. He had never undressed as fast as he did
then. And he was just fast enough: the strand had become thicker and was
moving with more rapidity and purpose. Even as he watched in horror at his
close escape, the wool was ingested, and the grotesque, quivering segment
left in its place filled him with revulsion.
        Water! He reached for both the water pitcher and the klah thermos
and emptied them over the . . . the thing. Writhing and bubbling, it slowly
subsided into a soggy inert mass. He stamped on it with as much
satisfaction as he had felt destroying Nathi surface positions.
        Then he looked at his shoulder and saw the thin bloodied line
scored in his flesh by his close encounter with that deadly piece of
thread. A convulsive shudder took hold of his body, and he had to grab a
chair to keep from falling to his knees.
        The comm unit began to bleat at him. Taking several deep breaths he
got to his feet and back on duty.

Thanks for the klaxon, Ongola. We had just time enough to batten down the
hatches. Knew the critters were telling us something but howinell could we
guess that?« Jim Tillek reported from the bridge of the Southern Star.
»Thank the powers that be, our ships are all siliplex.«
        Monaco Bay harbor office reported overturned small craft and was
instigating rescues.
        The infirmary reported that human casualties in and about Landing
had been minimal: mainly dragonet scratches. They had the dragonets to
thank for saving lives.
        Red Hanrahan at Vet said that they had lost fifty to sixty assorted
livestock of the breeding herds pastured about Landing, thanking the good
fortune of having just shipped out three hundred calves, lambs, kids, and
piglets to new homes the previous month. There were however, large numbers
at nearby stakes that did not have stabling facilities and were in the path
of the abominable rain. Red added that all of the animals left loose to
graze could be considered lost.
        Two of the larger fishing vessels reported severe burn injuries for
those who had not made it under cover in time. One of the Hegelman boys had
jumped overboard and drowned when the things landed in a clump on his face.
Maximilian, escorting the Perseus, had been unable to save him. The dolphin
had added that native marine life was swarming to the surface, fighting
over the drowning wrigglers. He himself did not much like the things: no
substance.
        Messages were rapidly stacking up on Ongola´s board; he rang Emily
to send him some assistance.
        The captain of Maid of the Sea, fishing to the north, wanted to
know what was happening. The skies about him were clear to the southern
horizon. Patrice de Broglie, stationed out at Young Mountain with the
seismic team, asked if he should send his crew back. There had been only a
few rumbles in the past weeks, though there were some interesting changes
in the gravity meter graphs. Ongola told him to send back as many as he
could, not wanting to think what might have happened to homesteads in the
path of that malevolent Threadfall.
        Bonneau phoned in from Drake´s Lake, where it was still night and
very clear. He offered to send a contingent.
        Sallah Telgar-Andiyar got through from Karachi Camp and said that
assistance was already on its way. How widespread was the rain? she wanted
to know.
        Ongola shunted all those calls when the first of the nearby
settlements reported.
        »If it hadn´t been for those dragonets,« said Aisling Hempenstahl
of Bordeaux, »we´d all be -- have been eaten alive.« Her swallow was
audible. »Not a green thing to be seen, and all the livestock gone. Except
the cow the dragonets drove into the river, and she´s a mess.«
        »Any casualties?«
        »None I can´t take care of myself, but we´ve little fresh food. Oh,
and Kwan wants to know do you need him at Landing?«
        »I´d say yes, indeed we do,« Ongola replied fervently. Then he
tried again to raise the Du Vieux, the Radelins, the Grant van Toorns, the
Ciottis, and the Holstroms. »Keep trying these, Jacob.« He passed the list
over to Jacob Chernoff, who had brought three young apprentices to help.
»Kurt, Heinrich, try the River numbers, Calusa, Cambridge, and Vienna.«
Ongola called Lilienkamp at Stores. »Joel, how many checked out for hunting
today?«
        »Too many, Ongola, too many.« The tough Joel was weeping.
        »Including your boys?«
        Joel´s response was the barest whisper. »Yes.«
        »I am sorry to hear that, Joel. We´ve organized searches. And the
boys have dragonets.«
        »Sure, but look how many it took the protect Landing!´´ His voice
rose shrilly.
        »Sir.« Kurt tugged urgently at Ongola´s bare elbow. »One of the
sleds -- «
        »I´ll get back to you, Joel.« Ongola took the call from the sled.
        »Yes?«
        »Whaddya do to kill this stuff, Ongola?« Ziv Marchane´s anguished
cry sent a stab of pure terror and fury to Ongola´s guts.
        »Cautery, Ziv. Who is it?«
        »What´s left of young Joel Lilienkamp.«
        »Bad?«
        »Very.«
        Ongola paused and closed his eyes tightly for a moment, remembering
the two sheep. »Then give him mercy!«
        Ziv broke the connection, and Ongola stared at the console,
paralyzed. He had given mercy several times, too many times, during the
Nathi War when his men had been blown apart after Nathi hits on his
destroyer. The practice was standard procedure in surface engagement. One
never left one´s wounded to Nathi mercy. Mercy, yes, it was mercy to do so.
Ongola had never thought that necessity would ever arise again.
        Paul Benden´s vibrant voice broke through his pained trance. »What
in hell´s happening, Ongola?«
        »Wish the hell I knew, Admiral.« Ongola shook his head and then
gave him a precise report and a list of casualties, known or suspected.
        »I´m coming in.« Paul had staked his claim on the heights above the
delta on the Boca River. It would soon be dawn there. »I´ll check other
stakes on the way in.«
        »Pol and Kitti want samples if they can be safely got -- of the
stuff in the air. It scores holes through thin materials, so be sure to use
heavy gauge metal or siliplex. We´ve got enough of what ate our fields
bare. I´ve sent all our big sleds out to track the frigging Fall. Kenjo´s
flying in from Honshu in that augmented speeder of his. The stuff just came
out of nowhere, Paul, nowhere!«
»Didn´t register on anything? No? Well, we´ll check it all out.«
        The absolute confidence in Paul Benden´s voice was a tonic for
Ongola. He had heard that same note all through the Cygnus Battle and he
took heart.
        He needed it. Before Paul Benden arrived late that afternoon, the
casualties had mounted to a frightening total. Only three of the twenty who
had gone hunting that morning had returned: Sorka Hanrahan, Sean Connell,
and David Catarel, who had watched, helpless, from the water as his
companion, Lucy Tubberman, dissolved under the rain on the riverbank
despite the frantic efforts of their dragonets. He had deep scores on his
scalp, left cheek, arms, and shoulders, and he was suffering from shock and
grief.
        Two babies, obviously thrust at the last moment into a small metal
cabinet, were the only survivors of the main Tuareg camp on the plains west
of the big bend in the Paradise River. Sean and Sorka had gone to find the
Connells, who had last been reported on the eastern spur of Kahrain
Province. No one answered from the northern stakes on the Jordan River. It
looked bad.
        Porrig Connell had, for once, listened to the warnings of the
dragonets and had taken shelter in a cave. It had not been large enough to
accommodate all his horses, and four of the mares had died. When they
screamed outside, the stallion had gone berserk in the confines of the
cave, and Porrig had had to cut his throat. There was no fodder for the
remaining mares, so Sean and Sorka returned with hay and food rations. Then
they went off to search for other survivors.
        The Du Vieux and Holstroms at Amsterdam Stake, the Radelins and
Duquesnes at Bavaria, and the Ciottis at Milan Stake were dead; no trace
remained of them or their livestock. The metals and heavy gauge,
silicon-based plastic roofing, though it was heavily pocked, remained as
the only evidence of their once thriving settlement. They had used the
newly pressed vegetable-fiber slabs for their homes. No one on Pern ever
would use such building material again.
        From the air, the swath of destruction cut by the falling
threadlike rain was obvious, the fringes seething with bloated wormlike
excrescences which squadrons of dragonets attacked with flaming breath. The
path ended seventy-five klicks beyond the narrow Paradise River, where it
had annihilated the Tuareg camps.
        By evening, the exhausted settlers fed their dragonets first, and
left out mounds of cooked grain for the wild ones that would not approach
near enough to be hand-fed.
        »Nothing was said about this sort of thing in the EEC report,« Mar
Dook muttered in a bitter tone.
        »Those wretched polka dots no one ever explained,« Aisling
Hempenstahl said, her voice just loud enough to be heard.
        »We´ve been investigating that possibility,« Pol Nietro said,
nodding to a weary Bay, who was resting her head against his shoulder.
        »Nevertheless, I think we should arrive at some preliminary
conclusions before tomorrow,« Kitti said. »People will need facts to be
reassured.«
        »Bill and I looked up the reports we did on the polka dots -- «
Carol Duff-Vassaloe smiled grimly. » -- during Landing Year. We didn´t
investigate every site, but the ones we examined where tree development
could be measured suggests a time lapse of at least a hundred and sixty or
seventy years. I think it´s rather obvious that it was this terrible
life-form which caused the patterning, turning all organic material it
meets into more of itself. Thank heavens most of our building plastics are
silicon-based. If they were carbon-based, we´d all have been killed,
without a doubt. This infestation -- «
        »Infestation?« Chuck Havers´s voice broke in incredulous anger.
        »What else to call it?« Phas Radamanth remarked in his dogmatic
fashion. »What we need to know is how often it occurs? Every hundred and
fifty years? That patterning was planet-wide, wasn´t it, Carol?« She
nodded. »And how long does it last once it occurs?
        »Last?« Chuck demanded, appalled.
        »We´ll get the answers,« Paul Benden said firmly.

* * * * *

The colony´s two psychologists flew in late that evening when the infirmary
was still crowded with the injured and shocked, and set to work immediately
to help reduce traumas. Cherry Duff had suffered a stroke at the news, but
was recovering splendidly. Joel and his wife were both prostrated by the
loss of their sons. Bernard Hegelman had submerged his own grief to comfort
his shattered wife and the other families bereft by loss.
        Sean and Sorka had tirelessly sledded in the wounded they located.
Even those uninjured were dazed, some weeping uncontrollably until sedated,
others pathetically quiet. Porrig Connell had sent his eldest daughter and
his wife to help cope with the survivors, while he stayed with his extended
family in the cave.
        »The first time Porrig Connell ever did anything for anyone else,«
his son remarked under his breath to Sorka, who berated him for such
cynicism. »He wants to use Cricket to service the rest of his mares when
they foal. He expects me to give up my stallion because he hadn´t trained
his!«
        Sorka wisely said nothing.
        With one exception, the distant holdings had contacted Landing,
offering either assistance or sympathy. The one exception was the Big
Island mining camp, comprised of Avril Bitra, Stev Kimmer, Nabhi Nabol, and
a few others. Ongola, running over the log, noticed their absence.
        Kenjo, appearing like magic from his distant Honshu plateau, headed
the aerial survey. By nightfall, he and his team produced accurate maps and
pics of the extent of the terrible »Threadfall,« as it soon came to be
called. The original complement of biologists reconvened at Landing to
ascertain the nature of the beast. Kitti Ping and Wind Blossom lent their
special skills to analyze the life-forms as soon as samples were brought
in.
        Unfortunately too many, acquired at considerable danger to the
volunteers, were found apparently moribund in the metal or heavy plastic
containers in which they had been contained. Seemingly, after about twenty
minutes, all the frenetic activity, the replications of the original strand
several thousand times into big wriggling »sausages,« ceased. The form
unraveled, blackened, and turned into an utterly lifeless, sticky, tarry
mess, within a tougher shell.
        The captain of the Mayflower, which had been trawling at the ragged
northern edge of the Fall, inadvertently discovered a segment of thread in
a pail of fish bait, slapped on a tight lid, and reported the find to
Landing. He was told to keep it alive, if possible, by judicious feeding
until it could be flown to Landing.
        By then, the Thread had to be housed in the biggest heavygauge
plastic barrel on board the Mayflower. Ongola transported the tightly
sealed barrel, using a long steel cable attached to the big engineering
sled. Only when the crew saw the sled disappearing in the distance would
they come on deck. The captain was later astonished to learn that his act
was considered one of extreme bravery.
        By the time the pulsing life-form reached Landing, it coiled, a
gross meter long and perhaps ten centimeters in circumference, resembling a
heavy hawser. Double-thick slabs of transparent silicon-based building
plastic, tightly banded with metal strips, were rigged into a cage, its
base quikplased to the floor. Several thin slits with locking flaps were
created. A hole the size of the barrel opening was incised in the top, the
barrel lid readied, and with the help of grimly anxious volunteers the
terrible creature was transferred from barrel to cage. The top opening was
sealed as soon as the life-form was dropped into the plastic cube.
        One of the men scrambled for a corner to be sick in. Others averted
their faces. Only Tarvi and Mar Dook seemed unmoved by the creature´s
writhing as it engulfed the food that had been placed in the cube.
        In its urgency to ingest, the thing rippled in waves of gray,
greasy colors: sickly greens, dull pink tones, and an occasional streak of
yellow flowed across its surface, the image sickeningly distorted by the
thick clear plastic. The outer covering of the beast seemed to thicken. The
thick shell probably formed at its demise, the observers guessed, for such
remains had been found in rocky places where the organism had starved. The
interior of the beast evidently deteriorated as rapidly as it had initially
expanded. Was it really alive? Or was it some malevolent chemical entity
feeding on life? Certainly its appetite was voracious, although the very
act of eating seemed to interfere with whatever physical organization the
beast had, as if what it consumed hastened its destruction.
        »Its rate of growth is remarkable,« Bay said in a very calm voice,
for which Pol later praised her, saying that it had provided an example for
the others, all stunned by the sight of that gross menace. »One expects
such expansion under the microscope but not in the macrocosm. Where can it
have come from? Outer space?«
        Blank silence met her astonishing query, and those in the room
exchanged glances, partly of surprise, partly of embarrassment at Bay´s
suggestion.
        »Do we have any data on the periodicity of comets in this system?«
Mar Dook asked hopefully. »That eccentric body? Something brought in from
our Oort cloud? Then there´s the Hoyle-Wickraman-singh theory, which has
never been totally discredited, citing the possibility of viruses.«
        »That´s one helluva virus, Mar,« Bill Duff said skeptically. »And
didn´t someone on Ceti III confound that old theory?«
        »Considering it drops from the skies,« Jim Tillek said, »why
couldn´t it have a space origin? I´m not the only one who´s noticed that
red morning star in the east getting brighter these past weeks. A bit of
coincidence, isn´t it, that the planet with the crazy orbit is coming right
into the inner planets, right at the same time this stuff hits us? Could
that be the source? Is there any data in the library on that planet? On
this sort of thing?«
        »I´ll ask Cherry. No,« Bill Duff corrected himself before anyone
could remind him that the redoubtable magistrate was indisposed. »I´ll
access the information myself and bring back hardcopy to study.« He hurried
from the room as if glad to have a valid excuse to leave.
        »I´ll get a sample from that section pressing against the lower
slot,« Kwan Marceau said, gathering up the necessary implements in the rush
of someone who dared not consider overlong what he was about to do.
        »A record´s being kept of the . . . intake?« Bay asked. She could
not quite say »food,« remembering what the creatures had already consumed
since they had fallen on Pern.
        »Now, to judge the frequency of . . . intake« -- Pol seized
gratefully on that euphemism -- «sufficient to keep the . . . organism
alive.«
        »And to see how it dies,« Kitti added in a voice so bland that it
rang with satisfaction.
        »And why all its ilk died in this first infestation,« Phas
Radamanth added, pulling the EEC pics out of the welter of hardcopy in
front of him.
        »Did all die?« Kitti asked.
        By morning, with no report from scientists who had worked through
the night, the muttering began: a still-shocked whisper over morning klah;
a rumor that began to seep into every office and the hastily reopened
living quarters on the abandoned residential squares. A huge blaze had been
started the previous evening and continued to burn at Bonfire Square.
Torches, pitched and ready to be lit, had been piled at each corner, and
more were added to the piles throughout the day.
        Many of the lighter sleds that had been on the ground at Landing
needed new canopies. Sweeping out the detritus of putrid Thread shells was
undertaken with masks and heavy work gloves.
        There was a new and respectful title for the winged friends:
fire-dragons. Even those who had previously scorned the creatures carried
tidbits for them in their pockets. Landing was dotted with fat-bellied
dragonets sleeping in the sun.
        By lunch time, a meal was served from the old communal kitchens,
and rumor was rife. By midafternoon, Ted Tubberman and a fellow malcontent,
their faces streaked and drawn by grief, led bereaved relatives to the door
of the containment unit.
        Paul and Emily came out with Phas Radamanth and Mar Dook.
        »Well? Have you discovered what that thing is?« Ted demanded.
        »It is a complex but understandable network of filaments, analogous
to a Terran mycorrhiza,« Mar Dook began, resenting Tubberman´s manner but
respecting his grief.
        »That explains very little, Mar,´´ Ted replied, belligerently
sticking out his chin. »In all my years as a botanist, I never saw a plant
symbiont dangerous to humans. What do we get next? A death moss?«
        Emily reached out to touch Tubberman´s arm in sympathy, but he
jerked away.
        »We have little to go on,« Phas said in a sharp tone. He was tired,
and working all night near the monstrosity had been a terrible strain.
»Nothing like this has ever been recorded on any of the planets humans have
explored. The nearest that has been even imagined were some of the
fictional inventions during the Age of Religion. We´re still refining our
understanding of it.«
        »It´s still alive? You´re keeping it alive!« Ted was livid with
irrational outrage. Beside him, his companions nodded agreement as fresh
tears streamed down their faces. Murmuring angrily among themselves, the
delegation crowded closer to the entrance, every one of them seeking an
outlet for frustration and impotent grief.
        »Of course, we have to study it, man,« Mar Dook said, keeping his
voice steady. »And find out exactly what it is. To do that, it must be fed
to . . . continue. We´ve got to ascertain if this is only the beginning of
its life cycle.«
        »Only the beginning!« Tubberman cried. Paul and Phas leapt forward
to restrain the grief-mad botanist. Lucy had been his apprentice as well as
his daughter, and the two had shared a deep and affectionate bond. »By all
that´s holy, I´ll end it now!«
        »Ted, be rational. You´re a scientist!«
        »I´m a father first, and my daughter was . . . devoured by one of
those creatures! So was Joe Milan, and Patsy Swann, Eric Hegelman, Bob
Jorgensen, and . . .« Tubberman´s face was livid. His fists clenched at his
sides, his whole body strained with rage and frustration. He glared
accusingly at Emily and Paul. »We trusted you two. How could you bring us
to a place that devours our children and all we´ve achieved the past eight
years!« The murmurs of the delegation supported his accusation. »We« -- his
wide gesture took in the packed numbers behind him -- »want that thing
dead. You´ve had long enough to study it. C´mon, people. We know what we
have to do!« With a final bitter, searing look at the biologists, he
turned, roughly pushing aside those in his path. »Fire kills it!«
        He stomped off, raging. His followers left with him.
        »It won´t matter what they do, Paul,« Mar Dook said, restraining
Paul Benden from going after Ted. »The beast is moribund now. Give them the
corpse to vent their feelings on. We´ve about finished what examinations we
can make anyhow.« He shrugged wearily. »For all the good it does us.«
        »And that is?« Paul inquired encouragingly. Mar Dook and Phas
gestured to him and Emily to reenter the containment unit where Pol Bay,
and the two geneticists were still writing up their notes.
        Wearily, Mar Dook scrubbed at his face, his sallow skin nearly gray
as he slumped onto a table that was littered with tapes and slide
containers. »We now know that it is carbon based, has complex, very large
proteins which flick from state to state and produce movement, and others
which attack and digest an incredible range of organic substances. It is
almost as if the creature was designed specifically to be inimical to our
kind of life.«
        »I´m glad you kept that to yourself,« Emily said wryly, looking
over her shoulder at the door swinging shut on a view of the angry group
heading away.
        »Mar Dook, you can´t mean what you just said,« Paul began, resting
both hands on the shoulders of the weary biologist. »It may be dangerous,
yes -- but designed to kill us?«
        »That is just a thought,« Mar Dook replied, looking a bit sheepish.
»Phas here has a more bizarre suggestion.«
        Phas cleared his throat nervously. »Well, it´s come out of the blue
so unexpectedly, I wondered if it could possibly be a weapon, preparing the
ground for an invasion?« Dumb-founded, Paul and Emily stared at him, aware
of Bay´s sniff of disagreement and the amused expression on Kitti Ping´s
face. »That is not an illogical interpretation, you know. I like it better
than Bay´s suggestion, that this might be only the beginning of a life
cycle. I dread what could follow.«
        Paul and Emily glanced around them, stunned by such a dreadful
possibility. But Pol Nietro rose from his chair and cleared his throat, a
tolerant expression on his round face.
        »That is also a suggestion from the fiction of the Age of
Religions, Mar,« Pol said with a wry smile. He glanced apologetically at
his wife and then noticed Kitti Ping´s reassuring smile. He felt heartened.
»And, in my opinion, highly improbable. If the life cycle produced inimical
forms, where are the descendants of subsequent metamorphoses? The EEC team
may have erred in considering the polka dots nondangerous, but they also
discovered no other incongruous life-forms.
        »As for an invasion from outer space, every other planet in this
sector of space was found to be inimical to carbon-based life-forms.« Pol
began to warm to his own theory and saw Emily recovering from the shock of
the other revelations. »And we have determined that that -- « He jerked his
thumb at the discolored cube. » -- is carbon based. So that would seem to
more or less limit it to this system. And we will find out how.« Pol´s
burst of explanation seemed to have drained the last of his energy, and he
leaned wearily against the high laboratory stand. »I believe I´m right,
though. Airing the worst possible interpretations of the data we have
gleaned has cleared the air, so to speak.« He gave a little, almost
apologetic shrug and smiled hopefully at Phas and Bay.
        »I still feel we have missed something in our investigations,« Phas
said, shaking his head. »Something obvious, and important.«
        »No one thinks straight after forty hours on the trot,« Paul said
clasping Phas by the shoulder to give him a reassuring shake. »Let´s look
at your notes again when you´ve had some rest and something to eat, away
from the stench in here. Jim, Emily, and I will wait and deal with Ted´s
delegation. They´re overreacting.« He sighed. ‘´Not that I blame them.
Sudden grief is always a shock. However, I personally would rather plan for
the worst that can happen. As you´ve suggested several dire options, we
won´t be surprised by anything that happens. And we should plan to reduce
its effects on the settlements.«
        Paul had a quiet word with one of the psychologists, whose opinion
was that the thwarted tensions of the bereaved might be eased with what he
termed »a ritual incineration.« So they stepped aside when Ted Tubberman
and his adherents demanded the cube and destroyed it in a blazing fire. The
resultant stench gagged many, which helped to speed the dispersal of the
onlookers. Only Ted and a few others remained to watch the embers cool.
        The psychologist shook his head slowly. »I think I´ll keep an eye
on Ted Tubberman for a while,« he told Paul and Emily. »That was apparently
not enough to assuage his grief.«
        Telescopes were trained on the eccentric planet early the next
morning. Its reddish appearance was due, Ezra Keroon suggested, to the
aggregated dust swirls it had brought in from the edge of the system.
Despite the lack of any proof, the feeling among the observers was that the
planet was somehow responsible for the disaster.
        During the day, Kenjo´s group discovered traces of an earlier fall
on Ierne Island, which a witness remembered as more of a rainstorm littered
with black motes than a fall of Thread. A scout sent to the northern
continent reported traces of recent destruction across the eastern
peninsula there. That discovery dispersed the vain hope that the Fall was
unique or confined to a specific area. A review of the probe pics from the
EEC did nothing to alleviate tension, for the fax incontrovertibly showed
the Fall two hundred years before to have been widespread. They figured
that the event must have happened just prior to the team´s arrival. The
demand to know the extent and frequency of the falls increased ominously.
        To assuage mounting fears and tension, Betty Musgrave-Blake and
Bill Duff undertook to review the survey´s original botanical data. Ted
Tubberman was the only trained botanist who had survived, but he spent his
days tracking down every Thread shell and his evenings burning the piles.
The psychologists continued to monitor his aberrant behavior.
        Based on the original data, Betty and Bill deduced a two-hundred
year gap between incursions, allowing a span of ten to fifteen years for
the vegetation to regenerate on the damaged circles after taking into
account the age of some of the largest trees in and near the previous
occurrence. Betty delivered their conclusion as a positive statement, meant
to engender optimism, but she could provide no answer to the vital question
of how long the deadly rain would continue to fall.
        In an attempt to disprove Mar´s theory of purposeful design or
Phas´s equally disturbing suggestion of invasion, Ezra Keroon spent that
day on the link with the Yokohama´s mainframe. His calculations confirmed
beyond question that the eccentric planet had an orbit of 250 years. But it
only stayed in the inner system for a little while, the way Haley´s comet
periodically visited Sol. It was too much to suppose there was no
connection, and, after consulting Paul and Emily, Ezra programmed one of
the Yokohama´s few remaining probes to circumnavigate the planet and
discover its composition and, especially, the components of its apparently
gaseous envelope.
        Though all reports were honestly and fully presented to the
community as soon they came in, by evening speculation had produced
alarming interpretations. Grimly the more responsible members tried to calm
those who gave way to panic.
        Then a perplexed Kenjo sought Betty out with a disturbing
observation. She immediately informed Paul and Emily, and a quiet meeting
was arranged with those who were able to discuss the situation with some
detachment.
        You all know that I´ve overflown to map the damage,« Kenjo began.
»I didn´t know what I´d seen until I´d seen it often enough to realize what
was not there.« He paused, as if steeling himself for rebuke or disbelief.
»I don´t think all thread starved to death. And crazy Tubberman hasn´t
gotten as far as I have. In most places, there are shells! But in nine
circles that I have seen -- and I landed to make sure I make no mistake --
there were no shells.« He made a cutting gesture with both hands. »None.
And these circles were by themselves, not in a group, and the area --
demolished -- was not as big as usual.« He glanced at each of the serious
faces about him. »I see. I observe. I have pics, too.«
        »Well,« Pol said, heaving a weary sigh and absently patting the
folded hands of his wife beside him at the table. »It is biologically
consistent that to perpetuate a species many are sent and few are chosen.
Perhaps the journey through space vitiates most of the organisms. I´m
almost relieved that a few can survive and flourish. It makes more sense. I
prefer your theory to some of the others that have been bruited about.«
        »Yes, but what do they become in the next metamorphosis?« Bay
wondered, her face reflecting depression. Sometimes being right was another
sort of failure.
        »We´d better find out,« Paul said, glancing around for support. »Is
there one nearby, Kenjo?« When the pilot pointed to its position on the
map, Paul nodded. »Good, then. Phas, Pol, Bill, Ezra, Bay and Emily, just
slip out of Landing in small sleds. Let´s see if we can prevent a new batch
of wild notions. Report back here as soon as you can.«
        Paul sent Betty back to her home and her new baby, telling her to
rest. Boris Pahlevi and Dieter Clissman were summoned and set to work
designing a comprehensive computer program to analyze the data as it
continued to come in. Then Paul and Ongola settled back to wait tensely for
the other specialists to return.
        Pol, Bay, and Phas were the first back, and they brought little
good news.
        »All the insects, slug-forms, and grubs we found on those sites
Phas reported, »appear harmless enough. Some of them have already been
catalogued, but,« he added with a shrug, »we´ve barely begun to identify
creatures and their roles in the ecology of this planet. Kenjo was right to
alert us. Clearly some of the Thread survives to propagate itself, so Bay´s
theory is the most viable to date.« Phas seemed relieved. »But I won´t rest
easy until we have discovered the entire cycle.«
        Late in the afternoon of the third day after that first Fall, an
almost hysterical call came in from Wade Lorenzo of Sadrid in Macedonia
Province. Jacob Chernoff, who took the call, immediately contacted Ongola
and Paul at the administration building. »He says it´s coming straight
across the sea, right at him, sir. His stake is due west on the
twenty-degree line. I´m holding him on channel thirty-seven.«
        Even as Paul picked up the handset and punched for the channel, he
located the coastal stake of Sadrid on the big map of the continent.
        »Get everyone in under silicon plastic,« he ordered. »Use fire to
ignite the stuff where it hits the surface. Use torches if necessary. D´you
have any dragonets?«
        The stakeholder´s deep breath was audible as he fought for self
control. »We have some dragonets, sir, and we´ve two flame-throwers -- used
‘em to cut down bush. We thought it was just a very bad rain squall until
we saw the fish eating. Can´t you come?«
        »We´ll get there as soon as possible!«
        Paul told Jacob to tell no one of the new Fall.
        »I don´t want to cause more panic than there already is, sir,«
Jacob agreed.
        Paul smiled briefly at the boy´s fervor, then dialed Jim Tillek at
Monaco Bay harbormaster´s office. He inquired if there were any trawlers
southwest near Sadrid.
        »Not today. Any trouble?«
        So much for trying to sound casual, Paul thought. »Can you get here
to admin without appearing to rush?«
        Ongola was looking grimly at the map, his eyes flicking from
Macedonia to Delta. »Your Boca River Stake is not that far from Sadrid,« he
told the admiral.
        »I noticed.« Paul dialed the channel link to his stake and in terse
sentences told his wife the grim news and instructed her on what
precautions to take. »Ju, it may not reach us but . . .«
        »It´s best to be on the safe side with something like this, isn´t
it?«
        Paul was proud of her calm response. »I´ll give you an update as
soon as we´ve got one. With any luck, you´ve got at least an hours leeway
if it´s just now at Sadrid. I´ll be there as soon as I can. Quiet possibly,
Boca´s far enough north. This stuff seems to fall in a south-westerly
drift.«
        »Ask her if her dragonets are acting normally,« Ongola suggested.
        »Sunning themselves, as always at this time of day,« Ju replied.
»I´ll watch them. They really do anticipate this stuff?«
        »Ongola thinks so. I´ll check with you later, Ju.«
        »I´ve just got through to the Logorides at Thessaly,« Ongola said.
»They might be in the path. Had we better warn Caesar at Roma Stake? He´s
got all that livestock.«
        »He was also smart enough to put up stone buildings, but call him
and then find out if Boris and Dieter have run their new program. I wish
the hell we knew when it started, how far it´ll travel,« Paul muttered
anxiously. »I´ll organize transport.« He dialed the main engineering shed
and asked for Kenjo.
        »There´s more Thread? How far away?« Kenjo asked. »Sadrid? On the
twentieth? I´ve got something that could make it in just over an hour. »
There was a ripple of excitement in Kenjo´s usually even tone. »Fulmar
worked out jet-assist units on one of the medium sleds. Fulmar thinks we
could get seven hundred kph out of it, at least, even fully loaded. More if
we run light.«
        »We´re going to have to pack as many of the flame-throwers as
possible plus emergency supplies. We´ll use HNO3 cylinders -- they´ll be
like using fire and water at once on the Thread. Pol and Bay don´t weigh
much, and they´ll be invaluable as observers. We need at least one medic, a
couple of joats, Tarvi, Jim, and me. Eight. All right, then, we´ll be with
you directly.« Paul turned to Ongola. »Any luck?«
        »Since we can´t tell them when it started, they want to know when
it ends,« Ongola said. »The more data we can give them, the more accurate
they will be . . . next time. Am I among the eight?«
        Paul shook his head with regret. »I need you here to deal with any
panic. Blast it, but we´ve got to get organized for this.«
        Ongola snorted to himself. Paul Benden was already a legend in
organizing and operating at high efficiency in emergency situations.
Observers, crew, and supplies boarded the augmented sled within twenty
minutes of the initial call, and it was airborne and out of sight before
Ongola heard the muted roar of its improved drive.
        Kenjo drove the sled at its maximum speed, passengers and supplies
securely strapped in safety harnesses. They sped across the verdant tip of
the untouched peninsula past the Jordan River, and then out to sea where
the turbulence of sporadic but heavy squalls added more discomfort to an
already rough ride in a vehicle not designed for such velocities.
        »No sign of the leading edge of fall. Half of that cloud to the
south of us is more squalls,« Paul said, looking up from the scope and
rubbing his eyes. »Maybe, just maybe,« he added softly, »those squalls also
saved Sadrid.«
        Despite the excessive speed, the journey, mainly over water seemed
to continue endlessly. Suddenly, Kenjo reduced speed. The sea became less
of a blur to starboard, and on the port side, the vast approaching land was
just visible through the mist of squall. Sunlight broke through cloud to
shine impartially on tossing vegetation and denuded alleys.
        »It´s an ill wind,« Jim Tillek remarked, pointing to the sea, which
was disturbed more by underwater activity than by wind. »By the way, before
I left Monaco Bay, I sent our finny friends to see what they could find
out.«
        »Good heavens!« Bay exclaimed, pressing her face against the thick
plastic canopy. »They can´t have made it here so fast.«
        »Not likely,« Jim replied, chuckling, »but the locals are feeding
very well indeed.«
        »Stay seated!« Kenjo cried, fighting the yoke of the sled.
        »If the dolphins can find out where it started . . . Data, that´s
what Dieter and Boris need.« Paul resumed manning the forward scope.
»Sadrid wasn´t entirely lucky,« he added, frowning. »Just as if someone had
shaved the vegetation off the ground with a hot knife,« he muttered under
his breath, and turned away. »Get us down as fast as possible, Kenjo!«
        »It was the wind,« Wade Lorenzo told the rescue team. »The wind
saved us, and the squall. Came down in sheets, but it was water, not
Thread. No, we´re mostly okay,« he assured them, pointing to the dragonets,
grooming themselves on the rooftrees. »They saved us, like I heard they did
at Landing.« The younger children were just being shepherded out of one of
the larger buildings, wide-eyed with apprehension as they looked about
them. »But we don´t know if Jiva and Bahka are all right. They were
trawling.« He gestured hopelessly to the west.
        »If they went west and north, they´d´ve had a good chance,« Jim
told him.
        »But we are ruined,« Athpathis added. The agronomist´s face was a
picture of defeat as he indicated the ravaged fields and orchards.
        »There´re still plenty of seedlings at Landing,« Pol Nietro assured
him, patting his back with clumsy sympathy. »And one can grow several crops
a year in this climate.«
        »We´ll be back to you later,« Paul said, helping to unload flame
throwers. »Jim, will you organize the mop-up here? You know what to do.
We´ve got to track the main Fall to its end. There you are, Wade. Go char
the bastards!«
        »But Admiral -- « Athpathis began, the whites of his large fearful
eyes accentuated in his sun-darkened face.
        There s two other stakes in the way of this menace,« Paul said
climbing back into the sled and fastening the hatch.
        »Straight to your place, Paul?« Kenjo asked, lifting the sled.
        No, I want you to go north first. See if we can find Jiva and Bahka
and until we find the edge of the Fall.«
        As soon as Kenjo had hoisted the sled, he slapped on the jet
assist, slamming his passengers back into their seats. But almost
immediately he eased back on the power, »Sir, I think it´s missed your
place.«
        Instantly Paul pressed his eyes to the scope and, with incredible
relief, saw the vegetation along the beach tossing in the wake of squall
winds. Reassured, he could concentrate on the job at hand without divided
priorities.
        »Why, it just cuts off,« Bay said, surprised.
        »Rain, I think,« Pol remarked as he, too, craned his neck to see
out the siliplex canopy. »And look, isn´t that an orange sail?«
        Paul looked up from the scope with a weary smile. »Indeed it is,
and intact. Mark your position, Mister Fusaiyuki, and let´s get to Caesar´s
with all available speed.« He took a more comfortable position in his seat
and gripped the arm rests.
        »Aye, aye, sir.«
        The six passengers once again endured the effects of speed and,
once again, Kenjo´s abrupt braking. That time he added such a turn to port
that the sled seemed to spin on its tail.
        »I´ve marked my position, Admiral. Your orders, sir?«
        Paul Benden´s spine gave an involuntary shudder, which he hoped was
due more to the unexpected maneuver than to Kenjo´s naval address.
        »Let´s follow the path and see how wide a corridor it punches. I´ll
contact the other stakes to stand down from the alert.«
        He permitted himself to contact his wife first and gave her a brief
report, as much to lock the details in his own mind as to relieve her.
        »Shall I send a crew to help?« she asked. »Landing´s report says
the stuff often has to be burnt to be killed.«
        »Send Johnny Greene and Greg Keating in the faster sled. We´ve
spare flame-throwers with us.«
        Others volunteered to send their sons, and Paul accepted their
offers. Caesar Galliani, making the same offer, added that he wanted his
sons back in time to milk the big Roma herd.
        »I was right, wasn´t I,« the vet said with a chuckle, »to spend so
much energy on stone buildings?«
        »You were indeed, Caesar.«
        »There´s nothing like stone walls to make you feel secure. The
boys´ll be on their way as soon as you give me a position. You´ll keep us
posted, won´t you, Admiral?«
        Paul winced at that second unconscious use of his former rank.
After seven happy years as a civilian agronomist, he had no wish to resume
the responsibilities of command. Then his eyes were caught by the circles
of destruction, so hideously apparent from the air, interspersed with
untouched swaths where squally rain had drowned the Thread before it could
reach the surface. Rain and dragonets! Fragile allies against such
devastation. If he had his way . . . Paul halted that train of thought. He
was not in command; he did not wish to be obliged to take command. There
were younger men to assume such burdens.
        »I make the corridor fifty klicks wide, Admiral,« Kenjo announced.
Paul realized that the others had been quietly conferring on details.
        »You can watch vegetation disintegrating by the yard,« Bay said
anxiously. She caught Paul´s eyes. »Rain isn´t enough.«
        »It helped,« Tarvi answered her, but he, too, looked at Paul.
        »We´ve got reinforcements coming from Thessaly and Roma. We´ll
scorch where we have to on our way back to Sadrid. Set down where you can,
Kenjo. Landing will need to know the details we´ve gotten today. Data they
want, data they´ll have.«
        By the time all the available HNO3 cylinders were exhausted, so
were the crews. Pol and Bay had followed diligently after the
flame-throwers teams, taking notes on the pattern of the stuff, grateful
that squall activity had somewhat limited the destruction. When Paul had
thanked the men from Thessaly and Roma, he told Kenjo to make reasonable
speed to Sadrid to collect Jim Tillek.
        »And so we must arm ourselves with tongues of flame against this
menace to our kind and generous planet,« Tarvi said softly to Paul as they
finally headed eastward toward a fast-approaching night. »Will Sadrid be
safe now?«
        »On the premise that lightning doesn´t strike twice in the same
place?« Paul´s tone was droll. »No promises can be made on that score,
Tarvi. I am hoping, however, that Boris and Dieter will soon come up with a
few answers.« Then, his expression anxious, he turned to Pol. »This
couldn´t fall at random, could it?«
        You prefer the theory that it´s planned? No, Paul, we´ve
established that we´re dealing with an unreasoning, voraciously hungry
organism. There isn´t a discernible intelligence,« Pol replied, clenching
and releasing his fist, surprised at his own vehemence, »much less a trace
of sentience. I continue to favor Bay´s theory of a two-or three-stage life
cycle. Even so, it is only remotely possible that intelligence develops at
a later stage.«
        »The wherries?« Tarvi asked facetiously.
        »No, no, don´t be ridiculous. We´ve traced them back to a sea eel,
a common ancestor for both them and the dragonets.«
        »The dragonets were more of a help than I expected,« Tarvi
admitted. »Sallah insists they´ve a high level of intelligence.«
        »Pol, have you or Bay attempted to measure that intelligence when
you used mentasynth enhancement?« Paul Benden asked.
        »No, not really,« Pol replied. »There´s been no need to, once we
demonstrated that an enhanced empathy made them more biddable. There have
been other priorities.«
        »The main priority as of now is establishing the parameters of this
menace,« Paul muttered. »We´d all better get some rest.«
        Once the rescue team had returned to Landing, it was impossible to
deny the fact of the new incursion. Despite a comm silence on their trip,
rumors were inevitable.
        »The only good thing about it,« Paul told Emily as he consumed a
hastily prepared meal, »was that it was sufficiently far away from here.«
        We still don´t have enough data to establish either frequency or
probable corridors of the stuff,« Dieter Clissmann announced. »The dolphins
apparently could not find out where or when it started. Marine life doesn´t
keep time. Boris is adding in random factors of temperature variations,
high- and low-pressure areas, frequency of rain, and wind velocity to the
data.« He gave a long sigh, combing thick hair back from his forehead.
»Drowns in the rain, huh? Fire and water kill it! That´s some consolation.«

Few were as easily consoled. There were even some at Landing who were
relieved that other sections of the continent had suffered the same
disaster. The positive benefit of fear and horror was that emergency
measures were no longer resisted. Some had felt that precautions emanating
from Landing violated their charter autonomy. The more outspoken revised
their objections when pictures of the devastation on the Sadrid corridor --
as Pol termed it -- were distributed. After that, Ongola and his
communications team were kept busy briefing distant stakeholders.
        Tarvi drafted a crew to work round the clock, adapting empty
cylinders into flame-throwers and filling them with HNO3. The easily made
oxidant had not only proved to be very effective at destroying Thread but
could be synthesized cheaply from air and water, using only
hydroelectricity, and was not a pollutant. Most importantly, dragonet hide
and human skin were usually not severely damaged from spillage. A wet
cloth, applied within about twenty seconds, prevented a bad burn. Kenjo led
a group in rigging holders for flame-throwers on the heavier sleds. He was
adamant that the best defense was not only offense but aerial. He had many
willing supporters among those at Landing who had lived through the First
Fall.
        Fire was the top choice for weapon. As one wit said, since no one
had ever figured out how to make rain on demand, fire was the only reliable
defense. Even the most ardent supporters of the dragonets did not wish to
rely totally on their continued assistance.
        There were not hands enough to do all the jobs required. Twice Paul
and Emily were called in to arbitrate labor-pirating. The agronomists and
veterinarians hastily reinforced livestock shelters. Caves were explored as
possible alternate accommodations. Empty warehouses at Landing were made
into shelters for any stakeholders who wished to house stock for safety´s
sake. Joel Lilienkamp insisted that due to the worker shortage the holders
themselves would have to reinforce any buildings they preempted. Many
stakeholders felt that that was Landing´s job; some were unwilling to leave
their stakes unless, and until, assured of safe quarters. In eight years,
the population of the settlers had increased far beyond the point where the
original site could house even half the current numbers.
        Porrig Connell remained in his cave, having discovered that there
were sufficient interlinking chambers to accommodate his entire extended
family and their livestock. In addition to stabling for his mares and
foals, he had also constructed a stallion box in which Cricket had been
made very comfortable. Magnanimously, he allowed the survivors of some
other families to remain in his cavesite until they found their own.
        Because they had been the colony´s leaders, Paul Benden and Emily
Boll -- as well as Jim Tillek, Ezra Keroon, and Ongola -- found that many
decisions were being referred to them, despite the fact that they had
stepped down from their previous administrative duties.
        »I´d far rather they came to me than to Ted Tubberman.« Paul
remarked wearily to Ongola when the former communications officer brought
him the latest urgent queries from outlying stakes. He turned to the
psychologist Tom Patrick, who had come to report on the latest round of
gripes and rumors. »Tom?«
        »I don´t think you can stall a showdown much longer,« he said, »or
you and Emily will lose all credibility. That would be a big error. You two
may not want to take command, but someone will have to. Tubberman´s
constantly undermining community effort and spirit. He´s so totally
negative that you ought to be thankful that most of the time he´s out
trying single-handedly to clear the continent of rotting Threadshell. Grief
has totally distorted his perceptions and judgment.«
        »Surely no one believes his ranting?« Emily asked.
        »There´re just enough long-buried gripes and resentments, and good
honest gut-fear, right now that some people do listen to him. Especially in
the absence of authorized versions,« Tom replied. »Tubberman´s complaints
have a certain factual basis. Warped, to be sure.« The psychologist
shrugged, raising both hands, palms up. »In time, he´ll work against
himself -- I hope. Meanwhile he´s roused a substantial undercurrent of
resentment which had better be countered soon. Preferably by you gentlemen
and Emily and the other captains. They still trust you, you know, in spite
of Tubberman´s accusations.«
        »So The Rubicon must be crossed again,« Paul said whimsically, and
exhaled. He caught himself rubbing his left thumb against the insensitive
skin of his replacement fingers and stopped. Leaning wearily back in his
chair, he put both hands behind his head as if supporting an extra weight.

I can lead a meeting, Paul,« Cabot said when Paul contacted him on a
secured comm channel, »but they subconsciously consider you and Emily their
leaders. Force of habit.«
        »Any decision to reinstate us must be spontaneous,« Paul replied
after a long and thoughtful pause. Slowly Emily nodded. The last days had
aged both admiral and governor. »The matter must be handled strictly on the
charter protocol, though by all that´s holy, I never anticipated having to
invoke those contingency clauses.«
        »Thank all the powers that be that they´re there,« Cabot said
fervently. »It´ll take an hour or two to organize things here. Oh, by the
way, we also had a few messages across the river early yesterday morning.
Didn´t notice until about noon today. Hit the southern edge of Bordeaux. We
gave Pat and his crew a hand. All´s safe here.« With that, he rang off,
leaving Paul dumbfounded.
        »After our little brush with the stuff,« Cabot said when he arrived
in person, »I´m beginning to appreciate the gravity of the colony´s
situation.« A hopeful smile, not echoed by the expression in his keen gray
eyes, curved his strong mouth. »Is it as bad as rumor has it?«
        »Probably. Depends on the source of the rumor,« Paul answered with
an honest grimace.
        »Depends on whether you´re an optimist or pessimist,« Jim Tillek
added. »I´ve been in worse fixes on the asteroid runs and come out with
life and lung. I prefer to have a planet to maneuver in, on, over. And the
seas.«
        Cabot´s smile faded as he regarded the five people gathered
discreetly in the met tower.
        »Most of what we know, » Paul said, »is negative. But -- « He began
to refute the prevalent rumors by ticking them off on his strong
work-stained fingers. »The Threads are unlikely to be the forerunner of an
alien invasion. It was not unique to this area. It did strike the planet in
much the same way, to judge by the EEC records, almost exactly two hundred
years ago. It may or may not emanate from the eccentric planet, which has a
two-hundred-and-fifty-year orbit. And although we do not know what its life
cycle is, or even if it does have one -- that is the most viable theory --
Thread is not the initial stage of tunnel snakes, for example, who have a
much more respectable lineage, nor of any of the other kinds of life we´ve
had a look at so far.«
        »I see.« Cabot slowly nodded his handsome leonine head as he
fingered his lips in thought. »No reassuring forecast available?«
        »Not yet. As Tom here recommends, we need a forum in which to air
grievances and correct misconceptions,« Paul went on. »It didn´t miss Boca
Stake because Paul Benden owns it, or drop on Sadrid because they´re the
newest, or stop short of Thessaly because Gyorgy was one of the first
charterers to claim his stake. We can, and will, survive this hazard, but
we cannot have the indiscriminate conscription´s of technicians and
able-bodied workers. It is apparent to anyone pausing to think that we also
cannot survive if everyone hares off in opposite directions. Or if some of
the wilder notions, including Tubberman´s, are not dismissed and morale
restored.«
        »In short, what you want is a suspension of autonomy?«
        »Now what I want,« Paul replied clearly and with emphasis, »but a
centralized administration« -- Cabot grinned at the admiral´s choice of
words -- »Will be able to efficiently organize available workers,
distribute materiel and supplies, and make sure that the majority survive.
Joel Lilienkamp locked up Stores today, claiming inventory, to prevent
panic requisitions. People must realize that this is a survival situation.«
        »Together we stand, divided we fall?« Cabot used the old saying
with respect.
        »That´s it.«
        »The trick will be in getting all our independent spirits to see
the wisdom,« Tom Patrick said, and Cabot nodded agreement.
        »I must emphasize,« Paul went on, looking quickly at Emily, who
nodded approval, »that it doesn´t matter who administers during the
emergency so long as some authority is recognized, and obeyed, that will
ensure survival.«
        After a pause, Cabot added thoughtfully, »We´re years from help.
Did we burn all our bridges?«

Considerable surprise and relief permeated Landing the next morning when
Cabot Francis Carter, the colony´s senior legist, broadcast the
announcement that a mass meeting was scheduled for the following evening.
Representatives of every major stake, charter, or contract, would be
expected to attend.
        By the night of the meeting, the electricians had managed to
restore power to one end of Bonfire Square by means of underground
conduits. Where lamps were still dark, torches had been secured to the
standards. The lighted area was filled with benches and chairs. The
platform, originally constructed for musicians for the nightly bonfires,
contained a long table, set with six chairs along one side. There was light
enough to see those who took places there.
        When neither Paul Benden nor Emily Boll appeared, a murmur of
surprise rippled around those assembled. Cabot Francis Carter led Mar Dook,
Pol and Bay Harkenon-Nietro, Ezra Keroon, and Jim Tillek onto the stage.
        »We have had time to mourn our losses,« Cabot began, his sonorous
voice easily reaching to the very last bench. Even the children listened in
silence. »And they have been heavy. They could have been worse, and there
can´t be one among us who doesn´t give thanks to our small fire-breathing,
dragonlike allies.
        »I don´t have all bad news for you tonight. I wish I had better. We
can give a name to the stuff that killed some of our loved ones and wiped
out five stakes: it´s a very primitive mycorrhizoid life-form. Mar Dook
here tells me that on other planets, including our own Earth, very simple
fungi can be generally found in a symbiotic association with trees, the
mycelium of the fungus with the roots of a seed plant. We´ve all seen it
attack vegetation -- «
        »And just about anything else,« Ted Tubberman shouted from the
left-hand side of the audience.
        »Yes, that is tragically true.« Cabot did not look at the man or
attempt to lighten the tone of the meeting, but he intended to control it.
He raised his voice slightly. »What we are only just beginning to realize
is that the phenomenon is planetwide and the last occurrence was
approximately two hundred years ago.« He paused to allow the listeners to
absorb that fact, then stolidly held up his hands to silence the murmurs.
»Soon we will be able to predict exactly when and where this Threadfall is
likely to strike again, because, unfortunately it will. But this is our
planet,« he stated with an expression of fierce determination, »and no
damned mindless Thread is going to make us leave.«
        »You stupid bastard, we can´t leave!« Ted Tubberman jumped to his
feet, wildly waving clenched fists in the air. »You fixed it so we´ll rot
here, sucked up by those effing things. We can´t leave! We´ll all die
here.«
        His outburst started a sullen, murmurous roll in the audience.
Sean, sitting with Sorka to the edge of the crowd, was indignant.
        »Damn fool loud mouth charterer,« Sean murmured to Sorka. »He knew
this was a one-way trip, only now everything´s not running smooth enough
for him, it has to be someone´s fault.« Sean snorted his contempt.
        Sorka shushed him to hear Cabot´s rebuttal.
        »I don´t look at our situation as hopeless, Tubberman,« Cabot
began, his trained voice drowning the murmurs in a firm, confident and
determined tone. »Far from it! I prefer to think positively. I see this as
a challenge to our ingenuity, to our adaptability. Mankind has survived
more dangerous environments than Pern. We´ve got a problem and we must cope
with it. We must solve it to survive. And survive we will!« When Cabot saw
the big botanist gathering breath, he raised his voice. »When we signed the
charter, we all knew there was no turning back. Even if we could, I, for
one, wouldn´t consider running home.« His voice became rich with contempt
for the faint of heart, the coward, and the quitter. »For there´s more on
this planet for me than First or Earth ever held! I´m not going to let this
phenomenon do me out of the home I´ve built, the stock I plan to raise, the
quality of life I enjoy!« With a contemptuous sweep of his hand, he
dismissed the menace as a minor inconvenience. »I´ll fight it every time it
strikes my stake or my neighbors´, with every ounce of strength, and every
resource I possess.
        »Now,« he went on in a less fervent tone, »this meeting has been
called, in the democratic manner outlined by our charter, to make plans on
how best to sustain our colony during this emergency. We are, in effect,
under siege by this mycorrhizoid. So we must initiate measures and develop
the necessary strategy by which to minimize it´s effect on our lives and
property.«
        »Are you suggesting martial law, Cabot?« Rudi Shwartz demanded,
rising to his feet, his expression carefully guarded.
        Cabot gave a wry chuckle. »As there is no army on Pern, Rudi,
martial law is impossible. However, circumstances force us to consider
suspending our present autonomy in order to reduce the damage which this
Thread apparently can -- and will -- do to both the ecology of the planet
and the economy of this colony. I´m suggesting that a reversion to the
centralized government of our first year on Pern be considered at this
point in time.« His next words rose to a near bellow to drown out the
protests. »And whatever measures are required to ensure the survival of the
colony, unpalatable though they may be to us as individuals who have
enjoyed our autonomy.«
        »And these measures have already been decided?« someone asked.
        »By no means,« Cabot assured the woman. »We don´t even yet know
that much about our -- adversary -- but plans must be made now, for every
possible contingency. We know that Thread falls on a worldwide scale, so
sooner or later it will affect every stake. We have to minimize that
danger. That will mean centralization of existing food supplies and
materiel, and a return to hydroponics. It definitely means that some of you
technicians will be asked to return to Landing, since your particular
skills can be best exercised here. It means we´re all going to have to work
together again instead of going our separate ways.«
        »What option do we have?« another woman asked in the slight pause
that followed. She sounded resigned.
        »Some of you have fairly large common stakes,« Cabot answered in
the most reasonable of tones. »You could probably do quite well on your
own. Any central organization here at Landing would have to consider the
needs of its population first, but it wouldn´t be the case of ‘Never Darken
Our Doorstep Again.´ » He gave a brief reassuring smile in her general
direction. »That´s why we meet here tonight. To discuss all the options as
thoroughly as the charter´s conditions and the colony´s prospects were
initially discussed.«
        Wait just a minute!« Ted Tubberman cried, jumping to his feet
again, spreading out his arms and looking around, his chin jutting forward
aggressively. »We´ve got a surefire option, a realistic one. We can send a
homing capsule to Earth and ask for assistance. This is a state of
emergency. We need help!«
        »I told ya,« Sean murmured to Sorka, »squealing like a stuck pig.
Earth lands here, girl, and we make for the Barrier Range and stay lost!«
        »I wouldn´t bet on Earth sending any,« Joel Lilienkamp said from
the front of the audience, his words drowned by the cries of colonists
agreeing with Ted.
        »We don´t need Earth mucking about Pern,« Sean cried, jumping to
his feet and flourishing his arm. »This is our planet!«
        Cabot called for order, but very little of the commotion subsided.
Ezra Keroon got to his feet, trying to help. Finally, making a megaphone of
his hands, he bellowed his message. »Hold it down, now, friends. I have to
remind you all -- listen to me! -- it´d be over ten years before we got a
reply. Of any kind.«
        »Well, I for one don´t want old Terra,« Jim Tillek said over the
loud reaction to that, »or even First, poking their noses in our business.
That is, if they´d bother to respond. For sure, if they condescended to
help, they´d mortgage all of us to the hilt for aid. And end up owning all
the mineral rights and most of the arable land. Or have you all forgotten
Ceti III? I also don´t see why a central administration during this
emergency is such a big deal. Makes sense to me. Share and share alike!«
        A low murmur of agreement could be clearly heard, although many
faces wore discouraged or sullen expressions.
        »He´s right, Sorka,« Sean said in a voice loud enough for others
around him to hear.
        »Dad and Mother think so, too,« Sorka added, pointing to her
parents, who were sitting several rows ahead.
        »We´ve got to send a message,« Ted Tubberman shouted, shaking off
the attempts of his immediate neighbors to make him sit down. »We´ve got to
tell them we´re in trouble. We´ve a right to help! What´s wrong in sending
a message?«
        »What´s wrong?« Wade Lorenzo shouted from the back of the audience.
»We need help right now, Tubberman, not ten to thirty years from now. Why,
by then, we´d probably have the thing licked. A Fall´s not all that bad,«
he added with the confidence of experience. He sat down amid hoots and
shouts of dissent, mainly from those who had been at Landing during the
tragedy.
        »And don´t forget that it took half a century before Earth went to
Ceti III´s assistance,« Betty Musgrave-Blake said, jumping to her feet.
        Other comments were voiced.
        »Yeah, Captain Tillek´s right. We´ve got to solve our own problems.
We can´t wait for Earth.«
        »Forget it, Tubberman.«
        »Sit down and shut up, Tubberman.«
        »Cabot, call him to order. Let´s get on with this meeting.«
        Similar sentiments rose from all sides.
        His neighbors forced the botanist down and, dismayed by the lack of
support, Ted shook off the compelling hands and crossed his arms defiantly
on his chest. Tarvi Andiyar and Fulmar Stone moved to stand nearby. Sallah
watched apprehensively, although she knew full well the strength belied by
Tarvi´s lean frame.
        Sean nudged Sorka. »They´ll shut him up, and then we can get to the
meat of all this talking,« he said. »I hate meetings like this with people
sounding off just to make a noise and act big when they don´t know what
they´re talking about.«
        Raising a hand to be recognized, Rudi Shwartz again got to his
feet. »If, as you´ve suggested, Cabot, the larger stakes could remain self
governing, how would a central government be organized? Would the large
stakes be at all responsible to it?«
        »It´s more a matter of the fair allocation of food, materials, and
shelter, Rudi,« Joel Lilienkamp said, rising, »rather than -- «
        »You mean, we don´t have enough food?« an anxious voice broke in.
        »For now, we do, but if this Thread stuff is planetwide . . . we
all see what it did to Landing´s fields,« Joel went on, motioning to the
dark, ravaged area, »and if it keeps coming back, well -- « A woman made a
protest of dismay that was clearly audible. »Well,« he went on, hitching up
his trousers, »everyone deserves a fair share of what we´ve got. I see
nothing wrong with going back to hydroponics for a while. We did just fine
for fifteen years on shipboard, didn´t we? I´ll take any odds we can do it
again.«
        His jovial challenge met with mixed reactions, some cheering,
others clearly apprehensive.
        »Remember, too, folks, that Thread doesn´t affect the sea,« Jim
Tillek said, his cheerfulness unforced. »We can live, and live well from
the sea alone.«
        »Most early civilizations lived almost entirely from the sea,«
Mairi Hanrahan cried in a ringing, challenging tone. »Joel´s right -- we
can use alternate methods of growing. And, as long as we can harvest the
sea for fresh protein, we´ll be just fine. I think we all ought to buck up,
instead of collapsing under the first little snag.« She stared
significantly at Ted Tubberman.
        »Little snag?« he roared. He would have shoved through the crowd to
get to Mairi if he had not been restrained. Tarvi and Fulmar moved in
closer to him.
        »Hardly a little snag,« Mar Dook said quickly, raising his voice
over the ripple of mixed remonstrance and support. »And certainly tragic
for many of us. But let´s not fight among ourselves. It´s equally useless
for us to bitch that the EEC team did not do a thorough inspection of this
planet and grossly misled us. But this world has already proved that it can
survive such an incursion and regenerate. Are we humans any less resilient
with the resources we have at hand?« He tapped his forehead significantly.
        »I don´t want just to survive, hand to mouth,« Ted Tubberman
shouted, his chin jerking out belligerently, »cooped up in a building
wondering if those things are going to eat their way through to me!«
        »Ted, that´s the biggest bunch of bilgewash I´ve ever heard from a
grown man,« Jim Tillek said. »We got a bit of a problem with our new world
that I sure as hell am going to help solve. So quit your bitching, and
let´s figure out just how to cope. We´re here, man, and we´re going to
survive!«
        »I want us to send home for help,« someone else said calm but firm.
»I feel that we´re going to need the defenses a sophisticated society can
supply, especially as we brought so little technology with us. And most
especially if this stuff returns so often.«
        »Once we´ve sent for help, we have to take what is sent,« Cabot
said quickly.
        »Lili, what odds are you taking that Earth would send us help?« Jim
Tillek asked.
        Ted Tubberman jumped to his feet again. »Don´t bet on it. Vote on
it! If this meeting´s really democratic, that is, let´s vote to send a
mayday to Federated Sentient Planets.«
        »I second the motion,« one of the medics said, along with several
others.
        »Rudi,« Cabot said, »appoint two other stewards and let´s take a
hand vote.«
        »Not everyone´s here tonight,« Wade Lorenzo pointed out.
        »If they don´t wish to attend a scheduled meeting, they will have
to abide by the decision of those who did,« Cabot replied sternly. He was
met with shouts of agreement. »Let the vote be taken on the motion before
us. Those in favor of sending a homing capsule to the Federated Sentient
Planets for assistance, raise their hands.«
        Hands were duly raised and counted by the stewards, Rudi Shwartz
taking note of the count. When Cabot called for those opposed to sending
for help, the majority was marked. As soon as Cabot announced the results,
Ted Tubberman was vituperative.
        »You´re damned fools. We can´t lick this stuff by ourselves. There
is no place safe from it on this planet. Don´t you remember the EEC
reports? The entire planet was eaten up. It took more than two hundred
years to recover. What chance have we?«
        »That is enough, Tubberman,« Cabot roared at him. »You asked for a
vote. It was taken in sight of all, and the majority has decided against
sending for help. Even if the decision had been in favor, our situation is
serious enough so that certain measures must be initiated immediately.
        »One priority is the manufacture of metal sheeting to protect
existing buildings, no matter where they are. The second is to manufacture
HNO3 cylinders and flame-thrower components. A third is to conserve all
materials and supplies. Another problem is keeping a good eastern watch at
every stake until a pattern can be established for Threadfall.
        »I´m asking that we temporarily reinstate Emily Boll and Paul
Benden as leaders. Governor Boll kept her planet fed and free despite a
five-year-long Nathi space embargo, and Admiral Benden is by far the best
man to organize an effective defense strategy.
        »I´m calling for a show of hands now, and we´ll make it a proper
referendum when we know exactly how long the state of emergency will last.«
A ripple of assent greeted his crisp, decisive statements. »Rudi, prepare
for another count. » He waited a moment as the crowd shifted restlessly.
»Let´s have a show of hands on implementing those priorities tonight, with
Admiral Benden and Governor Boll in charge.«
        Many hands were immediately thrust in the air, while others came up
more slowly as the undecided took heart from their neighbors´ resolution.
Even before Rudi gave him the count, Cabot could see that the vote was
heavily in favor of the emergency measures.
        »Governor Boll, Admiral Benden, will you accept this mandate?« he
asked formally.
        »It was rigged!« Ted Tubberman shouted. »I tell you, rigged They
just want to get back into power again.« His accusations broke off suddenly
as Tarvi and Fulmar pushed him firmly back down on the bench.
        »Governor? Admiral?« Cabot ignored the interruption. »You two still
have the best qualifications for the jobs to be done, but if you decline, I
will accept nominations from the floor.« He waited expectantly, giving no
hint of his personal preference in the matter and paying no afternoon to
the restless audience and the rising murmur of anxious whispers.
        Slowly Emily Boll rose to her feet. »I accept.«
        »As I do,« Paul Benden said, standing beside the governor. »But
only for the duration of this emergency.«
        »You believe that?« Tubberman roared, breaking loose from his
restrainers.
        »That is quite enough, Tubberman,« Cabot shouted, appearing to lose
his professional detachment. »The majority supports this temporary measure
even if you won´t.« Slowly the audience quieted. Cabot waited until there
was complete silence. »Now, I´ve saved the worst news until I was certain
we were all resolved to work together. Thanks to Kenjo and his survey
teams, Boris and Dieter believe that there is a pattern emerging. If
they´re right, we have to expect this Thread to fall again tomorrow
afternoon at Malay River and proceed across Cathay Province to Mexico on
Maori Lake.«
        »On Malay?« Chuck Kimmage jumped to his feet, his wife clutching
his arm, both of them horrified. Phas had managed to find and warn all the
other stakers at Malay and Mexico, but Chuck and Chaila had arrived just
before the meeting, too late to be privately informed.
        »And all of us will help preserve your stakes,« Emily Boll said in
a loud firm voice.
        Paul jumped up on the platform, raising his hands and glancing at
Cabot for permission to speak. »I´m asking for volunteers to man sleds and
flame-throwers. Kenjo and Fulmar have worked out a way of mounting them.
Some are already in place on what sleds they could commandeer. Those of you
with medium and large sleds just volunteered them. The best way to get the
Thread is while it´s still airborne, before it has a chance to land. We
will also need people on the ground, mopping up what does slip through.«
        »What about the fire-lizards, or whatever you call ‘em? Won´t they
help?« someone asked.
        »They helped us that day at Landing,« a woman added, a note of
fearful apprehension making her voice break.
        »They helped at Sadrid Stake two days ago,« Wade said.
        »The rain helped a lot, too,« Kenjo added, not at all convinced of
assistance from a nonmechanical quarter.
        »Any of you with dragonets would be very welcome in ground crews,«
Paul went on, willing to entertain any possible reinforcements. But he,
too, was skeptical; he had been too busy to attach a dragonet, though his
wife and older son had two each. »I particularly need those of you who´ve
had any combat or flight experience. Our enemy isn´t the Nathi this time,
but it´s our world that is being invaded. Let´s stop it, tomorrow and
whenever it´s necessary!«
        A spontaneous cheer went up in response to his rousing words and
was repeated, growing in volume as people got to their feet, waving
clenched fists. Those on the platform watched the demonstration relieved
and reassured. Perhaps only Ongola took note of those who remained seated
or silent.

* * * * *

If Dieter and Boris were correct, the oncoming Fall would give the Kahrain
peninsula a near miss, beginning at approximately 1630 hours, roughly 120
klicks northwest of the mouth of the Paradise River, 25 degrees south.
Dieter and Boris were not sure if the fall would extend as far
southwestward as Mexico on Lake Maori, but precautions were being taken
there as well.
        Acting Commander Kenjo Fusaiyuki assembled his squadrons at the
required point. Though Thread drowned in the sea, his teams would at least
have some practice throwing flame at the »real thing.«
        »Practice« was not the appropriate term for the chaos that
resulted. Kenjo was reduced to snarling peremptory orders over the comm
unit as the inept but eager sled pilots plummeted through the skies after
Thread, frequently favoring one another with a glancing touch of thrown
HNO3.
        Fighting Thread required entirely different techniques from hunting
wherry or scoring a hit on a large flying machine driven by a reasonably
intelligent enemy. Thread was mindless. It just fell -- in a slanting
southwesterly direction, occasionally buffeted into tangles by gusting
winds. It was the inexorability of that insensate fall that infuriated,
defeated, depressed, and frustrated. No matter how much was seared to ash
in the sky, more followed relentlessly. Nervous pilots swooped, veered, and
dove. Unskilled gunners fired at anything that moved into range, which more
often than not was another sled chasing down a tangle of Thread. Nine
domesticated dragonets fell victim to such inexpertise, and there was
suddenly a marked decrease in the number of wild ones who had joined the
fray.
        In the first half hour of the fall, seven sleds were involved in
minor collisions, three badly damaged and two with cracked siliplex
canopies which made them unairworthy. Even Kenjo´s sled bore score marks.
Four broken arms, six broken or sprained hands, three cracked collarbones,
and a broken leg put fourteen gunners out of action; many others struggled
on with lacerations and bruises. No one had thought about rigging any
safety harnesses for the flame-gunners.
        A hasty conference between the squadron leaders was called on a
secured channel at the beginning of the second hour while the Fall was
still over water. The squadron leaders -- Kenjo, Sabra Stein-Ongola, Theo
Force, and Drake Bonneau -- and Paul Benden, as leader of the
ground-support crews -- decided to assign each squadron their own altitude
level at hundred-meter intervals. The squadron would fly in a stacked wedge
formation back and forth across the fifty-klick width of the Thread
corridor. The important factor was for each wedge of seven sleds to stick
to its designated altitude.
        Once the sleds began to maintain their distances, midair collisions
and scorchings were immediately reduced. Kenjo led the most capable fliers
at ground level to catch as much missed Thread as possible and to inform
the surface crews where tangles got through. Paul Benden coordinated the
movements of the fast ground-skimmers, which carried teams with small
portable flamers. Channels were kept open to air, ground, and Landing. Joel
Lilienkamp organized replacement of empty HNO3 cylinders and power packs. A
medical team remained on standby.
        By mid-Fall, Paul knew that his ground-support teams were too
thinly spread to be truly effective, even though there were, fortunately,
substantial stretches where thread landed on stony or poor soil and
shriveled and died quickly. Toward the end, when weary pilots were running
low on energy and the sled power packs were nearly depleted, more Thread
got through. It seemed to be part of the growing bad luck that it fell over
thick vegetation and the home farm of the Mexico Stake.
        The abrupt end of the Fall, on the verge of Maori Lake and the main
buildings of Mexico, came as a distinct shock to those who had been
concentrating so hard on destroying Thread. Squadron leaders ordered their
fighters to land on the lakeside while they had a chance to confer with the
ground-crew marshals. Those at Mexico who had not been in ground defense
provided hot soup and klah, fresh bread and fruit, and had prepared an
infirmary in one of the houses. Tarvi and the Karachi team had managed to
complete metal roofing just before the Fall reached the area. Then Joel
Lilienkamp´s supply barge arrived with fresh power packs and HNO3
cylinders.
        The day was not over yet. Pilots cruised slowly back over the Fall
corridor, checking for any »live« Thread. Paul drove himself and his
sweat-smeared, soot-covered, weary teams back toward Malay Stake and the
coast to try to spot signs of a secondary infestation where no shell or
dissolving matter was visible. Only two such points were discovered and, on
Paul´s order, the ground was saturated with contained blasts of HNO3.
        One of the ground crew on that detail told the admiral that he
thought that was a waste of fuel. »The dragonets weren´t at all concerned,
Admiral. They are when there´s Thread.«
        »We take no chances at this stage,« Paul replied, a slight smile
removing any hint of rebuke. He did not look upon the fiery bath as an
overkill. The dragonets were palpably alerted by Thread, but were obviously
unaware of the presence of the second, and possibly more fearful, stage of
its life cycle.
        However, Paul Benden´s respect for the dragonets was increased by
their diligent searching out of newly fallen Thread. Several times during
the Fall, he spotted the fair of dragonets fighting alongside Sean Connell
and the redheaded Hanrahan girl. The creatures seemed to be obeying orders.
Their movements had a discipline, while other groups flitted about in a
kind of chaotic frenzy.
        On almost too many occasions, Paul saw the little creatures
suddenly disappearing just when one seemed certain to be seared by the
fiery breath of another. He found himself wishing that sleds had that sort
of ability, or even more agility. Sleds were not the most efficient fighter
craft. He recalled his admiration of the dragonets during the wherry
attack. From accounts of their now legendary »umbrella« defense of Landing
from the First Fall, he knew that hundreds of wild ones had assisted their
domesticated kin. They could be splendid reinforcements. Paul wondered what
the chances were to mobilize all the dragonets to be trained by Connell and
Hanrahan.
        The present Fall had left denuded patches on the surface, but
despite all initial bungling and the inexperience of sled and ground crews,
the devastation was not as widespread as in the first horrific Fall.
        Most of the exhausted fighters chose to remain the night at Malay
Stake. Pierre de Courci took it upon himself to act as chef, and his team
had prepared baked fish and tubers in great pits on the beach. Weary men,
women, and youngsters sat around the reassuring bonfires, too spent to
talk, glad enough just to have survived the rigors of the day.
        Sean and Sorka opened an emergency clinic on the Malay beach to
tend the wounded fire-dragonets, slathering numbweed on Thread scored wings
and seared hide.
        »D´you think that once Sira stops crying, my bronze and brown will
come back?« Tarrie Chernoff asked. She was dirty with black grease and
vegetation-green stains, her wher-hide jerkin showing numerous char spots,
new and old, but like all devoted fire-dragonet owners she was caring for
her creature before seeing to her own relief.
        Sean shrugged noncommittally, but Sorka laid a reassuring hand on
Tarrie´s arm. »They usually do. They get pretty upset when one of their own
fair´s hurt, especially a queen. You get a good night´s sleep and see what
the morning brings.«
        »Why´d you give her false comfort like that, Sorka?« Sean asked in
a low voice when Tarrie had trudged back to the bonfires, her comforted
queen cradled in the crook of her arm. »You know bloody well by now that if
it´s hurt badly enough, a fire-lizard doesn´t come back.« Scan was grim. He
and Sorka had been lucky with their fair so far, but then, he had seen to
it that their dragonets had the discipline to survive.
        »She needs a good night´s sleep without worrying herself sick. And
a lot do come back.«
        Sorka gave a weary sigh as she closed the medicine case. She arched
her back against tired back muscles. »Give me a rub, would you Sean? My
right shoulder.« She turned her back to him and sighed in relief as his
strong fingers kneaded the strain away.
        Sean´s hands felt marvelous on her back; he knew just how to ease
away the tension. Then his hands moved caressingly up the nape of her neck
and lovingly into her hair. Tired as she was, she responded to the silent
question. She stepped away from him, smiling as she looked quickly about to
see where their fair had taken themselves.
        »They´ve all found quiet nests to curl up in.« Sean´s low voice was
suggestive.
        »Then let´s find us one of our own.« She caught his hand and led
him off the beach and into a thick grove of arrow-leaf plants that they had
helped save from Threadscore.

Revived by the hot meal and a generous beaker of a very smooth quikal
fermented by Chaila Xavior-Kimmage from local fruits, Paul and Emily
quietly organized a discreet council, which they held in one of the
unscathed Malay outbuildings. Besides the admiral and the governor, Ongola,
Drake, Kenjo, Jim Tillek, Ezra Keroon, and Joel Lilienkamp attended.
        »We´ll do better next time, Admiral,« Drake Bonneau assured Paul
with a cocky salute. Kenjo, entering behind him, regarded the tall war ace
with amused condescension. »Today taught us that this Thread requires
entirely different flight and strike techniques. We´ll refine that wedge
maneuver so nothing gets through. Sled pilots must drill to maintain
altitude patterns. Gunners must learn to control their blasts. It´s more
than just holding the button down. We had some mighty close encounters. We
lost some of the little dragonets, too. We can´t risk so many lives, much
less the sleds.«
        »We can repair the sleds, Drake,« Joel Lilienkamp remarked dryly
before Paul spoke, »but power packs won´t last forever. We can´t afford to
expand them uselessly on drills. Despite our resupply system, which I bet I
can improve, nine pilots had to glide-land at Maori. That´s clumsy
management. That wedge formation, by the way, Drake, is economical on the
packs. But it still takes days to recharge exhausted ones. How long will
this stuff keep falling, Paul?« Joel looked up from his calculating pad.
        »We haven´t established that yet,« Paul said, his left thumb
rubbing his knuckles. »Boris and Dieter are collating information from the
pilot debriefing.«
        »Hellfire, that´s not going to tell us what we need to know, Paul,«
Drake said, his weary tone a complaint. »Where does this stuff come from?«
        »Probe´s gone off,« Ezra Keroon said. »It´ll be a couple a more
days before any reports come back.«
        Drake continued almost as if he had not heard. »I want to find out
if the stuff mightn´t be more vulnerable in the stratosphere. Even if we
only have ten pressurized sleds, would a high-altitude strike be more
effective? Does this junk hit the atmosphere in clumps and then disperse?
Can we develop a defense less clumsy than flame-thrower? We need to know
more about this enemy.«
        »It doesn´t fight back,« Ongola remarked, rubbing his temples to
ease the pounding sort of headache that battle had always given him.
        »True,« Paul replied with a grim smile as he turned to Kenjo. »I
wonder if we would gain any useful data from an orbital reconnaissance
flight? How much fuel in the Mariposa´s tanks?«
        »If I pilot it, enough for three, maybe four flights,« Kenjo
replied, deliberately avoiding Drake´s eyes, »depending on how much
maneuvering is required and how many orbits.«
        »You´re the man for it, Kenjo,« Drake said with a flourish of his
hand and a rueful expression. »You can land on a breath of fuel.« Kenjo,
smiling slightly, gave a short, quick bow from the waist. »Do we know when,
or where, the stuff hits us again?«
        »We do,« Paul assured them in a flat tone. »If the data is correct
and it was today, stakeholders are lucky. It strikes in two places: 1930
hours across Araby to the Sea of Azov,« -- his expression reflected his
continued regret at the loss of Araby´s original stake owners -- »and 0330
from the sea across the tip of Delta. Both those areas are unoccupied.«
        »We can´t let that stuff go unchecked anywhere, Paul,« Ezra said in
alarm.
        »I know, but if we´re going to have to mount crews every three
days, we´ll all soon be exhausted.«
        »Not everything needs to be protected,« Drake said, unfolding his
flight map. »Lots of marsh, scrub land.«
        »The Fall will still be attended,« Paul said in an inarguable tone
of voice. »Look on it as a chance to refine maneuvers and train teams,
Drake. It is undeniably best to get the stuff while it´s airborne. Thread
didn´t eat through as much land today, but we can´t afford to lose wide
corridors every time it hits us.«
        »Draft some more of those dragonets,« Joel suggested facetiously.
»They´re as good on the ground as in the air.«
        Emily regarded him sadly as the others grinned. »Unfortunately they
just aren´t big enough.«
        Paul turned around in his chair to give the governor a searching
look. »That´s the best idea today, Emily.«
        Drake and Kenjo looked at each other, puzzled, but Ongola, Joel,
and Ezra Keroon sat up, their expressions expectant. Jim Tillek grinned.

There were five main islands off the southern coast of Big Island and
several small prominences, the remains of volcanoes poking above the
brilliant green-blue sea. The one Avril and Stev were eagerly approaching
was no more than the crater of a sunken volcano. Its sides sloped into the
sea, providing a narrow shore, except to the south where the lip of the
crater was lowest. Avril was bouncing with impatience as Stev nosed the
prow of the little boat up onto the north shore.
        »That Nielsen twit couldn´t possibly be right,« she muttered,
hopping on to the pebbly beach before he had shut off the power. »How could
we have missed a whole beach full of diamonds?«
        »We had more promising sites. Remember, Avril?«
        Steve watched her scoop up a handful of the black stones and sift
them through her fingers. She kept only the largest, which she thrust at
him.
        »Here! Scan it!« As he inserted the palm-sized stone into the
portable scanner, she looked about in angry agitation. »It makes sense.
They can´t all be black diamonds. Can they?«
        »This one is!«
        She took back the stone and held it up to the sun for a moment. And
this one?« She grabbed up a fist-sized rock and pushed it at him, but he
was quick enough to see her slip the first stone into her pouch. »It´s
lucky that Nielsen kid´s only our apprentice. All this is -- ours -- too!«
        »We´ll,« -- Stev had not missed Avril´s quick alteration -- »have
to be careful not to glut the market.« He put the big stone into the
scanner with eager and not quite steady fingers. »It is indeed black
diamond. Around four hundred carats and relatively unflawed.
Congratulations, my dear, you´ve struck it rich.«
        She grimaced at his mocking tone and snatched the diamond from him,
clasping it against her almost protectively. »It can´t all be black
diamond,« she muttered. »Can it?«
        »Why not? There´s nothing to keep diamonds from being hatched from
a volcano, if you have the right ingredients and sufficient pressure at
some point in time. I grant you, this might be the only beach composed of
black diamond, or any diamond, in the universe, but that´s what« -- Stev´s
grin was pure malice -- »you, have here.«
        She glanced at him, her eyes weary, and managed an easy smile.
»What we have, Stev.« She leaned into him, her skin warm against his. »This
is the most exciting moment of my life.« She wound her free hand about his
neck and kissed him passionately, her body pressing against him until he
felt the diamond gouging his ribs.
        »Not even diamonds must come between us, my love,« he murmured,
taking it from her resisting fingers and dropping it behind them into the
open sled.
        Stev was not unduly surprised the next morning when he found that
both Avril and the fastest sled were gone from their Big Island mining
camp. He made a second check in the rock hollow where he knew Avril
secreted the more spectacular gemstones that had been found. It was empty.
        Stev grinned maliciously. She might have ignored the mayday from
Landing, but he had not. He had followed what was happening on the southern
continent, and kept an eye to the east whenever a cloud appeared. He had
made contingency plans. He doubted that Avril had. He would have liked to
see her expression when she found out that Landing was swarming with
industrious people, the takeoff grid crammed with sleds and technicians. So
he roared with amusement when one of their apprentices anxiously reported
that she could not find Avril anywhere.
        Nabhi Nabol was not at all pleased.

Kenjo achieved orbit with a minimum of fuel expenditure. He kept his mind
on the task at hand, feeling the upward thrust of the versatile craft, and
the glorious elation of release from gravity. He could wish that all his
cares would fall away as easily. But he had not lost his touch with
spacecraft. He slid appreciative fingers down the edge of the console.
        The last three days had been frantic, servicing the Mariposa´s
dormant systems, checking any possible fatigue or perishing of essential
parts. He had even allowed Theo Force to command his squadron when Thread
fell over the mountains southeast of Karachi and brushed Longwood, on Ierne
Island. It was more important for him to recommission the Mariposa. Ongola
had spared some time to tune the comm unit circuits and help with the
terminal checks. The little ship had been designed for inactivity in the
vacuum of space, and although the more important circuits had been stored
in vacuum containers, there was always the fear that some minor but
critical connection had not been properly scrutinized. But finally all
systems had proved go-green, and a trial blast of her engines had been
reassuringly loud and steady -- and Kenjo had objected when forced to rest
the last twelve hours before takeoff.
        You may be a bloody good jockey, Kenjo, but there are better
mechanics on Pern than you,« Paul Benden had told him in no uncertain
terms. »You need rest now, to keep you alert in space where we can´t help
you.«
        A flight plan had been calculated to allow Kenjo to be in the
position where Boris and Dieter had predicted the next batch of Thread
would enter Pern´s atmosphere. Their program indicated that Thread fell in
approximately seventy-two-hour bursts, give or take an hour or two. Kenjo´s
mission was to measure the accuracy of their program, to determine the
composition of Thread prior to entry, and, if possible, to trace its
trajectory backward. Also, last but scarcely least, he was to destroy it
before it entered the atmosphere. The next Fall was due to hit Kahrain
Province, just above the deserted Oslo Landing, continue on to fall over
Paradise River Stake, and end in the Araby Plains.
        Kenjo was a hundred miles below the empty spaceships, but that was
too far away for them to register on his scope. Nevertheless he strained to
see them, magnifying the viewscope to its limit. Then he shrugged. The
ships were past history. He was going to make a new contribution, an
unparalleled one. Kenjo Fusaiyuko would discover the source of Thread,
eradicate it once and for all, and be a planetary hero. Then no one would
condemn him for »conserving« so much fuel for his private use. He could
relieve his sense of honor and his scouring bouts of conscience.
        Building his extra-light aircraft had been most rewarding. He had
found the design on tape in the Yokohama´s library, in the
history-of-airflight section. It was not the most fuel efficient, even when
he had redesigned the engine, but what he had saved from each shuttle drop
had made that saucy plane possible. Flying it over his isolated Honshu
Stake in the Western Barrier Range had given him satisfaction far beyond
his imagining, even if it had given rise to rumors of a large and hitherto
unknown, flying creature. His wife, patient and calm had ventured no
opinion on his avocation, aiding him in its construction. A mechanical
engineer, she managed the small hydroelectric plant that served their
plateau home and three small stakes in the next valley. She had given him
four children, three of them sons, was a good mother, and even managed to
help him cultivate the fruit trees that he raised as a credit crop.
        She was safe from Thread, for they had cut their home right into
the mountain, using wood only on the interior. She had been quite willing
to help him carve a hangar for his aircraft with the stone-cutters he had
borrowed from Drake Bonneau. But she did not know that he had a second,
well-concealed cave in which to store his hoard of liquid fuel. He had not
yet managed to transfer all of it to Honshu from the cave at Landing.
        Yes, no one would object to what Kenjo had done when he brought
them the information they sought. And he would see to it that it took three
or four missions to do so. He had missed the tranquillity and the challenge
of deep space. How pitiful his little atmospheric craft was in comparison
to the beautiful, powerful Mariposa. How clumsy the sled he had flown as a
squadron leader. He had finally returned to his true medium -- space!
        The ship´s alarms went off, and moments later the pinging began. He
was in the midst of a shower of small ovoids. With a cry once uttered by
long-dead Japanese warriors, Kenjo fired his starboard repulsors and
grinned when the screen blossomed with tiny stars of destruction.

Avril Bitra was livid. She could not believe the change in Landing
especially as she had counted on it being nearly deserted. When Stev had
talked her into taking apprentices so that no one would question exactly
what it was they were doing on Big Island, Landing´s population had been
down to a mere two hundred.
        But the Landing she found was crawling with people. There were
lights everywhere, and people bustling about despite the late hour. Worst
of all, the landing strip was crowded with sleds, large, small, and medium,
and technicians swarmed about -- and the Mariposa was not there! What under
the suns had happened?
        She had settled her sled to one edge of the strip, near where she
had last seen the little space gig. She fumed impotently again over that
disappointment. She had a fortune with which to depart this wretched
mudball. She had even managed to shake off any companions. She had no
qualms about leaving Stev Kimmer. He had been useful, as well as amusing --
until just lately, until he had assessed those black diamonds. Yes, she had
been right to leave immediately before he thought to dismantle the sleds or
do something drastic so that she would be forced to take him with her.
Where in all the hells of seventeen worlds was the Mariposa? Who was using
up the fuel she needed to get her to the colony ships? She struggled to
control her rage. She had to think!
        Belatedly she remembered the mayday. She wished now that she had
listened in. Well, it could not have been that serious, not with Landing a
hive of industry. Still, that could work in her favor. With so many people
around, no one would notice another worker poking about.
        She shivered, suddenly aware of the chill in the night air of the
plateau. She was accustomed to the tropical climate of Big Island. Cursing
inventively under her breath, she rooted through the sled´s storage
compartments and found a reasonably clean coverall. She also girded on the
mechanic´s belt she found beneath the coverall. It was probably Stev´s --
he was always well equipped. She smirked. Not always prepared, however.
        Before she left to hunt for the Mariposa, she would have to hide
the sled. In the darkness, she tried to locate at least one of the dense
shrubs that grew at the edge of the strip, but she could not find any.
Instead she stumbled into a small hole that proved large enough to conceal
her sacks of treasure. She retrieved them from the sled, dropped them into
the hole, piled loose stone and dirt over them and then shone her handbeam
over the spot to see if they were well hidden. After a few minor
adjustments, she was satisfied.
        With brazen strides she walked down the grid to the lights and
activity.

Glancing out of the ground-floor window of the met tower where Drake
Bonneau was conducting a training session, Sallah Telgar-Andiyar thought
she had to be mistaken: the woman only looked like Avril Bitra. She was
wearing a tool belt and strode purposefully toward a stripped-down sled.
Yet no one else Sallah knew had that same arrogant walk, that provocative
swing of the hip. Then the woman stopped and began to work on the sled.
Sallah shook her head. Avril was at Big Island; she had not even responded
to the mayday, or to the more recent recall to Landing for pilot duty. No
one had seen her, or really cared to, but Stev Kimmer´s genius with
circuits would have been invaluable. Ongola was trying to get Paul Benden
to order the return of Big Island miners.
        »Don´t keep your fingers on the release button.« Drake´s voice
penetrated her moment of inattention.
        Poor fellow, Sallah thought. He was trying to teach all the eager
youngsters how to fight Thread. If half of what Tarvi had told her about
the deadly menace was true, it was devilish to combat.
        »Always sweep from bow to stern. Thread falls in a sou´westerly
direction, so if you come under the leading edge, you char a larger
portion.« Drake was running out of space on the operational board, which he
had covered with his diagrams and flight patterns. Sallah had yet to fight
the stuff, so she had paid attention -- until the moment when she had
thought she recognized Avril.
        The day had had the quality of a reunion for the shuttle pilots.
All the old crowd, with the exception of Nabhi Nabol and Kenjo, had
answered the summons. Sallah knew where Kenjo was; she was a trifle envious
of him, and was glad of Nabol´s absence. He would certainly have sneered to
be in the company of all the young ones who had earned their flying tickets
since Landing. Why, she had known some of them as adolescents.
        Settling in at Karachi had eaten more time than she realized. And
it had brought so many changes, such as the dragonets perched on young
shoulders or curled up on hide-trousered legs. Her own three -- a gold and
two bronzes -- had, just like her older children, picked up some basic
manners. They were perched on the top shelves of the big ready room. Two
were mentas, and she wondered if they understood what was going on before
their watchful rainbow eyes.
        Drake´s imperative warning interrupted her musing. »Don‘t deviate
from your assigned altitude. We´re trying to rig cruising devices that will
warn you hair-trigger pilots when you´re out of line. We´ve got to maintain
flight levels to avoid collisions. We´ve got more people to fly than sleds
to fly in. You, » he said, jabbing his finger at his audience »can be
replaced. The sled cannot, and we´re going to need every one we can keep in
the air.
        »Now, a sweep from bow to stern in a one-second blast chars as much
Thread for the range of these throwers. Catch the end of the stuff and fire
runs back up most of it. Don´t waste the HNO3.« His rapid-fire use of the
chemical designation made it sound more like »agenothree,« Sallah thought,
losing concentration once again. Damn, she must pay attention, but she was
so used to listening for sounds, not words. And silences. The silence all
children made when they were being naughty or trying out forbidden things.
And hers were inventive. She felt her lips widen in a proudly maternal
smile, then disciplined her expression as Drake´s eyes fastened on her
face.
        She already missed her three older children dreadfully. Ram Da,
Sallah´s sturdy, reliable seven-year-old son, had promised to look out for
Dena and Ben. Sallah had brought three-month-old Cara with her -- the baby
was safely installed with Mairi Hanrahan´s lot -- so she was not totally
deprived. But Tarvi was back at Karachi, extruding metal sheets on a
round-the-clock basis, slaving as hard as the people he drove to their
limits.
        ». . . and make each cylinder last as long as possible,« Drake was
saying. »Conserve agenothree and power, and you´ll last longer in the
flight line. Which is where you´re needed. Now, most of you have had
experience with turbulence. Don‘t shuck your safety harness until you´re on
the ground. The lighter sleds can be flipped on landing if the wind
suddenly gusts, because they´re nose-heavy with the flame-thrower mounts.«
        With Tarvi on such a schedule, it was just as well that she had
work of her own to do, Sallah thought. He had little enough time for her,
and she would not even have the comfort of sleeping beside him -- or be
able to rouse him to a dawn lusting when he was too drowsy to resist her
caresses.
        What was wrong with her? she wondered for the millionth time. She
had not trapped Tarvi. The mutual need and passion that day in the cave
could not have been faked. When the chance union had resulted in pregnancy,
he had immediately offered to make a formal arrangement. She had not
insisted, but she had been much relieved that the initiative had been his.
He had been considerate, tender, and solicitous through out the gestation,
and sincerely over joyed when his firstborn was a strong, healthy boy. He
adored all his children, rejoicing at their birth and in their development.
It was his wife he avoided, dismissed, ignored.
        Sallah sighed, and her old friend Barr shot her a quizzical glance.
Sallah smiled and gave a shrug, intimating that Drake had caused her
reaction. What would her life have been like with Drake Bonneau, happily
ensconced on his lake? Svenda looked complacent, boasting about limiting
her childbearing to two. Drake might act the confident flyboy in public,
but the previous night he had been noticeably dancing attendance on his
imperious wife. Sallah had always thought that Drake was more »show« than
»do.« Yet for all Tarvi´s eccentricities, Sallah preferred the geologist
and treasured those ever more rare occasions when she could rouse him to
passion. Perhaps that was the problem: Tarvi should be allowed the
initiative. No, she had tried that tack, and had gone through a miserable
year before she thought of her »dawn attacks.«
        She had learned some Pushtu phrases from Jivan and artlessly she
had inquired about feminine names. Whomever Tarvi called for at the height
of passion, it was not another woman. Or another man from all she could
discover.
        »So,« Drake said, »here is the roster for the next Fall. Remember,
it´s a double hit, at Jordan and at Dorado. We´re going to send you Dorado
squadrons on ahead so you can be well rested by the time you have to
fight.« Again Drake´s eagle gaze swept his adoring students. »Now, back to
your sleds to lend the technicians what assistance you can. House lights´ll
go out at midnight. We all need our rest,« he concluded cheerfully as he
waved their dismissal.
        Svenda quickly moved to his side, her scowl a deterrent to those
who approached Drake with private questions.
        »When did you get in, Sallah?« Barr asked, turning with her usual
friendly grin. »I only arrived in from our stake around noon. No one of the
old group knew when you´d make it. I didn´t realize this thing was so
serious until I saw what it had done on my way up.«
        Sallah laughed. Barr´s bubbling personality had not changed a
micro, though her figure had rounded. »How many kids do you have now,
Barr?« Sallah asked. »We´ve sort of lost track of each other with you on
the other side of the continent.«
        »Five!« Barr managed a girlish giggle, glancing slyly at Sallah.
»The last was a set of twins, which I´d never have expected. Then Jess told
me that he was a twin, and twin births were common in his family. I could
have strangled him.«
        »You didn´t, though.«
        »Naw! He´s a good man, a loving father, and a hard worker.« Barr
gave a sharp nod of her head at each virtue, grinning at Sallah again. Then
her mobile face changed to one of concern. »Are you all right, Sallah?«
        »Me, certainly. I´ve four kids. Brought Cara with me. She´s only
three months old.«
        »Is she at Mairi´s or Chris MacArdle-Cooney´s?«
        »At Mairi´s. We´d better check that roster and see when we´re on
duty. Where´s Sorka these days?« Sallah had also lost track of the
redheaded Hanrahan girl. »I saw all the others.«
        »Oh, she´s living with another vet. Over on Irish Square.«
        »How appropriate!« Suddenly Sallah felt a surge of resentment,
something to do with the freedom young people had and her frustration with
Tarvi´s diffidence, along with the sudden realization that she had
relatively few responsibilities at that moment and that her professional
skills were once again in demand. »C´mon, let´s go find a drink and catch
up on our lives!«

Sorka and Sean arrived at their quarters from different directions. Sean
from an unexpected meeting with Admiral Benden, Sorka from the barn. She
knew by his jarring stride that Sean was barely containing a fine fit of
rage. He held it back until they were inside the house.
        »Damn fool, hell´n´damned fool,« he said, slamming the door behind
him. »That pompous, pig-headed, butt-stupid git.«
        »Admiral Benden?« she inquired, surprised. Sean had never had
reason to criticize the admiral, and he had been proud to be called to a
special interview.
        »That stupid admiral wants a cavalry unit!«
        »Cavalry?« Sorka paused as she picked their evening meal out of the
freezer compartment.
        »To charge about the countryside with flame-throwers, no less!
        »Doesn´t he realize horses hate fire?«
        »He does now.« Sean went past her to the small cabinet, hauled out
a bottle of quikal, and held it up suggestively.
        »Yes, please. If I don´t unwind, too, my food won´t do me any good
at all.« She curtailed her anxiety. The need for a drink indicated how
tense he was, for Sean was not a drinking man.
        »We don´t have to eat up above, do we?« he asked, jerking his head
over his shoulder in the direction of the reestablished community kitchen.
        »No, I raided Mother´s freezer.« She set the container in the
warming unit and dialed the appropriate time.
        Sean handed over her glass and raised his in a toast. »To idiot
admirals who are very good in space and real dumb washout stupid about
animals. As if we had enough horses to waste in such an asinine caper. He
also envisions me training squadrons of fire-lizards« -- Sean had persisted
in using his own name for them -- »swooping down on Thread at command. He
even feels that he should have one, too. He doesn´t effing know they won´t
be hatching till summer! That is, if those flyboys don´t flame ‘em all
down.«
        Sorka had never seen Sean so infuriated. He paced about, his face
flushed, throwing his left arm out in extravagant gestures, sipping at his
drink between phrases as he vented his anger. He flicked his head to flip
the sun-lightened hair out of his eyes. A grimace made him appear
inscrutable, almost frightening in his anger. On one level she listened to
his words, agreeing with his anxieties and opinions; on another, she
reveled in the fact that beneath the contained, almost coldly detached
impression he gave most people, there was such a passionate, intelligent,
critical, rational, and dedicated personality.
        Sorka did not quite know when she had realized that she loved him
-- it seemed that she always had -- but she remembered the day she realized
that he loved her: the first time he had exploded in her presence over a
minor incident. Sean would never have permitted himself that luxury if he
had not felt totally secure in her presence, if he had not unconsciously
needed her soothing affection and reassurance. Watching him work off his
aggravation, Sorka permitted herself a small smile which she tactfully hid
behind her glass.
        »Now, Sean, the admiral paid you a compliment, too,« she remarked.
She caught his surprised glance and smiled. »By consulting you. I noticed,
even if you didn´t, that he watched us out there on the Malay corridor, saw
how well our fair behaved. And I´m sure that he knows that you´re more
likely than anyone else to discover where the queens are hiding their
eggs.«
        »Humph. Yes, I guess that´s true enough.« Somewhat mollified, Sean
continued to pace, but with less agitation.
        Sorka loved Sean in every mood, but his infrequent explosions
fascinated her. His anger had never been directed at her; he rarely
criticized, and then only in a crisp impersonal tone. Some of her
girlfriends had wondered how she could stand his taciturn, almost sullen
moodiness, but Sorka had never found him sullen in her company. Generally
he was thoughtful, unwilling to offend even in a complete disagreement, and
certainly a man who kept his own counsel -- unless horses were at risk. His
lithe figure was graceful even as he thudded back and forth, his heels
pounding and leaving dents in the thick wool carpet she had woven for their
home. She let his tirade continue, amused by the language in which he
described the probable antecedents of the admiral, whom he usually
respected, and the idiocy of the entire biological team who tampered with
creatures whose natures they had not the wit to understand.
        »Well, did you offer to find the admiral a dragonet egg when the
time´s right?« she asked when he paused for breath after another
elaboration of the stupidity of brass asses.
        »Ha! I will if I can.« He spun on his heel and sprawled beside her
on the couch, his face suddenly still, rage and frustration dissipated, his
eyes on the amber liquid in his glass. From his expression, she knew that
something else was worrying him deeply. She waited for him to continue.
»You know as well as I do that we haven´t caught a glimmer of any of the
wild ones around here. They´ve made themselves scarce since the Sadrid
Fall. Jays, if there were anywhere safe on this planet, they´d find it!«
        »There were a lot helping us at the Malay corridor.«
        »Up until some idiots started flaming them, too!« Sean finished the
last of his drink to drown his disgust. »We won´t get the wild ones to help
at all if that gets about.« He poured himself another drink. »Say, where´re
yours?« he asked suddenly noticing that the usual perches were vacant.
        »Same place yours are, out and about,« she answered in a mild tone.
        Then Sean began to laugh, as much at himself as at the fact that he
had only just realized that his fire-lizards had made themselves scarce the
moment he left the admin building.
        »Not surprising, is it?« she teased, grinning back at him. He
shoved one arm behind her shoulders and pulled her, unresisting, closer to
him. »When Emmett told me Blazer was in a tizzy over your righteous wrath,
I told mine they´d have to find their own food tonight. They don´t like
cheesy things anyway.«
        »It´s not often we get a night alone,« Sean said softly, his voice
a seductive whisper in her ear. »Finish your drink, redheaded gal.« He
ruffled her fringe, then his hand traveled in a caress down her cheek to
her chin. »And turn off the cooker,« he added just before he kissed her.
        Sorka did as she was told, well pleased. It was awkward having to
invent excuses to send the dragonets off on specious errands. But even when
they were not in season, the creatures delighted in strong emotions, and
with thirteen in a chorus of encouragement, the entire neighborhood would
know what was happening in the Hanrahan-Connell quarters.
        Later that night, when the sounds of Landing´s industry were muted,
Sorka wondered if she had conceived. Sean slept neatly and quietly beside
her, his fingers lightly encircling her upper arm. Sorka had never
mentioned a formal arrangement to Sean, or ever pointed out the common
assumption of Landing´s population that they were a tempered team. She and
Sean were of one mind in nearly everything they did, utilizing their
veterinary apprenticeship to breed strong horses, finding the very best
among the genetic stock available from either the banks or the live
stallions. They were soon to sit their final exams in veterinary medicine
and they had located the perfect spot for a home -- a valley halfway down
the Eastern Barrier Range. Sean had taken Red to see the proposed Killarney
Stake, and her father had approved emphatically of their choice. Sorka took
that as a tacit approval of their still informal union.
        Although Sorka´s parents had acquiesced, Porrig Connell still
treated her formally as a guest he wished to see less often. His wife had
never ceased in her efforts to bring her son back to his proper hearth. She
had chosen another daughter-in-law for Sean and sometimes embarrassed all
concerned by pushing the girl at Sean on every opportunity.
        »I won´t breed so close, Mam,« Sean had informed her when she had
nagged him once too often. »It´s bad for the blood. Lally Moorhouse´s
father was your first cousin. We need to spread the gene pool not enclose
it.«
        Sorka had overheard, but she knew Sean well enough by then not to
be hurt that he had said no more about choosing. Perhaps he had not known
then that he loved fifteen-year-old Sorka Hanrahan, who was already certain
where her heart had been given.
        She had been seventeen before he had touched her with any kind of
passion, and that had been a night to remember. Their roles had become
reversed: she, the wanton; he, the hesitant, tender lover. Her ardent
response to his gentle overtures had surprised and pleased them both, but
they had not moved to separate quarters until she had passed her eighteenth
birthday. It had become a custom in their generation to have a trial period
prior to a formal declaration before the magistrate.
        Sorka wanted Sean´s child badly. Ever since that hideous half hour
treading water under a stone ledge, she had been aware of their mortality.
She wanted something of Sean -- just in case. Not that he was wild or
incautious, but the Lilienkamp boys had not been reckless, and certainly
poor Lucy Tubberman had not. So many people had been wiped out in that
First Fall.
        Sorka did not want to be left with nothing of Sean. She had not
tried before to conceive, because pregnancy would have interfered with
their plans for Killarney Stake: they needed the work credits for every
acre they could purchase. She worried that there was something wrong with
her that she had not gotten pregnant before, with all the incautious
fooling around that she and Sean had enjoyed. But she was no longer
fooling. That night she had meant business.

Wind Blossom opened the door to Paul Benden, Emily Bol, Ongola, and Pol and
Bay Harkenon-Nietro. Gracefully inclining her head in welcome, she held the
door wide for them to enter.
        Kitti Ping was seated on a padded chair that, Paul decided, must be
raised off the ground under its cover, giving it the semblance of an
archaic throne. She looked imposing, a feat for someone half his height. A
beautiful soft woven rug had been tucked about a frail body, and a
long-sleeved tunic with elaborate embroideries also increased her general
look of substance and authority. She raised one delicate hand, no larger
than his oldest daughter´s, and indicated that they were to be seated on
the stools set in an irregular circle in front of her.
        As Paul doubled his long legs to sit, he realized that she had
achieved a subtle advantage over her visitors. Amused by the tactic, he
smiled up at her and thought he could detect the merest hint of
acknowledgment.
        Only a few strong ethnic traditions had survived the Age of
Religions, but the Chinese, Japanese, Maori, and Amazon-Kapayan were four
that had retained some of their ancient ways. In Kitti´s Pernese house,
which was exquisitely furnished with heirlooms from her family, Paul knew
better than to disrupt a hospitality ritual. Wind Blossom served the
visitors fragrant tea in delicate porcelain cups. The little plantation of
tea bushes, grown to sustain the lovely ceremony had been a casualty in the
First Fall. Paul was poignantly aware that the cup of tea he sipped might
be the last he would ever taste.
        »Has Mar Dook had a chance to inform you, Kitti Ping, that he has
several tea bushes in reserve in the conservatory?« Paul asked when
everyone had had time to savor the beverage.
        Kitti Ping inclined her head in a deep bow of gratitude and smiled.
»It is a great reassurance.«
        Such a bland reply gave him no opening wedge. Paul moved
restlessly, trying to find a comfortable position on the stool, and he knew
that Pol and Bay were bursting to discuss the reason for the interview.
        »All of us would be more reassured, Kit Ping Yung« -- Abruptly he
modulated his voice which sounded so much louder after her delicate
response. -- »If we had . . . some form of reliable assistance in combating
this menace.«
        »Ah?« Her pencil-thin eyebrows rose, and then her tiny hand made a
vague gesture about the armrests.
        »Yes.« Paul cleared his throat, annoyed at himself for being so
gauche, and more annoyed that he could be so disconcerted by a trivial
seating arrangement. She must know why he had arranged the private
conference. »The truth is we are very badly positioned to defend ourselves
against Thread. Bluntly, we will run out of resources in five years. We do
not have the equipment to manufacture either sleds or power packs when what
we brought are worn out. Kenjo´s attempt to destroy Thread in space was
only partially successful and there isn´t much fuel left for the Mariposa.
        »As you know, none of the colony ships carried any defensive or
destructive weaponry. Even if we could construct laser sweep beams, there
isn´t fuel enough to move even one ship into an effective position to
annihilate the pods. Nevertheless the best way to protect the surface is to
destroy this menace in the air.
        »Boris and Dieter have confirmed our worst fears: Thread will sweep
across Pern in a pattern that will denude the planet unless we can stop it.
We cannot entertain much hope that Ezra Keroon´s probe will bring us any
useful information.« Paul spread his hands with the hopelessness that
threatened to overwhelm him.
        Kitti raised her delicate eyebrows in unfeigned surprise. »The
morning star is the source?«
        Paul sighed heavily. »That is the current theory. We´ll know more
when the probe returns its survey.«
        Kitti Ping nodded thoughtfully, her willow-slender fingers
tightening on the armrests.
        »We are, Kit Ping Yung,« Emily said, sitting even more erect on her
stool, »in a desperate situation.«
        Paul Benden was heartened in an obscure way to see the governor as
much like a nervous school child as himself. Pol and Bay nodded
encouragement. Kitti Ping and Wind Blossom, who stood slightly behind her
grandmother´s left side, waited patiently.
        »If the dragonets were only larger, Kitti,« Bay broke in, her
manner unusually brusque, »intelligent enough to obey commands, they´d be
an immense help to us. I was able to use mentasynth to enhance their own
latent empathies, but that´s a relatively simple matter. To breed large
enough dragonets -- dragons -- we need them big -- « Bay stretched her arms
full length and flicked her fingers to indicate room size. » --
intelligent, obedient, strong enough to do the job needed: flame Thread out
of the sky.« She ran out of words then, knowing very well how Kitti Ping
Yung felt about bioengineering beyond simple adjustments to adapt creatures
to new ecological parameters.
        Kitti Ping nodded again while her granddaughter regarded her with
surprise. »Yes, size, strength, and considerable intelligence would be
required,« she said in her softly audible voice. Hiding her hands in the
cuffs of her long sleeves and folding them across her stomach, she bent her
head and was silent for so long that her audience wondered if she had
nodded off in the easy sleep of the aged. Then she spoke again. »And
dedication, which is easy to instill in some creatures, impossible in
others. The dragonets already possess the traits you wish to enhance and
magnify.« She smiled, a gentle, faintly apologetic smile of great sadness
and compassion. »I was the merest student, though a very willing and eager
one, in the Great Beltrae Halls of Eridani. I was taught what would happen
if I did this or that, enlarged or reduced, severed that synapse or
modified the gene pattern. Most of the time what I was taught to do worked,
but, alas,« she added, raising one hand warningly, »I never knew why
sometimes the modification failed and the organism died. Or should have.
The Beltrae would teach us the how but never the why.«
        Paul sighed deeply, despair threatening to overwhelm him.
        »But I can try,« she said. »And I will. For though my years are
nearly accomplished, there are others to be considered.« She turned to
smile gently upon Wind Blossom, who ducked her head with humility.
        Paul shook his head, not quite believing what she had just said.
        »You will?« Bay exclaimed, jumping to her feet. She stopped just
short of rushing to Kitti´s raised chair.
        »Of course I will try!« Kitti raised one tiny hand in warning. »But
I must caution you that success cannot be assumed. What we under take is
dangerous to the species, could be dangerous for us, and cannot be
guaranteed. It is good fortune of the highest degree that the little
dragonets already possess so many of the qualities required in the
genetically altered animal that suits the urgent need. Even then we may not
be able to achieve the exact creature, or even be sure of a genetic
progression. We have no sophisticated laboratory equipment or methods of
analysis which could lighten our burden. We must let repetition, the work
of many hands and eyes, replace precision and delicacy. The task is
appropriate, but the means are barbaric.´´
        »But we have to try!« Paul Benden said, rising to his feet with
clenched fists.

* * * * *

All medical staff not on duty in the infirmary or on ground crew duty, the
veterinarians, and the apprentices, Sean and Sorka included, worked shifts
as Kitti Ping´s project was given top priority. Anyone with training in
biology, chemistry, or laboratory procedures of any kind -- sometimes even
those with nimble fingers who could be put to work preparing slides, or
those convalescing from Threadfall injuries who could watch monitors --
were drafted into service. Kitti, Wind Blossom, Bay, and Pol extracted a
genetic code from the chromosomes of the fire-dragonets. Although the
creatures were not of Earth, their biology proved not too dissimilar to
work with.
        »We succeeded with the chiropteroids on Centauri,« Pol said, »and
they had chains of silicons as their genetic material.«
        A great deal of schedule juggling was required in order to muster
enough people to fight Fall over populated areas. The detailed sequence of
Threadfall, established by the exhausted team of Boris Pahlevi and Dieter
Clissmann, gave a structure to which even Kitti´s project had to bow. The
resultant four-shift roster attempted to provide everyone with some time
for themselves -- both to relax and to care for their own stakes -- though
some of the specialists ignored such considerations and had to be ordered
to sleep.
        Everyone over the age of twelve was brought in when Thread fell.
The hope that Kenjo, in the Mariposa, could deflect Thread pods in the
upper reaches of the atmosphere turned out to be ineffective. The predicted
double Fall -- over Cardiff in mid-Jordan and Bordeaux in Kahrain, and over
Seminole and Ierne Island -- was patchy, but the gaps perversely did not
include occupied sites.
        More double Falls could be anticipated: on the thirty-first day
after First Fall, Thread would sweep across Karachi camp and the tip of the
Kahrain peninsula; three days later a single land corridor would range from
Kahrain across Paradise River Stake, while a second Fall would pass
harmlessly at sea well above the tip of Cibola Province. After another
three days, a dangerous double would hit Boca Stake and the thick forests
of lower Kahrain and Araby, stocks of the one real wood vitally needed to
shore up mine pits at busy Karachi Camp and Drake´s Lake.
        Ezra spent hours in the booth that housed the link with the
Yokohama´s mainframe, scanning the naval and military histories in find
some means of combating the menace. He also sought, with much less
optimism, obscure equations or devices that might be able to alter the
orbit of the planet. Then the next Fall could, perhaps, be avoided.
Meanwhile, however, the present pass had seeded Pern´s orbit with spirals
of the encapsulated Thread, a danger that the colonists would have to face
no matter what. He also did comparisons with data from Kitti´s program,
delving into science files, using her security ID to access secret or »need
to know« information. He was waiting, too, for the probe´s findings to be
relayed back to him. And because everyone knew where to find Ezra, he often
intercepted complaints and minor problems that would have added unnecessary
burdens to the admiral and the governor.
        Kenjo was sent on three more missions, each time trying to find a
more efficient way of destroying enough Thread in space to justify the
expenditure of precious fuel. The gauges on the Mariposa dropped only
slightly with each trip, and Kenjo was commended on his economy. Drake was
openly envious of the space pilots skill.
        »Jays, man,« Drake would say. »You´re driving it on the fumes.«
        Kenjo would nod modestly and say nothing. He was, however, rather
relieved that he had not managed to transfer all the fuel sacks to their
hiding place at Honshu. All too soon, he would have to broach that supply
to ensure continued trips into space. Only there did he feel totally aware
and alive in every sense and nerve of his body.
        But each time he brought back useful information. Thread,
it turned out, traveled in a pod that burned away when it hit the
atmosphere of Pern, leaving an inner capsule. About 15,000 feet above the
surface, the inner capsule opened into ribbons, some of which were not
thick enough to survive in the upper reaches. But, as everyone at Landing
well knew, plenty fell to the surface.
        Most of the sleds were unpressurized, so they had an effective
ceiling of 10,000 feet. There was still only one way to clear the Thread
from the skies: by flame-throwers.
        With Thread due to fall on the Big Island Stake on Day 40, Paul
Benden ordered Avril Bitra and Stev Kimmer to return to Landing. When Stev
asked what Landing needed in the way of the ores mined at Big Island, Joel
Lilienkamp was more than happy to supply a list. So when they arrived at
Landing with four sleds crammed canopy high with metal ingots, no one
mentioned their long delinquency.
        »I don´t see Avril,« Ongola commented as the sleds were being
unloaded at the metals supply sheds.
        Stev looked at him, slightly surprised. »She flew back weeks ago.
He peered back at the landing grid and saw the sun glint off the Mariposa´s
hull. »Hasn´t she reported in?« Ongola shook his head slowly. »Well, now,
fancy that!« Stev´s gaze lingered thoughtfully on the Mariposa just long
enough for Ongola to notice. »Maybe Thread got her!«
        »Maybe her, but not the sled,« Ongola replied, knowing that Avril
Bitra was too adept at preserving her skin to be scored. »We´ll keep an eye
out for her.«
        Threadfall charts were displayed everywhere and constantly updated;
previous Falls were deleted and future ones limited to the next three, so
that people could plan a week ahead. Avril could not have stopped ten
minutes in Landing without learning of the dangers of Thread. Ongola
reminded himself that he must remove that guidance chip from the Mariposa
as soon as Kenjo landed. He knew exactly how the space pilot had extended
the fuel; he did not want anyone else, especially Avril Bitra, to discover
how. Admiral Benden had been right about Kenjo. Ongola did not want to be
right about Bitra!
        »Where do you want me to work now I´m back, Ongola?« Stev asked
with a wry grin.
        »Find out where Fulmar Stone needs you most, Kimmer. Glad to see
you in one piece.«

Avril had stayed around Landing that night just long enough to know that
she did not wish to be conscripted into any of the several teams who could
use her special skills. The only skill she preferred to employ -- space
navigation -- was thwarted. So, before dawn broke on Landing and before
anyone noticed the existence of a spare sled, she lifted it again, loaded
with useful supplies, both food and materiel.
        She touched down on the rocky height above the ravaged Milan Stake,
where she had a clear view of Landing and, more importantly a good view of
the busy, illuminated grid where the Mariposa would touch down. She spent
the early morning hours using the metal sheets she had filched to arrange
an umbrella over the sled´s siliplex canopy. She preferred to take every
precaution against the deadly airborne stuff. By midmorning she had
camouflaged her eyrie and tuned the sled´s scope on her objective. She was
rewarded by a provocative view of Kenjo´s return.
        By listening carefully to all the channels available on the sled´s
comm unit, she managed to discover the facts of his mission and its limited
success.
        Over the next several days, she began to feel secure in her hideout
because of the old volcanoes, most air traffic took corridors well to
either side of her. During the morning the shadow of the biggest peak
lurked over the retreat, like a broad digit pointing directly at her. It
was enough to make her flesh creep. She had no real appreciation of views,
although the fact that she could look up the Jordan to the bay, or down
toward Bordeaux meant that she was unlikely to be surprised. She began to
relax and wait. Considering the reward, she had trouble practicing
patience.

Have you any progress to report, Kitti?« Paul Benden asked the tiny
geneticist.
        He had never found that close surveillance improved performance,
but he needed some morsel of encouragement to lighten the depression of his
people. The psychologists reported a lowering of moral as the second month
of Threadfall ground on. The initial enthusiasm and resolution was being
eroded by fierce work schedules and few distractions. Landing´s facilities,
once generous, were crowded with technicians drafted into the laboratories
and stakeholders´ families returned to the dubious safety of the first
settlement.
        No one was idle. Mairi Hanrahan had made a game for the five- and
six-year-olds with good motor control to assemble control panels by the
colors of the chips. Even the most awkward ones could help gather fruits
and vegetables from the undamaged lands, or compete with one another in
collecting the unusual-colored seaweeds from the beaches after high tides
or storms. The seven-and eight-year-olds were permitted to help fish with
handlines under the watchful eyes of experienced fishermen. But even the
youngest toddlers were beginning to react to mounting tensions.
        There was considerable talk about allowing more holders to return
to their stakes and fly out from their homes to meet Thread. But that would
mean splitting up the supply depots and disarranging the work schedules of
the more valuable technicians. Paul and Emily finally had to remain adamant
on the centralization.
        That night Kitti regarded Paul and Emily with a wise and
compassionate smile. As she sat erect on the stool by the massive
microbiological unit, its minute laser units pushed back from the
manipulation chamber, she did not appear fatigued; only her bloodshot eyes
showed the strain of her labors. A program was running with whispering
clicks, flashing incomprehensible displays on its several monitors. Kitti
paused briefly to regard a graph on one screen and a set of equations on
another before she returned her gaze to the anxious men.
        »There is no way, Admiral, to accelerate gestation, not if you wish
a healthy, viable specimen. Not even the Beltrae managed to hasten that
process. As I mentioned in my last reports, we pinpointed the cause of our
original failures and made the necessary corrections. Time-consuming, I
realize, but well worth the effort. The twenty-two bioengineered prototypes
we now have are proceeding well into the first semester. We all« -- her
delicate hand made a graceful sweeping gesture that included all the
technicians working in the huge laboratory block -- »are immensely cheered
by such a high rate of success.« She turned her head slightly to watch the
flicker of a reading. »We constantly monitor the specimens. They show the
same responses as the little tunnel snakes whose development we understand
well. Let us earnestly hope that all proceeds without incident. We have
been infinitely fortunate so far. Patience is required of you now.«
        »Patience,« Paul echoed ruefully. »Patience is in very short
supply.«
        Kitti raised her hands in a gesture of impotence. »Day by day, the
embryos grow. Wind Blossom and Bay continue to refine the program. In two
days we shall start a second group. We shall continue to refine the
manipulations. Always seeking to improve. We do not stand still. We move
forward.
        »Our task is great and full of responsibility. One does not
irresponsibly change the nature and purpose of any creature. As it was
said, the person of intellect is careful in the differentiation of things,
so that each finds its place. Before completion, deliberation and caution
are the prerequisites of success.«
        Kitti then smiled a courtly dismissal of the two leaders and turned
her complete attention to the rapidly shifting monitors. Paul and Emily
executed equally courteous bows to her slender back and left the room.
        »Well,« Paul began, shrugging off his frustration, »that´s that.«
        »What city wasn´t built in a day, Paul?« Emily asked whimsically.
        »Rome.« Paul grinned at Emily´s astonishment at his prompt reply.
»Old Earth, first century, I think. Good land fighters and road builders.«
        »Militarists.«
        »Yes,« Paul said. »Hmm . . . They also had a way of keeping people
content. They called it circus. I wonder . . .«

On the forty-second day after First Fall, with Thread crossing uninhabited
parts of Araby and Cathay and falling harmlessly in the Northern Sea above
Delta, missing Dorado´s western prong, Admiral Benden and Governor Boll
decreed a day of rest and leisure for all. Governor Boll asked department
heads to schedule work loads to allow everyone to participate in the
afternoon feast and evening dancing. Even the most distant stakeholders
were invited to come for whatever time they could spare. Admiral Boll asked
for two squadrons of volunteers to fly Thread at 0930 over the eastern
corridor and another two to be ready in the early evening to check the
western one.
        The platform on Bonfire Square was gay with multicolored bunting,
and a new planetary flag was hoisted on the pole to flap in the breeze.
Tables, benches, and chairs were placed around the square leaving its
center clear for dancers. Vats of quikal were to be broached, and Hegelman
would produce ale -- no one wished to think that it might be the last made
for a long while. Joel Lilienkamp released generous supplies without
grudge. »Thank the kids that gathered them! Child labor can be efficient,«
he said with a grin. The Monaco Bay fishermen brought in shining loads of
fish and the more succulent seaweeds to be baked in the big, long-unused
pits, twenty farm stakes donated as many steers to turn on spits; Pierre de
Goorci had worked all the previous night, baking cakes and making
extravagant sweets. »Better to fatten humans than Thread!« He was always
happiest when overseeing a large effort.
        »It´s good to hear music and singing and laughter,« Paul murmured
to Ongola as they wandered from one group to another.
        »I think it would be a good custom to establish,« Ongola replied.
»Something to look forward to. Reunites old friends, improves bonds, gives
everyone a chance to air and compare.« He nodded to the group that included
his wife, Sabra, Sallah Telgar-Andiyar, and Barr Hamil-Jessup, chatting and
laughing together, each with a sleepy child on her lap. »We need to gather
more often.«
        Paul nodded, then glanced at his wrist chrono and, swearing softly
under his breath, went off to lead the volunteers against the western Fall.

Ongola was not feeling exactly top of the mark the next morning when he
arrived for his watch at the met tower. In fact, he had called in first at
the infirmary, where the pharmacist had given him a hangover tablet and
assured him that he was one of many. But her comment about disturbing
casualties during that Threadfall had only made his headache worse.
        The report that awaited him at the met tower was a shock and a
surprise. One sled had been totaled and its crew of three killed; a second
sled had been badly crumpled, the starboard gunner killed, and pilot and
port gunner badly injured in the midair head-on collision. Someone had not
been obeying the altitude restrictions. Ongola groaned involuntarily as he
read the casualty list: Becky Nielson, mining apprentice just back from Big
Island -- she had been safer after all with Avril; Bart Nilwan, a very
promising young mechanic; and Ben Jepson. Ongola rubbed his eyes to clear
the blur. Bob Jepson was the other dead pilot. Two in the same family.
Those twins! Farting around in break-ass fashion instead of following
orders! Stinkin´ air! What could he say to their parents? A minor Fall with
a party to come back to, and they died!
        Ongola put his hand on the comm unit, about to dial administration.
Then he heard someone tapping hesitantly at the door.
        »Come!« he called.
        Catherine Radelin-Doyle stood there, her eyes round, her face pale.
        »Yes, Cathy?«
        »Sir, Mr. Ongola . . .«
        »Either will do.« He mustered an encouraging smile. Considering the
amount of trouble Cathy could get into, from stumbling into caves at an
early age, to marrying the most feckless joat on the planet, he wondered at
her shy demeanor. She was, poor child, just one of those people to whom
events tended to occur with no connivance from themselves at all.
        »Sir, I´ve found a cave.«
        »Yes?« he encouraged when she hesitated. She was constantly finding
caves.
        »It wasn´t empty.«
        Ongola sat up straight. »It had a lot of fuel sacks in it?« he
asked. If Catherine had found it, would Avril? No, Avril did not have the
same sort of luck Catherine had.
        »However did you know, Mr. Ongola?« She looked faint with relief.
        »Possibly because I know they´re there.«
        »You do? They are? I mean, they weren´t put there by ‘them´?«
        »No, by us.« He wanted to make as little fuss about Kenjo´s hoard
as possible. He had been counting the dwindling numbers and wondering why
Kenjo seemed so complacent after each trip. Ongola flicked a glance at the
corner of the shadowed shelving where the guidance chips were hidden in
their darkfoam case.
        Catherine suddenly sank to the nearest chair. »Oh, sir, you don´t
know what a fright it gave me. Thinking that someone else was here because
everyone knows there´s so little fuel left. And then to see . . .«
        But you saw nothing, Catherine,« Ongola told her crisply. »Nothing
whatever. There´s no cave worth noticing down that particular crevasse and
you won´t say a thing about it to anyone else. I will personally tell the
admiral. But you will tell no one.«
        »Oh no, sir.«
        »This information cannot -- I repeat, cannot -- be divulged to
another person.«
        »That´s right, Mr. Ongola.« She nodded solemnly several times. Then
she smiled winsomely. »Shall I keep on looking?«
        »Yes, I think you´d better. And find something!«
        »Oh, but I have, Mr. Ongola, and Joel Lilienkamp says they´re going
to be excellent storage space.« Her face clouded briefly. »But he didn´t
say for what.«
        »Go, Cathy, and find something . . . else.«
        She left, and Ongola had barely returned to brooding over the first
serious losses to their defense when Tarvi came storming up the stairs.
        »It´s been staring us in the face, Zi,« he said, swinging his arms
in one of his expansive gestures. His face was alight with enthusiasm,
although his skin looked a bit gray from the excesses of the night before.
        »What?« Ongola was in no mood for puzzles.
        »Them! There!« Tarvi gestured extravagantly out the northern
windows. »All the time.«
        It was probably the headache, Ongola thought, but he had no idea
what Tarvi was talking about.
        »What do you mean?«
        »All this time we have been slavering away at mining ore, refining,
molding it, adding weeks to our labors, when all the time we´ve had what we
need in front of us.«
        »No puzzles, Tarvi.«
        Tarvi´s expressive eyes widened in surprise and consternation. I
give you no puzzles, Zi, my friend, but the source of much valuable metals
and materials. The shuttles, Zi, the shuttles can be dismantled and their
components used for our specific purposes here and now. Theirs is done. Why
let them slowly decay on the meadow?« Tarvi emphasized each new sentence
with a flick of long fingers out the window and then, exasperated with
Ongola´s incomprehension, he hauled the man to his feet and pointed a very
long, slightly dirty forefinger directly at the tail fins of the old
shuttles. »There. We´ll use them. Hundreds of relays, miles of the proper
flex and tubing, small mountains of recyclable material. Have you any idea
of how much is in them?« In an instant, all the exuberance drained from the
volatile geologist. He put both hands on Ongola´s shoulders. »We can
replace the sled we lost today even if we cannot replace those marvelous
young lives or comfort their stricken families. The parts make a new
whole.«

Work dulled the edge of the sorrow that hung over Landing at the loss of
four young people. The two survivors reluctantly admitted that the Jepson
twins, toward the end of that Fall, had indulged in some fatal foolery.
Ben´s sled had been scheduled for servicing after the Fall because its
previous pilot had reported a sluggish reaction to port side turns. The
sled had been considered safe enough for what should have been a monitoring
flight.
        Rather than prevent other such collisions, the next few Falls saw a
rash of them even as Tarvi´s crew began to strip the first shuttle and
Fulmar´s teams began to service and replace from the bonanza of salvage.
        The longest hours were still put in at Kitti Ping´s laboratory,
monitoring the development of the specimens for any signs of aberration
from the program.
        »Patience,« was Kitti´s response to all queries. »All proceeds
vigorously.«
        Three days after the midair collision, Wind Blossom discovered her
grandmother still at the electronic microscope, apparently peering at yet
another slide. But when Wind Blossom touched Kitti´s arm the movement
produced an unexpected result. The dainty fingers slipped from their
relaxed position on the keyboard, and the body slumped forward, only kept
upright by the brace that held her to the stool for her long sessions at
the microscope. Wind Blossom let out a moan and dropped to her knees,
holding one tiny cold hand to her forehead.
        Bay heard her disconsolate weeping and came to see what had
happened. Instantly she called to Pol and Kwan, then phoned for the doctor.
Once Wind Blossom had followed the gurney carrying her grandmother´s body
out of the room, Bay straightened her plump shoulders and stood at the
console. She asked the computer if it had finished its program.
PROGRAM COMPLETED flashed on the screen -- almost indignantly, Bay thought
in the portion of her mind that was not sorrowing. She tapped out an
information query. The screen displayed a dazzling series of computations
and ended with REMOVE UNIT! DANGER IF UNIT IS NOT IMMEDIATELY REMOVED!
        Astonished, Bay recognized the paraphernalia on the workspace
beside the electronic microscope. Kitti Ping had been manipulating gene
patterns again, a complicated process that Bay found as daunting as Wind
Blossom did, despite Kitti Ping´s encouragements. So Kitti had made those
infinitesimal alterations in the chromosomes. Bay felt the chill of a
terrible apprehension sweep through her plump body. She pressed her lips
together. That moment was not the time to panic. They must not lose what
Kitti Ping had been making of the raw material of Pern.
        With hands that were not quite steady, she unlocked the
micro-cylinder, removed the tiny gel-encapsulated unit, and placed it in
the culture dish that Kitti had readied. An agony as severe as a knife stab
almost doubled Bay up, but she fought the grief and the knowledge that Kit
Ping Yung had died to produce that altered egg cell. The label was even
prepared: Trial 2684/16/M: nucleus #22A, mentasynth Generation B2,
boron/silicon system 4, size 2H; 16.204.8.
        Walking as fast as her shaky legs would permit and gradually
recovering her composure, Bay took the final legacy of the brilliant
technician to the gestation chamber and put it carefully beside the
forty-one similar units that held the hopes of Pern.

»That was the second probe to malfunction,« Ezra told Paul and Emily, his
quiet voice ragged with disappointment. »When the first one blew up, or
whatever, I thought it a mischance. Even vacuum isn´t perfect insulation
against decay. Probe motors could misfire, their recording device clog
somehow or other. So I refined the program for the second one. It got
exactly as far as the first one, and then every light went red. Either that
atmosphere is so corrosive even our probe enamels melt, or the garage on
the Yokohama has somehow been damaged, and the probes, too. I dunno, guys.«
        Ezra was not much given to agitated gestures but he paced up and
down Paul´s office, strutting and waving his arms about him like a
scarecrow in a high wind. The last few days had wearied and aged him. Paul
and Emily exchanged concerned glances. Kitti Ping´s death had been such a
shock, following so closely on the sled collision disaster. The geneticist
had seemed so indestructible, despite the fact that everyone knew of her
physical frailty. She had exuded a quality of immortality, however false
that had proved.
        »Whose theory was it that we were being bombarded from outer space
to reduce us to submission?« Ezra asked, stopping suddenly in his tracks
and staring at the two leaders.
        »Ah, c´mon now, Ezra!« Paul was bluntly derisive. »Think a minute,
man. We´re all under a strain, but not one that makes us lose our wits. We
all know that there are atmospheres that can and have melted probes.
Furthermore -- « He halted, not certain what would suffice to reassure
Ezra, and himself.
        »Furthermore, the organism attacking us,« Emily went on with superb
composure, »is hydrocarbon based, and if it comes from that planet, its
atmosphere is not corrosive. I favor malfunction.«
        »My opinion, too,« Paul said, nodding his head vigorously.
»Fardles, Ezra, let´s not talk ourselves into more problems than we´ve
got.«
        »We´ve got« -- Ezra brought both fists down on the desk -- »to
probe that planet, or we won´t know enough to combat the stuff. Half the
settlers want to know the source and destroy it so we can get back to our
lives. Rake up the debris and forget all this.«
        »What aren´t you telling us, Ezra?« Emily asked, cocking her head
slightly and regarding the captain with an unflinching gaze.
        Ezra stared back at her for a very long moment, then straightened
from his half crouch over the desk and began to smile wryly.
        »You´ve been sitting in the interface booth long hours, Ezra, and
you weren´t playing tiddlywinks while the programs were running,« Emily
went on.
        »My calculations are frightening,« he said in a low voice, glancing
over each shoulder. »If the program is in any way accurate, and I´ve run it
five times now from start to finish, we have to put up with Thread for long
after that red planet crosses out of the inner system.«
        »How long will that be?« Paul felt his fingers gripping the arm
rest, and made a conscious effort to relax them while he tried to recall
some reassuring facet of planetary orbits.
        »I get between forty and fifty years!«
        Emily grimaced, her mouth forming an O of surprise before she
slowly exhaled. »Forty or fifty years, you say.«
        »If,« Ezra added grimly, »the menace originated from that planet.«
        Paul caught his eyes and saw the ineffably weary and discouraged
look in them. »If? There is another alternative?«
        »I have discerned a haze about the planet, irrespective of its
atmospheric envelope. A haze that spreads backward in this system and
swirls along the eccentric´s path. I cannot refine that telescope enough to
tell more. It could be space debris, a nebulosity, the remnants of a
cometary tail, a whole bunch of things that are harmless.«
        »But if it should be harmful?« Emily asked.
        »That tail would take nearly fifty years to diffuse out of Pern´s
orbit, some into Rukbat -- the rest, who knows?«
        There was a long moment of silence.
        »Any suggestions?« Paul asked finally.
        »Yes,« Ezra said, straightening his shoulders with a wrench. He
held up two fingers. »Take a trip to the Yokohama, find out what´s bugging
the probes, and send two of ‘em down to the planet to gather as much
information as we can. Send the other two along the line of that cometary
dust and use the Yoko´s more powerful space scope with no planetary
interference to see if we can identify its source and components.« Ezra
then locked his fingers together and cracked his knuckles, a habit that
always made Emily shudder. »Sorry, Em.´
        »At least you can recommend some positive action,« Paul went on.
        »The big question is, Paul, is there enough fuel to get someone to
the Yoko and back? Kenjo´s already made more trips than I thought
possible.«
        »Good pilot,« Paul said discreetly. »There´s enough for what we
need now. Kenjo will pilot, and did you wish to go with him?«
        Ezra shook his head slowly. »Avril Bitra has the training for the
job.«
        »Avril?« Paul gave a harsh bark and then shook his head, grinning
sourly. »Avril´s the last person I´d put on the Mariposa for any reason.
Even if we knew where she is.«
        »Really?« Ezra looked at Emily for an explanation, but she
shrugged. »Well, then, Kenjo can double. No,« he corrected himself. »If
something´s wrong with the probes, we´d need a good technician. Stev
Kimmer. He´s back, isn´t he?«
        »Who else?« Paul jotted down names rather than worry Ezra with more
suspicions.
        »Kenjo is a very capable technician,« Emily insisted.
        »There should be two on the mission, for safety´s sake,« Ezra said
furrowing his brow. »This mission has got to give us the results we need.«
        »Zi Ongola,´´ Paul suggested.
        »Yes, the very one,« Ezra agreed. »If he runs into any trouble, I
can have Stev at the interface for expert advice.«
        »Forty years, huh?« Emily said, watching Paul underline the final
choices on the pad. »Rather longer than we´d bargained for, my friend.
Let´s start training replacements.«
        Inevitably their thoughts went to Wind Blossom, so obviously a
frail vessel to continue the work her grandmother had begun.

Avril´s suspicious nature was aroused not by anything she heard, although
what she did not hear was as significant, but by what she saw in the weary
hours she manned the sled´s scope. It was usually trained on the Mariposa,
sitting at the far end of the landing grid. The night before every one of
Kenjo´s jaunts he had done exterior and interior checks of the craft. Fussy
Fusi! Her use of the nickname was not quite derisive, because she simply
could not figure out how he had managed to stretch the small reserve of
fuel on the Mariposa as far as he already had. She had seen some activity
about it last night but no sign of Kenjo. In fact, with neither moon out,
she had just barely seen the shifting of shadow that indicated activity
about the craft. She had been quite agitated. The only thing that reassured
her was that several figures were involved. But no one entered the gig.
That perplexed her.
        At first light, so early that no one was yet working the donks at
the skeleton of the shuttle that had been the center of considerable
activity all week she was surprised to see Fulmar Stone and Zi Ongola
approaching the vessel. Her apprehension, honed by weeks of watching
spurred her to remove the protective cover from her sled in preparation for
a quick departure. At full speed, she could reach the landing grid in less
than fifteen minutes. Early morning traffic into Landing would be
sufficient to give her cover.
        She had a moment´s anxiety thinking that perhaps the Mariposa had
developed a problem and they were scavenging replacement parts from the
shuttle. Kenjo had flown a mission three days before with his usual
economical takeoff and landing. She had to hand it to him -- he was gliding
in smoothly with no power at all. Only where was he getting the fuel to
lift?
        The three men, moving with almost stealthy speed, slipped inside
the little spaceship and closed the airlock. Well, the access to the
engines was through exterior panels, so she began to relax. They remained
inside the ship for three hours, long enough for a full interior systems
check. But that did not presage a usual flight. Maybe the Mariposa was
bollixed. Scorch Kenjo for ineptitude. The Mariposa had to be spaceworthy.
Avril swore.
        Or had something happened to Kenjo so that Ongola was taking the
ship up? But how? There could not be much fuel left. So why were they
checking internal systems? Why were they making yet another jaunt?
Displeased, Avril finished her preparations to fly.

Sallah Telgar-Andiyar was feeding her daughter her breakfast in the shady
covered porch of Mairi Hanrahan´s Asian Square house when she caught sight
of a familiar figure striding down the path. It was covered by loose
overalls, and a peaked cap was pulled well down over the face, but the walk
was undeniably Avril´s, especially from the rear. Never mind the greasy
hands, the exhaust pipe carried so ostentatiously in one hand, the
clipboard in the other. That was Avril, who only sullied her hands for a
good cause. No one had seen her since she had left Big Island. Sallah
continued to watch until Avril mingled in with the crowd at the main depot,
where technicians jostled each another for parts and materiel.
        Ever since Sallah had overheard Avril´s conversation with Kimmer,
she had known the woman would attempt to leave Pern. Did Avril know of
Kenjo´s fuel dump? Irritably Sallah shook her head. Cara blinked her huge
brown eyes and stared apprehensively at her mother.
        Sorry, love, your mother´s mind is klicks away.« Sallah gathered
more puree on the spoon and deposited it into Cara´s obedient open mouth.
No, Sallah told herself fiercely, because she wanted to believe it so
badly, Avril could not have discovered that fuel: she had been too busy
mining gemstones on Big Island. At least, up until three weeks before. And
where has Avril been since then? Sallah asked herself. Watching while Kenjo
flew the Mariposa? That would certainly set Avril Bitra to thinking hard.
        Well, Sallah was due on her shift soon anyway, and as luck would
have it, the sled she was servicing was on the grid. She would have a clear
view of the Mariposa and those who approached it. If Avril came anywhere
near, Sallah would set up an alarm.
        There had been no talk of Kenjo making another attempt to clear
Thread in the atmosphere. Then, too, Kenjo´s flights were usually plotted
for the dawn window, and Sallah´s shift began well past that time.
        It all happened rather quickly. Sallah was walking toward the sled
she was servicing as Ongola and Kenjo, suited for space travel, left the
tower with Ezra Keroon, Dieter Clissmann, and two other overalled figures
whom Sallah was astonished to recognize by their postures as Paul and
Emily. Ongola and Kenjo had the appearance of men listening to last-minute
instructions. Then they continued on almost at a stroll, toward the
Mariposa, while the others turned back into the met tower. Suddenly another
suited figure began to wander across the grid on a path that would
intercept Ongola and Kenjo. Even in the baggy space gear the figure walked
as only Avril did!
        Sallah grabbed the nearest big spanner and started at a jog-trot
across the grid. Ongola and Kenjo disappeared behind the pile of discarded
sled parts at the edge of the field. Avril had begun to run and Sallah
increased her own pace. She lost sight of Ongola and Kenjo. Then she saw
Avril pick up a short strut from the pile and disappear out of sight.
        Rounding the pile, Sallah saw both Kenjo and Ongola flat on the
ground. Blood covered the back of Kenjo´s head and Ongola´s shoulder and
neck. Sallah ran flat out, ducking down to keep scrap metal between her and
the Mariposa. As it was, she just made it as the airlock was closing. She
threw herself inside and felt something scrape her left foot; there was an
immense hissing, and then she blacked out.

* * * * *

Mairi Hanrahan thought it odd that Sallah had not rung at lunch time to
tell her she was delayed. With so many small ones to feed every mother
tried to be there at mealtimes. Mairi got one of her older children to feed
Cara instead, thinking that something very important must have demanded
Sallah´s attention.
        None of the people at the met tower or admin building expected any
contact from Ongola or Kenjo while the shuttle was moving through the
ionized atmosphere. Ezra, seated at the desk of the voice activated
interface, could follow its course via the activated monitor screens on
board the Yokohama. The Mariposa was closing fast and soon reached the
docking port. »Safely there,« Ezra announced when he rang through to both
tower and administration.
        Half an hour later, children playing at the edge of the grid came
screaming back to their teacher about the dead men. Actually, Ongola was
still barely alive. Paul met the medic team at the infirmary.
        »He´ll live, but he´s lost more blood than I like,« the doctor told
the admiral. »What ‘n hell happened to him and Kenjo?«
        »How was Kenjo killed?« Paul asked.
        »The old blunt instrument. The paras found a bloodied strut nearby.
Probably that. Kenjo never knew what hit him.«
        Paul was not sure he did either, for his legs suddenly would not
support him. The doctor beckoned fiercely for one of the paras to help the
admiral to a seat and poured a glass of quikal.
        Paul tried to dismiss the eager hands. The implications of the two
deaths greatly disturbed him. There was no antidote for Kenjo´s loss,
though the wretched quikal eased the intense shock that had rocked him. In
the back of his mind, as he knocked back the drink, he wondered where Kenjo
had cached the rest of the fuel. Why, Paul seethed at himself, had he not
asked the man before? He could have done so any time before or after the
last few flights Kenjo had taken in the Mariposa. As admiral, he knew
exactly how much fuel had been left in the gig on its last drop. Now it was
too late! Unless Ongola knew. He had mentioned to Paul that there was not
much left at the original site, but that Kenjo had been supplying the
Mariposa. The figures Sallah had initially reported to Ongola indicated a
lot more fuel than Paul had seen in that cave the other night. Well the
misappropriation -- yes, that was the right term -- had had a final
appropriate usage. Maybe Kenjo´s wife knew where he had stored the
remainder.
        Paul consoled himself with that thought. Kenjo´s wife would
certainly know if there were more fuel sacks at the Honshu stake. He forced
himself to deal with present issues: a man had been murdered and another
lay close to death on a planet that had, until that moment, witnessed no
capital crime.
        »Ongola will survive,« the doctor was saying, pouring Paul a second
shot. »He´s got a splendid constitution, and we´ll work any miracle
required. We could probably have saved Kenjo if we´d got there earlier.
Brain-dead. Drink this -- your color´s lousy.«
        Paul finished the quikal and put the glass down with a decisive
movement. He took a deep breath and rose to his feet. »I´m fine thanks. Get
on with saving Ongola. We´ll need to know what happened when he recovers
consciousness. Keep the rumors down, people!« he added, addressing the
others in the room.
        He strode out of the emergency facility and turned immediately for
the building that housed the interface chamber and Ezra. As he walked, he
reviewed the puzzle that rattled his orderly mind. He had seen the Mariposa
take off. Who had flown her? He stopped off to collect Emily from her
office, briefing her on the calamity. Ezra was surprised by the arrival of
both admiral and governor; the Mariposa´s current flight was being treated
as routine.
        »Kenjo´s dead and Ongola seriously injured, Ezra,« Paul said as
soon as he had closed and locked the door behind them. »So, who´s flying
the Mariposa?«
        »Gods in the heavens!« Ezra leapt to his feet and pointed to the
monitor, which clearly showed the safely docked Mariposa. »The flight was
precalculated to hit the right window, but the docking process was left to
the pilot. It was very smoothly done. Not everyone can do that.«
        »I´ll run a check on the whereabouts of pilots, Paul,« Emily said
picking up a handset.
        Paul glared at the monitor. »I don´t think we need to do that. Call
-- « Paul had started to say »Ongola« and rubbed his hand across his face.
»Who´s at the met tower?«
        »Jake Chernoff and Dieter Clissmann,« Emily reported.
        »Then ask Jake if there´s any unmodified sleds on the grid. Find
out exactly where Stev Kimmer, Nabol Nahbi, and Bart Lemos are. And -- «
Paul held up a warning hand. » -- if anyone´s seen Avril Bitra anywhere.«
        »Avril?« Ezra echoed, and then clamped his mouth firmly shut.
        Suddenly Paul swore in a torrent of abusive language that made even
Ezra regard him with amazement, and slammed out of the room. Emily
concentrated on finding the pilots and had completed her check before Paul
returned. He leaned back against the closed door, catching his breath.
        »Stev, Nabhi, and Lemos are accounted for. Where did you go?« Emily
asked.
        »To check Ongola´s space suit. Doc says he´ll recover from his
injuries. The strut just missed severing the shoulder muscle and leaving
him a cripple. But -- « Paul held up a crystal packet between forefinger
and thumb. »No one is going to get very far in the Mariposa.« He nodded
grimly as Ezra realized what the admiral was holding. »One of the more
essential parts of the guidance system! Ongola had not yet put it in
place.«
        »Then how did -- Avril?« Emily asked, pausing for confirmation.
Paul nodded slowly. »Yes, it has to be Avril, doesn´t it? But why would she
want to get to the Yoko?«
        »First step to leaving the system, Emily. We´ve been stupidly lax.
Yes, I know we have this,« he acknowledged when Emily pointed to the chip
panel. »But we shouldn´t have allowed her to get that far in the first
place. And we all knew what she was like. Sallah warned us, and the years .
. .«
        »And recent unusual events,« Ezra put in, mildly hinting that Paul
need not excoriate himself.
        »We should have guarded the Mariposa as long as she´d an ounce of
fuel in her.«
        »We also ought to have had the sense to ask Kenjo where he was
getting all the fuel,« Ezra added.
        »We knew that,« Emily said with a wry grin.
        »You did?« Ezra was amazed.
        »At least Ongola took no chances,« Paul went on, wincing as he
remembered the sight of the man´s battered shoulder and neck. »This -- « He
put the guidance chip very carefully down on the shelf above the worktop. »
-- was Ongola´s special precaution, done with Kenjo´s complete
concurrence.«
        Emily sat down heavily in the nearest chair. »So where does that
leave us now?«
        »The next move would appear to be Avril´s.« Ezra shook his head
sadly. »She´s got more than enough fuel to get back down.´´
        That is not her intention,« Paul said.
        »Unfortunately,« Emily said, »she has a hostage, whether she knows
it or not. Sallah Telgar-Andiyar is also missing.«

Sallah returned to consciousness aware of severe discomfort and a throbbing
pain in her left foot. She was bound tightly and efficiently in an
uncomfortable position, her hands behind her back and secured to her tied
feet. She was floating with her side just brushing the floor of the
spacecraft: the lack of gravity told her that she was no longer on Pern.
There was a rhythmic but unpleasant background noise, along with the sounds
of things clattering and slipping about.
        Then she recognized the monotonous and vicious sounds to be the
curses of Avril Bitra.
        »What in hell did you do to the guidance systems, Telgar?« she
asked. kicking at the bound woman´s ribs.
        The kick lifted Sallah off the floor, and she found herself
floating within inches of the face of an enraged Avril Bitra. Probably the
only reason Sallah was still breathing was because the cabin of the
Mariposa had its own oxygen supply. Kenjo would have charged the tank up to
full, wouldn´t he? Sallah asked herself in a moment of panic as she
continued to float beyond Avril. The other woman was suited; her helmet sat
on the rack above the pilot´s seat, ready for use.
        Avril reached up and grabbed Sallah´s arm. »What do you know about
this? Tell me and be quick about it, or I´ll evacuate you and save the air
for me to breathe!«
        Sallah had no doubt that the woman was capable of doing just that.
        I know nothing about anything, Avril. I saw you stalking Ongola and
Kenjo and knew you were up to something. So I followed you and got into the
airlock just as you took off.«
        »You followed me?« Avril lashed out with a fist. The impact caused
both women to bounce apart. Avril steadied herself on a handhold. »How dare
you?«
        »Well, as I hadn´t seen you in months and longed to know how you
were faring, it seemed a good idea at the time.« Hang for the fleece, hang
for the sheep, Sallah thought. She could not shrug her shoulders. What had
she done to her foot? It was an aching mess.
        »Bloody hell. You´ve flown this frigging crate. How do I override
the preflight instructions? You must know that.«
        »I might if you´d let me see the console.« She saw hope, and then
manic doubt, in Avril´s eyes. Sallah was not lying. »How could I possibly
tell from over here? I don´t know where we are. I´ve been just another
Thread sledder.« Even to a woman slightly paranoid, the truth would be
obvious. Sallah warned herself to be very careful. »Just let me look.«
        She did not ask to be untied although that was what she desperately
wanted -- needed. Her right shoulder must have been bruised by the fall
into the cabin, and all the muscles were spasming.
        »Don´t think I´ll untie you,« Avril warned, and contemptuously as
she pushed Sallah across the cabin. Grabbing a handhold, she corrected
Sallah´s spin to a painful halt against the command console. »Look!«
        Sallah did, though hanging slightly upside down was not the best
position for the job. She had to think carefully, for Avril had piloted
shuttles and knew something of their systems. But the Mariposa, although
small, was designed to traverse interplanetary distances, dock with a
variety of stations or other craft, and had the sophisticated controls to
perform a considerable variety of maneuvers in space and on a planetary
surface. Sallah dared to hope that much of its instrumentation would be
unfamiliar to Avril.
        »To find out what this ship just did,« she instructed, »hit the
return button on the bottom tier of the greens. No, the port side.«
        Avril jerked at Sallah, tweaking strained arm and back muscles and
jamming Sallah´s head against the viewscope. Sallah´s long hair was freed
completely from its pins and flowed over her face.
        Don´t get cute! » Avril snapped, her finger hovering on the
appropriate button. »This one?«
        Sallah nodded, floating away again. Avril punched the button with
one hand and hauled her back into position with the other. Then she caught
the handhold to keep herself in place.
        Every action has a reaction, Sallah thought, trying to clear her
head of pain and confusion.
        The monitor came up with a preflight instruction plan.
        »The Mariposa was programmed to dock here on the Yoko. » It was
nice to know where she was, Sallah reflected. »Once you hit the power, you
couldn´t alter its course.«
        »Well,« Avril said, her tone altering considerably. »I wanted to
come here first anyhow. I just wanted to come on my own.« Sallah hair
falling over her face, felt a lessening of the tension that emanated from
the woman. Some of the beauty returned to a face no longer contorted with
frustration. »I don´t need you hanging about, then.« Avril reached up and
gave Sallah´s body a calculated shove that sent her to the opposite end of
the cabin, to bump harmlessly against the other wall and then hover there.
»Well, I´ll just get to work.«
        How long Sallah was suspended in that fashion she did not know. She
managed to tilt her head and get her hair to float away from her eyes, but
she did not dare to move much -- action produced reaction, and she did not
wish to draw attention to herself. She ached all over, but the pain in her
foot was almost unbearable.
        A tirade of malevolent and resentful oaths spun from Avril´s lips.
»None of the programs run, of all the frigging luck. Nothing runs!«
        Sallah had just enough time to duck her head to avoid Avril´s
projectile arrival against her As it was, she went head over heels in a
spin that Avril, laughing gleefully, assisted until the rotation made
Sallah retch.
        »You bitch woman!« Avril stopped Sallah before she could expel more
vomit into the air »Okay! If that´s the way of it, you know what I need to
know And you´re going to tell me, or I´ll kill you by inches.« A spaceman´s
knife, with its many handle-packed implements, sliced across the top of
Sallah´s nose.
        Then she felt the blade none too gently cutting the bindings on her
hands and feet. Blood rushed through starved arteries, and her strained
muscles reacted painfully. If she had not been in free-fall, she would have
collapsed. As it was, the agony of release made her sob and shake.
        »Clean up your spew first,« Avril said, shoving a slop jar at her.
        Sallah did as she was told, grateful for the lack of gravity,
grateful for the release, and wondering what she could do to gain an upper
hand. But she had little opportunity to enjoy her freedom, for Avril had
other ways of securing her prisoner´s cooperation.
        Before Sallah realized what was happening, Avril had secured a
tether to the injured foot and tweaked the line. Pain, piercing like a
shard of glass, shot through Sallah´s leg and up to her groin. There was
too little left in her stomach to throw up. Avril jerked Sallah over to the
console, pushed her into the pilot´s chair, and tied her down, twitching
her improvised lead line to remind Sallah of her helplessness.
        »Now, check the fuel on board, check the quantity in the Yoko´s
tanks -- I´ve done that, I know the answers, so don´t try anything clever.«
A jerk against Sallah´s injured foot reinforced the threat. »Then enter a
program that gets me out of this wretched asshole of a midden system«
        Sallah did as she was told, though her head ached and her eyes
blurred repeatedly. She could not suppress her surprise at the amount of
fuel in the Mariposa´s tanks.
        »Yes, someone was holding back on it. You?« There was a jerk on the
line.
        »Kenjo, I suspect,« Sallah replied coolly, managing to suppress a
cry. She was determined not to give Avril any satisfaction.
        »Fussy Fusi? Yes, that computes. I thought he´d given up all too
tamely! Where did he hide it?« The line tightened. Sallah had to bite hard
on her lip against a sob.
        »Probably at his stake. It´s back of beyond. No one goes there. He
could hide anything there.«
        Avril snorted and remained silent. Sallah made herself breathe
deeply, forcing more adrenaline into her system to combat pain, fatigue,
and fear.
        »All right, compute me a course to . . .« Avril consulted a
notebook. »Here.«
        Only because Sallah already knew the coordinates did she recognize
the numbers. Avril wished to go to the system nearest them, system that,
though uninhabited, was closer to the populated sector of space. The course
would stretch the Mariposa to the end of available fuel, even if Avril also
drained the Yoko´s tanks. It gave Sallah no consolation to think that the
little ship might drift for centuries with Avril safe and composed in deep
sleep. Unless, just maybe, Ongola had tampered with the sleep tanks, too.
She liked that idea. But she knew Ongola too well to presume that kind of
foresight.
        Unfortunately, the Avrils of the galaxy could make themselves at
home in any time and culture. So if Avril went into deep sleep, eventually
someone, or something, would rescue her and the Mariposa. Sallah did not
need to see them to know that Avril had several fortunes´ worth of
gemstones and precious metals aboard the Mariposa. There had never been any
doubt in anyone´s mind why Avril had chosen Big Island as her stake, but no
one had cared. But then, no one would have imagined that she would be mad
enough to attempt to leave Pern, even with Threadfall threatening the
planet.
        Wondering why Avril, who was an astrogator, after all, had not been
able to complete laying in such a simple course, Sallah did as she was
ordered. She had more experience than Avril did with the Mariposa´s drive
board. But the program was not accepted. ERROR 259 at LINE 57465534511 was
the message.
        Avril jerked hard on the line, and Sallah hissed against the
burning, crippling pain in her foot.
        »Try again. There´s more than one way of entering a course.«
        Sallah obeyed. »I´ll have to go around the existing parameters.«
        »Reset the entire effing thing but plot that course,« Avril told
her.
        As Sallah began the more laborious deviation into the command
center of the gig´s course computer, she was aware that Avril had picked up
a long narrow cylinder from the rack by her helmet. She fiddled with it,
humming tunelessly under her breath, seemingly thoroughly delighted with
herself.
        When Sallah finally tapped the »return« tab, she became aware of
Avril´s intense interest in the flickering console. She chanced a look at
what the woman had been fondling. It was a homemade capsule. Not a homer --
they were thicker and longer -- but something more like the standard
beacon. Suddenly she clearly saw Avril´s plan.
        Avril would take the Mariposa as far away from the Rukbat system as
possible and then direct the distress beacon toward shipping lanes. Every
planetary system involved with the Federated Sentient Planets and some
life-forms who were not, traced distress beacons to origin. The devices,
automatically released when a ship was destroyed, were often traced by
those who wished to turn whatever profit they could on the flotsam.
        Avril´s plan was not as insane as it seemed. Sallah felt certain
that Stev Kimmer had intended to take the trip with her, to be rescued by
the distress beacon he had made for her.
        Words flashed on the screen. NO ACCESS WITHOUT STANDARD FCP/1
20/GM.
        »Fuck it! That´s all I could get out of it. Try again, Telgar.«
Avril pressed Sallah´s foot against the base of the console module,
increasing the pain to the point where Sallah felt herself losing
consciousness. Avril viciously pinched her left breast. »You don´t pass out
on me, Telgar!«
        »Look,« Sallah said, her voice rather more shaken than she liked.
»I´ve tried twice, you´ve tried. I´ve tried the fail-safe I was taught.
Someone anticipated you, Bitra. Open up this panel and I´ll tell you if
we´ve been wasting effort.« She was trembling not only with pain but with
the effort not to relieve her bladder. But she did not dare to ask even
that favor.
        Swearing, her face livid with frustration and rage, Avril deftly
removed the panel, kicking the console in her frenzy. Sallah leaned as far
away as her bonds permitted, hoping to escape any stray blows.
        How did they do it? What did they take, Telgar, or I´ll start
carving you up.« Avril flattened Sallah´s left hand over the exposed chips,
and her knife blade cut through the little finger to the bone. Pain and
shock lanced through Sallah´s body. »You don´t need this one at all!«
        »Blood hangs in the air just like vomit and urine, Bitra. And if
you don´t stop, you´ll have both in free-fall!«
        They locked eyes in a contest of wills.
        »What . . . did . . . they . . . remove?« With each word Avril
sawed against the little finger. Sallah screamed. It felt good to scream,
and she knew that it would complete the picture of her in Avril´s mind:
soft. Sallah had never felt harder in her life.
        »Guidance. They removed the guidance chip. You can´t go anywhere.«
        The blade left her finger, and Sallah stared in fascination at the
drops of blood that formed and floated. The contemplation took her mind off
Avril´s ranting until the woman snagged her shoulder.
        »Are all the spare parts on the planet? Did they strip everything
from the Yoko?«
        Sallah forced her attention away from the blood and the pain,
clamping down on all but the important consideration: how to thwart Avril
without seeming to. »I´d say that there would be guidance chips left in the
main board that could be substituted.«
        »There´d better be.« Avril slipped the knife through the cord that
bound Sallah to the pilot´s seat. »Okay. We suit up and head for the
bridge.
        »Not before I go to the head, Avril,« Sallah replied. She nodded to
her hand. »And attend to this. You don´t want blood on the chips, you
know.« She let herself scream with the pain of the jerk to her foot.« She
felt she had handled her submission well. Avril would have suspected a more
immediate capitulation. »And another boot.«
        Finally Sallah could spare a dispassionate look at her foot. Half
her heel was missing, and a puddle of blood rocked slowly back and forth,
moved by the agitation of Avril´s kicks.
        »Wait!« Avril had also noticed the blood. She spun away to the
lockers by the hatch and came back with a space suit and a dirty cloth.
»There! Strip!«
        Sallah tied up her finger with the least soiled strip of cloth and
used the rest to bind her foot. It hurt badly, and she could feel that
fragments of her work boot had been jammed into the flesh. She was allowed
the use of the head, while Avril watched and made snide cracks about
maternal changes in a woman´s body. Sallah pretended to be more humiliated
than she actually felt. It made Avril feel superior. The higher the summit,
the harder the fall, Sallah thought grimly. She struggled into the space
suit.

»She´s left the gig, Admiral, Ezra said suddenly into the tense silence in
the crowded interface chamber. Tarvi had been called in. Silent tears
streamed down his face. »She´s passed the sensors at the docking area. No,«
he corrected himself, »two bodies have passed the sensors.« Tarvi let out a
ragged sob but said nothing.
        Bit by bit, the pieces had been put together to solve the puzzle of
Sallah´s disappearance and Avril Bitra´s reappearance.
        A technician, working on a remount job on the sled nearest
Sallah´s, remembered seeing her leave her task and wander toward the scrap
pile at the edge of the grid. He had also noticed Kenjo and Ongola walking
to the Mariposa. He had not seen anyone else in the vicinity. Shortly
afterward he had seen the Mariposa lift off.
        Once someone thought to look for it, the sled Avril had used was
easily spotted. It carried none of the modifications that all other Pernese
sleds bore; it had been left at the edge of the grid, among others that had
been called in for servicing. Stev Kimmer was called in to identify it. She
had removed every trace of her occupancy, although Stev pointed to scrape
marks that were new to him. He also kept his personal comments about his
erstwhile partner to himself though his expression had been sufficiently
grim for Paul and Emily to suspect that he had been double-crossed. For one
moment he had hesitated. Then, with a shrug, he had answered every question
they asked him.
        »She won´t get anywhere,« Emily said, firmly, striving for
optimism.
        »No, she won´t.« Paul looked at the guidance cartridge, not daring
to glance in Tarvi´s direction.
        »Couldn´t she replace it from similar chips on the bridge?« Tarvi
asked, his face an odd shade, his lips dry, and his liquid eyes tormented.
        »Not the right size,« Ezra said, his expression infinitely sad.
»The Mariposa was more modern, used smaller, more sophisticated crystals.«
        »Besides,« Paul added heavily, »the chip she really needs is the
one Ongola replaced with a blank. Oh, she can probably set a course and it
will appear to be accepted. The ship will reverse out of the dock, but the
moment she touches the firing pin, it´ll just go straight ahead.«
        »But Sallah!« Tarvi demanded in an anguished voice. »What will
happen to my wife?«

Sallah waited until Avril had reversed the Mariposa from the dock, let it
drift away from the Yokohama´s bulk, and ignited the Mariposa´s tailflame
before she operated the comm unit. Avril had done as much damage to the
circuitry in the bridge console as she could, but she had forgotten the
override at the admiral´s position. As soon as she left the bridge, Sallah
accessed it.
        »Yokohama to Landing. Come in, Ezra. You must be there!«
        »Keroon here, Telgar! What´s your position?«
        »Sitting,« Sallah said.
        »Goddamn it, Telgar, don´t be facetious at a time like this,« Ezra
cried.
        »Sorry, sir,« Sallah said. »I don´t have visuals.« That was a lie,
but she did not wish anyone to see her condition. »I´m accessing the probe
garage. There is no damage report for that area. You´ve three probes left.
How I shall program them?«
        »Hellfire, girl, don´t talk about probes now! How´re we going to
get you down?«
        »I don´t think you are, sir,« she said cheerfully. »Tarvi?«
        »Sal-lah!« The two syllables were said in a tone that brought her
heart to her mouth and tears to her eyes. Why had he never spoke her name
that way before? Did it mean the long-awaited avowal of his love? The
anguish in his voice evoked a spirit tortured and distress
        »Tarvi, my love.« She kept her voice level though her throat kept
closing. »Tarvi, who´s with you there?«
        »Paul, Emily, Ezra,« he replied in broken tones. »Sallah! You must
return!«
        On the wings of a prayer? No. Go to Cara! Get out of the room. I´ve
got some business to do, Pern business. Paul, make him leave. I can´t think
if I know he´s listening.«
        »Sallah!« Her name echoed and reechoed in her ears.
        »Okay, Ezra, tell me where you want them.«
        There was a choking, throat-clearing noise. »I want one to go to
the body of the cometary, the second to circumnavigate.« Ezra cleared his
throat again. »I want the other to follow the spiral curve of that
nebulosity. If the big scope is operable, I´d like bridge readings all
along that damned thing. We can´t track it with the telescope we have here
-- not powerful enough for the definition we need. Never thought we´d need
the big one, so we didn´t dismantle it.« He was maundering, Sallah thought
affectionately, to get himself under control. Did she hear someone crying
through that conversation? Surely Governor Boll or the admiral would have
been kind enough to get Tarvi out of the room.
        Then she needed to concentrate on the information Ezra was giving
her to encode the duties and destinations of the individual probes.
        »Probes away, sir,« she said, remembering the last time she had
given that response. She saw Pern on the big screen; she had never thought
that she would again see from space the world she had come to know as her
home. »Now I´m sending some data for Dieter to decipher. Avril said she´d
killed both Ongola and Kenjo. Has she?«
        »Kenjo, yes. Ongola will pull through.«
        »Old soldiers don´t die easy. Look, Ezra, what I´m sending for
Dieter are some notations I made on available fuel. Ongola will know what I
mean. And I´ve sent down Avril´s course. She went off in the right
direction, but I saw a very odd-looking crystal in that guidance system,
one I never saw on the Mariposa when I was driving her. Am I right? She
won´t go anywhere?«
        »Once Bitra hits the engine button, she goes in a straight line.«
        »Very good,« Sallah said with a feeling of immense satisfaction.
»The straight and narrow for our dear departed friend. Now, I´m activating
the big scope. I´ll program it to report through the interface to you. All
right?«
        »Give me the readings yourself, Mister Telgar,« Ezra ordered
gruffly.
        »I don´t think so, Captain,« she said, glad to rely on the
impersonal address. She visualized Ezra Keroon´s thin frame hunched over
the interface. »I don´t have that much time. Only the oxygen in my tanks.
They were full when Avril let me put them on, but she told me she was
switching off the bridge´s independent system. I have no reason to doubt
her. That´s another reason why I´m switching the scope´s readings to you.
Space gloves are good, but they don´t allow for fine tunings. I just about
managed some repairs to the mess Avril made of the console. Jury rig at
least, so . . . when someone gets a chance to get up here, most everything
will work.«
        »How much time do you have, Sallah?«
        »I don´t know.« She could feel the blood reaching to her calf in
the big boot, and her left glove was full. How much blood did a person
have? She felt weak, too, and she was aware that it was getting harder to
breathe. It was all of a piece. She would miss knowing Cara better.
        »Sallah?« Ezra´s voice was very kind. »Sallah, talk to Tarvi. We
can´t keep him out of here. He´s like a madman. He just wants to talk to
you.«
        »Oh, sure, fine. I want to talk to him,« she said, her voice
sounding funny even to herself
        »Sallah!« Tarvi had managed to get his voice under control. »Get
out of here, all of you! She´s mine now. Sallah, jewel in my night, my
golden girl, my emerald-eyed ranee, why did I never tell you before how
much you mean to me? I was too proud. I was too vain. But you taught me to
love, taught me by your sacrifice when I was too engrossed in my other love
-- my work love -- to see the inestimable gift of your affection and
kindness. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have failed to see
that you were more than just a body to receive my seed, more than an ear to
hear my ambitions, more than hands to -- Sallah? Sallah? Answer me,
Sallah!«
        »You -- loved -- me?«
        »I do love you, Sallah. I do! Sallah? Sallah! Salllllaaaaah!«

»What do you think, Dieter?« Paul asked the programmer as he consulted the
figures Ezra had given them.
        »Well, this first lot of figures gives us over two thousand liters
of fuel. The second is a guesstimate of how much Kenjo used on the four
missions he flew and what was used by the Mariposa today. There´s a
substantial quantity unused somewhere down here on the surface. The third
set is evidently what was left in the Yoko´s tanks and is now in the
Mariposa´s. But, I do point out, as Sallah does, that there´s enough in the
Yoko´s sump tank for centuries of minor orbital corrections.«
        Paul nodded brusquely. »Go on.«
        »Now this section is the course Bitra tried to set. The first
course correction should have been initiated about now.« Dieter frowned at
the equations on his monitor. »In fact, she should be plunging straight
toward our eccentric planet. Maybe we´ll find out sooner than we knew what
the surface is like.«
        »Not that Avril is likely to stand by and give us any useful
information as -- as Sallah did.« Dieter looked up at the savage tone of
the admiral´s voice. »Sorry. C´mon. You´ve the right. And if something goes
wrong . . .« Paul left the sentence dangling as he led Dieter down the
corridor to the interface room.
        Emily had gone with Tarvi to give him what comfort she could, and
Ezra was manning the room alone. He looked as old as Paul felt after the
wringing emotions of the day.
        »Any word?«
        »None of it for polite company,« Ezra said with a snort. »She´s
just discovered that the first course correction hasn´t occurred.« He
turned the dial so that the low snarl of vindictive curses was plainly
audible.
        Paul grinned maliciously at Dieter. »So you said.« He turned on the
speakers.
        »Avril, can you hear me?«
        »Benden! What the hell did that bitch of yours do?« How did she do
it? The override is locked. I can´t even maneuver. I knew I should have
sawn her foot off.«
        Ezra blanched and Dieter looked ill, but Paul´s smile was
vindictive. So Avril had underestimated Sallah. He took a deep breath of
pride in the valiant woman.
        »You´re going to explore the plutonic planet, Avril darling. Why
can´t you be a decent thing and give us a running account?«
        »Shove it, Benden. You know where! You´ll get nothing out of me.
Oh, shit! Oh, shit! it´s not the -- oh, shiiiitt.«
        The sound of her final expletive was drowned by a sizzling roar
that made Ezra grab for the volume dial.
        »Shit!« Paul echoed very softly. »It´s not the . . .« -- the what?
Damn you, Avril, to eternity! It´s not the what?«

Emily and Pierre, along with Chio-Chio Yoritomo, who had been Kenjo´s
wife´s cabinmate on the Buenos Aires and her housemate on Irish Square,
took the fast sled to Kenjo´s Honshu Stake. While most of Landing knew
about Kenjo´s death and Ongola´s serious illness. There had been no public
announcement. Rumor had been busy discussing the »unknown« assailant.
        When Emily returned that night, she brought a sealed message to the
admiral.
        »She told us,« Emily said dryly, »that she would prefer to stay on
at Honshu to work the stake herself for her four children. She has few
needs and would not trouble us.«
        »She is very traditional,« Chio-Chio told the admiral breathlessly.
»She would not show grief, for that belittles the dead.« She shrugged. eyes
down her hands clenching and unclenching. Then she looked up, almost
defiant in her anger. »She was like that. Kenjo married her because she
would not question what he did. He asked me first, but I had more sense,
even if he was a war ace. Oh!« She brought her arm up to hide her face.
»But to die like that! Struck from behind. An ignominious death for one who
had cheated it so often!« Then she turned and fled from the room, her
sobbing audible as she ran out into the night.
        Emily gestured for Paul to open the small note, which was sealed by
wax and stamped with some kind of marking. He broke it open and unfolded
the thick, beautiful, handmade paper. Then, mystified, he handed it to
Emily and Pierre.
        »There were two caves cut, to judge by the amount of fuel used and
rubble spilled. One cave housed the plane. ‘I do not know where the other
was,´ « Emily read. »So he did manage to remove some of the fuel? How
much?«
        »We´ll see if Ezra can figure it out -- or Ongola, when he
recovers. »Pierre?« Paul asked the chef for a pledge of silence.
        »Of course. Discretion was bred in my family for generations,
Admiral.«
        »Paul,« the admiral corrected him.
        »For something like this, old friend, you are the admiral!« Pierre
clicked his heels together and inclined his body slightly from the waist,
smiling with a brief reassurance. »Emily, you are tired. You should rest
now. Paul, tell her!«
        Paul laid one hand on Pierre de Courci´s shoulder and took Emily´s
arm with the other. »There is one more duty for the day, Pierre, and you´d
best be with us.«
        »The bonfire! » Emily pulled back against Paul´s arm. »I´m not sure
I -- «
        »Who can?« Paul broke in when she faltered. »Tarvi has asked it.«
All three walked with reluctant steps, joining the trickle of others going
in the same direction, down to the dark Bonfire Square. Each house had left
one light burning. The thinly scattered stars were brilliant, and the first
moon, Timor, was barely a crescent on the eastern skyline.
        By the pyramid of thicket and fern, Tarvi stood, his head down, a
man as gaunt as some of the branches that had been cast into the pile.
Suddenly, as if he knew that all were there who would come, he lit the
brand. It flared up to light a face haggard with grief, with hair that
straggled across tear-wet cheeks.
        Tarvi raised the brand high, turning slowly as if to place firmly
in his memory the faces of all those in attendance.
        »From now on,« he shouted hoarsely, »I am not Tarvi, nor Andiyar. I
am Telgar, so that her name is spoken every day, so that her name is
remembered by everyone for giving us her life today. Our children will now
bear that name, too. Ram Telgar, Ben Telgar, Dena Telgar and Cara Telgar,
who will never know her mother.« He took a deep breath, filling his chest.
»What is my name?«
        »Telgar!« Paul replied as loud as he could.
        »Telgar!« cried Emily beside him, Pierre´s baritone repeating it a
breath behind her. »Telgar!«
        »Telgar! Telgar! Telgar! Telgar! Telgar!« Nearly three thousand
voices took up the shout in a chant, pumping their arms until Telgar thrust
the burning torch into the bonfire. As the flame roared up through the dry
wood and fern, the name crescendoed. »Telgar! Telgar! Telgar!«

* * * * *

The shock of Sallah Telgar´s death reverberated across the continent. She
had been well known, both as shuttle pilot during debarkation and as an
able manager of the Karachi camp. Her courage however, gave an unexpected
boost to morale, almost as if, because Sallah had been willing to devote
the last moments of her life to benefit the colony, everyone had to strive
harder to vindicate her sacrifice. Or so it seemed for the next eight days
until some disturbing rumors began to circulate.
        »Look, Paul,« Joel Lilienkamp began even before he had closed the
door behind him. »Everyone´s got a right to access Stores. But that Ted
Tubberman´s been taking out some unusual stuff for a botanist.«
        »Not Tubberman again,« Paul said, leaning back in his chair with a
deep sigh of disgust. Tarv -- Telgar, Paul corrected himself, had phoned
the previous day, asking if Tubberman had been authorized to scrounge in
the shuttle they were dismantling.
        »Yes,« Joel said. »If you ask me, he´s only accessing half his
chips. You´ve got enough on your plate, Paul, but you gotta know what that
fool´s doing. I´ll bet my last bottle of brandy he´s up to something.«
        »At Wind Blossom´s request, Pol has denied him further access to
the biology labs,« Paul said wearily. »Seems he was acting as if he was in
charge of bioengineering. Bay doesn´t like him much, either.´
        »She´s not alone,« Joel replied, lowering himself to a chair and
scrubbing at his face. »I want your permission to shut the shop door in his
face, too. I caught him in Building G. which houses the technically
sensitive stuff. I don´t want anyone in there without my authorization. And
there he was, bald-faced and swaggering like he had every right, he and
Bart Lemos.«
        »Bart Lemos!« Paul sat up again.
        »Yeah. He, Bart, and Stev Kimmer´re doing a good-old-buddy bit
these days. And I don´t like the rumors my sources tell me they are
spreading.«
        »Stev Kimmer´s in on it?« Paul was surprised.
        Joel shrugged. »He´s mighty thick with ‘em.«
        Paul rubbed his knuckles thoughtfully. Bart Lemos was a gullible
nonentity, but Stev Kimmer was a highly skilled technician. Paul had put a
discreet monitor on the man´s activities after Avril´s departure. Stev had
gone on a three-day bender and been found asleep in the dismantled shuttle.
Once he had recovered from the effects of quikal, he had gone back to work.
Fulmar said that other mechanics did not like pairing with him because he
was taciturn, if not downright surly. The thought of Tubberman having
access to Kimmer´s expertise made Paul uneasy. »What exactly have you
heard, Lili?« Paul asked.
        »A load of crap,« the little storesman said, folding his fingers
across his chest. »I don´t think anyone with any sense buys the notion that
Avril and Kenjo were in league. Or that Ongola killed Kenjo to keep them
from taking the Mariposa to go for help. But I´ll warn you, Paul, if
Kitti´s bioengineering program doesn´t show positive results, we could be
down the tubes. I´ll lay odds you and Emily are going to be asked to
reconsider sending off that homing capsule.«
        The previous evening, Paul had discussed that expedient with Emily,
Ezra, and Jim. Keroon had been the fiercest opponent of a homing-capsule
Mayday, which he termed an exercise in futility. As Paul remarked, such
technological help was, at the earliest, ten years away. And the chance
that the FSP would move with any speed to assist them was depressingly
slim. To send for help seemed not only a rejection of Sallah´s sacrifice
but a cowardly admission of failure when they had not exhausted the
ingenuity and resourcefulness of their community.
        »What sort of material has Ted been requisitioning, Lili?« Paul
asked.
        Joel extracted a wad of paper from his thigh pocket and made a show
of unfolding and reading from it. »Grab bag from hydroponics to insulation
materials, steel mesh and posts, and some computer chips that Dieter says
he couldn´t possibly need, use, or understand.«
        »Did you happen to ask Tubberman what he needed them for?«
        »I happened to just do that very thing. A bit arrogant he was, too.
Said they were needed for his experiments« -- Joel was clearly dubious
about their value -- »to develop a more effective defense against the
Thread until help comes.«
        Paul grimaced. He had heard the botanist´s wild claims that he not
the biologists and their jumped-up mutated lizards, would protect Pern. »I
don´t like that ‘till help comes´ bit,« Paul murmured, gritting his teeth.
        »So, tell me to lock him out, Paul. He may be a charterer, but he´s
overspent his credit and then some.« He waved the sheet. »I have records to
prove that.«
        Paul nodded. »Yes, but next time he presents a list, get him to
tell you what he wants, then shut the door. I want to know what he´s up
to.«
        ‘Restrict him to his stake,« Joel said, rising to his feet, an
expression of genuine concern on his round face, »and you´ll save all of us
a lot of aggro. He´s a wild card, and you can´t be sure where he´ll bounce
up next.«
        Paul grinned at the storesman. »I´d be glad to, Lili, but the
mandate doesn´t permit that kind of action.«
        Joel snorted derisively, hesitated a moment longer, and then,
shrugging in his inimitable fashion, left the office.
        Paul did not forget the conversation, but the morning brought more
pressing concerns. Despite the best efforts of Fulmar and his engineering
crews, three more sleds had failed airworthiness tests. That meant using
more ground crews, the last line of defense and the most enervating for
people already worked to the point of exhaustion. Neither Paul nor Emily
recognized the significance of three separate reports: one from the
veterinary lab, saying that their supply rooms had been rifled overnight;
another from Pol Nietro, reporting that Ted Tubberman had been seen in
bioengineering; and the third from Fulmar, saying that someone had made off
with one of the exhaust cylinders from the dismantled shuttle.
        When Joel Lilienkamp´s angry call came through, Paul had little
trouble arriving at a conclusion.
        »May his orifices congeal and his extremities fall off,« Joel cried
at the top of his voice. »He´s got the homing capsule!«
        Shock jolted Paul out of his chair, while Emily and Ezra regarded
him in astonishment. »Are you sure?«
        »Of course I´m sure, Paul. I hid the carton in among stove Pipes
and heating units. It hasn´t been misplaced, but who the hell could know
that carton #45/879 was a homing capsule?«
        »Tubberman took it?«
        »I´ll bet my last bottle of brandy he did.« Joel spoke so fast that
his words slurred. »The fucker! The crap-eater, the slime-producing
maggot!«
        »When did you discover it gone?«
        »Now! I´m calling from Building C. I check it out at least once a
day.
        »Could Tubberman have followed you?«
        »What sort of a twat do you think I am?« Joel was as apoplectic at
such a suggestion as he was about the theft. »I check every building every
day and I can tell you exactly what was requisitioned yesterday and the day
before, so I fucking well know when something´s missing!«
        »I don´t doubt you for a moment, Joel.« Paul rubbed his hand hard
over his mouth, thinking rapidly. Then he saw the anxious expressions of
Emily and Ezra. »Hold on,« he said into the handset, and reported what Joel
had said.
        »Well,« Ezra replied, a look of intense relief passing over his
gaunt features. »Tubberman couldn´t launch a kite. He can barely maneuver a
sled. I wouldn´t worry about him.«
        »Not him. But I worry a lot about Stev Kimmer and Bart Lemos being
seen in Tubberman´s company lately,« Paul said quietly. Ezra seemed to
deflate, burying his head in his hands.
        »Ted Tubberman has had it,« Emily said, placing the folder she had
been studying onto the table in a precise manner and rising to her feet. »I
don´t give a spent chip for his position as a charterer or the privacy of
his stake. We´re searching Calusa.« She gave Ezra a poke in the shoulder.
»C´mon, you´ll know what components he´d need.«
        They all heard the sound of running feet, then the door burst in
and Jake Chernoff erupted into the office.
        »Sir, sorry, sir,« the young man cried, his face flushed, his chest
heaving from exertion. »Your phone -- « He pointed excitedly at the
receiver in the admiral´s hand. »Too important. Scanners at met --
something blasted off from Oslo Landing, three minutes ago -- and it wasn´t
a sled. Too small.«
        As one, Paul, Emily, and Ezra made for the door and ran to the
interface chamber. Ezra fumbled at the terminal in his haste to implement
the program. An exhaust trail was plainly visible, on a north-western
heading. Cursing under his breath, Ezra switched to the Yoko´s monitor,
which was tracking the blip. For a long moment they watched, rigid with
fury and frustration. Then Ezra straightened his long frame, his hands
hanging limply.
        »Well, what´s done´s done.«
        »Not completely,« Emily said, her voice harsh as she separated each
syllable in a curious lilt. She turned to Paul, her eyes very bright, her
lips pursed, and her expression implacable. »Oslo Landing, hmmm? That
capsule was just launched. Let´s go get the buggers.«
        Leaving Ezra to monitor the capsule´s ascent, Paul and Emily left
at a run. The first three big men they encountered on their way to the grid
were commandeered to assist. Paul spotted Fulmar and told him to pilot
Kenjo´s augmented sled.
        »Don´t ask questions, Fulmar,« Paul said, peremptorily seconding
two more burly technicians. »Just head us toward Jordan, and everyone keep
their eyes open for sled traffic.« He reached for the comm unit as he
shrugged into his harness. »Who´s in the tower? Tarrie? I want to know
who´s in the air above the river, where they´re going and where they´ve
been.«
        Fulmar took off in such a steep climb that for a moment the noise
blanketed any answer Tarrie Chernoff gave.
        »Only one sled above the Jordan, sir, apart from that -- other
flight.« She choked on her words and then recovered the impersonal reserve
of a common officer. »The sled does not acknowledge.
        »They will,« Paul assured her grimly. »Continue to monitor the
traffic in that area.«
        Tubberman was just stupid enough to be obvious, but somehow Paul
did not think that such stupidity was a trait of Stev Kimmer or whomever
else Ted had talked into such an arrant abrogation of the democratic
decision of the colony.
        Tubberman was alone in the sled when Fulmar forced him to land in
the riverside desolation of the ill-fated Bavaria Stake. He was unrepentant
as he faced them, folding his arms across his chest and jutting his chin
out defiantly.
        »I´ve done what should have been done,« he stated in pompus
righteousness. »The first step in saving this colony from annihilation.«
        Paul clenched his fists tightly to his sides. Beside him, Emily was
vibrating with a fury as intense as his own.
        »I want the names of your accomplices, Tubberman,« Paul said
through his teeth, »and I want them now!«
        Tubberman inhaled, bracing himself. »Do your worst, Admiral. I am
man enough to take it.«
        The mock heroic attitude was so absurd to his auditors that one of
the men behind Paul let out a short bark of incredulous laughter, which he
quickly cut off. But the one burst of derision altered Paul´s mood.
        »Tubberman, I wouldn´t let anyone touch a hair of your head,« Paul
said, grinning in a release of tension. »There are quite suitable ways to
deal with you, plainly set out in the charter -- nothing quite as crude or
barbaric as physical abuse.« Then he turned. »You men take him back to
Landing in his sled. Put him in my office and call Joel Lilienkamp. He´ll
take charge of the prisoner.« Paul had the satisfaction of seeing the
martyred look fade from Tubberman´s eyes, to be replaced by a mixture of
anxiety and surprise. Turning on his heel, Paul gestured Emily, Fulmar, and
the others back into their sled.
        Tarrie reported no other vehicles in the area and apologized that
traffic records were no longer kept. »Except for that . . . rocket thing,
the pattern was normal, sir. Oh, and Jake´s back. Did you want to speak to
him?«
        »Yes,« Paul answered, wishing that Ongola were back in charge.
»Jake, I want to know where Bart Lemos and Stev Kimmer are. And Nabhi
Nabol.« Beside him, Emily nodded approval.
        By then, Fulmar had covered the short air distance between Bavaria
and Oslo Landing. The remains of the launch platform were still smoking.
While Paul went with the others to search the area for sled skids, Fulmar
carefully prodded through the overheated circle beneath it, sniffing as he
went.
        »Shuttle fuel by the smell of it, Paul,« he reported. »A homing
capsule wouldn´t take much.«
        »It would take know-how,« Paul said grimly. »And expertise, and you
and I know just how many people are capable of handling that sort of
technology.« He looked Fulmar square in the eye, and the man´s shoulders
sagged. »Not your fault, Fulmar. I had your report and others. I just
didn´t put the pieces together.«
        »Who´d have thought Ted´d pull such a crazy stunt? No one believes
half of what he says!« Fulmar protested.
        Emily and the others came back then from an inconclusive search.
        »There´re a lot of skid marks, Paul,« she reported. »And rubbish.«
She indicated a collapsed fuel sack and a handful of connectors and wires.
Fulmar´s look of desolation deepened.
        »We´re wasting time here,« Paul said, curbing his irritation.
        »Let´s have Cherry and Cabot waiting in my office,« Emily murmured
as they climbed into the sled.

He´s proud of what he did,« Joel stormed when Paul and Emily called him
into Emily´s office on their return. »Says it was his duty to save the
colony. Says we´ll be surprised at how many people agree with him.
        »He´s the one who´ll be surprised,« Emily replied. Her jaw was set
in a resolute line, and her lips curved in a curious smile, which her tired
eyes did not echo.
        »Yeah, Em, but what can we do to him?« Joel demanded in impotent
indignation.
        Emily poured herself a fresh cup of klah and took a sip before she
answered. »He will be shunned.«
        »Who will be shunned?« Cherry Duff demanded in her hoarse voice,
entering the room at that instant. Cabot Carter was right behind her,
having escorted the magistrate from her office in reply to the summons.
        »Shunned?« Carter´s handsome face was enlivened by a smile that
grew broader as he looked expectantly from Paul to Emily, then faded
slightly as he saw the dour storesman.
        Paul grinned back. »Shunned!«
        »Shunned?« Joel exclaimed in a disgusted tone.
        Emily gestured Cherry into the comfortable chair and motioned for
the others to be seated. Then, at a nod from Paul, she gave a terse report
that culminated in Tubberman´s illicit use of the homing capsule.
        »So we´re to order Tubberman shunned, huh?« Cherry looked around at
Carter.
        »It´s legal all right, Cherry,« the legist replied, »since it is
not a corporal punishment, per se, which is illegal under the terms of the
charter.«
        »Refresh me on such a process,« Cherry said, her tone doubly droll.
        »Shunning was a mechanism,« Emily began, »whereby passive groups
could discipline an erring member. Religious communities resorted to it
when someone of their sect disobeyed their peculiar tenets. Quite effective
really. The rest of the sect pretended the offending member didn´t exist.
No one spoke to him, no one acknowledged his presence, no one would assist
the shunned in any way, or indicate that he -- or she -- existed. It
doesn´t seem cruel, but in fact the deprivation is psychologically
destructive.«
        »It´ll do,« Cherry said, nodding in satisfaction. »An admirable
punishment for someone like Tubberman. Admirable!«
        »And completely legal!« Cabot concurred. »Shall I draft the
announcement, Emily, or do you prefer to do it, Cherry?«
        Cherry flicked her hand at him. »You do it, Cabot. I´m sure you
learned all the right phrases. But do explain exactly what shunning
entails. Not that most of us aren´t so fed up with the man´s ranting and
rumors that they won´t be delighted to have an official excuse to . . . ah
. . . shun him! Shun him!« She tipped back her head and gave a hoot of
outrageous laughter. »By all that´s holy -- and legal -- I like that,
Emily. I like that a lot! » In an abrupt switch of mood with no leavening
of humor, she added, »It´ll cool a lot of hotheads.« She swept Paul and
Emily with a shrewd look. »Tubberman didn´t do it by himself. Who helped?«
        We´ve no proof,« Paul began in the same minute that Joel said,
»Stev Kimmer, Bart Lemos, and maybe Nabhi Nabol.«
        »Let´s shun them, too,« Cherry cried, banging the arm of her chair
with her thin old hands. »Damn it, we don´t need dissension. We need
support, cooperation, hard work. Or we won´t survive. Oh, flaming hells!«
She raised both hands up high. »What´ll we do if that capsule brings those
blood-sucking FSP salvagers down on us?«
        »I wouldn´t bet on that,« Joel answered her, rolling his eyes.
        Cherry gave him a hard stare. »I´m relieved to know there is
something you won´t make book on, Lilienkamp. All right, so what do we do
about Tubberman´s accomplices?«
        Cabot leaned over to touch her arm lightly. »First we have to prove
that they were, Cherry.« He looked expectantly at Paul and Emily. »The
charter says that a person is judged innocent until proven guilty.«
        »We watch ‘em,« Paul said. »We watch ‘em. Carter, compose that
notice and see that it´s posted throughout Landing, and that every
stakeholder is apprised of the fact. Cherry, will you impose the sentence
on Tubberman?« He held out his arm to assist her to her feet?«
        »With the greatest of satisfaction. What a superb way to get rid of
a bore,« she added under her breath as she marched forward. The unholy joy
on her face brightened Joel Lilienkamp´s mood as he followed them, rubbing
his hands together.

The messenger was quite happy to bring a copy of the official notice to Bay
and Wind Blossom, on duty in the large incubator chamber. The room was
separated from the main laboratory and insulated against temperature
changes and noise. The incubator itself stood on heavy shock absorbers, so
that in the precarious early stages the embryos in their sacs could not be
jarred by equipment moved around the main laboratory.
        Although eggs within a natural womb, or even in a proper shell,
could handle a great deal of trauma, the initial ex utero fertilization and
alteration had been too delicate to risk the most minute jolt. Development
was not yet canalized, nor was the new genetic structure balanced, and any
variation in the embryos´ environment would doubtless cause damage. Later,
when the eggs were at the stage when naturally they would have been laid in
a clutch, they would be transferred to the building where a warmed sand
‘flooring and artificial sun lamps imitated the natural conditions in which
dragonet eggs hatched. That point was several weeks ahead.
        Special low-light viewing panels had been created, so no light
filtered into the womblike darkness while observers had a clear view of the
incubator´s precious contents. A portable magnifier had been devised which
could be set at any position on the incubator´s four glass sides for very
coarse and routine inspections. In the laboratories of First and Earth,
each developing embryo would have been remotely monitored and recorded.
But, in Pern´s relatively primitive conditions, about which Wind Blossom
constantly complained, the necessity for the avoidance of any toxic
substances at all meant that no sensors could be allowed close to the
embryos in the culture chambers.
        Bay was jotting down Wind Blossom´s assessment when the messenger
delivered the notice. The lad was quite willing to explain any part of the
shunning, but Bay shooed him off on his rounds.
        »How extraordinary,« Bay said when she had finished reading it
aloud to Blossom. »Really, Ted has been quite a nuisance lately. Did you
hear those rumors he was spreading, Blossom? As if that wretched Bitra had
anything but her own plans in mind when she stole the Mariposa. Going for
help, indeed!« She squinted loyally into the incubator at its forty-two
hopes for their future. »But to send off a homing capsule when we most
specifically voted against such an action.«
        »I am relieved,« Wind Blossom said, sighing gently.
        »Yes, he was beginning to upset you,« Bay remarked kindly. »She
tried to tell herself that the woman was still grieving for her
grandmother. There were moments recently, though, when Bay wanted to remind
Blossom that it was not just the Yung family who had suffered a grievous
loss. She had not, because Blossom had been rather volatile lately and
might interpret such a comment as an aspersion on her ability to proceed
with her grandmother´s brilliant genetic-engineering program. As her
mother´s primary assistant, she was technically in charge of the program on
file in the biology Mark 42 computer. Bay, too, had scanned it to
familiarize herself with the procedure. Kitti Ping had left copious notes
on how to proceed, anticipating those possible minor alignments, balancing,
or other compensations that might be needed. She had apparently anticipated
everything but her own death.
        »You misunderstand me,« Blossom replied, inclining her head in a
gesture reminiscent of her grandmother correcting an erring apprentice. »I
am relieved that the homing capsule has been sent. Now there is no blame to
us.«
        Bay was not certain that she had heard correctly. »What under the
suns do you mean, Blossom?«
        Blossom gave Bay a long look, smiling faintly. »All our eggs are in
one basket,« she said with an inscrutable smile and moved the inspection
lens to a new position.
        When Pol and Phas Radamanth came to relieve them, Bay lingered. She
and Pol did not have much time together anymore, and she did not look
forward to another dull supper at the communal kitchen.
        »You got a copy, I see,« Pol said, indicating the shunning notice.
        »Extraordinary that.«
        »More than time,« Phas said, glancing up from Blossom´s notations.
»Let´s hope he wasn´t as incompetent a launcher as he was a botanist.«
        Bay stared in astonishment at the xenobiologist and Phas had the
grace to look embarrassed.
        »No one approves of Tubberman´s actions, my dear,« Pol assured her.
        »Yes, but if they come . . .« Bay´s gesture took in the incubator
and the laboratory, and all that the colonists had managed to do with their
new world.
        »If it´s any consolation,« Phas said, »Joel Lilienkamp has not
opened a book on an ETA.«
        »Oh!« Then she asked, »And what´s happened to Ted Tubberman?«
        »He was escorted back to his stake and told to remain there.«
        Pol could look quite fierce, she thought, when he wanted to. »What
about Mary? And his young children?« she asked.
        Pol shrugged. »She can stay or come. She´s not shunned. Ned
Tubberman was looking pretty upset, but he never was very close to his
father, and Fulmar Stone thinks he´s a very promising mechanic. He shrugged
again and then gave his wife an encouraging smile.
        Bay had no sooner turned to go than the ground under them shook.
She instinctively lunged toward the incubator, and found Phas and Pol
beside her. Even without the magnifier they could see that the amniotic
fluid in the sacs was not rippling in response to the earth quake. The
shock absorbers had proved adequate.
        »That´s all we need!« Pol cried, outraged. He stomped to the comm
unit and dialed the met tower, slamming down the handset.
        »Engaged! Bay, reassure them.« He gestured toward the first bunch
of technicians heading anxiously to the door of the chamber. He dialed
again and got through just as Kwan Marceau pushed his way into the room.
»Are there going to be more shocks, Jake?« Pol asked. »Why weren´t we
warned?«
        »It was a small one,« Jake Chernoff replied soothingly. »Patrice de
Broglie called it in but I am obliged to warn infirmary first in case
surgery is in progress, and then your line was busy.« That explanation
placated Pol. »Patrice says there´s a bit of tectonic plate action to he
east, and there may be more jolts in the next few weeks. The incubator´s on
shocks anyway, isn´t it? You don´t have anything to worry about.«
        »Nothing to worry about?« Pol demanded. He jammed the handset back
onto its stand.

There was a discreet knock on the door to the admiral´s office, and when
Paul answered with a noncommittal »Come in,« Jim Tillek opened it. Emily
smiled with relief the master of Monaco Bay was always welcome. Paul leaned
back in his swivel chair, ready for a break from the depressing inventory
of airworthy sleds and serviceable flame-throwers.
        »Hi, there,« Jim said. »Just up to get my skimmer serviced.«
        »Since when have you needed assistance in that job?« Paul asked.
        »Since all my spare parts at Monaco got reabsorbed by Joel
Lilienkamp.« Jim´s drawl was cheerful.
        »And pigs fly,« Paul retorted.
        »Oh, is that the next project?« Jim asked with a comic grin. He
dropped into the nearest seat and laced his fingers together. »By the way,
Maximilian and Teresa reported on the dolphin search Patrice requested.
There are significant lava flows from the Illyrian volcano. It´s only a
small one, so don´t be surprised if our easterlies bring in some black
dust. It´s not dead Thread. Just honest-to-Vulcan volcano dust. I wanted
you to know before another rumor started.«
        »Thanks,« Paul said dryly.
        »Logical explanations are always welcome,« Emily added.
        »I also dropped in to see our favorite patient.« Jim pushed himself
deeper into the chair and met Paul´s eyes squarely. »He´s raring to go and
threatens to move into the second story of the met tower and run
communications from there. Sabra threatens to divorce him if he does
anything before he gets medical clearance. Myself, I told him he doesn´t
need to worry, as young Jake Chernoff´s been doing a proper job of it. The
boy won´t even hazard a guess about the weather until he´s run the
satellite report twice and looked out the window.«
        Paul and Emily both smiled at his jocular account.
        »Ongola needs to be back at work,« Emily agreed.
        »He´s sure he´ll never use his arm again. He´d do better being so
busy he doesn´t think such negative thoughts.« Jim cocked his head at Paul.
        »According to the doctors,« Emily said with a grateful smile,
»Ongola will use that arm -- even if he refuses to believe it -- but the
amount of mobility is still in question.«
        »He´ll get it back,« Jim said blandly. »Hey, is there any truth to
the rumor that Stev Kimmer was involved with Tubberman?«
        Paul pulled a face, and Emily shot him a glance. »I told you that
was doing the rounds,« she said.
        Jim leaned forward, his expression eager. »Any truth to the one
that he skitted out with one of the big pressurized sleds which has been
seen near the Great Western Barrier where Kenjo staked his claim? Kimmer´s
a lot more dangerous than Ted Tubberman ever was.«
        Paul ran his thumb over his artificial fingers and stopped when he
saw that Jim Tillek had noticed the nervous habit. »He is indeed. As the
comm unit on that stolen sled was in working order when he lifted it, he
will also know that he is wanted back here for questioning.
        Jim nodded in solemn approval. »Has Ezra made any sense out of the
reports of those probes Sallah . . .« He blinked, his eyes suspiciously
wet.
        »No,« Paul said, clearing his throat. »He´s still trying to
translate them. The printout is unclear.«
        »Well, now,« Jim said, »I´ve got a few hours to spare while my
sled´s serviced. I looked at hundreds of EEC survey team reports before I
found a planet I liked the look of. Can I help?«
        »A fresh eye might be useful,« Paul said. »Ezra´s been at it non
stop.«
        »Did I hear correctly,« Jim asked gently, »that the Mariposa
plunged directly into the eccentric?«
        Paul nodded. »She made no informative comment.« Avril´s cryptic
penultimate phrase, »It´s not the . . .« still rang with some message that
Paul felt he must unravel. »Look, Jim, do stop in and see if you can help
Ezra. We need some good news. Morale is still low after the murders, and
having to shun Ted Tubberman and explain how he got his hands on that
homing capsule have not improved the administration´s image.«
        »Clever trick, though,« Jim said, chuckling as he rose. »Keeps you
from having to breach stake autonomy, and keeps that fool where he can´t do
more damage. I´ll just amble over to Ezra´s pod.« He left the room with a
backhanded wave at Emily and Paul.
        Immeasurably cheered by his visit, they went back to the onerous
tasks of scheduling crews for the upcoming Threadfalls and mustering teams
to collect edible greenery for silage from places as yet untouched by the
ravening organism.

* * * * *

»Look, Jim, I just can´t find any other logical explanation for the
destruction of the probes and these. » Ezra Keroon waved a handful of probe
pics, so blurred that no detail could be seen. »One, maybe two probes could
malfunction. But I´ve sent off seven! And Sallah -- « Ezra paused a moment,
his face expressing the sorrow he still felt at her loss. »Sallah told us
that there had been no damage report for the probe garage. Then we have the
Mariposa. It did not hit the surface. Something hit it just about the same
time one of the probes went bang!«
        »So you prefer to believe that something down on the surface
prevents inspection?« Jim Tillek asked wryly. He leaned back in his seat,
easing shoulder muscles taut from hours of bending and peering through
magnifiers. »I can´t credit that explanation, Ez. C´mon man. How can
anything on that planet be functioning? The surface has been frozen. It
can´t have thawed appreciably in the time it´s been swinging in to Rukbat.«
        »One does not have such regular formations on any unpopulated
surface. I don´t say they can´t be natural. They just don´t look natural.
And I certainly won´t make any guesses about what sort of creatures made
them. Then look at the thermal level here, here, and here.« Ezra jabbed a
finger at the pics he had been studying. »It´s higher than I´d anticipate
on a near-frozen surface. That much we got from the one probe that sent
data back.«
        »Volcanic action under the crust could account for that.«
        »But regular convex, not concave, formations along the equator?«
        Jim was incredulous. »You want to believe that plutonic planet
could be the source of this attack?«
        »I like that better than substantiating the Hoyle-Wickraman-singh
theory, I really do, Jim.«
        »If Avril hadn´t taken the gig, we could find out what that
nebulosity is. Then we´d know for sure! Hoyle-Wickraman-singh or little
frozen blue critters.« Jim´s tone was facetious.
        »We´ve the shuttles,« Ezra said tentatively, tapping his pencil.
        »No fuel, and there isn´t a pilot among those left that I´d be
willing to trust to do such a difficult retrieval. You´d have to match its
orbit speed. I saw the dents on the Mariposa´s hull myself where the
defense shields failed. Also, we didn´t bring down any heavy worksuits that
would protect a man out in a meteor storm. And if your theory is correct,
he´ll get shot down.«
        »Only if he gets too close to the planet,« Ezra went on cautiously.
»But he wouldn´t have to, to get a sample of the trail. If the trail is
nothing but ice, dirt, and rock, the usual cometary junk, we´d know then
that the real menace is the planet, not the trail. Right?«
        Jim eyed him thoughtfully. »It´d be dangerous either way. And
there´s no fuel to do it anyhow!« Jim opened his arms in a gesture of
exasperation.
        »There is fuel.«
        »There is?« Jim sat bolt upright, eyes wide with surprise.
        Ezra gave him a wry smile. »Known only to a chosen few.«
        »Well!« Jim made his eyebrows twitch, but he grinned to show that
he took no offense at having been excluded. »How much?«
        »With a thrifty pilot, enough for our purpose. Or maybe, if we
could find Kenjo´s main cache, more.«
        »More?« Jim gawked. »Kenjo´s cache? He scrounged fuel?«
        »Always was a clever driver. Saved it from his drops, Ongola said.«
        Jim continued to stare at Ezra, amazed at Kenjo´s sheer impudence.
»So that´s why Kimmer´s nosing about the Western Barrier Range. He´s out
trying to find Kenjo´s cache. For his own purposes or ours?«
        »Not enough to get anyone´s hopes up, mind you,« Ezra continued,
holding up a warning hand. »Maybe it´s not too bad a thing that Tubberman
sent off the homer. Because if it is the planet, we need help, and I´m not
too proud to ask for it.« Ezra grimaced. »Not that Kimmer said anything to
anyone when he made off with the big sled and enough concentrated food and
power packs to stay lost for years.
        Joel Lilienkamp was livid that anyone would steal from his Store.
We don´t even know how Stev found out about Kenjo´s hoard. Except that he
knew how much fuel the Mariposa had in her tanks eight years ago. So he
must have figured out someone had saved fuel back when Kenjo made those
reconnaissance flights.« Then, as Jim opened his mouth, he added, »Don´t
worry about Kimmer taking off even if he finds fuel. Ongola and Kenjo
disabled the shuttles some time back. Kimmer doesn´t know where we stash
the fuel sacks here. Neither, do I.«
        »I´m honored -- by your confidence and the cares you have so
carefully laid on my bowed shoulders.«
        »You walked in here three days ago and volunteered your services,«
Ezra reminded him.
        »Three days? Feels like three years. I wonder if my skimmer´s been
serviced.« He rose and stretched again until the bones in his spine and
joints readjusted with audible clicks. »So, shall we take this mess -- « He
gestured to the mass of photos and flimsies neatly arranged on the work
surface. » -- to the guys who have to figure out what we do with it?«

Paul and Emily listened, saying nothing, until both men had finished
expressing their conflicting viewpoints.
        »But when the planet is past us in the next eight or nine years the
Threadfall will stop,« Paul said, jumping to a conclusion.
        »Depends on whose theory you favor,« Jim said, grinning with
good-natured malice. »Or how advanced Ezra´s aliens are. Right now, if you
buy his theory, they´re keeping us at arm´s length while the Thread softens
us up.«
        Paul Benden brushed away that notion. »I don´t credit that, Ezra.
Thread was ineffective on the previous try. But the Pluto planet could be
defending itself. I could live with that much of your theory based on the
evidence.«
        Emily looked squarely at Jim. »How long will this gunge fall if
it´s from your cometary tail?«
        »Twenty, thirty years. If I knew the length of that tail, I could
give a closer estimate.
        »I wonder if that´s what Avril meant,« Paul said slowly, »by ‘it´s
not the . . .´ Did she mean that it wasn´t the planet we had to fear, but
the tail it brought from the Oort cloud?«
        »If she hadn´t taken the Mariposa, we´d have a chance of knowing.«
Emily´s voice had a sharp edge.
        »We still do,« Ezra said. »There´s enough fuel to send a shuttle
up. Not as economical a vehicle as the Mariposa but adequate.«
        »Are you sure?« Paul´s expression was taut as he reached for a calc
pad on which he worked several equations. He leaned back, his face pensive,
then passed the pad over to Emily and Jim. »It might just be possible.« He
caught and held Emily´s gaze. »We have to know. We have to know the worst
we can expect before we can plan ahead.
        Ezra raised a warning hand, his expression wary. »Mind you, they
can´t get close to the planet! We´ve lost seven probes. Could be mines,
could be missiles -- but they blow up.«
        »Whoever goes will know exactly what and how big the risks are,«
Paul said.
        »There´s risk enough in just going up,« Ezra said gloomily.
        »I hate to sound fatuous, but surely there´s one pilot who´d take
the challenge to save this world,« Paul added.
        Drake Bonneau was approached first. He thought the scheme was
feasible, but he worried about the risk of a shuttle that had certainly
deteriorated from eight years´ disuse. He then pointed out that he was
married with responsibilities, and that there were other pilots equally as
qualified. Paul and Emily did not argue with him.
        »Marriage and dependent children will be the excuse of practically
everyone,« Paul told their private counselors, Ezra, Jim, and Zi Ongola,
who had been permitted four hours of work a day by his reluctant medical
advisers. »The only one still unattached is Nabhi Nabol.«
        »He´s a clever enough pilot,« Ongola said thoughtfully, »though not
exactly the type of man on whom the future of an entire planet should ride.
However, exactly the type if the reward could be made attractive enough for
him to take the risk.«
        »How?« Emily asked skeptically.
        Nabhi had already been reprimanded a dozen times and served Cherry
Duff´s sentences for social misdemeanors such as being caught »drunk and
disorderly,« several work delinquencies, and one »lewd advance.« Lately he
had somewhat redeemed himself by being a good squadron leader, and was much
admired by the young men he led .
        »He´s a contractor,« Ongola said. »If he should be offered, say, a
charterer´s stake rights, I think he might well go for it. He´s griped
about the disparity in land holdings often enough. That could sweeten him.
He also fancies himself as a crack pilot.
        »We´ve got some very good young pilots,« Jim began.
        »Who have had no experience in space with a shuttle. ‘ Ongola
dismissed that notion. »Though it might be a good idea to choose one to go
as copilot and give them the feel. But I´d rather trust Nabhi than a
complete space novice.«
        »If we suggest that he was also our second choice, rather than our
last one . . .« Emily remarked.
        »We´d better get on with it, what ever we do,« Ezra said. I can´t
keep stalling questions. We need data and we need a sample of the stuff in
that trail. Then we´ll know for certain what our future is.

Bargaining with Nabhi began that afternoon. He sneered at the flattery and
the appeal to his competence and demanded to know just how much the trip
was worth in terms of a holding and other rights. When he demanded the
entire province of Cibola, Paul and Emily settled down to their task. When
Nabhi insisted on being granted charterer status, they agreed with
sufficient reluctance to satisfy the man that he was ahead in the
bargaining.
        Then Emily nonchalantly mentioned that Big Island was now
untenanted. She and Paul managed to suppress their relief when he
immediately seized on the notion of occupying Avril´s former property.
        Nabhi said that he wanted the shuttle he had used during the
ferrying operation and he specified the personnel who were, under his
supervision, to handle the Moth´s recommissioning. He waved aside the fact
that all the people he named were already heavily involved in crucial
projects. He would only make the trip if he was satisfied that the
long-disused shuttle checked out technically. But the other inducements
were his immediately.
        He then demanded Bart Lemos as his copilot, with the condition that
Bart, too, would be given charterer status. Paul and Emily found that
particularly unpalatable, but agreed reluctantly.
        Nabol´s attitude toward both admiral and governor immediately
altered, becoming so arrogant and pompous that Emily had to struggle to
contain her dislike of the man. His smile of triumph was only one degree
less than a full sneer as he left their office with the signed charterer´s
warrant. Then he commandeered one of the speed shuttles, although it was
needed for an imminent Threadfall, and went to inspect his new acquisition.
        The admiral and the governor formally announced the venture, its
aims, and its personnel. The news managed to outweigh every other topic of
interest with one exception: the transfer of the twenty-seven mature eggs
to their artificial hatching ground.
        The full veterinary contingent assisted the biologists in that
maneuver. Sorka Hanrahan and Sean Connell, in their capacities as advanced
veterinary apprentices, had also done some of the early analysis and
tedious documentation for the project, working under Kitti Ping´s close
supervision. It didn´t take long to accomplish the transfer, but Sorka
noticed that the amount of dithering was aggravating her lover. But the
project meant more to him than his exasperation with worried biologists,
and he suppressed his irritation. Finally the eggs were placed to the
complete satisfaction of Wind Blossom, Pol, and Bay: in a double circle,
seventeen on the inner ring, twenty on the outer, with the warm sand banked
high around them to imitate the natural environment of dragonets.
        »The whole thing could have been done in a third of the time,« Sean
muttered darkly to Sorka. »So much fuss is bad for the eggs.« He scowled at
the precise circles.
        »They´re much bigger than I thought they´d be,« Sorka said after a
moment´s silence.
        »Much bigger than they thought they´d be,« Sean said in a scoffing
tone. »I suppose we´re lucky that so many survived to this stage -- a
credit to Kit Ping, considering all that had to be done to create them.«
        Sorka knew that it meant as much to Sean to be a part of the
project as it did to her. They had, after all, been the first to discover
one of the wild nests. Eager but tired, she was balancing on one of the
edging timbers, keeping her feet off the uncomfortably warm sands of the
artificial hatching ground.
        Although the transfer was complete, the helpers had not yet
dispersed. Wind Blossom, Pol, and Bay were deep in discussions with Phas,
the admiral, and the governor, who had taken an official part in the
removal. Sorka thought that Emily Boll particularly looked drawn and
exhausted, but her smile remained warm and genuine. They, too seemed
reluctant to leave.
        Most of the Landing population of dragonets had been in and out of
the Hatching Ground, darting up to the rafters and vying to find roosting
room. They seemed content to watch; none of them had been bold enough to
examine the eggs closely. Sorka interpreted their little chirps as
reverent, awed.
        »Would they know what these are?« she asked Sean softly.
        »Do we?« Sean retorted with an amused snort. He had both arms
folded across his chest; he unlaced one to point to the nearest egg.
»That´s the biggest. I wonder if it´s one of the golds. I´ve lost track of
which was put where in that dance we just did. There were more males than
females among the ones lost, and Lili´s opened book on which of us get
what.«
        Sorka gave the egg a long speculative look. She thought about
whether or not it was a gold, and then decided, somewhat arbitrarily in her
own mind, that no, it was not. It was a bronze. She did not tell Sean her
conclusion. Sean tended to debate such issues, and that moment, surveying
the first clutch of »dragons,« was not a moment to spoil. She sighed.
        Dragonets had become as important to her as horses. She readily
admitted that Sean could make his fair behave better than she could hers.
He could and did discipline his for effective use during Threadfall. But
she knew that she understood any of them -- hers, his, and those impressed
by anyone else on Pern -- better than he did, especially when they were
injured fighting Thread. Or maybe her sensitivity, developed over the last
couple of months along with her pregnancy, tended toward maternal caring.
The doctor had said she was in excellent health and had found nothing in
her physical profile to suggest problems. She could continue riding as long
as she felt comfortable in the saddle.
        »You´ll know when you can´t ride anymore,« he had told her with a
grin. »And you´ll have to curtail ground crew at five months. That´s no
time for you to be swinging the weight of a flame-thrower about for hours
on end.«
        Sorka had not yet found the proper moment to inform Sean of his
impending fatherhood. She fretted about his reaction. They had saved enough
work credits to make the Killarney holding a substantial one, but not with
Thread falling. Sean had not even mentioned Killarney, since the third
Fall, but that did not mean he did not think about it. She saw the faraway
look in his eyes from time to time.
        She had thought he would mention Killarney when his father returned
Cricket from his stud duties. But he had not. With everyone working double
jobs just to keep essential services going, very few people had time to
consider private concerns. Sean and Sorka spent what leisure moments they
had keeping their horses fit, riding them out beyond the swath of
destruction for an hour´s grazing.
        The main door opened to admit one of the security engineers, and
there was an instant reaction from the gallery of winged watchers. Sean
chuckled softly. »They don´t need a security system in here,« he murmured
to Sorka. »C´mon, love, we´ve got surgery in five minutes.«
        With backward glances at the circles of mottled eggs, the two
apprentices reluctantly went back to work. As they crossed one of the
alleys, they had a clear view of the donks slowly moving the shuttle Moth,
into takeoff position.
        »D´you think they´ll make it?« Sorka asked Sean.
        »They´ve been busy enough,« he replied sourly. Neither Nabhi Nabol
nor Bart Lemos had made himself popular since the sudden rise to charterer
rank. »Still, I wouldn´t be in their shoes for anything!«
        She giggled. »Spacer Yvonne. You´ve never told me, Sean, did that
help you on the drop?«
        He gave her face a long and searching look, a slight smile tugging
at his lips. Then he put his arm about her and hauled her into his side.
»All I could think about was proving to you I wasn´t scared. But, by Jays,
I was!« Then his expression changed and he halted, turning her roughly to
him, both hands feeling across her stomach and pulling the bulky shipsuit
taut across her body. He glared accusingly at her. »Why didn´t you tell me
you´re pregnant?«
        »Well, it´s only just been confirmed,« she said defiantly.
        »Does everyone else know but me?« He was furious with her; for the
first time in their years together, he was mad at her. His eyes were
flashing and his hands rested hard across her thickening waistline.
        »No one knows except the doctor, and he doesn´t have to ground me
for another three months.« She pulled defensively at one hand to make him
release her. »But there´s Killarney and I know you think about it . . .«
        »Your mother knows?«
        »When do I have a chance to see her? She´s minding half of
Landing´s babies, as well as my latest brother. You´re the only other one
who knows.«
        »Sometimes you baffle me, Sorka,« Sean said, his anger abating. He
shook his head. »Why wait to tell me? Killarney´s a long way off in our
future now. We´re committed here. I thought you understood that.« He put
both hands on her shoulders and gave her a stern shake. »I´ve wanted to be
the father of your children. I want you to have only mine. I want it to be
now, too, Sorka love, but I didn´t think I had the right to ask you to
bring a child into the world the way it is.« His voice fell into the
special tender tone he always used when they were making love.
        »No, it´s the best time to have a child. Something for both of us
to have,« she said. She did not add »in case,« but he knew what she was
thinking and tightened his grip on her. His eyes compelled hers to look at
him. The fury had been replaced by resolution.
        »Immediately after surgery, we´re going before Cherry Duff. This is
going to be a two-parent child, or my name´s not Sean Connell!«
        Sorka burst out laughing and did not stop until they reached the
surgery shed.

Ongola had ended up as arbiter on the reconditioning of the space shuttle
Moth. Nabhi Nabol had been driving the refit crew demented, interrupting
them at critical moments of repair, demanding to know if that circuit or
this segment of hull had been checked. Despite the fact that he had a good
working knowledge of the complexities of a shuttle, he delayed more than he
assisted. The shuttle Mayfly lying next to the Moth had been sectioned off
into offices for Ongola, Fulmar, and Nabhi, with a half-dozen comm lines so
that Ongola could handle other commitments while on hand at the shuttle.
His office was festooned with probe pics and survey maps, as well as with
the various launch windows open to Nabhi. Nabhi would often come and stand
broodingly staring at the orbits, picking at his lower lip. Ongola ignored
him.
        The basic condition of the Moth had been surprisingly good: there
had been practically no perishing of interior circuits or lines. But
everything had to be double-checked. In that Ongola agreed with Nabhi. It
put quite a burden on Fulmar´s engineering team, but that was not where he
disagreed with the autocratic Nabhi.
        »I wouldn´t care what he asked me to do,« Fulmar told Ongola, »if
he´d only ask politely. You´d think he was doing me a favor. Are you sure
he´s as good a driver as he thinks he is?«
        »He is good,« Ongola reluctantly admitted.
        »I´d´ve preferred the mission in Bonneau´s hands,« Fulmar replied,
shaking his head sadly. »But with that big stake, kids and all, I can´t
fault his refusal. It´s just that -- « He broke off, raising his big, work
stained hands in a helpless gesture.
        The mission has got to succeed, Fulmar,« Ongola said, giving the
man an encouraging clout on the shoulder. »And you´re the best man to see
that it does.«

In the thirteenth week after Threadfall, the pattern suddenly shifted. As
the squadrons reached the projected site, which was mainly over unoccupied
lands, only the top of the squadron saw the leading edge. It was well north
of their position: the gray shimmering stain on the horizon was all too
easily identified.
        »Hell and damnation!« Theo Force cried, ramming a call through to
Ongola at Landing. »The damned stuff´s shifted north, Zi. We´ll need
reinforcements.«
        »Give me the coordinates,« Ongola said, issuing crisp orders and
gesturing to Jake to get in touch with Dieter or Boris. »Go for it. We´ll
scramble another squadron or two to help. I´ll alert Drake.«
        Boris was found, and made some quick calculations. It´s going to
hit Calusa and Bordeaux. It seems to have shifted north by five degrees.
That doesn´t make sense. Why on earth would it shift so suddenly?«
        There was no answer to his question. Ongola rang off. »Have you the
week´s roster there, Jake? Check where Kwan is today. I´ll call Chuck
Havers at Calusa.«
        Sue Havers answered the phone. After her initial shock at the news,
she rallied. »We´ve several hours then, don´t we? And it could just miss
us? I hope so. I don´t know where Chuck is working today. Thank you, Zi.
And,« she added, her voice less assured, »are you calling Mary Tubberman,
or should I warn her?«
        »We´ll send Ned along.« Ongola disconnected.
        Shunning was very hard on the relatives. Ned was entitled to assist
his mother and his younger brothers and sister in fighting Thread. If he
chose also to assist his father in the emergency, there would be only
family to witness it. Tubberman had been quick to clad his buildings with
metal, so his stake was as safe as those precautions could make it. He
would get no other help.
        Ongola then contacted Drake and ordered him to avoid the
Tubbermans´ stake. Drake at first protested that they couldn´t leave any
Thread on any ground, shunned or not.
        »Ned can protect that much with his mother´s help, Drake, but we
cannot assist Ted Tubberman.«
        »But it´s Thread, man.«
        »That´s an order, man,« Ongola replied in a steely tone.
        »Gotcha!«
        Ongola then informed Paul Benden and Emily Boll of the pattern´s
alteration.
        »Ezra will say that proves intelligence directs Fall,« Fall
remarked to Emily as they conferred.
        »It´s heads we lose, tails we lose, as far as I can see,« Emily
replied, heaving a sigh.
        »It´s as well we don´t have to wait long to find out.« Paul nodded
toward the grid where the Moth was undergoing the final countdown. None of
the technicians had been allowed to scramble for additional support
squadrons. Their assignments on the shuttle had just become all-important.

Following the courtesy now well established, Drake Bonner checked in at the
Havers´ stakehold on his way back from end of Fall which had just tipped
Bordeaux across the Jordan River. He landed within sight of the Tubbermans´
larger home.
        »Ned and Mary were out with flame-throwers,« Chuck told the
squadron leader, »and then, for some insane reason, Ted drove them back
into the house. There couldn´t have been much damage, or we´d have seen
results.«
        »Well, you´re all right here,« Drake said heartily.
        »The ground crew arrived well in advance. But does anyone know why
the pattern´s shifted?« Sue asked. Weary with fighting, she needed some
spark of reassurance.
        »No,« Drake replied cheerfully, »but we´ll probably be told!«
        He accepted a cup of the refreshing fruit drink that the oldest
Havers girl brought him and his crew, then said good-bye. Drake had obeyed
Ongola´s order to bypass the Tubberman stake during Fall, but after what
the Havers had said about Ted, he was curious. In his opinion, all thread
had to be destroyed, even if it fell on a shunned homesite. Thread did not
care about human conflicts it ate. Drake did not want to see a little
burrow get started because of man-made restrictions.
        Therefore, as he took off, he made a leisurely turn right over the
Tubberman property. He saw Ned standing on the green patch surrounding the
house. Ned waved and gesticulated rather wildly, at which point Drake felt
obliged to follow orders and turn northwest towards Landing.
        He was having a quick bite to eat in the dining hall when Ned
Tubberman found him.
        »You saw it, Drake, I know you did. You have to have seen it,« he
said, excitedly pulling at Drake´s sleeve to pull him to his feet. »C´mon,
you have to tell them what you saw.«
        Drake pulled his arm free. »Tell who what?« He forked up another
mouthful of the hot food. Thread-fighting gave him an incredible appetite.
        »Tell Kwan and Paul and Emily what you saw.«
        »I didn´t see anything!« Then suddenly Drake had a flash of pure
recall: Ned standing on a green square, a green square that was surrounded
by scorched earth. »I don´t believe what I saw!« He wiped his mouth,
chewing absently as he absorbed that memory. »But Thread had just been
across your place, and Chuck and Sue saw your father stop you flaming!«
        »Exactly!« Ned grinned hugely and again pulled at Drake. The
squadron leader rose and followed Ned out of the room. »I want you to tell
them what you saw, to corroborate my statement. I don´t know what Dad´s
done.« The grin faded and some of the buoyancy drained from Ned Tubberman.
»He says shunning works two ways. Mother told me that he locks himself away
in his laboratory and won´t let anyone near it. My brothers and sister go
over to Sue´s all the time but Mother won´t leave Dad, even if he isn´t in
the house much. She keeps the place ticking over.«
        »Your father´s been experimenting with something?« Drake was
confused.
        »Well, he´s got botanical training. He did say that until help
came, the only defense was the planet itself.« Ned slowed his pace. And
that patch of grass must have defended itself -- somehow -- against today´s
Fall, because it´s still there!«
        Drake did tell Kwan, Paul, Emily, and the hastily summoned Pol and
Bay. Ned insisted that he had seen Thread fall on the ground-cover plants,
had not seen them wither or be ingested, and that by the time Drake had
overflown the stake, there was no evidence that Thread had ever fallen on
that twelve-by- twenty-meter rectangle.
        »I couldn´t hazard a guess as to how he´s done it,« Pol finally
said, looking to Bay for agreement. »Maybe he has been able to adapt Kitti
Ping´s basic program for use on a less complex life-form. Professionally I
have to doubt it.«
        »But I saw it,« Ned insisted. »Drake saw it, too.«
        There was a long silence, which Emily finally broke. »Ned, we do
not doubt you, or Drake´s verification, but as your father said, shunning
works both ways.«
        »Are you too proud to ask him what he´s done?« Ned demanded, his
skin blanched under his tan, and his nostrils flaring with indignation.
        »Pride is not involved,« Emily said gently. »Safety is. He was
shunned because he defied the will of the colony. If you can honestly say
that he has changed his attitude, then we can discuss reinstatement.«
        Ned flushed, his eyes dropping away from Emily´s tolerant gaze. He
sighed deeply. »He doesn´t want anything to do with Landing or anyone on
it.« Then he gripped the edge of the table and leaned across it toward the
governor. »But he´s done something incredible. Drake saw it.«
        »I did indeed see ground cover where there shouldn´t´ve been any,«
Drake conceded.
        »Could your mother present evidence on his behalf?« Paul asked,
seeking an honorable way out for Ned´s sake.
        »She says he only talks to Petey, and Petey says he´s sworn to
secrecy, so she hasn´t pushed him.« Ned´s face twisted with anguish for a
long moment, then it cleared. »I´ll ask her. I´ll ask Petey, too. I can
try.
        »This has not been easy for you either, Ned,« Emily said. »All of
us would like to see the matter happily resolved.« She touched his hand
where he still gripped the table edge. »We need everyone right now.
        Ned looked her steadily in the eyes and gave a slow nod. »I believe
you, Governor.«

»Sometimes the duties to which rank entitles me are more than it´s worth,«
Emily murmured to Paul as the hatch of the shuttle finally closed on Nabhi
Nabol and Bart Lemos. She spoke quietly, because every young man in Nabhi´s
squadron had come to wish their leader good luck. She turned and smiled at
them, leading the way off the grid to the safer sidelines, and waited
dutifully with the technicians for the takeoff.
        They waited and waited, until both admiral and governor were giving
the meteorology tower anxious scrutiny. Just when both had decided that
Nabhi was going to renege, as they had half suspected he would, they heard
the roar of ignition and saw the yellow-white flame pouring out of the
tubes.
        »Firing well,« Paul bellowed over the noise. Emily contented
herself with a nod as she plugged her ears with her fingers.
        She did not know much about the mechanics of shuttles, but the
young men were grinning and waving their arms triumphantly. The look of
relief on Fulmar´s face was almost comical. Majestically the shuttle began
its run up the grid, its speed increasing at a sensational rate. It became
airborne, the engines thrusting it in an abrupt but graceful swoop up. The
flame became lost in the blue of the sky as the observers shaded their eyes
against the rising sun. Then the puffy contrail blossomed, billowing out as
a tracer for the shuttle´s path. The technicians who had made it possible
cheered, and clapped one another on the back.
        »Gawssakes, but it´s good to get a bird up again,« one of the men
shouted. »Hey, what´s wrong with them?« he added, pointing to several fairs
of dragonets zipping at low level across the grid out of nowhere, crooning
oddly.
        »Who´s having a baby?« Fulmar demanded.
        Emily and Paul exchanged glances. »We are,« she said, sliding
quickly into the skimmer. »See? They´re going straight to the Hatching
Ground.«
        Looking up toward Landing, there was no doubt that fairs of
dragonets were streaming in that direction. No one lingered on the grid.
The roof of the Hatching Ground was covered with the crooning and
chittering creatures. The cacophony was exciting rather than irritating.
When the admiral and governor arrived, they had to make their way through
the crowd to the open double doors.
        »Welcome in nine-hundred-part harmony,« Emily muttered to Paul as
they made it to the edge of the warm sands. Their they halted awed by the
sense of occasion within.
        Kitti Ping had left explicit instructions on who was to attend the
birth day. Sixty young people between the ages of eighteen and thirty, who
had already shown a sympathy for the dragonets, had the privilege of
standing around the circle of eggs. Wind Blossom, Pol, Bay and Kwan stood
to one side on a wooden platform, their faces flushed and expectant.
        The dragonets´ song outside remaining softly jubilant while the
crooning of those who had found roosting space inside sounded like subdued
encouragement, almost reverent.
        »They can´t know what we expect for today, can they, Paul?«
        »Young Sean Connell« -- Paul pointed to where the young man stood
beside his wife around the eggs -- «would have you believe that they do.
But then, they´ve always been attracted by birthing! After all they protect
their own young against attack.«
        A hush swept around the arena as a distinct crack was heard. One of
the eggs rocked slightly, the motion drawing excited whispers.
        Emily crossed her fingers, hiding them in the folds of her
trousers. She noticed, with a slight grin, that others were doing the same.
So much hung on the events of that day, on the first hatching and on what
Nabhi Nabol was irrevocably committed to doing.
        Another egg cracked and a third wobbled. The chorus began
beguilingly insistent, striking an excited chord in everyone watching.
        Then all of a sudden, one of the eggs cracked open and a creature
emerged, damp from birth: it shook stubby wings and stumbled over its
shell, squawking in alarm. The dragonets answered soothingly. The young
people in the circle stood their ground, and Emily marveled at their
courage, for that awkward creature was not the graceful being she had been
expecting, a beast remembered from old legends and illustrations held in
library treasuries. She caught herself holding her breath, and exhaled
quickly.
        The creature extended its wings; they were wider and thinner than
she had expected. It was so spindly, so ungainly, and its very oddly
constructed eyes were flashing with red and yellow. Emily felt a flush of
alarm. The creature gave a desperate cry, and was answered reassuringly by
the multivoiced choir above. It lurched forward, its voice pleading, and
then the cry altered to one of joy, held on a high sweet note. It staggered
another step and fell at the feet of David Catarel who bent to help it.
        He looked up with eyes wide with wonder. »He wants me!«
        »Then accept him!« Pol bellowed, gesturing for one of the stewards
to come forward with a bowl of food. »Feed him! No, don´t anyone else help
you. The bond should be made now!«
        Kneeling by his new charge, David offered the little dragon a hunk
of meat. It bolted that and urgently cried for more, pushing at David´s leg
with an imperious head.
        »He says he´s very hungry,« David cried. »He´s talking to me. In my
head! It´s incredible. How did she do it?«
        »The mentasynth works, then!« Emily murmured to Paul, who nodded
with the air of someone not at all surprised.
        »Ye gods, but it´s ugly,« Paul said in a very low voice.
        »You probably weren´t much to look at at birth either,« Emily
surprised herself by saying. She grinned at his quick glance of
astonishment.
        David coaxed his new friend out of the circle of people and toward
the edge of the Hatching Ground, calling for more food. »Polenth says he´s
starving.«
        Bay had ordered plenty of red meat to be available, butchered from
animals that had adapted well to the improved Pernese grasses. The young
dragonets would require plenty of boron for growth in their first months,
and would best absorb it from the flesh of cattle.
        Another egg cracked, and a second bronze male made a straight line
dash to Peter Semling. A shrill voluntary came from Peter´s fair of
dragonets. There was a long wait before any more activity. A worried hum
developed among the watchers. Then four more eggs abruptly shattered, two
with unexpectedly dainty creatures, one golden and one bronze, who
partnered themselves with Tarrie Chernoff and Shih Lao; the other two were
stolid-looking browns who took to Otto Hegelman and Paul Logorides.
        Do they expect them all to hatch today?« Emily asked Paul.
        Let´s go around to Pol and Bay,« Paul said. They inched their way
to the right, pausing to admire David Catarel´s bronze, who was bolting
down hunks of meat so fast that he seemed to be inhaling them. David looked
ecstatic.
        »Well, they could,« Pol replied when they reached him. He was
masking anxiety well. Wind Blossom was not, and barely acknowledged the
quiet greetings of admiral and governor. »They were engineered within a
thirty-six-hour period. The six that have hatched were from the first and
second groups. We might have to wait. In our observations of wild
dragonets, we know that laying the eggs can take several hours. I suspect
the greens and golds may be like one of the Earth vipers, which can keep
eggs within her body until she finds an appropriate place, or time, to lay
them. We know that naturally clutched eggs do hatch more or less
simultaneously. This,« he said pointing to the Hatching Ground, »is a
concession to Kitti Ping´s reverence for the ancestral species´ habitat.
Ah, another one´s cracking.« He consulted the flimsy in his hand. »One of
the third group.«
        »Six males, but only one perfect female,« Bay said quietly. »To be
frank, I´d rather have more females. What do you think, Blossom?«
        »One perfect male and one perfect female are all we need,« Wind
Blossom said in a tight, controlled voice. She had her hands hidden in her
loose sleeves, but there were deep tension lines in her face and her eyes
were clouded.
        »Peter Semling´s bronze looks sturdy,« Emily said encouragingly.
Wind Blossom did not respond, her gaze was fixed on the eggs. »Are they as
you anticipated?« she asked, looking at Pol and Bay.
        »No,« Bay admitted, »but then it was Kitti who had the requisite
image in her mind. If only . . .« She faltered. »Ah, another gold female. I
believe that Kitti Ping made the choices gender imperative. For Nyassa
Clissmann. And such charming creatures!«
        Emily failed to see charm in the hatchlings, but she was glad to
see so many live ones. But what had Kitti Ping had in her mind when she
altered the dragonet ova? Those were not dragons of any kind Emily knew.
And yet she had an unexpected vision of a sky full of the creatures,
soaring and diving, breathing flame. Had Kitti Ping had such a vision?
        »The shuttle!« Pol said suddenly. »Did I hear it take off?«
        »Yes, he made it,« Paul replied. »Ongola will keep us informed. We
don´t have enough fuel for a direct flight. The shuttle´ll have to coast a
week before it reaches the trail.«
        »Oh, I see.« Then Pol refocused his attention on the eggs.
        The crowd shifted as some people had to return to complete
unfinished tasks and others moved in to take their places. Food was brought
to the biologists and the leaders on their dais, and wooden benches to sit
on. Wind Blossom remained standing. Food was also taken to the circle of
hopeful dragon riders. The dragonets´ encouragement did not abate. Emily
wondered how they could keep it up?
        It was dark before there was any further movement, and then all at
once a brown and two golds cracked their eggs. Marco Galliani got the
brown, and Kathy Duff and Nora Sejby the two golds. There was a good deal
of cheering.
        The crowd at the opening thinned, while the dragonets kept their
posts and continued their encouraging song. Emily was becoming weary and
she could see fatigue catching up with the others. She was half-asleep when
Catherine Radelin-Doyle impressed her gold.
        »Do they always go female to female?« Emily asked Pol. »And male to
male?«
        »Since the males are expected to be fighters and the females egg
carriers, Kitti made it logical.«
        »Logical to her,« Emily said, a trifle bemused. »There aren´t any
blues or greens among them,« she suddenly realized.
        »Kitti programmed the heavier males, but I believe they´re to carry
sperm for the entire range. The greens will be the smallest, the fighters;
the blues sturdier, with more staying power; the browns sort of anchor
fighters with even more endurance. They´ll have to fight four to six hours,
remember! The bronzes are leaders and the golds . . .«
        Waiting at home to be egg-carriers.«
        Pol gave Emily a long look, his tired face reflecting astonishment
at her sarcasm.
        »In the wild, greens don´t have a good maternal instincts. The
golds do,« Bay put in, giving the governor an odd glance. »Kitti ping kept
as much natural instinct as possible. Or so her program reads.«

»There!« Nabhi said, leaning back from the console, his swarthy face
intense with an inner satisfaction. »Kenjo wasn´t the only one who could
save fuel.«
        Bart stared at him, surprised and confused. »Save it for what
Nabhi?« He spoke more sharply than he meant to, but he had been wound up
with tension that would not ease. It was not that he didn´t trust Nabhi as
a pilot -- Nabhi was a good driver, or Bart would not have been talked into
participating in the insane venture, not for the choicest land on Pern.
        »To maneuver,« Nabhi said. His mocking grin did nothing to ease
Bart´s disquiet.
        »Where? You´re not . . . you wouldn´t be mad enough to try to land
on the farking planet?« Bart clawed at the release straps, but Nabhi´s
indolent gesture of negation aborted the effort.
        »No way. I came to get the pods or whatever.« His smile then
broadened, and Bart was amazed at the humor in it. »Our course is basically
the same one Avril took.« He turned his head and looked directly at his
copilot.
        »So?«
        »They said the gig blew up.« Nabhi´s smile was pure malice. »Turn
on the screens. There might be some interesting flotsam. Diamonds and gold
nuggets and whatever else Avril took with her. No one needs to know what
else we scooped up out of space. And it sure beats mining the stuff
ourselves.«

By midnight Pol and Bay decided to examine the remaining eggs and slowly
did the rounds. Wooden platforms had been brought out for the candidates to
rest on, since the heat in the sand was enervating. None of the chosen was
willing to forgo the chance at impressing a hatchling by leaving the
Ground.
        When the two biologists returned, Pol was shaking his head and Bay
looked drawn. She went immediately to Wind Blossom and touched her arm.
        »The rest of the first group show no signs of life. But already the
outcome is better than projected. We detected viable signs in the others.
We can but wait. They were not all conceived at the same time.«
        Wind Blossom remained an unmoving statue.

Sean nudged Sorka in the ribs to wake her up. She had fallen asleep leaning
against him, her cheek against his upper arm. She was instantly alert and
aware of her surroundings. Sean pointed to the biggest of the eggs, which
sat almost directly in front of them. He had taken that position at the
outset, and finally, after his long vigil, the egg was rocking slightly.
        »What time is it?« she asked.
        »Nearly dawn. There´s been no other movement. But listen to the
dragonets. Listen to Blaze. She´ll have no throat left!«
        They had noted their own dragonets early during that long day, and
Sorka had taken heart from their constant choral encouragement´s.
        »That egg over there has been moving spasmodically for the last two
hours,« he said in a quiet tone. »The one beyond it rocked for a while, but
it´s stopped completely.«
        Sorka tried to contain a yawn, then gave in to the compulsion and
felt better for it. She wanted to stretch, but another candidate was draped
over her legs, fast asleep. Beyond, the other candidates began to wake.
        At some point while Sorka had been dozing, the admiral and the
governor had left. Pol and Bay were leaning into each other, and Kwan´s
head was on his chest, arms limp in his lap. Wind Blossom had apparently
not moved since she had taken up her watch.
        »She´s uncanny,« Sorka said, turning away from the geneticist.
        A single great crack startled everyone, and the egg before them
parted into two ragged halves. The bronze hatchling walked out imperiously,
lifted his head, and made a sound like a stuttering trumpet. Everyone came
to attention. Sean was on his feet, and Sorka pushed at his legs to urge
him on. She need not have worried. As he locked eyes with the hatchling,
Sean gave a low incredulous groan and moved forward to meet the beast
halfway. Their fair was bugling with triumph.
        »Meat, quickly,« Sorka called, beckoning to a sleepy steward.
Hoping that the heat in the building had not soured the meat, she ran to
meet the man, grabbed the bowl, and returned to thrust it into Seans hands.
She had never seen that utterly rapt look in his eyes before.
        He says his name is Carenath, Sorka. He knows his own name. Sean
transferred food from the bowl into Carenath´s mouth as fast as he could
shovel it. »More meat. Hurry, I need more meat.´
        Everyone in the Hatching Ground was wakened by his vibrant voice.
Then the other egg broke open, and a golden female sauntered forth,
chittering and looking about urgently. Sorka was too busy passing bowls of
meat to Sean to notice until Betsy tugged at her arm. She s looking for
you, Sorka. Look at her!«
        Sorka turned her head and suddenly she, too, felt the indescribable
impact of a mind on her, a mind that rejoiced in finding its equal, its
lifelong partner. Sorka was filled with an exultation that was almost
painful.
        My name is Faranth, Sorka!

* * * * *

»We have actually learned a great deal from eggs that didn´t hatch,« Pol
told Emily and Paul when he, Wind Blossom, and Bay made their report two
evenings later.
        »So far, so good?« Paul asked hopefully.
        »Oh, very good,« Bay said enthusiastically, grinning and nodding
her head vigorously. Wind Blossom managed a prim, set smile. The air of
impenetrable gloom that had surrounded her on the Hatching Day had been
exchanged for an aloof superiority.
        »Then you do believe that the eighteen hatchlings will all become
viable adults?« Paul asked Wind Blossom.
        She inclined her head. »We must await their maturity with
patience.«
        »But they will be able to produce flame from phosphine-bearing
rocks and go between as the dragonets do?« Paul asked her.
        »I am, myself, much encouraged,« Pol said, when Wind Blossom said
nothing. »Bay is, too, by the way in which mentasynth has provided a strong
empathic bond and telepathic communication.«
        »A genuine mind-to-mind contact,« Bay added with a smile of
satisfaction. »Especially strong for Sorka and Sean.«
        »The dragons were designed,« Wind Blossom added pompously, »to make
Impression with other than their own ancestral species. In that much, the
program has succeeded.« She held up her hand. »We must contain impatience
and strive to achieve the perfect specimen.«
        »The stabilization of Impression to another species was the most
important aspect,« Pol said, his brows creasing slightly. »After all, the
dragonets have teleported as naturally as they breathe.«
        »The dragonets have,« Wind Blossom said coolly. »We have yet to see
if the dragons can.«
        »Kitti Ping did not alter those capabilities, you know. They will,
of course, have to be refined and controlled,« Pol went on. He did not like
Wind Blossom´s attitude, her refusal to concede the triumph already
achieved. »I must say, I am very glad that the young Connells both
Impressed. With their veterinary training and their general competence, not
to mention their proven ability to discipline their dragonet fairs, we
couldn´t ask for better mates.«
        Wind Blossom made a slight noise, which the listeners took as
disapproval.
        »They´re qualified,« Bay said with unexpected heat. »Someone must
make the beginning.«
        »Their progress must be strictly monitored,« Wind Blossom said, »so
that we will know what mistakes must be avoided the next time.
        »Next time?« Emily blinked in surprise and noticed that Bay and Pol
were reacting similarly.
        »I do not yet know if these creatures will perform on the other
design levels, either natural or imposed.« Her sepulchral tone indicated
that she had grave doubts.
        »How can you not be encouraged -- « Pol began with some heat.
        A decisive gesture of dismissal cut him off, and he stared at Wind
Blossom.
        »I will begin anew,« Wind Blossom informed them in a tone that
almost implied martyrdom. Pol and Bay regarded her in astonishment. »With
what we learned from the post mortem examinations, I cannot be sure that
any of the living will be fertile or reproduce. More importantly --
reproduce themselves! I must try again, and again, until success is
assured. This experiment is only begun.«
        »But, Wind Blossom -- « Pol began, astounded.
        Come, you shall assist me.« With an imperious gesture, she swept
from the room.

Neither the veterinarians nor the xenobiologists had any criteria by which
to judge the health of eighteen representatives of a new species. But the
dragons´ hearty appetites, the vibrant color of their suede-like hides, and
the ease of their physical exertions -- which consisted mainly of eating
and exercising their wings -- were taken as measures of well-being. In the
first week of life, each had grown at least a handspan taller and had
filled out; they looked considerably more substantial. And as the toughness
of their transparent wings became more and more evident, those who had
worried about their fragility were relieved.
        Fascinated, the official medical support group watched as the two
Connells bathed and oiled their ten-day-old dragons. Large shallow bathing
pools of siliplas had been erected near the homes of all the dragonmates.
Faranth was coyly aware of the admiring glances.
        »She´s preening, Dad,« Sorka said, amused, as she poured oil on a
scaly patch between the dorsal ridges. »Is that the itchy spot, Farrie?«
        My name is Faranth and that is that itchy spot, Faranth said in
tones that went from reproof to relief. Another is starting on my hind leg.
        »She doesn´t like to be called by a nickname,« Sorka said
tolerantly grinning at her father. »But jays, she takes scrubbing.« A
bristle brush had been made for the purpose, firm enough to rub in oil but
not harsh enough to mar the tender, smooth hide.
        Suddenly everyone was drenched as Carenath, sweeping his glistening
wings forward in the low bath, showered them with water.
        »Carenath, behave yourself!« Sorka and Sean spoke in the same sharp
tone.
        I am already clean, you polka-dotted idiot, Faranth said in an
excellent mimicry of one of Sorka´s favorite admonitions. I was nearly dry,
and now my oiling has to be to done again.
        Sean and Sorka laughed and then hurriedly explained to the drenched
men that they were amused by what Faranth had said, not by Carenath´s
playfulness. Sean gestured to the dragonets that perched on the rooftree,
obviously watching everything below them. Almost instantly, the soaked
observers had towels dropped about them.
        »Handy critters, Sean,« Red Hanrahan said, drying his face and
hands and mopping his clothing.
        »Very useful with young dragons, too, Red,« Sean replied. »They
fish constantly for these walking appetites.«
        Am I that much trouble to you? Carenath sounded aggrieved.
        »Not at all, pet,« Sean quickly assured him, lovingly caressing the
head that was tilted wistfully. »Don´t be silly. You´re young, you have a
good appetite, and it´s our job to keep you fed.«
        Red was beginning to get accustomed to the sudden non sequiturs
from his daughter and son-in-law, but the others were startled. Faranth
butted at Sorka for reassurance and when she received it, her eyes settled
to the blue of contentment.
        »Can´t they be ridden yet? And hunt for themselves?« Phas Radamanth
asked.
        »You don´t attempt to ride a foal, even a good big one,« Sean
replied, brushing oil on the rough patch on Carenath´s broad back. »Kitti
Ping´s program suggests waiting a full year before we attempt it.«
        »Can we wait long enough for them to mature?« Threadfall and the
need to fight it was never far from anyone´s mind.
        »I´ve never rushed a horse,« Sean said, »and I´m not about to start
with my dragon. However, at the rate they´re growing, and if we can be sure
that their skeletal structure -- it´s boron-silicate, you know, which is
tougher than our calcareous material -- is developing properly, I think
they´ll be capable of manned flight as scheduled.« Sean grinned. »Jays,
what times we´ll have then, old fella, won´t we?«
        The tenderness, the concern, and the deep affection in Sean´s voice
were almost embarrassing to hear. Red looked at his son-in-law in surprise.
So Impression had affected young Connell, as it had changed all the
dragonmates. Even Sorka, who had always been caring and capable, seemed
somehow strengthened and exuded a radiance that could not all be attributed
to her pregnancy.
        Young David Catarel had altered in the most spectacular way. Badly
scarred mentally as well as physically by that First Fall and Lucy
Tubberman´s tragic death, the young man had retreated into a wallow of
self-disgust and needless guilt. Not even intensive therapy had broken
through the stubborn facade. David fought Thread with a vindictive
intensity that was frightening to watch. Only when he had seen how useful
dragonets were in ground-crewing had he tolerated their wistful affection.
        The renaissance of his personality had begun the moment Polenth
nudged his knee. An openly smiling, ecstatic David Catarel had left the
hatching sands, solicitously and deftly assisting the staggering little
dragon. The changes in the other youths had been felicitous as well, though
Catherine Radelin-Doyle´s tendency to giggle at some unheard comment from
her golden mate could be disconcerting. Shih Eao, who had Impressed bronze
Firth, also went about with smiles on his once pensive face, Tarrie
Chernoff had stopped apologizing for any minor accident or inconsistency,
and Otto Hegelman´s stutter had completely disappeared.
        »They´re credits to you both,« Caesar Galliani said to Sean and
Sorka. »Though Marco´s Duluth, if I say so myself, looks equally as well.«
        Sean grinned at the Roma stakeholder. »He does, indeed. As long as
they´re eating, sleeping -- «
        »Being bathed, cosseted, oiled, and scratched, they have nothing to
complain of,« Sorka finished, giving Faranth´s nose a final swipe. »There
now, love, why don´t you curl up and go to sleep?«
        Carenath´s not finished, Faranth complained even as she was moving
to The sun-warmed plascrete she preferred as her couch. I like him to lean
against. I´m a little hungry.
        Sorka put her fingers between her front teeth and gave a piercing
whistle. The dragonets instantly disappeared.
        All clean, Carenath cried, hopping out of the bath. Warned by Sean,
he did not shake himself all over his audience. Carefully he extended his
wet glistening wings, holding them aloft in the slight breeze while Sean,
with Sorka´s help, mopped his underparts dry.
        »D´you need anything, Sean, while we´re here?« Red asked.
        »Nope,« Sean grunted as he bent to dry the claw sheaths. The claw
design was one of the few physical modifications that Kitti Ping had made
from dragonet to dragon. The finger-like claws would be more useful, she
had thought, for grabbing running animals than the dragonets´ pincer-type
arrangement. »As soon as they´ve had their snack we´ll have one, too.«
        »Amazing couple,« Phas Radamanth said, smiling up at Red. »Now if
that bronze is fertile, and the gold willing, we´ll have our next
generation.«
        »Let´s not rush too far ahead in our hopes,« Caesar said, looking
back over his shoulder at the scene. »Wind Blossom strongly advocates
caution about this first batch.«
        »Her Grandmother bioengineered them.« Phas spoke firmly, stopping
in his tracks.
        »Well, she also produced imperfect ones that didn´t hatch.«
        »Eighteen was a very good result, and we learned a great deal from
dissecting the aborts,« Phas said.
        They were just turning away when the air filled with dragonets each
carrying a fair-sized packtail in its claws. The dragons lifted their
heads, opened their mouths, and took the offerings as rightful homage. The
men grinned and continued their morning round.
        Once Faranth and Carenath had their snack, they were quite willing
to curl up together, Carenath with his triangular head neatly placed on his
outstretched forelegs. Faranth draped her head and neck over his
forequarters, her tail twitching occasionally just in front of his muzzle,
her wings sagging slightly from their folded position on her back. Both
freshly oiled hides gleamed in the sun.
        I will be glad when they can hunt for themselves,« Sean murmured to
Sorka as they wearily settled on the ground in the shade of the east wall
of their home.
        »Meanwhile,« Sorka said, reaching for a water jar, »we couldn´t
manage it without the fair.« She sent strong feelings of gratitude to Duke,
Emmett, Blazer, and the others. Their response, muted in deference to the
somnolent dragons, was clearly »You´re welcome.«
        »The requirements of dragons were never considered by Landing´s
architects,« Sean remarked as he took the water jar in turn. Washing
dragons was thirsty business. »When they get bigger, something will have to
be done. There aren´t enough places to house people in Landing anymore,
much less dragons.«
        »D´you think they´d be comfortable in some of Catherine´s caves?
She mentioned it again yesterday.«
        »Yes, so she did. Then she giggled.«
        The two Connells exchanged amused and tolerant grins. The human
dragonmates had abruptly found themselves a group set apart, by occupation
and dedication, as well as by the subtler changes within them. Though they
had the unqualified support and help of every member of the medical,
veterinary, and biological teams, they found that talking minor problems
over among themselves brought better results. One had to be a dragonmate to
appreciate the problems -- and the joys!
        Sorka noted with quiet pride that it was Sean´s opinion that seemed
to be sought most frequently by the others. And she agreed. He had always
been sensible about animals. But, she realized, she could not really call
the dragons »animals.« They were too . . . human. Even their voices
Carenath´s voice sounded just like Sean´s light baritone being spoken
through a long tunnel. And Sorka suspected that Faranth´s voice was a
version of her own.
        From the moment they had brought the two hatchlings to Irish
Square, Sorka had realized that she heard both Faranth and Carenath, while
Sean heard only Carenath. That Sorka could hear both did not seem to
distress either dragon. They were amenable to everything in life as long as
they had full bellies and oiled hides. Then, as Sean´s bond with the bronze
developed, Sorka heard fewer private exchanges. She, too, had learned, as
she suspected each dragonmate had, to communicate telepathically on a
private band.
        »I´d say they´ll be ready to hunt in another week or two -- if we
use a small corral to pen the beasts.« Sean found her hand and squeezed it,
then laid his hand over her belly. »All this won´t harm our child, will
it?«
        Sorka felt guilty. Lately, she had not had time to think about her
condition: there was always something to be done for Faranth, or for one of
the other young dragons. And she and Sean were still on duty at the
dragonet clinic, treating those injured fighting Thread.
        »The doctor said I was healthy and could ride. . .« Sorka groaned.
»Will we be able to teach them to fly between, Sean? Her voice was low, and
she clutched his hand apprehensively.
        »Now, dear heart, we´ll be able for what we have to do.« The
unknown clearly did not face Sean anymore.
        »But, Sean . . .«
        »If we know where we´re going, they will. They´ll see it in our
minds. They see everything else. What makes you think directions will be
difficult?«
        »But we don´t even know how the dragonets do it!«
        Sean shrugged, grinning down at her. »No, we don´t. But if the
fire-lizards are capable of the teleportation, the dragons will be, too.
Kitti Ping did not tamper with that. Let´s not fret ourselves. We won´t
fret them.«
        She eyed him sourly, then shook her finger at him. »Then you stop
worrying about it!«
        Laughing, his blue eyes sparkling at her shrewd hit, he took her
hand and pulled her into his embrace. She nestled there, taking strength
from him and returning it. Although Sorka had never before felt so in
charge of herself, so dynamic, there were moments when she was assailed
with the fear that she might fail Faranth in some small but essential way.
She expressed that to Sean.
        »No, you won´t,« he said, smoothing her sweat-damp hair from her
face. »No more will I Carenath. They´re ours, and we belong to them.« He
turned her face up to look at him, his eyes so intense with love and
assurance that her breath caught. Sean embraced her again tightly. »Ever
since we dropped to this planet, Sorka, this has been our destiny. Or why
else were we the first to find the fire-lizards? Out of all the people
exploring the world, why did the fire-lizards come to us? Why did the last
of Kitti Ping´s creation search us out of the crowd? No, believe in
yourself, in us and our dragons.« He held her a moment longer and then
released her. »I think we have to give Cricket and Doove to your father.
Brian gets along with Cricket very well.«
        Sorka had known that some decisions had to be made about their
horses, both of whom had from the start been terrified of the wobbling
dragons. Red and Brian had taken the horses up to the main veterinary barn.
Sorka thought briefly of all the grand moments she had experienced on the
bay mare´s back, most of them shared with Sean and Cricket. But their
dragons had become all-important.
        »Yes,« she heard herself saying with no further twinge of regret.
»I never thought there´d come a day when I wouldn´t have time for horses.«
She looked lovingly at the sleeping figure of Faranth and grinned at the
bulge in the golden belly, which would all too quickly disappear. »I´ll fix
us something to eat.«
        Sean kissed her on the forehead. His new willingness to display
affection was one of the fringe benefits from Carenath, and Sorka loved him
more than ever. She leaned against him, inhaling his manly smell mixed with
the herbal dragon oil.
        »Make sandwiches, love,« Sean advised. »Here comes Dave Catarel at
the trot. If Polenth´s asleep, the others will be along, too.«

»They ve got it,« Ongola informed Paul when the admiral answered the comm
unit in Emily´s quarters, where he was anticipating one of Pierre´s
excellent dinners. Emily had taken pity on him, as Ju had gone back to
check on their Boca holding the previous day. »Nabhi just called in. Bart
Lemos got a scoopful. Although . . .«
        »Although what?« Paul asked, exchanging glances with Emily.
        »Although it took them a long time,« Ongola finished on a troubled
sigh. »They should have been well up in the trail before now.« Ongola
sounded puzzled. »They have what we need, that´s the important thing: the
pods. The fax are being relayed to the interface right now. Ezra and Jim
should have an analysis sometime tomorrow.«
        »Are you still at the Moth?« Paul asked, frowning. Ongola was
completely recovered from his injuries, and Paul was proprietary in his
concern for him. Ongola would be a key man in the coning struggle for
autonomy and survival.
        »Yes, but Sabra´s brought me dinner.« Ongola was indulging in one
of his rare chuckles as he signed off.
        »They´ve got what we need,« Paul told Emily as he reseated himself.
»Now I can enjoy this dinner.«

The first rumblings occurred the next morning, early enough to rattle many
people in their beds. Only the young dragons were unperturbed, sleeping
through the commotion made by the excited, frightened humans.
        »Will this planet never let up on us?« Ongola demanded as he
untangled himself from his bedsack and fumbled for the comm unit set.
        »Was that an earthquake?« Sabra asked sleepily. She had left the
children with a friend so that she and Ongola could have a few hours
together. Sabra felt she needed that comfort almost as much as Ongola must.
And she had signed on a charter promising order and tranquillity!
        »Go back to sleep,« Ongola told her as he dialed. »What does
Patrice say, Jake?« he asked his efficient assistant.
        »He says the gravity meters have all been registering a disturbance
in lava chambers along the island ring. He doesn´t know what´s going to
blow, but the display suggests that something has to. He´s trying to guess
the most likely escape point.«
        Ongola´s next call was to Paul, at home.
        »No rest for the weary, huh?« Paul asked in a resigned tone.
        »Volcanic disturbance all along the chain.«
        »Chain, my foot! That rumble was right under my ear, Ongola, and we
do have three volcanoes looming over us.«
        Ongola was so accustomed to the great peaks that he had forgotten
that they, also, could pose a threat; though the experts had all agreed
that the last eruption of Mount Garben had occurred a millennium ago.
        By midmorning Patrice relieved the worst fears by his announcement
that a new volcano was erupting out of the sea beyond the eastern tip of
Jordan Province. Young Mountain, which had been monitored for the past
eight years, was throwing up a cloud of smoke, gas, and some ash, but magma
pressure did not seem to be building there.
        A second underground churning startled people midafternoon. When
Patrice arrived, parking his sled in Administration Square and going in to
consult with Paul and Emily, an anxious crowd quickly gathered to await the
result of that meeting. Finally the colony´s two leaders appeared on the
porch with Patrice, who was smiling and waving fax in both hands.
        »A new volcano to be named. Like Aphrodite rising from the sea, but
I don´t necessarily insist on that name,« he shouted.
        »Where?«
        »Beyond the easternmost tip of Jordan, safely away from us, my
friends.« He held up the largest photo so that the roiling seas and the
protruding tip of the smoking peak could be seen by all.
        »Yeah, but that´s still the same little tectonic plate we´re on,
isn´t it?« one man shouted. He pointed back over his shoulder at the lofty
peak of Mount Garben. »That one could go again. Couldn´t it?
        »Of course it could,« Patrice answered easily, shrugging his
shoulders. »But it is very unlikely in my opinion. It shot its head off
thousands of years ago. There has been no evidence of activity here. It´s
an old one, that volcano. The young ones have more to say, and are saying
it. Do not panic. We are safe at Landing.« He sounded so certain that the
anxious murmurings abated and the crowd dispersed.
        All through the day there were sporadic growlings, as Telgar called
them. Wandering at random through Landing, he had made himself available to
anyone who wished to be reassured. It was the first time since Sallah´s
death that Telgar had circulated socially. That night a large proportion of
Landing´s population gathered in Bonfire Square, and the blaze was built up
to an unusual, almost defiant size.
        »Our beautiful Pern has popped a pimple on her face,« Telgar said
with a hint of his former joviality, talking to a group of young people.
»She´s not so old that her digestion is perfect. And we have been
disturbing her with our borings and diggings.«
        When he moved off, one of the apprentice geologists followed him.
»Look, Tar-Telgar,« the young man began earnestly. »We´re not on basement
rock here in Landing.«
        »That is very true,« Telgar replied with a slight smile. »Which is
why we are rocking a little. But I am not concerned.´´
        The apprentice flushed. »Well, there´s a wide, long strip of
basement rock in the northern continent, along the western mountain range.«
        »Ah, how well you have studied your lessons,« Telgar commented. He
nodded equably to Cobber Alhinwa and Ozzie Munson, who had just joined
them. »Ah, have a glass with us.«
        Embarrassed by having stated the obvious, the young man hastily
excused himself.
        So people are talking of basement rock,« Cobber said, and beside
him Ozzie smirked.
        »I know, you know, and he knows, but we have had enough of
insecurity today. The basement rock will not shift. As you know, I have
given my opinion to Paul, Emily, and Patrice.« Telgar looked beyond the big
miner to a distant view that only his eyes saw. Cobber and Ozzie exchanged
meaningful glances. The set, pained look on Telgar´s face meant that he was
remembering something about Sallah.
        Cobber nudged Ozzie and leaned conspiratorially toward Telgar. »Are
we all to go look at some basement rock now, Telgar?«

The next morning a rumble of a different kind finally roused Paul as Ju
reached across him for the handset.
        »For you,« she mumbled sleepily, dropping it on the bedsack and
rolling over again.
        Paul fumbled for it and cleared his throat. »Benden.«
        »Admiral,« Ongola said urgently, »they´ve begun reentry, and
Nabhi´s on a bad course.«
        Paul pulled loose the fasteners of the bedsack and sat bolt
upright. »How could he be?«
        »He says he´s green, Admiral.«
        »I´m coming.« Paul had an irrational desire to slam the handset
down and go back to sleep beside his wife. Instead he dialed Emily, who
said she would join him at the met tower. Then he alerted Ezra, Keroon and
Jim Tillek.
        »Paul?« Ju asked sleepily.
        »Sleep on, honey. Nothing to worry you.«
        He had tried to keep his voice low and was sorry to have disturbed
her. In the second semester of a new pregnancy, Ju needed more sleep. They
had stayed up late talking, regretfully aware that they must set the
example and close down their stake. The constant drain of Threadfall was
having a devastating effect on supplies and resources. Joel particularly
fretted over the dwindling efficiency of the power packs. According to Tom
Patrick, the psychological profile of Landing´s population was, in the
main, encouraging, although therapy and medication were increasingly
required to keep distressed people functioning. Somehow Paul could not
bring himself to hope that Nabhi Nabol and Bart Lemos had brought back
something as vital as encouragement.
        Yesterday Ezra and Jim had produced the latest analysis of the
eccentric´s orbit. It was as wayward, in Jim Tillek´s phrasing, as a
drunken whore on a Saturday night at a space facility in the Asteroid Belt.
What had looked to be a reasonable, predictable elliptical orbit through
Rukbat´s system proved to be even more bizarre, at an angle to the
ecliptic. The planet would wobble into the vicinity of Pern every two
hundred and fifty years, though Ezra had made extrapolations that provided
some variations of its course, due to the effect of other planets in the
system. During some of its orbits, it looked as if the eccentric and its
cloud of junk would miss Pern.
        »The most singular planet I´ve ever tried to track,« Ezra had said
apologetically, scratching his head as he summed up his report.
        »Natural orbit?« Jim had asked, with a sly grin at the astronomer.
        Ezra had given him a long scornful look. »There´s nothing natural
about that planet.«
        Although Thread had shifted five degrees to the north in the
current -- third -- round of Falls, the admiral no longer held much hope
for Ezra´s theory that the Falls were deliberate, a softening-up procedure
by some sentient agency. If that had been the case, he argued, the Falls
ought to have accelerated in frequency and density after the wild planet
swung to its nearest spatial point to Pern. But Thread had continued to
drop in mindless patterns, each consistent with the northern shift.
Mathematical calculations, checked and double checked by Boris Pahlevi and
Dieter Clissmann, concurred with Ezra´s depressing conclusion. The
eccentric would swing away from Pern and the inner system, only to swing
back again in two hundred and fifty years.
        The fax Bart had flashed back to Pern had shown the trail of debris
to be endless.
        »All the way to the edge of the system,« Ezra declared in total
capitulation. »The planet pierces the Oort cloud and drags the stuff down
with it. Hoyle and Wickraman-singh´s theory has been vindicated in the
Rukbat system.«
        »Aren´t we lucky?« Jim added. »The junk could still be just ice and
rock. We won´t know for sure until we see what Bart Lemos scooped up out
there.« Jim was not at all happy that his theory was right. He would almost
prefer a sentient intelligence somehow surviving on the eccentric planet.
You could usually deal with intelligence. His theory made it tough on Pern.
        In the cold light of a new morning, Paul dressed quickly, toeing
his feet into his boots and closing the front of his shipsuit. He combed
his hair neatly back and then stumbled into the predawn light. He used the
skimmer -- it would be quieter than him puffing and jogging down to the
tower. He tried to practice what he preached in matters of conservation,
but that morning he did not wish to be heard passing by.
        The last few days, with the Moth overdue, had been hard on him.
Waiting had never been his forte: decision and implementation were where he
shone. Emily had proved once again the staunch, unswerving, resolute
governor of herself and her subordinates. She was the best sort of
complement to his strengths and flaws.
        He saw lights over in Irish Square and, through the lines of
dwellings, he caught a glimpse of fluttering wings as the young Connells
gave their dragons the early morning meal. In the next square, Dave Catarel
was up, too, feeding his young bronze.
        At the thought of those young people committed to survival on Pern,
Paul felt a sudden surge of confidence that he and Emily would bring
everyone through. By all that was holy, they would! Had he not gone through
bleaker days before the Battle at Purple Sector? And Emily had been
blockaded for five years, emerging with a healthy functioning population
despite a shortage of raw materials.
        The tower was still dark as Paul parked his skimmer behind it. The
windows were shuttered, but the main door was ajar. He went up the stairs
as quietly as he could. Lately, with the dormitories so crowded, off-duty
communications personnel slept on the ground floor. All of Landing was
crowded -- with refugees, Paul made himself add. People had even begun to
make homes out of some of the Catherine Caves. That may have originated
from some atavistic urge, but caves were Threadproof, and some of them were
downright spacious. Caves might be a good place to lodge the fast-growing
dragons, too.
        As he reached the top floor, his eyes went immediately to the big
screen, which showed the Moth´s position above Pern, relayed from the moon
installation.
        »He has not corrected his course once,« Ongola said, swinging his
chair toward Paul. He motioned for Jake to vacate the second console chair.
The young man´s eyes were black holes of fatigue, but Paul knew better than
to suggest that Jake stand down until the shuttle was safely landed. »He
ought to have fired ten minutes ago. He says he doesn´t need to.«
        Paul dropped to the chair and toggled in the comm unit. »Tower to
Moth do you read me? Benden here. Moth, respond.«
        »Good morning, Admiral Benden,« Nabhi replied promptly and
insolently. »We are on course and reentering at a good angle.«
        »Your instrumentation is giving you false readings. Repeat, you are
getting false readings, Nabol. Course correction essential.«
        »I disagree, Admiral,« Nabhi replied, his tone jaunty. »No need to
waste fuel! Our descent is on the green.«
        »Correction, Moth! Your descent is red and orange across our board
and on our screen. You have sustained instrument malfunction. I will give
you the readings.« Paul read the numbers off from the calculator pad that
Ongola handed to him. He was sure he heard startled gasp in the background.
        But Nabhi seemed undisturbed by Paul´s information, and he did
indeed report readings consonant with a good reentry.
        »I don´t believe this,« Ongola said. »He´s coming in from the wrong
quadrant, at too steep an angle, and he´s going to crash smack in the
center of the Island Ring Sea. Soon.«
        »Repeat, Moth, your angle is wrong. Abort reentry. Nabol, take
another orbit. Sort yourself out. Your instruments are malfunctioning.«
Fardles, if Nabol could not feel the wrongness of that entry, he was
nowhere near the driver he thought himself.
        »I´m captain of this ship, Admiral,« Nabol snapped back. »It´s your
screen that´s malfunctioning . . . Whadidya say, Bart? I don´t believe it.
You´ve got to be wrong. Give it a bang! Kick it!«
        »Yank your nose up and fire a three-second blast, Nabol!« Paul
cried, his eyes on the screen and the speed of the incoming shuttle.
        »I´m trying. Can´t fire. No fuel!« Sudden fear made Nabol´s voice
shrill.
        Paul heard Bart´s cries in the background. »I told you it felt
wrong. I told you! We shouldn´t´ve . . . I´ll jettison. They´ll have that
much!« Bart shouted. »If the farking relay´ll work.«
        Use the manual jettison lever, Bart,« Ongola yelled over Paul´s
shoulder.
        »I´m trying, I´m trying . . . She´s heating up too fast, Nabhi.
She´s heatin -- «
        Horrified, Paul, Ongola, and Jake watched the dissolution of the
shuttle. One stubby wing sheared off and the shuttle began to spin. The
tail section broke off and spun away on a different route, burning up in
the atmosphere. The second wing followed suit.
        »It´ll hit the sea?« Paul asked in a bare whisper, trying to
calculate the impact of that projectile on land. Ongola nodded
imperceptibly.
        Like an obituary, the relay screen lit up with a glorious sunlit
spread of many bits and one larger object, disappearing into many faint
pricks of glitter.

A team of dolphins were sent out to the Ring Sea to find the wreck.
Maxmilian and Teresa reported back a week later, tired and not too happy to
tell humans that they had seen the twisted hulk wedged into a reef in
waters too deep for them to examine closely. All the dolphins were still
searching the Ring Sea for the jettisoned scoop.
        »Tell them not to bother,« Jim Tillek muttered dourly. »There´s
unlikely to be anything left to analyze. We know that the junk goes back in
a years´ long tail. We´re stuck with it. Hail Hoyle and Wickramansingh!«
        »Ezra?« Emily asked the solemn astronomer.
        Keroon´s butterscotch-colored skin seemed tinged with gray, and he
looked bowed by his responsibilities. He heaved a heavy, weary sigh and
scratched at the back of his head. »I have to concede that Jim´s theory is
correct. The contents of the pod would have been final proof, but I, too,
doubt the scoop survived. Even if it did, it could take years to find it in
such a vast area. Years also apply to that trail I fear. We won´t be able
to judge until the end of that tail comes in sight.«
        »And where does that leave us?« Paul asked rhetorically.
        »Coping, Admiral, coping!« Jim Tillek replied proudly. With a
twitch of his sturdy shoulders, he had thrown off his doomsday depression
and instead challenged them all. »And we´ve Thread falling in two hours, so
we´d better stop worrying about the future and attend to the present.
Right?«
        Emily looked at Paul and managed a tentative smile, which she also
turned on Zi Ongola, who was watching them impassively.
        »Right! We´ll cope.« She spoke in a firm, resolute voice. Surely we
can hold out for ten years, she thought to herself, if we´re very careful.
She wondered why no one mentioned the homing capsule. Perhaps because no
one had much faith in Ted Tubberman. »We´ve got to.«
        »Until those dragons start earning their keep,« Paul said. »But
this settlement must be restructured.« Emily and he had been discussing
redispositions for days. They had been waiting for the right moment to
broach the subject to the others of the informal Landing council.
        »No,« Ongola said, surprising everyone. »We must resettle
completely. Landing is no longer viable. It used to be sort of a link with
our origins, with the ships that brought us here. We no longer require that
sense of continuity.«
        »And most especially,« Jim picked up the thoughts, »not with
volcanoes popping up and spouting off in this vicinity. »Jim shifted in his
chair, settling in to discuss basics. »I´ve been listening to what people
are saying. So has Ezra. Telgar´s notion about moving to that cave system
on basement rock in the north is gaining strength. The cave complex is big
enough to house Landing´s population -- plus dragons! We´re not out of raw
materials to make plastic and metal for housing. But making it takes time
away from the essential task of fighting Thread and keeping us alive. Why
not use a natural structure? Use our technology to make the cave system
comfortable, tenable, and totally safe from Thread?«
        Emily did not even pause to take a breath. »Just what Paul and I
have been discussing. There´s enough fuel, I believe, to transport some of
the heavier equipment by shuttle. Then we can use the metal in situ. Jim,
the Pern Navy is about to be commissioned.«
        Paul grinned at Emily. It was much easier when people made up their
own minds to do what their leaders had decided was best for them.

PART THREE
Crossing

11.18.08 Pern
»Holiest of holies,« Telgar murmured respectfully as he held his torch high
and still could not illuminate the ceiling. His voice started echoes in the
vast chamber, repeating and repeating down side corridors until finally the
noise was absorbed by the sheer distance from its source.
        »Oh, I say, mate, this is one big bonzo cave,« Ozzie Munson said
keeping his voice to a whisper. His eyes were white and wide in his tanned,
wind seared face.
        Cobber Alhinwa, who was rarely impressed by anything, was equally
awed. »A bleeding beaut!« His whisper matched Ozzie´s.
        »There are hundreds of ready-made chambers in this complex alone,«
Telgar said. He was unfolding the plassheet on which he and his beloved
Sallah had recorded their investigations of eight years earlier. »There are
at least four openings to the cliff top which could be used for air
circulation. Channel down to water level and install pumps and pipe -- I
came across big reservoirs of artesian water. Core down to the thermal
layer and, big as it is, this whole complex could be warmed in the winter
months.« He turned back to the opening. »Block that up with native stone
and this would be an impregnable fort. No safer place on this world during
Threadfall. Further along the valley, there are surface-level caves near
that pasture land. Of course, it would have to be seeded, but we still have
the alfalfa grass propagators that were brought for the first year.
        »At the time there was no need to investigate thoroughly, but the
facilities exist. As I recall when we over flew the range above us, we
discovered a medium-size caldera, well pocked with small cliffs, about a
half-hour´s flight from here. We didn´t think to mark whether it was
accessible at ground level. It might be ideal for dragon quarters, so
accessibility isn´t a problem, provided they do fly as well as dragonets.«
        »We seen a couple old craters like that,« Ozzie said, consulting
the battered notebook that habitually lived in his top pocket. »One on the
east coast, and one in the mountains above the three drop lakes, when we
was prospecting for metal ores.«
        »So,« Cobber began, having recovered from his awe, »the first thing
is cut steps to this here level.« He walked to the edge of the cave and
looked down critically at the stone face. »Maybe a ramp, like, to move
stuff up here easy like. That incline over there´s nearly a stair case
already.« He pointed to the left-hand side. »Steps neat as you please up to
the next level.«
        Ozzie dismissed those notions. »Naw, those Landingers will want
their smart-ass engineers and arki-tects to fancify it for them with the
proper mod cons.«
        Cobber settled a helmet on his head and switched on its light.
»Yeah, else some poor buggers get all closet-phobic.«
        »Claustrophic, you iggerant digger,« Ozzie corrected him.
        »Whatever. Inside´s safest with that farking stuff dropping on ya
alla time. C´mon, Oz, let´s go walkabout. The admiral and the governor are
counting on our expertise, y´know.« He gave an involuntary grunt as he
settled the heavy cutter on his shoulder and strode purposefully toward the
first tunnel.
        Ozzie put on his own helmet and picked up a coil of rope, pitons
and a rock hammer. Thermal and ultraviolet recorders, comm unit and other
mining hand-units were attached to hooks on his belts. Lastly, he slung one
of the smaller rock cutters over his shoulder. »Let´s go test some
claustrophia. We´ll start left, right? I´ll give ya a holler in a bit,
Telgar.«
        Cobber had already disappeared in the first of the left-hand
openings as Ozzie followed him. Alone, Telgar stood for a long moment, eyes
closed, head back, arms slightly away from his body, his palms turned
outward in supplication. He could hear the slight noises of disturbed
creatures and the distorted murmur of low conversation from Ozzie and
Cobber as they made their way past the first bend in the tunnel.
        There was nothing of Sallah in that cave. Even the place where they
had built a tiny campfire had been swept bare to the fire-darkened stone.
Yet there she had offered herself to him, and he had not known what a gift
he had received that night!
        The sudden high-pitched keening of the stone cutter shattered all
thought and sent Telgar about the urgent business of making the natural
fort into a human habitation.

The hum roused Sorka and she tried to find a more comfortable position for
her cumbersome body. Fardles, but she would be grateful when she could
finally sleep on her stomach again. The humming persisted, a subliminal
sound that made a return to sleep impossible. She resented the noise,
because she had not been sleeping at all well during the past few weeks and
she needed all the rest she could get. Irritably she stretched out and
twitched aside the curtain. It could not be day already. Then, startled,
she clutched the edge of the curtain because there was light outside her
house -- the light of many dragon eyes, sparkling in the predawn gloom.
        Her exclamation disturbed Sean, who stirred beside her, one hand
reaching for her. She shook his shoulder urgently.
        »Wake up, Sean. Look!« Whichever way she turned, she felt a sudden
stab of pain in her groin so unexpected that she hissed.
        Sean sat bolt upright beside her, his arms around her. »What is it,
love? The baby?«
        »It can´t be anything else,« she said, laughter bubbling out of her
as she pointed out the window. »I´ve been warned!« She could not stop
giggling. »Go look, Sean. Tell me if the fire-dragonets are roosting! I
wouldn´t want them to miss this, any of them.«
        Grinding sleep out of his eyes, Sean struggled to alertness. He
halv glared at her for her ill-timed levity, but annoyance was replaced by
concern when her laughter turned abruptly into another hissing intake of
breath as a second painful spasm rippled across her distended belly.
        »It´s time?« He ran one hand caressingly across her stomach, his
fingers instinctively settling on the band of contracting muscle. »Yes it
is. What´s so funny?« he added. She could not quite see his face in the dim
light, but he sounded solemn, almost indignant.
        »The welcoming committee, of course! All of them. Faranth, love are
all present and accounted for?«
        We are here, Faranth said, where we should be. You are amused.
        »I am very amused,« Sorka said, but then another contraction caught
her, and she clutched at Sean. »But that was not at all amusing. You´d
better call Greta.«
        »Jays, we don´t need her. I´m as good a midwife as she is,« Sean
muttered, shoving feet into the shoes under their bed.
        »For horses, cows, and nanny goats, yes, Sean, but it is expected
for humans to assist humans . . . oooooh, Sean, these are very close
together.«
        He rose to his feet, pausing to throw the top blanket across his
bare shoulders against the early morning´s chill, when there was a discrete
knock at the door. He cursed.
        ‘´Who is it?« he roared, not at all pleased at the idea that
someone might have come to summon him for a veterinary emergency right
then.
        »Greta!«
        Sorka started to laugh again, but that became very difficult to do
all of a sudden, and she switched to the breathing she had been taught,
clutching at her great belly.
        »How under the suns did you know, Greta?« she heard Sean ask his
voice reflecting his astonishment.
        »I was called,« Greta said with great dignity, gently pushing him
to one side.
        »By whom? Sorka only just woke up,« Sean replied, following Greta
back to their room. »She´s the one who´s having the baby.«
        »Not always the first to know when labor commences,« Greta said in
a very calm, almost detached manner. »Not in Landing. And certainly not
with a queen dragon listening in on your mind.« She flicked on the lights
as she entered the room and deposited her midwifery bag on the dresser. She
had been a gangly girl who had turned into a rangy woman with hair and skin
the same coffee color and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her
nose. Her eyes, very brown in her kindly face, missed few details.
        »Faranth told you?« Sorka was astonished. A dragon speaking to
someone outside of their group was unheard of.
        »Not exactly,« Greta replied with a chuckle. »A fair of
fire-dragonets flew in my window and made it remarkably plain that I was
needed. Once I got outside, it wasn´t hard to figure out whose baby was
coming. Now, let me see what´s going on here.«
        I told them to get her, Faranth told Sorka in a smugly complacent
tone of voice. You like her.
        As Sorka lay back for Greta´s examination, she tried to figure that
out. She liked her doctor, too, and had no qualms about him attending her
delivery. How had Faranth sensed that she really had wanted Greta in
attendance? Could Faranth possibly have sensed that she had always been
friendly with Greta? Or was it some connection the golden dragon had made
because Sorka had assisted Greta in the birth of Mairi Hanrahan´s latest,
Sorka´s newest baby brother? But for Faranth to recognize an unconscious
preference . . .
        Sean slid cautiously onto the other side of the bed and reached for
her hand. Sorka gave him a squeeze, laughter still bubbling up in her. She
had so hated the last few weeks when her body had not seemed to be her own,
when all its controls seemed to have been assumed by the bouncing, kicking,
impertinent, restless fetus that gave her no rest at all. Her laughter was
sheer elation that all of that was nearly over.
        »Now let me have a look . . . another contraction?«
        Sorka concentrated on her breathing, but the spasm was far more
painful than she had anticipated. Then it was gone, pain and all. She felt
sweat on her forehead. Sean blotted it gently.
        You are hurting? Faranth´s voice became shrill.
        »No, no, Faranth. I´m fine. Don´t worry!« Sorka cried.
        »Faranth´s upset?« Keeping her hand tight in his, Sean crouched to
see out the window to the dragons waiting there. »Yes, she is! Her eyes are
gaining speed and orange.«
        »I was afraid of that!« Mutely Sorka appealed to Sean. Expressions
flitted across his face. If she read them correctly, he was annoyed with
Faranth, indecisive -- for once -- about what to do, and anxious for her.
Then tender concern dominated his face as he looked down at her, and she
felt that she had never loved him more than at that moment.
        »A pity we can´t have your dragon heat a kettle of water to keep
her out of mischief,« Greta remarked, her strong capable hands finishing
the examination. She gave Sorka´s distended belly a gentle pat. »We´ll take
care of her fussing you right now. Can you turn on one side? Sean, help
her.«
        »I feel like an immense flounder,« Sorka complained as she
struggled to turn. Then Sean, deftly and with hands gentler than she had
ever known, helped her complete the maneuver. She had just reached the new
position when another mighty spasm caught her, and she exhaled in
astonishment. Outside Faranth trumpeted a challenge. »Don´t you dare wake
everyone up, Faranth. I´m only having a baby.
        You hurt! You are in distress! Faranth was indignant.
        Sorka felt a slight push against the base of her spine, the
coolness of the air gun, and then a blessed numbness that spread rapidly
over her nether region.
        »Oh, blessed Greta, how marvelous!«
        You don‘t hurt. That is better. Faranth´s alarm subsided back into
that curious thrumming of dragons, and Sorka could identify her voice in
the hum as clearly as she heard the noise intensify. Oddly enough, the
humming was soothing -- or was it simply that she no longer had to
anticipate that painful clutching of uterine muscles?
        »Now, let´s get you to your feet for a little walking, Sorka,«
Greta said. »You´re already fairly well dilated. I don´t think you´re going
to be any time delivering this baby, even if you are a primipara.´
        »I´m numb,« Sorka said by way of apology as Greta got her to her
feet. Then Sean was on her other side.
        He had gotten dressed, but Sorka, trying to watch where her
nerveless feet were going, noticed that he did not have his socks on. She
thought that endearing of him. Odd the difference between his hands and
Greta´s -- both caring, both gentle, but Sean´s loving and worried.
        »That´s a girl,« Greta said encouragingly. »You´re doing just fine,
three fingers dilated already. No wonder the fairs were alerted. And you´re
not the only one exciting them tonight.« Greta chuckled as they began to
retrace their steps across the lounge, up the short hall and into the
bedroom. »It´s the walking that´s important . . . ah, good another
contraction. Very good. Your breathing´s fine.«
        »Who else is delivering?« Sorka asked because it helped to
concentrate on things other than what her muscles were doing to her.
        »Fortunately, Elizabeth Jepson. A new baby will help her get over
the loss of the twins.«
        Sorka felt a pang of grief. She remembered the two boys as
mischievous youngsters on the Yoko, and recalled how she had envied her
brother, Brian, for having friends his own age.
        »It´s funny that, isn´t it?« Sorka said, speaking quickly. »People
having two complete families, almost two separate generations. I mean, this
baby will have an uncle only six months older. And be part of an entirely
different generation . . . really.«
        »One reason why we have to keep very careful birth records,« Greta
said.
        Scan grunted. »We´re all Pernese, that´s what matters!«
        Sorka´s water burst then, and outside the humming went up a few
notes and deepened in intensity.
        »I think I´d better check you, Sorka,« Greta said.
        Sean stared at her. »Do you deliver to dragonsong?«
        Greta gave a low chuckle. »They´ve an instinct for birth, Sean, and
I know you vets have been aware of it, too. Let´s get her back to the bed.«
        Sorka, involved in the second phase of childbirth, found the
dragonsong both comforting and soothing: it was like a blanket of sound
shimmering about her, enfolding and uplifting and comforting. The sound
suddenly increased in tempo, rising to a climax. Sean´s hands grasped hers,
giving her his strength and encouragement. Every time she felt the
contractions, painless because of the drug, he helped her push down. The
spasms were becoming more rapid, almost constant, as if matters had been
taken entirely out of her control. She let the instinctive movements take
over, relaxing when she could, assisting because she had no other option.
        Then she felt her body writhe in a massive effort, and when it had
been expended, she felt a tremendous relief of all pressures and pullings.
For one moment, there was complete silence outside, then she heard a new
sound. Sean´s cry of triumph was lost in the trumpeting of eighteen dragons
and who knew how many fire-dragonets! Oh dear, she thought distractedly.
They´ll wake up the whole of Landing!
        »You have a fine son, my dears,« Greta said, her voice ringing with
satisfaction. »With a crop of thick red hair.«
        »A son?« Sean asked, sounding immensely surprised.
        »Now, don´t tell me, after all my hard work, Sean Connell, that you
wanted a daughter?« Sorka demanded.
        Sean just hugged her ecstatically.

»Sometimes I feel as if everyone´s forgotten all about us,« Dave Catarel
said to Sean as they watched their two bronzes hunting. Sean, his eyes on
Carenath, did not reply.
        Although all the dragons were well able to fly short distances and
had proved capable of hunting down wild wherries, their human partners grew
anxious if they flew out of sight. Nor was it always possible to use a sled
or a skimmer to accompany them. As a compromise, Sean had talked Red into
giving them the culls or injured animals from the main herds. He and the
others had rigged a Threadfall shelter for the mixed herd in one of the
caves, and each took turns on the succession trays that supplied their
fodder.
        The young dragons were strong and flew well. But, erring on the
side of caution, the veterinary experts had decided that riding should not
be attempted until the full year had passed. Sean had railed privately to
Sorka about such timidity, but she had talked him out of defiance,
reminding him how much they stood to lose in forcing the young dragons.
Fortunately the decision had been reached without consultation with Wind
Blossom, which made it easier for Sean to accept what he called ‘sheer
procrastination.´ He did not like her proprietary attitude toward the
dragons. She continued to exercise Kitti Ping´s program, though without the
same success. Her first four batches had not produced any viable eggs, but
seven new sacs in the incubator looked promising.
        The odds in Joel Lilienkamp´s book favored the success of the first
hatching, but only marginally. Sean was privately determined to upset such
odds, but he also would not risk official censure or jeopardize the young
dragons.
        »I really cannot repose the same confidence in Wind Blossom as I
did in Kitti Ping,« Paul had told Sean and Sorka in a private conference,
»but we would all breathe more easily if we could see some progress. Your
dragons eat, grow, even fly to hunt. Will they also chew rock?« Paul began
to tick off the points on his left hand. »Carry a rider? And preserve their
valuable hides during Threadfall? The power pack situation is getting
tight, Sean, very tight indeed.«
        ‘I know, Admiral,« Sean had replied, feeling grim and defensive.
And eighteen fully functional dragons are not going to make fighting Thread
all that much easier.«
        »But self-reproducing, self-sustaining Thread fighters will make
one helluva lot of difference in the long run. And it´s the long run,
frankly, Sean, Sorka, that worries me.«
        Sean kept his opinion about Wind Blossom to himself. Part of his
loyalty to Carenath, Faranth, and the others of the first Hatching; a good
deal stemmed from his lack of confidence in Wind Blossom, where he had had
every faith in her grandmother. After all, Kit Ping had been trained at the
source, with the Eridani.
        As he watched the grace of Carenath, swooping to snatch a fat
wether from the stampeding flock, his faith in these amazing creatures was
reinforced.
        »He really got some altitude there,« David said with ungrudging
praise. »Look, Polenth´s dropped his wings now. He´s going for that one!«
        »Got it, too,« Sean replied in a return of compliment.
        Maybe they were all being too cautious, afraid of pushing down the
throttle and seeing the result. Carenath flew strongly and well. The bronze
was nearly the same height in the shoulder as Cricket, though the
conformation was entirely different, Carenath being much longer in the
body, deeper in the barrel, and stronger in the hindquarters. In fact, the
dragons already were much stronger than similar equines, their basic
structure much more durable, utilizing carborundums for strength and
resilience. Pol and Bay had gone on about the design features of dragons as
if they had been new sleds, which indeed, Sean thought wryly, was what they
were intended to replace. According to the program, dragons would gradually
increase in size over many generations until they reached the optimum. But
in Sean´s eyes, Carenath was just right.
        »At least they eat neatly,« Dave said, averting his eyes from the
two dragons who were rending flesh from the carcasses of their kills.
»Though I wish they didn´t look like they enjoyed it so much.«
        Sean laughed. »City-bred, were you?«
        Dave nodded and smiled weakly. »Not that I wouldn´t do anything for
Polenth. It´s just that it´s one thing on three-D, another to watch it live
and know that your best friend prefers to hunt living animals. What did you
say, Polenth?« Dave´s eyes took on that curious unfocused look that people
had when being addressed by their dragons. Then he gave a rueful laugh.
        »Well?« Sean prompted him.
        »He says anything´s better than fish. He´s meant to fly, not swim.«
        »Good thing he has two bellies,« Sean remarked, seeing Polenth
devouring the sheep, horns, hooves, fleece, and all. »The way he´s
squaffing down the wool, he could start a premature blaze when he starts
chewing firestone.«
        »He will, won´t he, Sean?« Dave´s earnest plea for reassurance
worried Sean. The dragonmates could not doubt their beasts for a moment,
not on any score.
        »Of course he will,« Sean said, standing up. »That´s enough,
Carenath. Two fills your belly. Don´t get greedy. There are more to be fed
here today.«
        The bronze had been about to launch himself into the air again,
aiming toward the rise into the next valley where the terrified flock had
stampeded.
        I would really like another one. So tasty. So much better than
fish. I like to hunt. Carenath sounded a trifle petulant.
        »The queens hunt next, Carenath.«
        With a peevish swing of his head, Carenath began to amble back down
to Sean, spreading his wings to balance himself. Dragons looked odd when
they walked, since they had to crouch to their shorter forelegs; some of
them fell more easily into a hop-skip gait, dropping to the forequarters
every few steps or using their wings to provide frontal lift. Sean disliked
seeing the dragons appear so ungainly and unbalanced.
        »See you later,« he said to David as he and Carenath turned to walk
back to the cave they inhabited.
        The dragons had quickly outgrown the backyard shelters and in many
cases, the patience of neighbors, some of whom worked night shifts and
slept during daylight hours. Dragons were a vocal lot for a species that
could not speak aloud. So dragons and partners had explored the Catherine
Caves for less public accommodations. Sorka had at first worried about
living underground with their baby son, Michael, but the cave site Sean had
chosen was spacious, with several large chambers -- their new home actually
had far more space than did the house in Irish Square. Faranth and Carenath
were delighted. There was even a shelf of bare earth above the cave
entrance where dragons could sunbathe, the leisure activity they enjoyed
even above swimming. We are all much better suited here,« Sorka had
exclaimed in capitulation, and had set about making their living quarters
bright with lamps, her hand-woven rugs, fabrics, and pictures that she had
cadged from Joel.
        But the new quarters had proved to be more than just a physical
separation, Sean realized as he and Carenath trudged along. Dave Catarel
had put his finger on it in his wistful comment about being forgotten.
        This walk is long. I would rather fly on ahead, Carenath said,
doing his little hop-skip beside Sean. Once again Sean thought that his
brave and lovely Carenath looked like a bad cross between a rabbit and
kangaroo.
        »You were designed to fly. I´ll be happy when we both fly »
        Why do you not fly on me, then? I would be easier to ride than that
scared creature. Carenath did not think much of Cricket as a mount for his
partner.
        Scared creature, Sean thought with a chuckle. Poor Cricket. How
easy it would be to swing up to Carenath´s back and just take off! The
notion made the breath catch in his throat. To fly on Carenath, instead of
shuffling along on the dusty track. The adolescent year for the dragons was
nearly over. Sean looked about in deep speculation. Let Carenath drop off
the highest point, and he would have enough space to make that first,
all-important downsweep of his wings . . .
        Sean had spent as much time watching how fire-lizards and dragons
handled themselves in the air as he once had patiently observed horses.
Yes, a drop off a height would be the trick.
        »C´mon, Carenath. I´m glad I didn´t let you fill your belly. C´mon,
right up to the top.«
        The top? The ridge? Sean heard comprehension color the dragon´s
mind, and Carenath scrambled to the height in a burst of speed that left
Sean coughing in the dust. Quickly! The wind is right.
        Rubbing dust particles out of his eyes, Sean laughed aloud, feeling
elation and the racing pulse of apprehension. This is the sort of thing you
do now, at the right time, in the right place, he thought. And the moment
was right for him to ride Carenath!
        There was no saddle to vault to, no stirrup to assist Sean to the
high shoulder. Carenath dipped politely, and Sean, lightly stepping on the
proffered forearm, caught the two neck ridges firmly and swung over,
fitting his body between them.
        »Jays, you were designed for me,« he said with a triumphant laugh,
and slapped Carenath´s neck in affection. Then he grabbed at the ridge in
front of him.
        Carenath was perched on the very edge of the ridge, and Sean had an
awesome view of the bottom of the rock-strewn gorge. He swallowed hastily.
Flying Carenath was not at all the same thing as riding Cricket. He took a
deep breath. It was also not the time for second thoughts. He took a
compulsive hold with legs made strong from years of riding and shoved his
buttocks as deeply into the natural saddle as he could.
        »Let´s fly, Carenath. Let´s do it now!«
        We will fly, Carenath said with ineffable calm. He tilted forward
off the ridge.
        Despite years of staying astride bucking horses, sliding horses,
and jumping horses, the sensation that Sean Connell experienced in that
seemingly endless moment was totally different and completely new. A brief
memory of a girl´s voice urging him to think of Spacer Yves flitted through
his mind. He was falling through space again. A very short space. What sort
of a nerd-brain was he to have attempted this?
        Faranth wants to know what we are doing, Carenath said calmly.
        Before Sean´s staggered mind registered the query, Carenath´s wings
had finished their downstroke and they were rising. Sean felt the sudden
return of gravity, felt Carenath´s neck under him, felt the weight and a
return of the confidence that had been totally in abeyance during that
endless-seeming initial drop. The power in those wing sweeps drove his seat
deeper between the neck ridges as Carenath continued to beat upward. They
were level with the next ridge, the floor of the gorge no longer an
imminent crash site.
        »Tell Faranth that we´re flying, of course,« Sean replied. He would
never admit it to Sorka -he could barely admit it to himself- but for one
moment he had been totally and utterly terrified.
        I will not let you fall, Carenath´s tone chided him.
        »I never thought you would.« Sean forced his body to relax, forced
his long legs down and around Carenath´s smooth neck, but he took a firmer
grip on the neck ridge. »I just didn´t think I´d stay aboard you for a
minute there.«
        Carenath´s wings swept up and down, just behind Sean´s peripheral
vision. He felt their strong and steady beat even if he did not see them.
He could feel the air pressure against his face and his chest. There was
nothing around him but air, open, empty, and absolutely marvelous.
        Yes, once he got the hang of it, flying his dragon was the most
marvelous sensation he had ever had.
        I like it, too. I like flying you. You fit on me. This goes well.
Where shall we go? The sky is ours.
        »Look, we better not do much of this right now, Carenath. You just
ate, and we´re going to have to think this thing through. It´s not enough
to fall of a ridge. Oooooooh -- « he cried inadvertently as Carenath banked
and he saw the wide-open, dusty, Thread-bare ground far, far beneath him.
»Straighten up!«
        I wouldn´t let you fall! Carenath sounded nearly indignant, and
Sean freed one hand to give him a reassuring slap. But he quickly replaced
his hand on the ridge. Jays, a rider can´t fly Thread hanging on for dear
life!
        »You wouldn´t let me fall, my friend, but I might let me!«
        Trying to quell his rising sense of panic, Sean hazarded a glance
at the ground. They were nearly to the rank of caves that had become their
home. Sean could see Faranth on the height where she must have been sunning
herself. She was sitting on her haunches, her wings half-spread. In a few
sweeps of Carenath´s powerful wings they had covered a distance that
ordinarily took a half hour of up-hill-down-dale slogging.
        Faranth says that Sorka says that we had better come down right
away. Right away. Carenath´s tone was defiant, begging Sean to contradict
the golden dragon and anything that shortened their new experience. We are
flying together. It is the right thing to do for dragons and riders.
        It´s a fantastic thing to do, Carenath, but as we are now home, can
you land us, say, by Faranth? Then you can tell her just how we did it!«
        Sean did not care if Sorka had hysterics over his spontaneous and
totally unplanned flight. He had done it, they had succeeded, all was well
that ended well. The dragons of Pern finally had riders! That would change
the odds in Joel´s book!

The other seventeen riders, including Sorka, once Faranth had reassured her
about Carenath´s prowess, were delighted at their tremendous advance. Dave
wanted to know why Sean had been so precipitous.
        »Couldn´t you have waited for me? Polenth and I were just behind
you. You scared the living wits out of me for a moment, you know.«
        Sean clasped Dave´s arm in tacit apology. »It was what you´d said
about being forgotten, Dave. I just had to try, but I didn´t want to
endanger anyone else in case I was wrong.« Sean caught Sorka frowning at
him and pretended to flinch. »I was all right, love. You know that! But --
« He glared warningly at the others seated on the rugs around him. »We´ve
got to go about this in a logical and sensible way, folks. Flying a
dragon´s not like riding a horse.«
        His glance held Nora Sejby´s. She certainly was not the sort of
person he would have said would Impress a dragon, but Tenneth had chosen
her, and they would have to make the best of it. Nora was accident-prone,
and Tenneth had already hauled her partner out of the lake and prevented
her from falling into the crevices and holes that pitted the hills around
the Catherine Caves. On the other hand Nora had been sailing across Monaco
Bay since she was strong enough to manage a tiller and she had checked out
on both sleds and skimmers.
        »For one thing, there´s all this open air around you. Falling is
down onto a hard and injurious surface,« Sean made appropriate gesture
smacking one hand into the palm of the other and startling Nora with the
noise.
        »So?« Peter Semling said. »We use a saddle.«
        »A dragon´s back is full of wing,« Sorka replied dryly.
        »You ride forward, sitting your butt in the hollow between the last
two ridges,« Sean went on, grabbing for a sheet of opaque film and a
marker. He made a quick sketch of a dragon´s neck and shoulders and the
disposition of two straps. »The rider wears a stout belt, wide like a tool
belt. You strap yourself in on either side, and the safety harness goes
over your thigh for added security. And we´re going to need special flying
gear and protective glasses -- the wind made my eyes water, and I wasn´t
even aloft all that long.«
        »What did it really feel like, Sean?« Catherine Radelin asked, her
eyes shining in anticipation.
        Sean smiled. »The most incredible sensation I´ve ever had. Beats
flying a mechanical all hollow. I mean . . .« He raised his fists, tensing
his arms into his chest and giving his hands an upward thrusting turn of
indescribable experience. »It´s . . . it´s between you and your dragon and
. . .« He swung his arms out. »And the whole damned wide world.«
        He made a less dramatic presentation at the impromptu meeting where
he was asked to account for such risk-taking. He would rather have reported
privately, to maybe Admiral Benden or Pol or Red, but he found himself
facing the entire council.
        »Look, sir, the risk was justified,« he said, looking quickly from
the admiral to Red Hanrahan. His father-in-law had been both furious and
hurt by what he considered a betrayal. Sean had not anticipated that. »We
were almost to the ridge when I suddenly knew I had to prove that dragons
could fly us. Sir, all the planning in the world sometimes doesn´t get you
to the right point at the right time.´
        Admiral Benden nodded wisely, but the startled expression on Jim
Tillek´s blunt face and Ongola´s sudden attention told Sean that he had
said something wrong.
        »I could risk my own neck, sir, but no one else´s,« he went on, »so
we´ve got to take our time getting some of the other riders ready to fly.
I´ve done a lot of riding and sled-driving, but flying a dragon´s not the
same thing, and I´m not about to go out again until Carenath´s got some
safety harness on him. And me.«
        Joel Lilienkamp leaned forward across the table. »And what will
that require, Connell?«
        Sean grinned, more out of relief than amusement. »Don´t worry Lili,
what I need is what Pern´s got plenty of -- hide. I found a use for all
that tanned wher skin you´ve got in Stores. It´s plenty tough enough and
it´ll be easier on dragons´ necks than that synthetic webbing used in sled
harnesses. I´ve made some sketches.« He unfolded the diagrams, much
improved on by his discussions with the other dragonmates. »These show the
arrangement of straps and the belts we´ll need, the flying suits, and we
can use some of those work goggles plastics turns out.«
        »Flying suits and plastic goggles,« Joel repeated, reaching for the
drawings. He examined them with a gradually less jaundiced attitude.
        »As soon as I can rig the flying harness for Carenath, Admiral,
Governor, sirs,« Sean said politely including all assembled and adding a
tentative grin at Cherry Duff´s deep scowl, »you can see just how well my
dragon flies me.«
        »You were informed, weren´t you,« Paul Benden said and Sean saw him
rubbing the knuckles of his left hand, »that there´re new eggs on the
Hatching Sands?«
        Sean nodded. »Like I told you, Admiral, eighteen are not enough to
take up much slack. And it´ll be generations before there are enough.«
        »Generations?« Cherry Duff exclaimed in her raspy voice, swinging
in accusation on the veterinary team. »Why weren´t we told it´d take
generations?«
        »Dragon generations,« Pol answered, smiling slightly at her
misinterpretation. »Not human.«
        »Well, how long´s a dragon generation?« she demanded, still
affronted. She shot a disgusted scowl at Sean.
        »The females should produce their first independent clutches at
three. Sean has proved that a male dragon can fly at just under a year --
.«
        Cherry brought both hands down on the table, making a sharp, loud
noise. »Give me facts, damn it, Pol.«
        »Then, four to five years?«
        Cherry pursed her lips in annoyance, a habit that made her look
even more like a dried prune, Sean thought idly.
        »Humph, then I´m not likely to see squadrons of dragons in the sky,
am I? Four to five years. And when will they start flaming Thread« That was
their design function, wasn´t it? When will they start being useful?«
        Sean was fed up. »Sooner than you think, Cherry Duff. Open a book
on it, Joel.« With that he strode from the office. It galled him to the
bone to have to take a skimmer back to Sorka and the others who waited to
hear what had happened.
        Ten days later, when Joel Lilienkamp himself brought them the
requisitioned belts, straps, flying kit, and goggles, flight training on
the Dragons of Pern began in earnest.

Landing had grown accustomed over the past year and a half to the
grumblings and rumblings underfoot. On the morning of the second day of the
fourth month of their ninth spring on Pern, early risers sleepily noted the
curl of smoke, and the significance did not register.
        Sean and Sorka, emerging from their cave with Carenath and Faranth,
also noticed it.
        Why does the mountain smoke? Faranth wanted to know.
        »The mountain what?« Sorka demanded, waking up enough to absorb her
dragon´s words. »Jays, Sean, look!«
        Sean gave a long hard look. »It´s not Garben. It´s Picchu Peak.
Patrice de Broglie was wrong! Or was he?«
        »What on earth do you mean, Sean?« Sorka stared at him in
amazement.
        »I mean, there´s been all this talk of basement rock, and shifting
Landing to a more practical base, with a special accommodation for dragons
and us . . .« Sean kept his eyes on the plume curling languidly up from the
peak, dwarfed beside the mightier Garben but certainly as ominous. He
shrugged. »Not even Paul Benden can make a volcano erupt on cue. Come, we
can get breakfast at your mothers. Let´s stuff Mick in his flying suit and
go. Maybe your dad will have received some official word.« He scowled.
»We´re always the last ones to get news. I´ve got to convince Joel to
release at least one comm unit for the caves.«
        Sorka got their wriggling son into his fleece-lined carrying sack
before she shrugged into her jacket and crammed helmet and goggles onto her
head. Sean carried Mick out to Faranth. With an ease grown of practice,
Sorka ran the two steps to her dragon´s politely positioned foreleg and
vaulted astride. Sean handed her a protesting bundle to sling over her back
and then turned to mount the obliging Carenath.
        The dragons leapt upward from the ledge before the cave, giving
themselves enough airway to take the first full sweep. Over the last few
weeks, dragon backs had strengthened and muscled up. They had managed
flights of several hours´ duration. Riders, even Nora Sejby -- Sean had
contrived a special harness that made her feel securely fastened to Tenneth
-- were improving. Long discussions with Drake Bonneau and some of the
other pilots who had both fighter experience in the old Nathi War and
plenty fighting Thread had improved the dragon-riders´ basic understanding
of the skills needed. And Practice had encouraged them.
        Three weeks before, Wind Blossom´s latest attempt had hatched. The
four creatures who had survived had not been Impressed by the candidates
awaiting them, although the creatures ate the food presented. Indeed the
poor beasts turned out of be photophobic, but Blossom, much to the disgust
of Pol and Bay and against their advice had insisted on special darkened
quarters for the beasts, for the purpose of continued examination of that
variant.
        Even the fire-lizards were more useful, Sean thought, as the two
fairs erupted into the air about them, bugling a morning welcome in their
high, sweet voices. Now, if the dragons could only prove capable of that,
Sean thought enviously. But how do you teach a dragon to do something you
do not yourself understand? The dragons got smarter every day and they were
fast learners, but it was impossible to explain telekinesis to them or ask
them to teleport the way the fire-lizards did. Kitti Ping had called it an
instinctive action. Nowhere in the genetics program that Sean had memorized
did he find any words of wisdom on how to instruct a dragon to use his
innate instinct.
        And it was not the sort of exercise one did on a spontaneous basis.
First, they would try to chew firestone and make flame. They knew where the
fire-lizards got the phosphine-bearing rock; Sean had even watched the
browns and Sorka´s Duke selecting the pieces to chew and the careful way
they concentrated while they chewed. The fire-lizards had learned to
produce flame on demand, so Sean felt easy about teaching the dragons that.
But going between one place and another . . . that was scary.

Flame of a different kind obsessed Landing´s counselors three days later.
        »What people want to know, Paul, Emily,« Cherry Duff said, turning
her penetrating stare from admiral to governor, »is how much warning you
had of Picchu´s activity.«
        »None,« Paul said firmly. Emily nodded. »Patrice de Broglie´s
reports have not been altered. There´s been a lot of volcanic activity
along the ring, as well as that new volcano. You´ve felt the same shakes I
have. Landing and all stakeholders have been apprised of every technical
detail. This is as much of an unpleasant surprise to us, as it is to you!«
Then Paul´s stern expression altered. »By all that´s holy, Cherry, all that
black ash gave me as much a fright yesterday as it did everyone else.«
        »So?« Cherry demanded, her attitude unsoftened.
        »Picchu is officially an active volcano!´´ Paul spread his hands
looking past Cherry to Cabot Francis Carter and Rudi Shwartz. »And
officially, it´s likely to continue to spout smoke and ash. Patrice and his
crew are up at the crater now. He´ll give a full public report this evening
at Bonfire Square.«
        Cherry gave him a long hard stare, her black eyes piercing, her
face expressionless. Then she snorted. »I believe him, but that doesn´t
mean I like it -- or the obvious prognosis. Landing moves, doesn´t it?
        Emily Boll nodded solemnly.
        »And your next statement,« Cherry went on in her hard voice, »is
that you have prepared a place for us!«
        Paul burst into guffaws, though Emily muffled her laughter when she
saw how such levity affronted Rudi Shwartz.
        »You had no right,« Paul said, controlling his laughter, »to steal
that line from Emily, Cherry Duff! Damn it, we were working on our official
announcement when you barged in. And you fardling well know we´ve been
rushing to complete the northern fort. Landing couldn´t continue much
longer as a viable settlement even if Picchu hadn´t started showering us
with ash. That doesn´t, of course, mean,« he put in quickly, holding up his
hand to forestall Cabot´s explosion, »that stakeholders will be asked to
leave their lands. But the administration of this planet will have to be in
the most protected situation we can contrive. Plainly Landing has out lived
its usefulness. It was never intended as a permanent installation.«
        Emily took up the discussion then, passing to each of the
delegation copies of the directive she and Paul had been drafting. »The
transfer is being organized much as our space journey here. We have the
technicians and the equipment to make a northern crossing as easy as
possible. We have enough fuel to power two of the shuttles to transport
equipment too bulky to fit on any of Jim´s ships. It´ll be a one-way trip
for the shuttles: they´ll be dismantled for parts. When there´s time, we
can send a crew back to scavenge the other three. Joel Lilienthal has been
working on priority shipments for the big sleds, taking as few as possible
from the fighting strength.«
        »Speaking of fighting strength, has that young upstart taught them
any new tricks?« Cherry demanded imperiously, looking down her long nose at
Paul. »Speaking of eruptions, as we were, how are those beasts of Kitti
Ping´s progressing? I see them flitting around all the time. Mighty pretty
they look in formation, but are they any good in battle?«
        »So far,« Paul began cautiously, »they´ve matured well beyond the
projections. The young Connells have proved splendid leaders
        »They were the best ground-crew leaders I had,« Cabot Carter said,
disgruntled.
        »They´ll be superior as aerial fighters,« Paul went on, overriding
the legist´s unspoken criticism. »Self-perpetuating, too, unlike sleds and
skimmers.
        »D´you know that for sure?« Cherry demanded in her raspy voice.
»Blossom´s experiments aren´t all that successful.«
        »Her grandmother´s are,« Paul replied with a firm confidence he
hoped would reassure Cherry. »According to Pol and Bay, the males are
producing their equivalent to sperm. Genetic analysis has started but will
take months. We might have direct proof of dragon fertility by then, as the
gold females mature later.« Paul tried not to sound defensive, but he
wanted to counter the very bad publicity surrounding Wind Blossom´s brutes.
Especially when the young dragonriders were trying so very hard to perfect
themselves for combat against Thread. Though it was not public knowledge,
Sean and his group already served as messengers and had transported light
loads efficiently.
        Paul had a report on his desk from Telgar and his group. They had
done a survey of the old crater above the fort hold, with its myriad bubble
caves and twisting passages, and had pronounced it a suitable accommodation
for the dragons and their riders. Telgar had a team working to make the
place habitable, while they still had power in the heavy equipment. A
stream was being dammed up for a dragon-sized bathing lake, water piped
into the largest of the ground-level caverns for kitchen use, and a chimney
hole had been bored for a large hearth complex.
        Obviously, that would be the pattern for future human habitation
Pern, and for some, accustomed to sprawling living space, it would take
some getting used to. But it was the best way to survive!

* * * * *

Pol?«
        It took a moment for the biologist to identify the anxious voice.
»Mary?« His response was equally tentative, but he pulled at Bay´s sleeve
to attract her attention away from the monitor she was frowning at. »Mary
Tubberman?«
        »Please don´t turn an old friend away unheard.«
        »Mary,« Pol said kindly, »you weren´t shunned.« He shared the
earpiece with Bay, who nodded in vigorous approval.
        »I might as well have been.« The woman´s tone was bitter, then her
voice broke on a tremulous note and both Bay and Pol could hear her
weeping. »Look, Pol, something´s happened to Ted. Those creatures of his
are loose I´ve pulled down the Thread shutters, but they´re still prowling
about and making awful noises.«
        »Creatures? What creatures?« Pol locked glances with Bay. Beyond
them, their dragonets roused from a doze and chirped in empathic anxiety.
        »The beasts he´s been rearing.« Mary sounded as if she thought Pol
knew what she was talking about and was being deliberately obtuse. »He --
he stole some frozen in-vitros from veterinary and used Kitti´s program on
them to make them obey him, but they´re still . . . things. His masterpiece
does nothing to stop them.« Again her bitterness was trenchant.
        »What makes you think something has happened to Ted?« Pol asked,
picking up on the words Bay mouthed to him as she gestured urgently.
        »He would never let those animals loose, Pol! They might harm
Petey!«
        »Now, Mary, calm down. Stay in the house. We´ll come.«
        »Ned´s not in Landing!« Her tone became accusatory. »I tried his
number. He´d believe me!
        »It´s not a question of belief, Mary.« Bay pulled the mouthpiece
around to speak directly into it. »And anyone can come assist you.«
        »Sue and Chuck won´t answer.«
        »Sue and Chuck moved north, Mary, after that first bad rock shower
from Picchu.« Bay was patient with her. The woman had a right to sound
paranoid, living in seclusion as she had for so long with an unbalanced
husband and so many earthshocks and volcanic rumblings.
        »Pol and I are coming down, Mary,« Bay said firmly. »And we´ll
bring help.« She replaced the handset.
        »Who?« Pol demanded.
        »Sean and Sorka. Dragons have an inhibiting effect on animals. And
that way we don´t have to go through official channels.«
        Pol looked at his wife with mild surprise. She had never criticized
either Emily or Paul, obliquely or bluntly.
        »I always felt someone should have investigated the report Drake
and Ned Tubberman made. So did they. Sometimes priorities get lost in the
shuffle around here.« She wrote a hasty note which she then attached to her
gold dragonet´s right foot. »Find the redhead,« she said firmly, holding
the triangular head to get Mariah´s full attention. Find the redhead.« Bay
walked with her to the window and opened it, pointing firmly in Sorka´s
direction. She filled her mind with the image of Sorka, leaning against
Faranth. Mariah chirped happily. »Now, off with you.« Then, as the dragonet
obediently flew off, Bay ran a finger over the black grime that was once
again settling on the window sill she had swept earlier. »I´ll be glad to
move north. I´m so eternally tired of black dust everywhere. Come on, Pol,
we´d better get dressed warmly.«
        »You volunteered to help Mary because it gives you a chance to ride
a dragon again,« Pol said, chuckling.
        »Pol Nietro, I have long been concerned about Mary Tubberman!«
        Fifteen minutes later, two dragons came swooping over the rise to
settle on the road in front of their house.
        »They are so graceful,« Bay said, making certain her headscarf was
tied, as much against the prevailing dust outside as in hopes of riding. As
she left the house, Mariah circled down and settled to the plump shoulder
with a chirrup of smug satisfaction. »You´re marvelous, Mariah, simply
marvelous,« Bay murmured to her little queen as she marched right up
between Faranth and Carenath. However, it was Sorka she addressed. »Thank
you for coming, my dear. Mary Tubberman just contacted us. There´s trouble
at Calusa. Creatures are loose, and Mary thinks something has happened to
Ted. Will you take us there?«
        »Officially, or unofficially?« Sean asked as Sorka glanced over at
her mate.
        »It´s all right to help Mary,« Bay said, looking for support from
Pol, who had just come up to the dragons, his glance as admiring as ever.
»And with who knows what sort of beast . . .«
        »Dragons are useful,« Sorka replied with a grin, arriving at her
own decision. She beckoned to Bay. »Give the lady your leg, Faranth. Here´s
my hand.«
        With Faranth´s assist, Bay was agile enough to settle herself
quietly behind Sorka. She would never admit that she was pinched fore and
aft between the ridge. Mariah gave her usual squeak of protest.
        »Now, Mariah, Faranth´s perfectly safe,« Bay said, and looked over
to see that Pol was settling behind Sean. The young dragonrider´s grin was
very broad as he winked at Bay. Well, this time it really is an emergency,
she told herself. A woman trapped in her home with small children and
unidentifiable menaces prowling outside.
        »Hang on tight now,« Sean said as always. He pumped his arm in the
signal to launch.
        Bay suppressed an exclamation as Faranth´s upward surge pushed her
painfully against the stiff dorsal ridge. Her discomfort lasted only a
moment, as the golden dragon leveled off and veered leisurely to her right.
Bay caught her breath. She would never get accustomed to this; she didn´t
want to. Riding a dragon was the most exciting thing that had happened to
her since . . . since Mariah had first risen to mate.
        Calusa was not a long trip by air, but the flight was tremendously
exhilarating. The dragons hit one of the many air currents that were the
result of Picchu´s activity, and Bay clutched at Sorka´s belt, stuffing her
fingers to the knuckle in the belt loops. Flying on a dragon was so much
more immediate an activity than going in the closed sled or skimmer. Really
much more exhilarating. Bay turned her head so that Sorka´s tall, strong
body shielded her from the worst of the airstream and the dust from Picchu
that seemed to clog the air even at that altitude.
        The journey gave Bay time to ponder what Mary had said about
»beasts.« Red Hanrahan had reported a late-night entry into the veterinary
laboratory. A portable bio-scan had been missing without being logged out,
but as the bio lab was always borrowing vet equipment, the absence was
dismissed. Later someone had noticed that the order in which the frozen ova
of a variety of Earth-type animals were stored had been disarranged. It
could have happened during the earthquakes.
        Ted Tubberman had been very busy in his discontent, Bay thought
grimly. One of the strictest dictums of her profession as a microbiologist
was a strict limitation of genetic manipulation. She had actually been
surprised, if relieved, that Kitti Ping Yung, as the senior scientist on
the Pern expedition, had permitted the bioengineering of the
fire-dragonets. Had Kitti Ping any idea of what a marvelous gift she had
bestowed on the people of Pern?
        But for Ted Tubberman, disgruntled botanist, to tinker with ova --
and he had not at all understood the techniques or the process -- to make
independent alterations was intolerable to her, both professionally and
personally. Bay knew herself to be a tolerant person, friendly and
considerate, but if Ted Tubberman was dead, she would be tremendously
relieved. And she would not be the only one. Just thinking about the man
produced symptoms of agitation and pure fury which made Bay lose her
professional detachment, and that annoyed her even more. There she was on
dragonback, a marvelous opportunity for peaceful reflection, with only the
noise of the wind in her ears, with all Jordan spread below her, and she
was wasting contemplative time on Ted Tubberman. Bay sighed. One had so few
moments of total relaxation and privacy. How she envied young Sorka, Sean,
and the others.
        She was astonished to see Calusa in the next valley. It was a
sturdy complex, built by the Tubbermans as headquarters for their stake
acres. The galvanized roofs of the main buildings bad grown to a dull dark
gray from the repeated showers of volcanic ash that Picchu Peak deposited
wherever the wind blew. But Bay had scarcely had time to notice that when
Sorka´s cry of astonishment blew back to her.
        »Jays, that building´s a shambles!« Sorka pointed to her right.
Faranth abruptly turned in response to an unspoken request. The dorsal
ridge bit into the soft flesh of Bay´s crotch, and she gripped Sorka´s belt
more tightly.
        »Look!« Sorka was directing her gaze downward.
        Seventy-five meters from the main house, there was a roofed
compound with separate enclosures along an L passageway, forming two sides
of a fenced-in area. One of the outside walls and several of the interior
partitions were smashed, and a corner of the roofing had burst outward. Bay
could not recall if there had been any more earthshocks reported in that
area to cause such structural damage. No other building was damaged.
        As the dragon once more changed direction, Bay grabbed at Sorka,
felt the girl´s reassuring fingers on hers, and then they were down.
        »I do like riding Faranth. She´s so very graceful and strong,« Bay
said, tentatively patting the warm hide of the dragon´s neck.
        »No, don´t dismount,« Sorka said. »Faranth says there´s something
prowling in there. The dragonets will have a look. Whoops!«
        The air was suddenly full of the chitterings and chatterings of
angry dragonets. Bay´s Mariah shrieked in her ear.
        »Now, now, it´s all right. Faranth won´t let anyone harm you.« Bay
held up her arm for her gold, but Mariah joined the investigating fairs.
Bay was astounded to realize that the dragon was growling, a sensation she
could also feel through her body contacts. Faranth turned her impressive
head toward the compound, the many facets of her eyes gleaming with edges
of red and orange.
        A piercing yowl was clearly audible and then there was silence. The
excited fairs swirled back over the two dragonriders´ heads, chittering and
clattering with their news. Faranth looked up, her eyes wheeling as she
absorbed the dragonets´ images.
        »There´s some kind of very large spotted beast out there,« Sorka
told Sean. »And something else that is even larger but silent.«
        »We´ll need trank guns, then,« he said. »Sorka, have Faranth call
up some reinforcements. Marco and Duluth, if possible; Dave, Kathy -- we
may need a medic. Peter´s Gilgath is sturdy, Nyassa won´t panic, and ask
for Paul or Jerry. I think we should evacuate Mary and the two children
until the beasts can be captured.«
        Her ordeal ended, Mary Tubberman wept copiously on Bay´s shoulder.
Her son, Peter usually a cheerful seven-year-old, watched poker-faced and
taut with anxiety. His two little sisters clung together on a lounger and
would not respond to Pol´s efforts to comfort them, though he was generally
very deft with children. Mary did not resist the suggestion that she move
to a safer location.
        »Dad´s dead, isn´t he?« Petey asked, stepping right up to Sean.
        »He could be out trying to recapture the beasts,« kindhearted Bay
suggested. The boy gave her a scornful look and went off down the corridor
to his room.
        The dragon reinforcements arrived with the trank guns. Sean was
pleased to see them landing in the order they had been drilled in. Sean
gave Paul, Jerry, and Nyassa the trankers and sent them off on their
dragons to see if they could find and disable the escaped animals.
        Leaving Sorka to help the Tubbermans assemble their gear, Sean and
the others, armed with the pistols, cautiously approached the wrecked
compound. Inside the building, the reek of animal was heavy and mounds of
recent dung littered the place. They found Ted Tubberman´s mauled and
gnawed body pitifully sprawled outside his small laboratory.
        »Fardles, nothing we have kills like that!« David Catarel exclaimed
backing out of the corridor.
        Kathy knelt by the corpse, her face expressionless. »Whatever it
was had fangs and sharp claws,« she remarked, slowly getting to her feet.
»His back was broken.«
        Marco grabbed up an old lab coat and some toweling from a rail and
covered the corpse. Then he picked up the remains of a chair made of one of
the local pressed vegetable fibers that were used for interior furnishings.
»This´ll burn. Let´s see if we can find enough to cremate him here. Save a
lot of awkwardness.« He waved in the direction of the main house. Then he
shuddered, clearly unwilling to move the mangled body.
        »The man was insane,« Sean said, poking a rod into the dung pats in
one enclosure. »Developing big predators. We´ve enough trouble with
wherries and snakes!«
        »I´ll go tell Mary,« Kathy murmured.
        Sean caught her arm as she went by. »Tell her he died quickly.« She
nodded and left.
        »Hey!« Peter Semling picked up a covered clipboard from the
littered floor of the laboratory. »Looks like notes,« he exclaimed,
examining the thin sheets of film covered with notations in a cramped hand.
»This is botanical stuff.« He shrugged, held it out to Kathy, and picked up
another. »This is . . . biological? Humph.«
        »Let´s collect any notes,« Sean said. »Anything that would tell us
what kind of creature killed him.«
        »Hey!« Peter said again. He flipped the cover back on a portable
bio-scan, complete with monitor and keyboard. »This looks like the one that
went missing from the vet lab a while back, along with some AI samples.«
        Meticulously they gathered up every scrap of material, even taking
an engraved plate with the cryptic message Eureka, Mycorrhiza! which had
been nailed to the splashboard of the sink unit. Dave carried several sacks
to be brought back to Landing. Then Sean and Peter collected enough
flammable materials to make a pyre that could be lit once Mary and the
children had gone.
        »Sean!« David Catarel called. He was hunkered down by a wide green
swath that was the only living thing in the raddled and ash littered plot,
though its color was dimmed by the pervasive black ash. »How many Falls has
this area had?« he asked, glancing about. He ran his hand over the grass, a
tough hybrid that agro had developed for residence landscaping before
thread had fallen.
        »Enough to clear this ! » Sean knelt beside him and pulled up a
hefty tuft. The dirt around the roots contained a variety of soil denizens,
including several furry-looking grubs.
        »Never seen that sort before,« David remarked, catching three
deftly as they dropped. He felt in his jacket pocket, extracted a wad of
fabric, and carefully wrapped the grubs. »Ned Tubberman was yaking about a
new kind of grass surviving Fall down here. I´ll just take these back to
the agro lab.«
        Just then Sorka, Pol, Bay, and Peter, each loaded with bundles came
out of the main house. Sean and Dave began to load the eight dragons.
        »We can make another run for you, Mary,« Sorka suggested tactfully
when the woman joined them with two stuffed bedsacks.
        »I don´t have much besides clothes,« Mary said, her glance flicking
to the compound. »Kathy said it was quick?« Her anxious eyes begged
confirmation.
        »Kathy´s the medic,« Sean assured her smoothly. »Up you go now.
David and Polenth will take you. Mount up. You kids ever ride on a dragon
before?«
        Sean made a game of it for them and passed quickly over the
awkwardness of the moment. He saw them all off before he and Pol ignited
the funeral pyre. Then they took off in yet another shower of the volcanic
dust which would eventually bury Landing.

»I can´t break Ted´s personal code! » Pol exclaimed in exasperation,
throwing the stylus down to a worktop littered with clipboards and piles of
flimsies. »Wretched, foolish man!«
        »Ezra loves codes, Pol,« Bay suggested.
        »Judging by the DNA/RNA, he was experimenting with felines, but I
cannot imagine why. There´re already enough running wild here at Landing.
Unless -- « Pol broke off and pinched his lower lip nervously, grimacing as
his thoughts followed uneasy paths. »We know -- « He paused to bang the
table in emphasis. » -- that felines do not take mentasynth well. He knew
that, too. Why would he repeat mistakes?«
        »What about that other batch of notes?« Bay asked, gesturing to the
clipboard lying precariously on the edge.
        »Unfortunately, all I can read of them are quotations from Kitti´s
dragon program.«
        »Oh!« Bay cocked her jaw sideways for a moment. »He had to play
creator as well as anarchist?«
        »Why else would he refer to the Eridani genetic equations?« Pol
slapped the worktop with his hand, frustrated and anxious, his expression
rebellious. »And what did he hope to achieve?«
        »I think we can be grateful that he hadn´t tried to manipulate
fire-dragonets, though I suspect he was practicing on the ova he
appropriated from the vet frozen storage.«
        Pol rubbed the heels of his hands into his tired eyes. »We can be
grateful for small mercies there. Especially when you consider what Blossom
has done. I shouldn´t have said that, my dear. Forget it.«
        Bay permitted herself a scornful sniff. »At least Blossom has the
good sense to keep those wretched photophobes of hers chained. I cannot
think why she persists with them. She´s the only one they like. Bay gave a
shudder of revulsion. »They positively fawn on her.«
        Pol snorted. »That´s why,« he said absently, riffling through the
notes on the undecipherable clipboard. »What I don´t understand is why he
chose the large felines?«
        »Well why don´t we ask Petey? He helped his father in the compound,
didn´t he?«
        »You are the essence of rationality, my dear,« Pol said. Pushing
himself out of the chair, he went over and laid an affectionate kiss on her
cheek, ruffling her hair. She was admonishing him when he punched the
comm-code for Mary Tubberman´s quarters. Both he and Bay had been visiting
her daily to help her settle back into the community. »Mary is Peter
available?«
        When Peter answered, his tone was not particularly encouraging.
»Yeah?«
        »Those large cats your father was breeding? Did they have spots or
stripes?« Pol asked in a conversational tone.
        »Spots.« Peter was surprised by the unexpected question.
        »Ah, the cheetah. Is that what he called them?«
        »Yeah, cheetahs.«
        »Why cheetahs, Peter? I know they´re fast, but they wouldn´t be any
good hunting wherries.«
        »They were great going after the big tunnel snakes.« Peter´s voice
became animated. »And they´d come to heel and do everything Dad told them
-- « he broke off.
        »I expect they did, Petey. Several ancient cultures on Earth bred
them to hunt all manner of game. Speediest things on four legs!
        »Did they turn on him?« Peter asked after a moment´s silence.
        »I don´t know, Petey. Are you coming to the bonfire tonight?« Pol
asked brightly, feeling that he could not leave the conversation on such a
sour note. »You promised me a rematch. Can´t have you winning every chess
game.« He received a promise for that evening and disconnected. »From what
Petey said, it would appear that he used mentasynth on cheetahs to enhance
their obedience. He used them to hunt tunnel snakes.«
        »They turned on him?«
        »That seems likely. Only why? I wish we knew how many ova he took
from vet. I wish we could decipher these notes and discover if he only used
mentasynth or if he implemented any part of Kitti´s program. Be that as it
may -- « Pol exhaled in frustration. »We have an unknown number of
predatory animals loose in Calusa. Loose in Calusa!« Pol let out a derisory
snort for his inadvertent rhyming. I wonder if Phas Radamanth has had any
luck deciphering the notes on those grubs. They could be useful.«

Patrice de Broglie burst into Emily´s office. »Garben´s getting set to
blow. We´ve got to evacuate. Now!«
        »What!« Emily rose to her feet, the flimsies she was studying
slipping out of her hands to scatter on the floor.
        »I´ve just been to the peaks. There´s a change in the
sulfur-to-chlorine ratio. It´s Garben that´s going to blow.« He slapped his
hand to his forehead in a self-accusatory blow. »Right before my eyes, and
I didn´t see it.«
        Alerted by Emily´s cry, Paul came through from the adjoining
office. »Garben?«
        »You´ve got to evacuate immediately,« Patrice cried, his expression
contorted. »There´ve even been significant increases in mercury and radon
from the damned crater. And we thought it was leaking from Picchu.«
        »But it´s Picchu that´s smoking!« Stunned, Paul struggled to keep
his cool. He reached for the comm unit just as Emily did. She grabbed it
first, and he jerked his fingers back and let her contact Ongola.
        »That Garben is as sly a mountain as the man we named it for.
Volcanology still isn´t a precise science,« Patrice said, rolling his eyes
in frustration as he paced up and down the small office. »I´ve sent a
skimmer up with the correlation spectrometer to check on the content of the
fumarole emissions that just started in the Garben crater,« Patrice went
on. »I brought down samples of the latest ash. But that rising
sulfur-to-chlorine ratio means the magma is rising.«
        »Ongola.« Emily said. »Sound the klaxon. Volcano alert. Recall all
sleds and skimmers immediately. Yes, I know there´s Threadfall today, but
we´ve got to evacuate Landing now, not later. »How long do we have,
Patrice?«
        He shrugged in exasperation. »I cannot give you the precise moment
of catastrophe, my friends, nor which way it will spew, but the wind is a
strong nor´easterly. Already the ash increases. Had you not noticed?«
        Startled, governor and admiral glanced out the window and saw that
the sky was gray with ash that obscured the sunlight, and that Picchu´s
smoking yellow plume was broader than usual. A similar halo was beginning
to grow about Garben´s peak.
        One can even become accustomed to living beneath a volcano,« Paul
remarked with dry humor.
        Patrice shrugged again and managed a grin. »But let´s not, my
friends. Even if the pyroclastic flow is minimal, Landing will soon be
covered with ash at the rate it´s now falling. As soon as we´ve decided
possible lava flow paths, I´ll inform you, so you can clear the most
vulnerable areas first.«
        »How fortunate we already have an evacuation plan,« Emily remarked,
selecting a file and bringing it up on the terminal. »There!« She ran the
sequence to all printers, on emergency priority. »That´s going to all
department heads. Evacuation is officially under way, gentlemen. What a
nuisance to have to do it at speed. Something is bound to be forgotten no
matter how carefully you plan ahead.
        Trained by repeated drills, the population of Landing reacted
promptly to the klaxon alert by going to their department heads for orders.
A brief flurry of panic was suppressed, and the exercise went into high
gear.
        The sky continued to darken as thick black clouds of ash rolled up,
covering the peaks of the now active volcanoes that had once appeared so
benign. White plumes rose from Garben´s awakened fumaroles and from
crevasses down its eastern side. Morning became twilight as the air
pollution spread. Handlamps and breathing masks were issued.
        In charge of the actual evacuation, Joel Lilienkamp supervised from
one of the fast sleds, keeping the canopy open so that he could bawl orders
and encouragement to the various details and make on-the-spot decisions.
The laboratories and warehouses nearest the simmering volcano were being
cleared first, along with the infirmary, with the exception of emergency
first aid and burn control. The donks trundled everywhere, depositing their
burdens at the grid or carrying them on down to temporary shelter in the
Catherine Caves.
        Patrice´s group had already calculated areas of high and low
pyroclastic hazard. Warnings had been sent as far east as Cardiff, west to
Bordeaux, and south to Cambridge. Already favored with a heavy fall of ash,
Monaco was also in range of moderate pyroclastic missile danger. Every
boat, ship, and barge was mobilized in the bay, to be loaded and sent off
to stand beyond the first Kahrain peninsula.
        The last sacs of fuel were emptied into the tanks of the two
remaining shuttles. Most of the dragonriders were put to herding the
livestock toward the harbor. For the first time, no one assembled to fight
Thread at Maori Lake -- a more deadly fall threatened.
        No one had time to cheer as Drake Bonneau lifted the old Swallow
with its cargo of children and equipment, just as daylight receded from the
plateau. The technicians moved immediately to the Parrakeet. Ongola and
Jake, monitoring in the tower, took advantage of the respite to eat the hot
food that had been sent up to them. The communications equipment had been
placed on trolleys and could be quickly shifted if the tower was
threatened.
        »Swallow looks good,« Ezra called in from the interface chamber
where he was monitoring the flight. He had spent much of that day erecting
a shield of heat proof material around the chamber, not quite ready to
accept Patrice´s hurried assurance that the room´s location did not
intersect any channels of previous lava flows. Unfortunately the interface
with the orbiting Yokohama could not be disconnected, relying as it did on
a fixed beacon to the receiver on the Yoko. Since the setting on the Yoko
could no longer be altered to a new direction there was no point in taking
the interface and reassembling it.
        That night, the air was choking with sulfur fumes and full of
gritty particles, and Patrice warned that the buildup was reaching the
critical point. White plumes from both Picchu and Garben, ominously rooted
in a muted glow from peak and crater, were visible even against the dark
sky, casting an eerie light over the settlement.
        Drake Bonneau reported that he was safely down after a difficult
flight. »Damn crate nearly shook apart, but nothing was damaged. None of
the kids so much as bruised, but I don´t think any of them will develop a
yen for flying. Hard landing, too, plowed a furrow when we overshot the
mark. We´ll need the rest of the day to clear the site for the Parrakeet.
Tell Fulmar to check the gyros and the stabilizing monitors. I´ll swear we
had tunnel snakes in the Swallow´s.«
        There was a constant stream of vehicles down to the harbor, as the
bigger ships and barges were loaded with protesting animals prodded into
stalls erected on deck. Crates of chickens, ducks, and geese were strapped
wherever they could be attached, to be off-loaded at the Kahrain cove,
safely out of the danger zone. With any luck, most of the livestock would
be evacuated. Skimming over the harbor, Jim Tillek managed to be
everywhere, encouraging and berating his crews.
        By nightfall, Sean called a halt for dragonriders ferrying people
and packages to the Kahrain cove. »I´m not risking tired dragons and
riders,« he told Lilienkamp with some heat. »Too risky, and the dragons are
just too young to be under this sort of stress.«
        »Time, man, we don´t have time for niceties!« Joel replied angrily.
        You handle the exodus, Joel, I´ll handle my dragons. The riders
will work until they drop, but it´s bloody stupid to push young dragons!
Not while I can prevent it.«
        Joel gave him an angry, frustrated glare. The dragons had been
immensely useful, but he also knew better than to put them at risk. He
gunned the sled away, perched behind the console like a small, ash covered
statue.
        Sean and the other riders did work until they dropped. Each dragon
then curled protectively about his rider as they slept. No one had time to
notice that there were few dragonets about.
        Then, all too soon, Joel was there again, exhorting them from the
air, and they rejoined the Herculean efforts of the people around them.
        Suddenly, the klaxon sounded a piercing triple blast. All activity
ceased for the message that followed.
        »She´s going to blow!« Patrice´s almost triumphant shout echoed
throughout Landing.
        Every head turned toward Garben, its peak outlined by the eerie
luminosity from its crater.
        »Launch the Parrakeet!« Ongola´s stentorian voice broke the awed,
stunned silence.
        The engines of the shuttle were drowned by the rumbling earth and
an ear-splitting roar of tremendous power as the volcano erupted. The
attentive stance of observers broke as people scrambled to complete tasks
at hand, shouting to one another above the noise. Later, those who watched
the peak fracture and the red-hot molten lava begin to ooze from the break
said that everything appeared to happen in slow motion. They saw the
fissures in the crater outlined by orange-red, saw the pieces blowing out
of the lip, even saw some of the projectiles lifting out of the volcano and
could track their dizzying trajectory. Others averred that it all happened
too fast to be sure of details.
        Bright red tongues of lava rolled ominously up and over the blasted
lip of Garben, one flow traveling at an astonishing rate directly toward
the western most buildings of Landing.
        In that dawn hour, the wind had dropped, saving much of the eastern
section of Landing from the worst of the shower of smaller rocks and hot
ash. The larger, devastating projectiles that Patrice had feared did not
appear. But the lava was sufficiently frightening a menace.
        The Parrakeet, laden with irreplaceable equipment, pierced the
western gloom, her engine blasts visible, if not audible, as she drove
northwest and out of danger.
        At the sound of the klaxon, the dolphins began to tow heavily laden
small boats out of Monaco Bay, a flotilla of vessels not ordinarily
suitable for any prolonged sea travel. The dolphins had assured humans that
they would get their charges safely to the sheltered harbor beyond the
first Kahrain peninsula. Maid and Mayflower, which were not fully loaded,
left the harbor to wait outside the estimated fallout zone until they could
return for the last of their cargoes. Jim, on board the Southern Cross,
shepherded barges and luggers along the coast on their long journey to
Seminole, from where they would make the final run north.
        Sleds and skimmers streamed between Landing and Paradise River Hold
as the nearest safe assembly point. Traffic there was chaotic, as vital
supplies were kept available and loads were shunted to designated areas of
the beach. Landing was being cleared of all that could be reused in the new
northern hold.
        Thick sulfur-smelling ash began to cover Landing´s buildings. Some
of the lighter roofs collapsed under the load, and observers could hear the
plastic groaning and shifting. The air was almost unbreathable with traces
of chlorine. Everyone used the breathing masks without complaint.
        By midafternoon, a haggard Joel Lilienkamp dropped his battered
sled on the lee side of the tower beside Ongola´s. He waited a moment to
gather enough strength to thumb open the comm unit.
        »We´ve cleared all we can,« he said in gasps, his voice raspy from
the acrid airborne fumes. »The donks are parked in the Catherine Caves
until we can strip ‘em down for shipment. You can leave now, too.«
        »We´re coming,« Ongola replied.
        Moments later he appeared, slowly angling a heavy comm package on a
grav unit past the door. Jake came next, similarly encumbered and Paul
followed, guiding two more components.
        »Need a hand?« Joel asked automatically, though the way he slumped
at the console made it hard to believe that he had any more energy to
spare.
        »One more trip,« Ongola said when they had positioned the equipment
in his sled. »Is your power pack up to a load?« he asked Joel.
        »Yup. My last fresh unit.«
        As Ongola and Jake went back into the tower, Paul went to the
flagstaff and, with a bleak expression on his face, solemnly lowered the
singed tatters of the colony´s flag. He made a ball of it, which he stuffed
underneath the seat he took on the sled. He gave the supply master one long
look. »Want me to drive, Joel?«
        »I got you here, I´ll take you out!«
        Paul dared not look back at the ruins of Landing, but as Joel
veered east and then north in a wide sweep, the admiral saw that he wasn´t
the only one with tears coursing down his cheeks.

A stiff nor´easterly wind kept the Kahrain cove clear of ash and the acrid
taint of Garben´s eruption. The gray pall spread over the eastern horizon
as the volcano continued to spew lava and quantities of ash. Patrice and a
skeleton team remained to monitor the event after Landing was abandoned.
        »We hunt this morning,« Sean said to the other riders.
        They had found a quiet cove up the beach from the main evacuation
camp. None of the dragons sprawled in the warm sun had a very good color,
and privately Sean worried that their maturing strengths had been over
taxed. He decided stoutly that there was nothing wrong that a good meal
would not restore. He looked around for fire-lizards and swore under his
breath.« Damn them! We need all we´ve got. Four queens and ten bronzes
can´t possibly catch enough packtail to feed eighteen dragons! Surely
they´ve seen volcanoes erupt before.
        »Not on top of them,« Alianne Zulueta replied. »I couldn´t reassure
mine. They just left!«
        »Red meat would be better than fish -- more iron,« David Catarel
suggested, his eyes on his pale bronze Polenth. »There´s sheep here.«
        »Hold it,« Marco Galliani said firmly, raising both hands in
restraint. »My father´s shipping them on to Roma as soon as sleds are free.
Prime breeding stock.«
        »So are dragons.« Sean rose, an odd grin on his face. »Peter, Dave,
Jerry, come with me. Sorka, you run interference -- if there is any.«
        »Hey, wait a minute, Sean,´´ Marco began, dual loyalties in
conflict.
        Sean grinned slyly, laying a finger along his nose. »What the eye
doesn´t see, Marco, the heart won´t grieve.«
        »It´s for your dragon, man,« Dave muttered as he passed him.
        An hour later, several dragons disappeared in a westerly direction
skimming the tree tops. The other riders were so conspicuous in their
efforts to help the crew struggling to organize the chaos on the beach that
no one would have noticed that the riders were not all present at any one
time. By noon, seventeen brightly hued, sated dragons lolled on the strand.
One sat patiently on the headland while fire-dragonets dove into the sea,
fishing for packtail.
        Caesar and Stefano Galliani, taking a poll count as their sheep
were loaded, discovered that the tally was short by some thirty-six
animals, including one of the best rams. Caesar called on the dragonriders
to search the area and herd the missing sheep back to the shore.
        »Useless things, always wandering off,« Sean agreed, nodding his
head pathetically at the frustrated and puzzled Gallianis. »We´ll give a
look.«
        When Sean reported back an hour later, he suggested to Caesar that
the sheep must have dropped into some of the many potholes in the area.
Reluctantly the Gallianis took off with the depleted flock. The big
transport sleds had schedules to keep, and shipment could not be postponed.
        As the last of the sleds departed, Emily came over to Sean. »Are
your dragons fit for duty?«
        »Anything you say!« Sean agreed so amiably that Emily shot him a
long look. »The fire-lizards worked hard all morning to feed the dragons.
He gestured toward the cove where Duluth was accepting a packtail from a
bronze.
        »Fire-lizards?« Emily was momentarily baffled by »lizards,« then
remembered that Sean tended to use his own name for the little creatures.
»Oh, yes, then your fairs have returned?«
        »Not all of them,« Sean said ruefully, and then added quickly, »but
enough of the queens and bronzes to be useful.«
        »The eruption scared them all, didn´t it?«
        Sean gave a snort. »The eruption scared all of us!«
        »Not out of our wits, it would seem,« Emily said with a crooked
smile. »At least nobody acted as foolish as sheep, did they?« Sean
pretended neither innocence nor understanding; he turned her look until she
broke eye contact. »If your dragons have lost the taste for fish, hunt
wherries. That eruption whittled down our herds quite enough, thank you.«
Sean inclined his head, still noncommittal. »There´s so much to be done,
and done quickly.« Consulting the thick sheets on her clipboard, she paused
to rub her forehead. »If only your dragons were fully functional . . .«
Then she shot him a penitent smile. »Sorry, Sean, that´s an egregious
comment.«
        »I, too, wish we were, Governor,« Sean replied without prejudice.
»But we´re not sure how it´s done. Not even what to tell them to do.« He
blotted the sweat from his forehead and neck, a sweat not entirely provoked
by the hot sun.
        »A point well made and a matter we must look into, but not here and
now. Look, Sean, Joel Lilienkamp´s worried about the supplies still at
Landing. We´re shifting loads out of here as fast as we can.« She swept her
arm over the mounds of color-coded crates and foam-covered pallets. »The
orange stuff has to be protected from Threadfall, so it has to go north as
fast as possible to be stored in the Fort Hold. We still have to try to
save what´s left at Landing before the ash covers it.«
        »That ash burns, Governor. Burns as easily through dragon wings as
-- « Sean broke off, staring fixedly toward the western beach, one hand
coming up in a futile gesture of warning. Emily twisted around to see what
had prompted his concern.
        The dragon´s trumpet of alarm was faint and thin on the hot air.
The driver of the sled on collision course with the creature seemed unaware
that he was descending onto another flyer. Then, just before the sled would
have hit, dragon and rider disappeared.
        »Instinct is marvelous!« Emily exclaimed, her face lit with both
relief at the last-minute evasion and joy that a dragon had displayed that
innate ability. She looked back to Sean and her expression changed. »What´s
the matter, Sean?« She glanced quickly up at the sky, a sky empty of both
dragon pair and the sled, which was lost in the many coming and going on
the Kahrain cove. »Oh, no!´´ Her hand went to her throat, which seemed to
close as she felt the wrenching fear in her guts. »No. Oh no! Shouldn´t
they be visible again now? Shouldn´t they, Sean? Isn´t it supposed to be an
instantaneous displacement?«
        Distressed, she reached out to clasp his arm, giving him a little
shake to attract his attention. He looked down at her, and the anguished
expression in his eyes gave her an answer that altered fear to grief. She
turned her head slowly from side to side, trying to deny the truth to
herself.
        Just as one of the cargo supervisors came striding up to her, a
sheaf of plasfilm in his hand and an urgent expression on his face, the
most appalling keen rose into the air. The dissonant noise was so piercing
that half the people on the beach stopped to cover their ears. In the same
moment as the unbearable sound mounted steadily, the air was full of
fire-dragonets, each adding its own shrill voice to swell the sound of
lament.
        The other dragons rose, riderless, to fly past the point where one
of their number and his human partner had lost their lives. In a complex
pattern that would have thrilled watchers on any other occasion,
fire-dragonets flew around their larger cousins, emitting their weird
counterpoint to the deeper, throbbing, mournful cry of the dragons.
        »I´ll find out how that could have happened. The driver of that
sled -- « Emily stopped as she saw the terrible expression on Sean´s Face.
        »That won´t bring back Marco Galliani and Duluth, will it?« He
whipped his hand sideways in a sharp, dismissive cut. »Tomorrow we will fly
wherever you need us for whatever we can save for you.«
        For a long long moment Emily stood looking after him until the
image of the sorrowing young man was indelibly imprinted in her mind. In
the sky, as if escorting him back to the dragon-riders´ camp, the graceful
beasts wheeled, dipped, and glided westward to their beach.
        Whatever pain Emily felt, it could be nothing, she realized, to the
sense of loss that would be experienced by the dragon-riders. She scrubbed
at her face, at a chin that trembled, determinedly swallowing the lump in
her throat, and irritably gestured for the cargo supervisor to approach
her.
        »Find out who drove that sled and bring him or her to my tent at
noon. Now, what´s on your mind?«

Marco and Duluth disappeared, just the way the fire-lizards do,« Sean said,
his voice oddly gentle.
        »But they didn´t come back,« Nora cried out in protest. She started
to weep afresh, burying her face in Peter Semling´s shoulder.
        The shock of the unexpected deaths had been traumatic. The dragons´
lament had subsided over the afternoon. By evening, their partners had
coaxed them to curl up in the sand and sleep. The dragons seen to, the
young people hunched about a small fire, dispirited and apathetic.
        »We have to find out what went wrong,« Sean was saying, »so that it
can never happen again.«
        »Sean, we don´t know even know what Marco and Duluth were doing!«
Dave Catarel cried.
        »Duluth was exhibiting an instinctive reaction to danger,« a new
voice said. Pol Nietro, Bay beside him, paused in the light thrown by the
fire. »An instinct he was bred to exercise. May we offer condolences from
all those connected with the dragon program. We -- Bay and I -- why, all of
you are like family to us.« Pol awkwardly dabbed at his eyes and sniffed.
        »Please join us,« Sorka said with quiet dignity. She rose and drew
Bay and Pol into the firelight. Two more packing crates were hauled into
the circle.
        We have tried to figure out what went wrong,« Pol continued after
he and Bay had settled down wearily.
        »Neither looked where he was going,« Sean said with a heavy sigh.
»I was watching. Marco and Duluth took off from the beach and were rising
just as the sled driver made an approach turn. He wouldn´t have seen Marco
and Duluth coming up under him. Dragons aren´t fitted with proximity
warning devices.« Sean raised both hands in a gesture of helplessness. »I
have it from very good authority that the sled driver had turned his alarm
off because the constant noise in so much traffic was getting on his
nerves.´´
        Pol leaned toward him. »Then it is more important than ever that
you riders teach your dragons discipline.« A ripple of angry denial made
him hold up his hands. »That is not meant to sound censorious my dear
friends. Truly I mean to be constructive. But obviously now is the moment
to take the next step in training the dragons -- training them to make
proper use of the instinct that ought to have saved both Marco and Duluth
today.«
        The comment raised murmurs, some angry, some alarmed. Sean held up
his hand for silence, his tired face lit by the jumping tongues of flame.
Next to him, Sorka was keenly aware of the muscles tightening along his
jawline and the stricken look in his eyes.
        I believe we´ve been thinking along the same lines, Pol,« he said
in a taut voice that told the biologist just how much strain the young
dragonrider was under. »I think that Marco and Duluth panicked. If only
they´d just come back to the place they´d left, the farking sled was gone!«
His anguish was palpable. He took a deep breath and continued in a level,
almost emotionless tone. »All of us have fire-lizards. That´s one of the
reasons Kit Ping chose us as candidates. We´ve all sent them with messages,
telling them where to go, what to do, or who to look for. We should be able
to instruct the dragons to do the same thing. We know now, the hard way,
that they can teleport, just as the fire-lizards do. We have to guide that
instinct. We have to discipline it, as Pol suggested, so panic doesn´t get
us the way it got Marco.«
        »Why did Marco panic?« Tarrie Chernoff asked plaintively.
        »I´d give anything to know,« Sean said, the edge of anguish
returning to his voice. »One thing I do know. From now on, no rider takes
off without checking what´s in his immediate airspace. We must fly
defensively, trying to spot possible dangers. Caution,« he said, stabbing
his index finger into his temple, »should be engraved on our eyeballs.« He
spoke rapidly, his tone crisp. »We know that the fire-lizards do go
wherever it is they go, between one place and another, so let´s stop taking
that talent of theirs for granted and watch exactly what they do. Let´s
scrutinize their comings and goings. Let´s send them to specific places,
places they haven´t been before, to see if they can follow our mental
directions. Our dragons hear us telepathically. They understand exactly
what we´re saying -- not like the fire-lizards -- so if we get used to
giving precise messages to the fire-lizards, the dragons ought to be able
to operate on the same sort of mental directions. When we understand as
much of fire-lizard behavior; as we can, then we will attempt to direct our
dragons.«
        The other riders murmured among themselves, Sean watched them with
narrowed darting glances.
        »Wouldn´t that risk our dragonets?« Tarrie asked, stroking the
little gold that had nestled in the crook of her arm.
        »Better the dragonets than the dragons!« Peter Semling said firmly.
        Sean gave a derisive snort. »The fire-lizards´re very good at
taking care of themselves. Don´t misunderstand me -- « He held up a hand
against Tarrie´s immediate protest. »I appreciate them. They´ve been great
little fighters. Jays, we´d never have fed the hatchlings without their
help, but -- « He paused to look around the circle. » -- they have got a
well-developed survival mechanism or they wouldn´t have lasted through the
first pass of that Oort cloud. Whenever that was. As Peter said, it´s a lot
safer to experiment with the fire-lizards than another dragonpair.«
        »You´ve made some very good points there, Sean,« Pol said,
beginning to take heart himself, »though I trust you mean to use the, gold
and bronze fire-dragonets. They have always seemed more reliable to Bay and
myself.«
        »I had. Especially since the blues and greens all scampered off
after the eruption.
        »I´m game to try,« Dave Catarel said, throwing his shoulders back
and straightening up, sending a challenging look at the others. »We´ve got
to try something. Cautiously!« He shot Sean a quick glance.
        A slow smile broke across Sean´s face as he reached across the fire
to grasp Dave´s hand.
        »I´m willing, too,« Peter Semling said. Nora tentatively agreed.
        »It sounds eminently sensible to me,« Otto said, nodding vigorously
and looking about him. »It is, after all, what the dragons were bred to do,
escape from the danger of Threadfall as the mechanical sleds cannot.«
        ‘Thanks, Otto,« Sean said. »We all need to think positively.«
        »And cautiously,« Otto amended, raising one finger in warning.
Stirred from their apathy, the riders began murmuring to one another.
        »Do you remember, Sorka,« Bay said, leaning toward her urgently
when I sent Mariah to you the day we were called to Calusa?«
        »She brought me your message.«
        »She did indeed, but all I told her was to find the redhead by the
caves.« Bay paused significantly. »Of course, Mariah has known you all her
life and there aren´t that many redheads in Landing, or on the planet.« Bay
knew she was babbling, which was something she rarely did, but then she
rarely broke down in tears, either, and when she had heard the dreadful
news, she had cried for nearly an hour, despite Pol´s comforting. As Pol
had said, it had been like losing family. Without a terminal to consult for
possible solutions, they had spent two frantic hours searching for the
crate in which they had packed all their written notes of the dragon
program, wanting to have some positive suggestion with which to comfort the
young people. »But Mariah did find you with no trouble that day, and you
were at our house in minutes. So it can´t have taken her very long to do
it.
        »No, it didn´t,« Sorka said thoughtfully. She looked around the
circle of fire-lit faces. »Think of how many times we told the dragonets to
get us fish for the hatchlings.«
        »Fish are fish,« Peter Semling remarked, absently prodding the sand
with a branch.
        »Yes, but the dragonets knew which ones the dragons like best,«
Kathy Duff said. »And it takes them no time at all from the moment we issue
the command. They just wink out and a couple of breaths later they´re back
with a packtail.«
        »A couple of breaths,« Sean repeated, looking out to the darkness,
his stare fixed. »It took more than a couple of breaths for any of our
dragons to realize that . . . Marco and Duluth were not coming back. Can we
infer from that that it also only takes a couple of breaths for dragons to
teleport?«
        »Cautiously . . .« Otto held up his finger again.
        »Right,« Sean went on briskly, »this is what we do tomorrow morning
at first light.« He reached over and took Peter´s stick, and drew the
ragged coastline in the sand. »The governor wants us to ferry stuff out of
Landing. Dave, Kathy, Tarrie, you´ve all got gold fire-lizards. You make
the first run. When you get to the tower, send your fire-lizards back here
to me and Sorka. Bay, do you and Pol have to be anywhere else tomorrow?«
        Bay gave a derisory sniff. »The pair of us are useless until we get
our systems going again at Fort Hold. And we have to wait for transport.
We´d be delighted to help you, any way we can!«
        »We´ll time the fire-lizards. Only, we´ve got to have handsets to
do it on the mark.«
        »Let me scrounge those,« Pol offered.
        Sean grinned with real humor. »I was hoping you´d volunteer.
Lilienkamp wouldn´t deny you, would he?«
        Pol shook his head emphatically, feeling much better than he had
all afternoon, vainly searching for mislaid documentation during the nadir
of his grieving.
        »Well then, Bay and I will leave you now,« Pol said, rising and
giving her a helpful hand to her feet. »To scrounge handsets. How many?
Ten? We´ll meet you here at dawn, then, with handsets.« He made a bow to
the others, noting that only Bay understood his whimsy. »Yes, at dawn,
we´ll begin our scientific observations.«
        »Let´s all get some sleep, riders,« Sean said. He began to scoop
sand over the dying flames.

With a handset to his ear, Pol dropped his finger as Bay, Sean, and Sorka
set the mark on their wrist timers. Keeping index fingers hovering over the
stop pin, they all looked up toward the eastern sky, Bay squinting against
the sunglare from the smooth sea.
        »Now!« Four voices spoke and four fingers moved as a fire-dragonet
erupted into the air over their heads, chirping ecstatically.
        »Eight seconds again,« Pol exclaimed happily.
        »Come, Kundi,« Sorka said, holding up her arm as a landing spot.
Dave Catarel´s bronze cheeped, cocking his head as if considering her
invitation, but he veered away as Duke, Sorka´s bronze, warned him off.
»Don´t be ugly, Duke.«
        »Eight seconds,« Sean said admiringly. »That´s all it takes them to
travel fifty-odd klicks.«
        »I wonder,« Pol mused, tapping his stylus on the clipboard with its
encouraging column of figures. »The figure doesn´t vary no matter who we
send which direction. How long would it take them to go to say, Seminole or
the Fort Hold in the north?« He looked with bright inquiry at the others.
        Sean began to shake his head dubiously, but Sorka was more
enthusiastic.
        »My brother, Brian, is working at the fort. Duke knows him as well
as he knows me. And I´ve seen plenty of fax of the place. He´d go to
Brian.« As if understanding that he was being discussed, Duke circled in to
land on Sorka´s shoulder. She laughed. »See, he´s game!«
        »He may come when he´s called,« Sean said, »but will he go where
he´s sent? Landing´s one thing -- they all know it well.«
        We can only try and see,« Pol remarked firmly. »And this is a good
hour to reach Brian at the Fort Hold.« He punched the comm unit. »What a
boon that the tower´s functional. Ah, yes, Pol Nietro speaking. I need an
urgent word with Brian Hanrahan . . . I said urgent! This is Pol Nietro.
Get him for me! Idiots,« he murmured in an aside.
        »Is this call important?«
        Brian was found and was surprised to hear from his sister. »Look
what´s this all about? You don´t just scream priority around here. I can
assure you that Mother´s taking good care of Mick. She dotes on him.«
        His slightly aggrieved voice was clear to the others, and Sorka was
taken aback by his uncooperative response. Sean took the handset from her.
        »Brian, Sean here. Marco Galliani and his dragon Duluth died
yesterday in an unfortunate accident. We´re trying to prevent a recurrence.
We´re only asking for a few minutes of your time. And this is a priority.«
        »Marco and Duluth?« Brian´s tone was chastened. »Jays, we hadn´t
heard anything. I´m sorry. What can I do?«
        »Are you outside? Someplace where you can be easily spotted from
the air?«
        »Yes, I am. Why?«
        »Then tell Sorka exactly where you are. I´m handing you over to
her.«
        »Hell and damnation, Sorka, I´m sorry I dumped on you. So I´m
outside. Have you seen the recent fax? Well, I´m approximately twenty
meters from the new ramp. At the vet caves. They finally carved us some
more headroom, and there´s a huge pile of rock about a meter from me and
nearly as high. What do I do now?«
        »Just stand there. I´m sending Duke to you. When I say ‘mark,´ set
your timer.
        »Come on, now, sis,« he began in patent disbelief, »you´re in
Kahrain Cove, aren´t you?«
        »Brian! For once in your life, don´t argue with me.«
        »All right. I´m ready to mark the time.« He still sounded
aggrieved.
        Sorka held her arm high, ready to pitch Duke into the air. »Go to
Brian, Duke. He´s at the new place! Here!« She screwed her eyes shut and
concentrated on an image of Brian standing on the site he had described.
»Go, Duke.«
        With a startled squawk, Duke launched himself into the air and
vanished.
        »Mark!« Sorka cried.
        »Hey, I can hear you loud and clear, sister. You don´t need to
roar. I don´t know what good this is going to do. You can´t imagine for a
minute that a fire-dragonet could possibly -- Jays!« Brian´s voice in her
ear faded into astonishment. »I don´t bloody believe it. Shit I forgot to
mark time.«
        »That´s all right,« Sorka said, nodding her head with delight, »we
used your ‘jays´ to mark!«
        Pol was jumping up and down, holding his wrist chrono and shouting,
»Eight seconds! Eight seconds!«
        He grabbed Bay by the waist and danced around her Sean lifted Sorka
from her feet and kissed her soundly while Mariah and Blazer led an
augmented fair of fluting fire-dragonets in a dizzy aerial display.
        »Eight seconds to the fort, only eight seconds,« Pol gasped,
reeling to a standstill, Bay clinging to him.
        »That doesn´t make much sense, does it?« Bay said, panting, one
hand on her heaving chest. »The same time to go fifty klicks or nearly
three thousand.«
        »Hey, Sorka,« came Brian´s plaintive voice. She put the handset to
her ear again, mopping the sweat off her forehead against her sleeve. »I
really gotta go, only what am I supposed to do with Duke now you´ve got him
here?«
        »Tell him to come back to me. And give us the mark when he
disappears.
        »Sure, right. On the mark, now . . . Duke, find Sorka! Sorka! Find
-- he´s gone. Shit! Mark!«
        On the beach at Kahrain Cove, four fingers pressed sweep hands,
four pairs of eyes turned westward to the hot afternoon skies, and four
voices counted the seconds.
        »Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . He did it!«
        Their elation had new confidence as Duke, cheeping happily settled
back to Sorka´s shoulder and rubbed a cold muzzle against her cheek.
        »Well, this has been most satisfying and productive,« Bay said,
beaming broadly.
        »Report it to Emily, will you, Bay?« Sean asked, tucking his hand
under Sorka´s elbows. »We´d better go do our share of the donk work today.«

»So the Galliani boy´s death proved to be a catalyst?« Paul Benden asked
Emily as they conferred that evening by comm unit.
        »Pol and Bay are much encouraged,« Emily replied, still
unaccountably saddened by the tragedy. She was tired, she knew, and while
she spoke to Paul, hoping for the consolation of any sort of good news from
the northern continent, half her mind was still on things that had to be
organized.
        »Telgar´s group has made a tremendous effort, Em. The quarters are
magnificent. You wouldn´t know you were twenty or thirty feet in solid
rock. Cobber and Ozzie have penetrated several hundred feet down on seven
tunnels. There´s even an eyrie for Ongola´s communications equipment, cut
high up in the cliff face. This place is big enough to house the entire
population of Landing.«
        »Not everyone wants to live in a hole in the ground, Paul.« Emily
spoke for herself.
        »There are quite a few ground-level caverns, immediate access,« he
replied soothingly. »You wait. You´ll see. And when are you coming over?
I´ve got to put in an appearance at the next Fall or they´ll fire me.
        »Don´t you wish it!«
        »Emily.« Paul´s flippant tone turned serious. »Let Ezra take over
from you. He and Jim can liaise on shipments. Others can handle
transportation and sled and skimmer maintenance. Pierre should be here to
supervise the catering arrangements. He´s got the biggest kitchen unit on
Pern.«
        »That would be a welcome change from the largest single barbecue
pit! It´s the dragons that I worry about, Paul.«
        »I think they have to sort it out themselves, Emily. From what you
reported, I believe they will.«
        »Thank you, Paul,« she replied fervently, heartened by the absolute
confidence in his voice. »I´ll reserve a seat on the evening sled
tomorrow.«

After the excitement of sending Duke north, directing fire-dragonets back
and forth between Kahrain and Landing was anticlimactic, but it helped to
pass the tedium of the long journey. On the way back Sean had the
dragonriders practice flying in both close and loose formations and, more
importantly, learning how to identify and benefit from the helpful
airstreams.
        Their campfire that night was bigger, and Pol and Bay slipped into
its light to discuss observations about the fire-dragonets and how to apply
them to the dragons. There had been no real need for Sean to promote
caution as a byword: Marco and Duluth were still very much in everyone´s
mind. To counter any morbidity, Sean suggested that they get more formation
practice the next day, practice that would stand them in good stead during
Threadfall.
        »If you know where you are in relation to other wing riders, you
always know where to come back to,« he said, stressing the last word.
        »Your dragons are so young,« Pol went on, seeing the favorable
reaction, »in terms of their species. The fire-dragonets do not appear to
suffer from degeneration. In other words, they don´t age as we do
physiologically.«
        »You mean, they could go on living after we die?« Tarrie asked,
amazed. She glanced around toward Porth, a darker bulk against the shadowy
vegetation.
        »From what we´ve discerned, yes, Tarrie,« Pol replied.
        »Our major organs degenerate,« Bay went on, »although modern
technology can effect either repair or replacement permitting us long, and
useful, life spans.«
        So they´re not likely to get sick or to ail?« Tarrie brightened at
that prospect.
        »That´s what we think, » Pol answered, but he held up a warning
finger. »But then we haven´t seen any elderly dragonets.«
        Sean gave a snort, which Sorka softened with a laugh. »We´ve really
only our generation to judge by,« she said. »At that, we only get to treat
our own, who trust us, and that´s usually for scoring or scorching, or an
occasional hide lesion. I find it comforting to know that dragons should be
as long-lived.«
        »So long as we don´t make mistakes,« Otto Hegelman said gloomily.«
        »So, we don´t make mistakes!« Sean´s tone was decisive. »And so
that we don´t make mistakes, tomorrow let´s split up into three sections.
Six, six . . . and five. We need three leaders.«
        Although Sean had left the choice open, he was nominated at once.
Dave and Sorka were selected after a minimum of discussion.
        Later, when Sean and Sorka had made themselves comfortable on the
sand between Faranth and Carenath, she gave him a long hug and kissed his
cheek.
        »What´s that for?«
        »Giving us all hope. But Sean, I´m worried.«
        »Oh?« Sean stroked her hair away from his mouth and inched his left
shoulder into a new hollow.
        »I think we oughtn´t to wait too long before we try to teleport.«
        »My thoughts entirely, and I´m grateful to Pol and Bay for their
comments on dragon longevity. Cheered me up, too.«
        »So, as long as we keep our wits, we´ll keep our dragons.« She
snuggled against him.
        »I wish you´d kept your hair long, Sorka,« he muttered, pushing
another curl out of his mouth. »I didn´t eat so much of it then.«
        »Short hair´s easier under a riding helmet,« she replied in a
sleepy sort of mumble. Then they both slept.

Although they could see the diminution of the parcels and plastic cocooned
equipment at Landing, cargo did not move out of Kahrain Cove as quickly.
That second evening, when Sean was helping his wing riders unload, he
caught sight of one of the cargo supervisors seated at a make shift desk
peering at the small screen of a portable unit.
        »We´ll finish off transferring from Landing by tomorrow, Desi,«
Sean assured the man.
        »That´s great, Sean, great,« Desi said curtly, with a dismissive
wave.
        »What the hell´s the matter, Desi?« Sean asked.
        The edge in his voice caused Desi to look up in surprise. »What´s
the matter? I´ve got a beach full of stuff to shift and no transport.«
Desi´s face was so contorted with anxiety that Sean´s rancor dissolved.
        »I thought the big sleds were coming back.«
        Only when they´re recharged and serviced. I wish they´d mentioned
that earlier.« Desi´s voice rose in a quaver of frustration. »All my
schedules . . . gone. What´m I to do, Sean? We´ll be under Threadfall again
here soon and all that stuff -- « He flourished a sweat-grimed rag at the
bulk of orange cartons. » -- is irreplaceable. If only -- « He broke off,
but Sean had a good idea what the man had almost said. »You´ve done great,
Sean, great. I really appreciate it. How much did you say is still to be
shipped forward?«
        »We´ll have cleared it tomorrow.«
        »Look, then, the day after . . .« Desi rubbed at his face again,
trying to hide his flush of embarrassment. »Well, I heard from Paul. He
wants you riders to start making your way to Seminole, and cross to the
north from there. And . . .« Desi screwed up his face again.
        »You´d like us to take some of the orange out of danger?« Sean felt
resentment welling up again. »Well, I suppose that´s better than being good
for nothing at all.« He strode off before his temper got the better of him.
        Faranth and Sorka come, Carenath said in a subdued tone. Sean
altered his course to their point of arrival. He could not fool Sorka, but
he could work off some of his fury during the unloading.
        »All right, what happened?« Sorka said, pulling him to the seaward
side of her golden queen, where they were shielded from the other riders,
who were still sorting packages into the color-coded areas.
        Sean set his fist violently into the palm of his other hand several
times before he could put words to the humiliation.
        »We´re considered nothing but bloody pack animals, donks with
wings!« he said finally. He did remember to keep his voice down, though he
was seething.
        Faranth turned her head around her shoulder, regarding the two
riders, hints of red beginning to gleam through the blue of her eyes.
Carenath shoved his head over her back. Beyond them, Sean heard the other
dragons muttering. The next thing he knew, he and Sorka were surrounded by
dragons, and their riders were weaving into the central point.
        »Now, see what you´ve done,« Sorka said with a sigh.
        »What´s the matter, Sean?« Dave asked, squeezing past Polenth.
        Sean took a deep breath, burying anger and resentment. If he could
not control himself, he could not control others. There were flares of the
yellow of alarm in the dragons who looked down at him. He had to quiet
them, himself, and the other riders. Sorka was right. He had done something
he had better quickly undo.
        »We seem to be the only available aerial transportation unit,« he
said, managing a sort of a smile. »Desi says all the big sleds are grounded
until they´ve been serviced.«
        »Hey, Sean,« Peter Semling protested, jerking his thumb over his
shoulder at the masses of material on the beach. »We can´t shift all that!«
        »No way.« Sean made a decisive cut with his hands. »That´s not been
laid on us. When we´ve cleared Landing, Paul wants us to cross to Seminole
and make the final crossing north from there. That´s okay.« He gave a
genuinely rueful smile. »But Desi would like us to take some of the
irreplaceable stuff with us.«
        »So long as everyone understands we´re not in the freight
business,« Peter said in an aggrieved tone that echoed Sean´s sentiments.
        »That´s not at issue, Pete,« Sean said firmly. »We´re coming along
as dragonriders, coming along fine. But Desi´s caught between a rock and a
hard place and he needs us.«
        »I just wish we were needed for what we´re supposed to do,« Tarrie
remarked.
        »Once we´ve fulfilled our commitment here,« Sean said, »we
concentrate on that, and that alone. I mean to see us all teleporting by
the time we reach Seminole.«
        »To places we´ve never seen?« asked the practical Otto.
        »No, to the places we´ve just been. Look on our flight to Seminole
as a chance to see the most important stakes in the south,« Sean replied in
a bracing tone. He was surprised to find himself believing it. »We´ll need
such reference points to teleport when we´re fighting Thread.« Sorka´s face
was glowing with pride as he managed not only to turn around his own anger
but to restate the dignity of their future. Above their heads, the yellow
was fading from dragon eyes. »I can smell food. I´m hungry. Let´s go eat.
We´ve earned it.«
        »We´re going to have to hunt the dragons before we go skiting
across the continent,« Peter said, jerking his chin toward the animal
enclosures.
        Sean shook his head, smiling as he remembered Emily´s oblique
warning. »Can´t go to that well twice, Pete. Tomorrow, we´ll hunt the
critters that got through the roundup in the Landing area.« He began to
push through the ring of dragons. »Food tomorrow, Carenath,« he said,
affectionately clouting the bronze as he passed him.
        Fish? Carenath queried in a tone that carried dismay.
        »Meat. Red meat,« Sean said. He laughed when some of the dragons
bugled gratefully. »But this time we won´t kidnap it for you.« Then he put
an arm around Sorka and started up the beach to the cooking fires.

The next day, as the three wings of dragonriders crossed the Jordan River,
they spread out in three different directions, bypassing the ash-covered
settlement and heading south and east at low levels.
        Faranth says that she has found running meat, Carenath reported to
her rider. Have we?
        Sean had his binoculars trained on a little valley. They were north
of the path of the two Threadfalls that had dropped on that area, so there
was vegetation to attract grazers.
        »Tell her we´ve hit pay dirt, too.«
        Not meat? Carenath asked wistfully.
        Sean grinned, and slapped his dragon´s shoulder. »Yes, meat, by
another name. And all you can eat this time,« he added as the small mixed
herd of sheep and cattle stampeded to escape the danger above them. He
signaled to the rest of his wing in the exaggerated arm gestures that they
had been rehearsing. Since the dragons could communicate with one another,
the riders had chosen not to use handsets. But Sean had retained those Pol
had scrounged. Although too valuable to risk dropping from a height, the
handsets were too useful to be surrendered. »Land me on that ridge,
Carenath. There´s enough room there for the others.«
        Porth says they´ve enough for all of us, Carenath reported as he
touched down gracefully and dipped his shoulder for Sean to dismount.
        »Tell Porth we´re grateful, but you´d better hurry to catch that
lot,« Sean advised. The herd was making all possible speed down the valley.
He had to shield his face from the gravel and omnipresent thrown up by
Carenath´s abrupt departure. Bright streaks followed the bronze. »Welcome
back,« Sean said derisively as he distinguished blue and greens among the
small colorful fire-lizard bodies following Blazer as she led the way.
        The rest of his wing soon joined him. Even Nora Sejby managed a
creditable landing on Tenneth; she was improving all the time. He worried
more about Catherine Radelin-Doyle: she had not giggled with Singlath since
the tragedy. Nyassa, Otto, and Jerry Mercer completed his wing. Once their
dragons followed the hunt, Sean turned his glasses on Carenath in time to
see the bronze swoop and grab a steer neatly without slowing his forward
motion.
        »Nice catch, Carenath!« Sean passed the binoculars to Nyassa to
check on Milath.
        »Seemed to me there were quite a lot of cattle in that bunch,«
Jerry said, pulling off his helmet and ruffling his sweat-damp hair.
»What´ll happen to them?«
        Sean shrugged. »The best stock went north. These´ll survive, or
they won´t.«
        »Sean, look who´s come to dinner!« Nyassa pointed northward at the
unmistakable outline of five wherries. »Go to it!« she added as she caught
a glimpse of fire-dragonets launching an attack on the intruders. »Wait
your turn!«
        »I brought some lunch,« Catherine said, twisting out of her
backpack. »We might as well take a meal break, too.«
        Sean called a halt to the hunt when each dragon had consumed two
animals. Carenath complained that he had eaten only one big one and he
needed two of the smaller kind. Sean replied that Carenath´s belly would be
so full that he would be unable to fly, and they still had work to do. The
dragons grumbled, Carenath ingenuously remarking that Faranth wanted
another meal, too, but Sean was adamant, and the dragons obeyed.
        Sean re-formed the wing once they were aloft.
        »All right, Carenath,« he said, thinking ahead with relief to the
last loads at Landing. »Let´s get back to the tower as fast as we can and
get this over with!«
        He raised his arm and dropped it.
        The next instant he and Carenath were enveloped in a blackness that
was so absolute that Sean was certain his heart had stopped. I will not
panic! he thought fiercely, pushing the memory of Marco and Duluth to the
back of his mind. His heart raced, and he was aware of the stunning cold of
the black nothingness.
        I am here!
        Where are we, Carenath? But Sean already knew. They were between.
He focused intense thoughts on their destination, remembering the curious
ash-filtered light around Landing, the shape of the meteorology tower, the
flatness of the grid beyond it, and the bundles awaiting them there.
        We are at the tower, Carenath said, somewhat surprised. And in that
instant, they were. Sean cried aloud with relief.
        Then he went wide-eyed with sudden terror. »Jays! What have I
done?« he shrieked. »Where are the others, Carenath? Speak to them!«
        They´re coming, Carenath replied with the utmost calm and
confidence, hovering above the tower.
        Before Sean´s unbelieving eyes, his wing suddenly materialized
behind him, still in formation.
        »Land, Carenath, please, before I fall off you,« Sean said in a
whisper made weak by the unutterable relief he felt.
        As the others circled in to land, Sean remained seated on Carenath,
reviewing everything, half in wonder, half in remembered terror at the
unthinkable risk that had just been unaccountably survived.
        »Keeeeyoooo!« Nyassa´s yodel of triumph brought him up short. She
was swinging her riding helmet above her head as Milath landed beside
Carenath. Catherine and Singlath came in on the other side, Jerry Mercer
and Manooth beyond them, and Otto and Shoth beside Tenneth and Nora.
        »Hip, hip, hooray! » Jerry led the cheer while Sean stared at them,
not knowing what to say.
        It was easy, you know. You thought me where to go, and I went. You
did tell me to go as fast as possible. Carenath´s tone was mildly
reproving.
        »If that is all there is to it, what took us so long?« Otto asked.
        »Anyone got a spare pair of pants?« Nora ask plaintively. »I was so
scared I wet myself. But we did it!«
        Catherine giggled. The sound brought Sean to his senses, and he
allowed himself to smile.
        »We were ready to try!« he said, shrugging nonchalantly as he
unbuckled his riding straps. Then he realized that he, too, would need to
find a clean pair of pants.

* * * * *

»I said, we´ll maintain silence about Emily´s condition,« Paul said
sternly, glaring at Ongola, Ezra Keroon, and the scowling Joel Lilienkamp.
He did not want Lilienkamp taking book on whether or not Emily Boll would
recover from her multiple fractures. He moderated his expression as his
eyes rested on the bent head of Fulmar Stone, who kept pulling with
agitated fingers at a wad of grease stained rag. »As far as Fort Hold is
concerned, she´s resting comfortably. That is the truth, according to the
doctor and all the support systems monitoring her condition. For outside
inquiries, she´s busy -- shunt the call to Ezra.«
        Abruptly Paul pushed himself to his feet and began to pace his new
office, the first apartment on the level above the Great Hall. Its windows
gave an unimpeded view of the ordered rows of cargo and supplies that
filled that end of the valley. Eventually all those goods would be stored
in the vast subterranean caverns of Fort. So much had to be done, and he
sorely missed Emily´s supportive presence.
        He caught himself fingering the prosthetic fingers and jammed both
hands into his pockets. His position had required him to contain his
distress in order to avoid alarming people already under considerable
tension. But before his close and trusted friends, he could give vent to
the anxieties that they all shared.
        The disastrous failure of the big sled´s gyros and its subsequent
crash had been visible to the inhabitants of Fort Hold, but few had known
that the governor had been a passenger that night. They could be honest
about the severity of the pilot´s injuries, for he would recover easily
from two broken arms and numerous lacerations. None of the other passengers
had been severely hurt, and those who rescued the injured had not
recognized Emily, her face bloodied by the head wound. At least until she
was convalescing, Paul would not allow the facts to be common knowledge.
Following so closely after the exodus from Landing, that crash, with the
loss of some irreplaceable medical supplies as well as the sled itself, had
to be minimized to sustain morale.
        »Pierre agrees,« Paul went on. He could feel the resistance from
the others, the unspoken opinion that suppression would undermine his
credibility. »Even insists on it. It´s what Emily would want.« In his
pacing, Paul inadvertently glanced out the deep-set window and averted his
eyes from the view of the scar that the sled had gouged two days ago.
»Ezra, get someone to smooth that over, will you? I see it every time I
look out the window.«
        Ezra murmured a response and made a note.
        »How long can we expect Emily´s state to be kept a secret?« Ongola
asked, his face craven with new worry lines.
        »As long as we have to, dammit, Ongola! We can at least spare
people one more worry, especially when we haven´t got a positive
prognosis.« Paul drew in a deep breath. »The head wound wasn´t serious --
no skull fracture -- but it was a while before she was removed from the
sled. The trauma wasn´t treated quickly enough, and we don´t have the
sophisticated equipment to relieve the shock of multiple fracture. She must
be given time and rest. Fulmar -- « Paul swung to the engineer. »There will
be a transport sled ready to go south today, won´t there? I can´t keep
stalling Desi.«
        »All that orange-coded stuff is irreplaceable,« Joel added,
rearranging himself in the chair. »Not that we´ve got half the stuff moved
inside here yet, but it´d be a sight more protectable in our front yard
than on some frigging beach half a world away. Otherwise you´re going to
have to send Keroon back for it. And I´ll figure out a new schedule of
priorities. You couldn´t make that two sleds today could you, Fulmar?«
        Fulmar looked up at him with eyes so reddened by strain and grief
that even the doughty storesman recoiled in dismay. He knew that Stone´s
crew had been working impossible hours to service the big transport sleds.
Joel would admit only to himself that more of the blame of that crash could
be attributed to Stores than to maintenance. But what could he do with one
emergency after another dumping on him?
        »Whenever you can, Fulmar,« Joel said in a gentler tone. »Whenever
they´re ready.« He walked out of the room without a backward glance.
        »We´re doing our best, Admiral,« Fulmar said wearily, struggling to
his feet. He looked at the rag in his hands, perplexed to see it in
tatters, and then jammed it into his hip pocket.
        »I know, man, I know.« Placing his arm across Fulmar´s hunched
shoulders, Paul guided the man to the door, giving him a final appreciative
squeeze. »In all that spare time you have, Fulmar, run up a list of
servicing dates on the smaller craft. I´ve got to know how many we have for
this Fall.
        »The accident was no one´s fault,« Paul said, returning to his desk
and slumping down into his chair. »There´s Fulmar, blaming himself for not
insisting on servicing earlier. For that matter, I shouldn´t have urged
Emily to come north. The cargo was inadequately secured in the cabin.
However, gentlemen, it is folly to read more into such an accident than bad
timing and a lousy concatenation of circumstances. We evacuated Landing in
reasonable order. A place had been prepared for us, and we´ve got to
mobilize enough personnel and machines to fight Thread.« He no longer hoped
for support from either dragonets or dragons.

»You did what?« Sorka cried, her skin blanching then flushing brightly in
fury. Faranth, her eyes whirling orange in sympathy with her rider, lowered
her head. Carenath bugled alarm.
        Sean grabbed Sorka by the arms, obscurely irritated by her
reaction. He had managed to get the others to wait until Sorka´s wing had
landed before broadcasting their feat.
        »Look, it wasn´t something I planned, Sorka! Jays, it was the last
thing in my head. I just told Carenath to get back to Landing as fast as
possible. He did!«
        It was really very simple, Carenath said modestly. I´ve told
Faranth. She believes me. He swiveled his head to cast a reproachful look
on Sorka.
        »How . . . how . . . did the others know?« Fear returned to shadow
her eyes. She ignored the general carry-on about her as Sean´s wing
cavorted with her riders, babbling the good news and going into specific
detail at the top of their lungs.
        He told them, Faranth replied, an edge to her tone.
        »We´ve spent two hours figuring that out.« Sean smiled, hoping to
coax a smile from Sorka. Putting his arm about her shoulders he drew her
back to the others. »I think,« he said, choosing his words carefully, we
were all scared shitless by Marco and Duluth dying like that. Now we know,
first hand, why Marco panicked. Sorka, it´s like nothing you´ve ever seen,
and you can´t feel anything, even your dragon between your legs. Otto
called it total sensory deprivation.«
        It is between, Carenath said in an almost didactic tone. He and
Faranth followed their riders back to the mass of netted bundles which
would be their final load. The dragons of Sean´s wing were sitting on their
haunches in a loose circle, occasionally shaking themselves to dislodge
wind blown ash. Faranth made a noise low in her throat, which made Sean
grin. The golden queen was as skeptical as her rider.
        »Can Faranth tell me how far away Dave´s wing is?« he asked.
        They are in sight now, Carenath said just as Sorka replied,
»Faranth says they´re in sight now.« She pointed northeast. »Polenth says
that they hunted well. Meat!« Sorka gave a brief smile, and Sean decided
that she was halfway to forgiving him.
        There was of course renewed astonishment and rueful congratulations
when Dave and his wing riders heard the news.
        »Okay then,« Sean said, mounting a carton to address them all.
»This is what we do, riders. We teleport to Kahrain Cove. We know its
aerial aspect as well as we know Landing´s. So it´s the perfect test.
Carenath insists that he told the other dragons where they were going, but
I´d prefer that you riders tell your own dragons where to go. I think that
has to be as much part of our preflight drill as strapping on and checking
the immediate airspace.« He grinned at them.
        »What´re we going to tell them?« Dave asked, jerking a thumb in a
northerly direction.
        »Emily´s gone to join the admiral. Pol and Bay were supposed to get
the first sled back.« Sean paused, looking around again, and then gave
Sorka a long look. She nodded slowly in approval. »I think we will keep
this to ourselves for the time being. We´ll spring the finished product on
them, fighting-ready dragons! It´s one thing to send a fire-lizard north on
the strength of fax, but I sure wouldn´t want to risk Carenath going
someplace I´ve never been.« Sean took another deep breath, having gauged
the favorable reaction. »Desi said we´re to make our way along the coast to
Seminole. That´ll give us time to practice teleporting between where we are
and where we´ve been. That way we´ll know exactly how to get back to any of
the major stakes when we need to fight Thread over them.«
        »Yeah, but the dragons don´t flame yet,« Peter Semling pointed out.
        »There´s phosphine-bearing rock all along the coast. We´ve all
watched the fire-lizards chew rock. That´s the easiest part of this whole
thing,« Sean replied dismissively.
        »It´s one thing to go from one place to another,« Jerry began
slowly. »We´ve done it now. We go from here -- « He stabbed his left index
finger. » -- to there.« He held up his right finger. »And the dragons do
the work. But dodging Thread, or a sled -- « He broke off.
        »Duluth caught Marco off-balance. He panicked.« Sean spoke quickly
and confidently. »Frankly, Jerry, that place between scared me, and I´ll
lay book the rest of us were scared. But now we know, we adapt. We´ll plan
emergency evasive tactics.« Sean pulled the knife out of his boot cuff and
hunkered down. »Most of us have flown sleds or skimmers in Threadfall, so
we´ve seen how the junk drops . . . most of the time.« He drew a series of
long diagonal stripes in the ash. »A rider sees he´s on a collision course
with Thread . . . here -- « He dug his point in. » -- and thinks a beat
forward.« He jumped the point ahead. »We´ll have to practice skipping like
that. It´s going to take quick reflexes. We see fire-lizards using such
tactics all the time -- wink in, wink out -- when they´re fighting Thread
with the ground crews. If they can, dragons can!«
        The dragons bugled in answer to the challenge, and Sean grinned
broadly.
        »Right?« Sean´s question dared the riders
        »Right!« They all replied enthusiastically, and fists were
brandished to show staunch determination.
        »Well, then.« Sean stood up, bringing his hands together with an
audible smack. Ash sifted off his shoulders. »Let´s load up and teleport
ourselves back to Kahrain.«
        »What if someone sees us, Sean?« Tarrie asked anxiously.
        »What? The flying donks doing what they were designed to do?« he
asked sarcastically.

»Obviously, Paul told the worried pilots, »we´re not going to be able to
protect as much land with such a depleted aerial coverage.«
        »Damn it, Admiral,« Drake Bonneau said, twisting his face into a
frown. »We were supposed to have enough power packs to last fifty years!«
        »We did.« Joel Lilienkamp jumped to his feet once again. »Under
normal usage. They have not had what anyone could possibly term normal
usage, or even normal maintenance. And don´t blame Fulmar Stone and his
crew. I don´t think they´ve had a full night´s sleep in months. The best
mechanics in the world can´t make sleds operate on half-charged or badly
charged packs.« Glaring belligerently around him, he sat down hard, and the
chair rocked on the stone floor.
        »So it really is a case of taking the greatest care of the sleds
and skimmers we have left, or have no aerial vehicles at all in a year?«
Drake asked plaintively.
        No one answered him immediately.
        »That´s it, Drake,« Paul finally replied. »Burn a swath around your
homes and what vegetable crops you´ve managed to save, keep the home stake
clear . . . and thank whatever agency you will that hydroponics are
available.«
        »Where´re those dragons? There were eighteen of them,« Chaila said.
        Seventeen,« Ongola corrected her. »Marco Galliani died at Kahrain,
with the brown, Duluth.«
        »Sorry, forgot that,« Chaila murmured. »But where are the others? I
thought they were to take up when vehicles failed.«
        »They´re en route from Kahrain,« Paul replied.
        »Well?« Chaila prompted pointedly.
        »The dragons are not yet a year old,« Paul said. »According to Wind
Blossom« -- he noted the subtly disapproving reaction to her name -- »Pol,
and Bay, the dragons will not be mature enough to be fully . . .
operational . . . for another two or three months.«
        »In two or three months,« someone called out bitterly, »there´ll
have been between eighteen and twenty more uncontained Falls!«
        Fulmar rose, turning to the back of the chamber. »We will have
three completely reconditioned sleds back on line in three weeks.«
        »I heard there were more creatures hatched,« Drake said. »Is that
true, Admiral?«
        »Yes, that´s true.«
        »Are they any good?«
        »Six more dragons,« Paul said, more heartily than he felt.
        »Removing six more young people from our defensive strength!«
        »Giving us six more potential self-maintaining, self-propagating
fighters!« Paul rose to his feet. »Consider the project in the right
perspective. We have got to have an aerial defense against Thread. We have
bioengineered an indigenous life-form to supply that critical need. They
will!« He laced his voice with conviction. »In a few generations -- «
        »Generations?« The cry elicited angry murmurs from an audience
already unnerved by an unpalatable briefing.
        »Dragon generations,« Paul said, raising his voice over the
reactions. »The fertile females are mature enough to reproduce when they´re
two and a half or three years. A dragon generation is three years. The
queens will lay between ten to twenty eggs. We´ve ten golds from the first
Hatching, three from this second one. In five, ten years, we´ll have an
invincible aerial defense system to combat the intruder.«
        »Yeah, Admiral, and in a hundred years there won´t be any space for
humans left on the planet!« The suggestion was met with a ripple of nervous
laughter, and Paul smiled, grateful to the anonymous wit.
        »It won´t come to that,« he said, »but we will have a unique
defense system, bioengineered to our needs. And useful in other ways. Desi
tells me the dragonriders have been delivering supplies to the stakes as
they make their way here to Fort. Meanwhile, you have your orders.«
        Paul Benden rose and left quickly, Ongola right behind him.
        »Damn it, Ongola, where the hell are they?« Paul exclaimed when
they were alone.
        »They check in every morning. Their progress is good. We can´t ask
more of an immature species. I heard Bay tell you that she and Pol both
worried that the dragons had been dangerously extended during the
evacuation.«
        Paul sighed. »Not that there is any other way for them to get here,
with the transport situation.« He started down the winding iron stairs that
went from the executive level to the underground laboratory complex. »Wind
Blossom´s staff has to be reassigned. We don´t have time, personnel, or
resources for further experimentation no matter what she says.«
        »She´s going to want to appeal to Emily!« Ongola replied.
        »Let´s devoutly hope that she can! Any news from Jim this morning?«
Paul had reached the state of mind at which he was so saturated with bad
news that he did not feel additional blows so keenly. The previous day´s
news, that Jim Keroon´s convoy, sailing past Boca, had been caught in a
sudden tropical storm that capsized nine craft, had seemed almost
inconsequential.
        »He reports no loss of life,« Ongola said reassuringly, »and all
but two of the boats have been refloated and can be repaired. The dolphins
are recovering cargo. There is some heavy stuff, though, that divers will
have to locate. Fortunately, they were in shallow water and the storm
didn´t last long.« Ongola hesitated.
        »Well, let me have it,« Paul said, pausing on a landing.
        »There were no manifests, so there´s no way of checking that
they´ve recovered everything.«
        Paul regarded Ongola stolidly. »Does he have any idea how long
that´s going to hold him up?« Ongola shook his head. »All the more reason,
then, to reassign Wind Blossom´s personnel,« Paul said then. »When that´s
done, I´ll have a word with Jim. It´s incredible that he´s got such an
ill-assorted flotilla as far as he has! Through fog, Fall, and storm!«
        Ongola agreed fervently.

While Carenath concentrated very carefully on chewing, Sean stood slightly
to one side trying not to be anxious. Fire-dragonets flitted around the
dragons, chirping what was obviously encouragement. Duke and some of the
other bronzes had found pebbles that they masticated in demonstration.
        The dragons and their riders had located the necessary phospherine
bearing rock on an upland plateau halfway between the Malay River and
Sadrid. Over the past few days, the confidence of the riders had improved
as time and again they were able to teleport to and from given landmarks.
Otto Hegelman had suggested that each rider keep a log, noting down
reference points for later identifications. The notion had been
enthusiastically adopted, although it was immediately necessary for them to
request writing materials at the Malay River Stake. They had been surprised
to find only children there, with Phas Radamanth´s sixteen-year-old
daughter in charge.
        »Everyone´s out fighting Thread, you know,« she said, cocking her
head at them in what Tarrie later said was pure insolence.
        »Desi gave us supplies for you,« Sean replied, stifling his
resentment of her implied criticism and the current menial status of
dragonriders. He gestured for Jerry and Otto to bring the cargo net into
the house. »Would you have any notebooks we could have?«
        »What for?«
        »We´re doing a coastline survey,« Otto said pompously.
        The girl looked surprised, then her face relaxed into a less
antagonistic expression. »I guess so. There´s all that sort of stuff in the
schoolroom over there. Who has time for lessons these days?«
        »You´re most kind,« Jerry said, giving her a quick bow and a broad
grin as they withdrew.
        The incident had reinforced the riders´ determination to accomplish
their purpose during their westward journey.
        »It isn´t as if you can chew for him, Sean,« Sorka said, holding
out another piece to Faranth. »How much do they need to eat?«
        »Who knows how much stoking it takes to start a dragon´s fires?«
Tarrie sang out cheerfully. »I´d say this -- « She hefted the stone in her
hand. » -- is comparable to the pebble-size I used to feed my gold
dragonet. Isn´t it, Porth?«
        The queen obediently lowered her head and took the offering.
        »The dragonets chew at least a handful before they can flame,« Dave
Catarel said, but he was watching Polenth dubiously as the bronze worked
his jaws with the same solemn contemplative look the others had. »Look,
Sorka, your fair´s setting the example!«
        Duke let go a fine long plume of fire, while Blazer took to the
air, scolding him.
        Just then Porth let out a squawk, her mouth opened, and a
green-stained rock fell to the ground, just missing Tarrie´s foot. Porth
snapped her mouth shut and moaned.
        »What did she do?« Dave asked.
        »She says she bit her tongue,« Tarrie replied. She patted Porth´s
shoulder sympathetically. »She did, too. Look!« The green ichor, on the
rock glistened in the sunlight. »Should I look, Sorka? She might have done
herself damage.«
        »What does Porth say?« Sorka asked with professional detachment.
She could not recall ever having had to deal with self-inflicted dragonet
bites.
        »It hurts, and she´ll wait until it doesn´t before she chews any
more rock.« Tarrie retrieved the offending piece and put it back in the
pile they had gathered.
        There was another draconic exclamation of pain, and Nora´s Tenneth
followed Porth´s bad example. Sean and Sorka exchanged worried glances and
continued to offer the firestone to their dragons.
        Suddenly Polenth burped, and a tiny flame leapt beyond his nose.
The startled bronze jumped backward.
        »Hey, he did it!« Dave cried proudly. »Phew!« he added, waving the
air from his face. »Stand upwind, folks. That stinks.«
        Watch It!« Sean leapt sideways as Carenath belched, surprising
everyone with a respectable tongue of flame that just missed searing his
rider. Overhead the fire-lizards flew in congratulatory circles,
alternately chirping or expelling flame, their eyes whirling bright blue
with approval.
        »Upwind and to one side, riders!« Sean amended. »Try it again,
Carenath!« Sean offered a larger chunk.
        »Jays, that´s awful!« Tarrie said as the wind blew the overpowering
stench of the fire-making stone straight into her face. Choking, she ducked
around Porth to escape it.
        »Where there´s fire, there´s smell,« Jerry quipped. »No, Manooth,
turn your head that way!«
        Just as the brown dragon obeyed, a blast of flame erupted from his
mouth and seared into charcoal one of the scrawny bushes that dotted the
plateau.
        Jerry pounded his dragon´s shoulder in exultation. »You did it!
Manooth! Master blaster!«
        The others returned to stoking their dragons with renewed
enthusiasm. An hour later, all the males had produced flame, but none of
the females had; though the golds had chewed and chewed, one after the
other they had regurgitated an awful gray pastelike substance.
        »As I recall the program,« Sean said as the gold riders stood
disconsolately about, »the queens aren´t mature until they´re nearly three.
The males are . . . well . . .« Sean cast about for a diplomatic phrase.
        »Functional now,« Tarrie finished for him, none too pleased.
        »Even seven recruits are going to be well received at Fort,« Otto
said, for once not trying to sound pompous.
        Sorka was frowning, though, an expression unusual enough to her
that Tarrie inquired as to its cause.
        »I was just thinking. Kit Ping was such a traditionalist . . .«
Sorka regarded her husband for a long moment, until he ducked his head,
unable to maintain the eye contact. »All right, Sean, you know every symbol
in that program. Did Kit Ping introduce a gender discrimination?«
        »A what?« Tarrie asked. The other queen riders gathered close,
while the young men took discreet backward steps.
        »A gender inhibition . . . meaning the queens lay eggs, and the
other colors fight!« Sorka was disgusted.
        »It may just be that the queens aren´t mature enough yet,« Sean
said, temporizing. »I haven´t been able to figure out some of Kit Ping´s
equations. Maybe the flame production is a mature ability. I don´t know why
the queens all barfed. We´ll have to ask Pol and Bay when we get to Fort.
But I tell you what, there´s no reason you girls can´t use flame-throwers.
With wands a bit longer, you wouldn´t singe your dragon by mistake.«
        His suggestion did much to mollify the queen riders for the time
being, but Sean hoped fervently that Pol and Bay could give a more
acceptable verdict. Seventeen dragons made a more impressive display than
seven. And he was determined to impress when the dragon riders flew into
Fort Hold. The only burdens dragons should ever carry again were their
riders and firestone!

»Actually, Paul,« Telgar said, glancing at Ozzie and Cobber, »those
photophobes of Wind Blossom´s have proved to be extremely useful in
subterranean explorations. Their instinct for hidden dangers -- pitfalls in
fact, and blind tunnels -- is infallible.« The geologist gave one of his
humorless smiles. »I´d like to keep them now that Wind Blossom has
abandoned them, so to speak.« Telgar turned to Pol and Bay.
        »It´s a relief to know they´ve some use,« Pol said sighing heavily.
Both he and his wife had tried to reason with the indignant Wind Blossom
when she had been requested to suspend the dragon program. Though she
maintained that the emergency transfer from Landing to Fort had damaged
many of the eggs in the clutch she had manipulated, Pol and Bay had seen
the autopsy reports and knew that claim to be spurious. They had been lucky
to hatch six live creatures.
        »Once they get to trust you, they´re quite harmless,« Telgar went
on. »Cara adores the latest hatchling, and it won´t let her out of its
sight unless she leaves the Hold.« Again he displayed his mirthless smile.
»Keeps watch at her door by night.«
        »We can´t have uncontrolled breeding of those creatures,« Paul said
quickly.
        »We´ll see to that, Admiral,« Ozzie said solemnly, »but they´re
right useful little buggers.«
        »Strong, too. Carry more´n they weigh themselves out of the mines,«
Cobber added.
        »All right, all right. Just limit the breeding.«
        »Eat anything,« Ozzie added for good measure. »Anything. So they
keep a place clean.«
        Paul continued to nod agreement. »I just want any further
propagation cleared with Pol and Bay for the biology department.«
        »We´re delighted, I assure you,« Bay said. »I didn´t approve of
them, but I also cannot approve summary termination of any living creature
which can be useful.«
        Telgar rose abruptly, and Bay, wondering if her words had reminded
him of Sallah´s death, mentally chastised herself for not thinking before
she spoke. Ozzie and Cobber sprang to their feet as well.
        »Now that you´ve finally finished mapping the Fort Hold complex,«
Paul said, deftly filling the awkward moment, »what are your plans,
Telgar?«
        A flash of enthusiasm briefly lightened the geologist´s face. »The
probe reports indicated ore deposits in the Western Range that should be
assayed as an alternative to power-costly haulage from Karachi Camp. Best
to have resources close to hand.« Telgar inclined his head in an abrupt
farewell and then strode from the room, Ozzie and Cobber mumbling something
suitable as they followed him.
        »How that man has changed! » Bay said softly, her round face sad.
        Paul observed a respectful silence. »I think we all have, Bay. Now,
is anything to be done about Wind Blossom´s intransigence?«
        »Nothing until she has an interview with Emily herself,« Pol said,
his expression neutral. Of necessity, the two scientists had been informed
of the governor´s true condition, which, twelve days after the accident,
remained virtually unchanged.
        »I don´t know why she won´t accept your decision, Paul,« Bay said,
showing some agitation.
        »Tom Patrick says Wind Blossom chooses to distrust the male half of
this leadership.« Paul grinned. Actually he did find the situation
ludicrous, but since Wind Blossom had immured herself in her quarters until
she »had a fair hearing,« he had grasped the opportunity to transfer
personnel to more productive employment. Most of which had been grateful.
You will, of course, continue to monitor the new dragon hatchlings.«
        »Of course. What´s the latest word from Sean and the others?« Pol
asked, a trifle anxious. He and Bay had discussed their continued absence,
beginning to wonder if it was deliberate. They both knew that Sean resented
the dragonriders´ messenger status. But what else could he expect? Everyone
had to do what he could. Pol and Bay themselves were not exactly inspired
by Kwan Marceau´s project to monitor the grubs from the grass plot at
Calusa, but that was where they could perform a useful service.
        »They should be here soon.« Paul´s voice and expression was
neutral. »When does Kwan anticipate a northern trial on those worms of
his?«
        »More grub than worm,« Pol said didactically. »Sufficient have been
propagated for a ground test.«
        »That´s good news indeed,« Paul said heartily, rising to his feet.
»Remember, tomorrow won´t be a good day for any kind of test!«
        Pol and Bay exchanged looks. »Is it true, Admiral,« Pol asked,
»that you´re not going to fly the full Fall across the mountains?«
        »That´s right, Pol. We have neither the personnel, the power, nor
the sleds to do more than protect the immediate area. So, if those grubs
are of any assistance, we will all be grateful to you.«
        When they had left, Paul sank back down in his chair, swiveling to
look out the window at the starlit night. The northern climate was colder
than that of the south, but the crisp air made the now-familiar star
patterns crystal clear. Sometimes he could almost imagine that he was back
in space again. He sighed heavily and picked up the terminal. He had to
find some vestige of hope in that depressing inventory Joel had submitted.
        If they were extremely careful to use sleds and skimmers on only
the most critical errands, they might just last out Pern´s current pass
through the Oort cloud matter. But when it came around again, what would
they do? Paul winced as he remembered the arrogance of Ted Tubberman in
preempting the dispatch of the homing device. Had the man known how to
activate it properly? Ironic, that! Would it be received? Acted upon? With
the help of the technological society they had foresworn, his descendants
could survive. Did he want them to? Had they any other choice? With
adequate technology, the problem of Thread could possibly be solved. So
far, ingenuity and natural resources had failed miserably.
        Fire-breathing dragons, indeed! A ridiculous concept, straight out
of folk tales. And yet . . .
        Resolutely Paul began to scroll out the stark facts and figures of
the colony´s dwindling supplies.

»Tarrie!« Peter Chernoff came rushing to greet his sister from the
cavernous barn set on the east edge of the Seminole Stake headquarters. A
tall young man, he was able to look down at the riders who were surrounding
him. »Say, you guys, where have you all been?« We´ve been reporting in to
Fort everyday,« Sean said surprised.
        »I made yesterday´s report and even spoke to brother Jake,« Tarrie
added, her expression anxious. »What´s the matter, Petey?«
        Reluctant to explain, Peter stamped his feet as he hedged and
hawed. »Things are getting tougher. We´re not to fly anything anywhere that
isn´t a priority number one top emergency.«
        »So that´s why we saw so much Thread damage,« Otto said, shocked.
        Peter nodded solemnly. »And there´s Fall at Fort Hold today, and
they´ll have to sit it out.«
        »Without any attempt . . .« Dave Catarel was appalled.
        »Transporting Landing to the north put too big a strain on sled and
power packs.« Peter peered down at them, judging their reaction. »And the
governor was injured, you know. No one´s seen her in weeks.«
        »Oh, no,« Sorka said, leaning into Sean for comfort. Nora Sejby
began to weep softly.
        Peter gave another of his solemn nods. »It´s pretty bad. Pretty
bad.«
        Suddenly everyone was demanding news of his or her own kin, and
Peter did his best to answer when he could. »Look, guys, I don´t sit on the
comm unit all the time. The word is out to sit tight and keep the home
stake as clear as possible with ground crews. There´s plenty of HNO3, and
it´s easy to maintain tanks and wands.«
        »But not the land,« Sean said, raising his voice authoritatively.
The babble died abruptly, and his riders looked to him. »There´s Thread at
Fort today, you said. When?«
        »Right now!« Peter replied. »Well, it starts out over the bay -- «
        »And you have throwers here? Ten of ‘em that we could use?« Sean
asked eagerly.
        »Use? Well, you´d have to ask Cos, and he´s not here right now. And
what do you need ten throwers for?«
        Grinning, Sean turned with a flourish of his hand to indicate the
gold riders. »The girls need them to fight Thread! And we´ve got to work
fast to be ready!«
        »Whaddya mean?« Peter was dumbfounded. »The Fall´s started. You
wouldn´t even make it out across the sea before it´s over. And you´re
supposed to get in touch with Fort the moment you get here!«
        »Peter, be a good lad, don´t argue. Show the girls where the
throwers are kept and let me see the latest fax of Fort Hold. Or better yet
Fort harbor I heard they built. Dragons are a lot faster than that fleet
Jim Keroon´s shepherding. They haven´t passed the Delta West Head yet.«
        Sean gave Peter no time to think or protest. He sent Otto to run
off copies of the installation at the mouth of the Fort Hold River. Tarrie
chivvied her brother into showing them where the flame-throwers were kept
and helping the girls check out the tanks. In a flurry of golden wings, the
queens landed at that storehouse and permitted Sean, Dave, and Shih to
secure additional tanks to their backs. Sean shouted directions to Jerry
and Peter Semling to check the cargo nets of firestone on the browns and
bronzes. Peter Chernoff went from one rider to another, pleading with them
to stop. What was he to do? How was he to explain all this? When would they
bring all this equipment back? They could not leave Seminole defenseless.
        Then all the frenzied preparations were completed, and the bronze
and brown dragons had chewed as much firestone as they could swallow.
        »Check straps!« Sean roared. He was developing quite a powerful
bellow. Of course, he did not need to shout, as all the dragons were
listening to Carenath, but it served to release adrenaline into his system,
and it helped to encourage those who would soon follow him into danger.
        »Checked!« was the prompt response.
        »Do we know where we´re going?« Setting the example himself, he
spread out the fluttering fax for one last long look at the seafront
installation with its wharf and the metal unloading crane that looked like
an awkward alien species hunched high over the metal beams that had once
been part of a space ship.
        »We Know!«
        »Check your airspace?« He turned his head to the left and the right
of Carenath, who was vibrating in his eagerness to jump off.
        »Checked!«
        »Remember to skip! Let´s go!«
        Rising up from Carenath´s neck as far as the riding straps would
permit, Sean raised his arm high, rotated his hand, and then dropped it:
the signal to spring.
        Seventeen dragons launched themselves skyward, arrowing upward in
the bright tropical sky in two V formations. Then, as a bewildered and
incredulous Peter Chernoff watched, the Vs disappeared.
        Mouth open, Peter stared for one more long moment. Then he turned
on his heels, raced to the office, and launched himself at the comm unit.
»Fort, this is Seminole. Fort, do you copy? Only you won´t.«
        »Peter, is that you?« his brother Jake asked.
        »Tarrie was here, but she left, with a flame-thrower.«
        »Get a hold of yourself, Pete. You´re not making any sense.«
        »They all came. They took our flame-throwers and half the tanks and
left. All of them. All at once.«
        »Peter, calm down and make sense.«
        »How can I make sense when I don´t believe what I saw anyhow!«
        »Who was there? Tarrie and who else?«
        »Them. The ones who ride dragons. They´ve gone to Fort. To fight
Thread!«

Paul picked up the comm unit. Any occupation was preferable to sitting like
a barnacle on a hull in a shuttered room while a voracious organism rained
down outside.
        »Admiral?« Excitement tingled through Ongola´s single word. »We´ve
had word that the dragonriders are on their way here.«
        »Sean and his group?« Paul wondered why that would excite Ongola.
»When did they start?«
        »Whenever they started, sir, they´re already here.« Paul wondered
if disappointment had got the better of his imperturbable second in
command, for he could swear the man was laughing. »The seaport asks should
they join the aerial defense of the harbor? And, Admiral sir, I´ve got it
on visuals! Our dragons are fighting Thread! I´ll patch it in to your
screen.«
        Paul watched as the picture cleared and the focus lengthened to
show him the unbelievable vision of tiny flying creatures, undeniably
spouting flame from their mouths at the silver rain that fell in a dreadful
curtain over the harbor. He had that one view before the picture was
interrupted by a sheet of Thread. He waited no longer.
        Afterward Paul wondered that he had not broken his neck, going down
stone steps three at a time. He ran full pelt across the Great Hall and
down the metal stairway leading to the garage where the sleds and skimmers
were stored. Fulmar and one mechanic were bent over a gyro, and stared in
surprise at him.
        »You there, get the doors open. Fulmar, you´d better come with me.
They may need help.« He all but fell into the nearest sled fumbling with
the comm unit. »Ongola, tell Emily and Pol and Bay that their proteges have
made it. Record this, by all that´s holy, get as much of this on film as
you can.´´
        Paul had the sled motor turning over before Fulmar had shut the
canopy. He slipped the sled under the door before it was fully open, a
maneuver he would have reamed anyone else for attempting, and then, turning
on the power, he made an arrow ascent straight up out of the valley.
Emerging from the shelter of the cliffs of Fort, he could see the ominous
line of Thread.
        »Admiral, have you gone mad?´´ Fulmar asked.
        »Use the screen, high magnification. Hell, you don´t need it,
Fulmar, you can see it with your bare eyeballs!« Paul pointed wildly. See.
Flame. See the bursts. I count fourteen, fifteen emissions. The dragons are
fighting Thread!«

It was frightening, Sean thought. It was wonderful! It was the finest
moment in his life, and he was scared stiff. They had all emerged right on
target, just above the harbor, dragon-lengths ahead of the Fall.
        Carenath started flaming instantly, and then skipped as they were
about to plow through a second tangle of the stuff.
        Are the others all right? Sean anxiously asked Carenath as they
slipped back into real space.
        Flaming well and skipping properly, Carenath assured him with calm
dignity, veering slightly to flame again, turning his head from side to
side, searing his way through Thread.
        Sean glanced around and saw the rest of his wing following in step
formation they had adopted from Kenjo´s sled tactics. That gave them the
widest possible range of destruction. Even as Sean looked, he saw Jerry and
Manooth wink out and back in again, neatly escaping. Then he and Carenath
skipped.
        A thousand feet below them, he caught a glimpse of Sorka´s wing of
five and, following that formation, Tarrie leading the remaining queens.
        More! Carenath said imperiously, arrowing upward in a trough
between Thread. He turned his head backward, mouth wide open Sean fumbled
for a lump of firestone. This will have to be practiced, he thought.
Carenath skipped them out.
        Shoth has a wing-score, Carenath announced. He will continue to
fly! He´ll learn to fly the better for it! Sean retorted.
        Then the straps strained at the belt as Carenath seemed to stand on
his tail to avoid a stream of Thread which he then followed with flame.
        Back in formation! Sean ordered. The last thing they needed was to
sear one another. He saw that the others had held their positions as
Carenath resumed his.
        After that first exhilarating cross of the Threadfall, they all got
down to business until flame and evasion became instinctive. Carenath went
between several times to loose thread that had wrapped about his wings.
Sean locked his jaw against his dragon´s pain each time Carenath was
scored. By then all the bronzes and browns had received minor injuries.
Still they had fought on. The Queens constantly encouraged them. Then
Faranth reported the arrival of a sled; reported again that ground crews
were out in the harbor area destroying the shells that had made it to the
surface. The queen riders had used up the tanks they had taken from
Seminole. Sorka was going to get more from the harbor hold.
        Faranth asks how long will we fight? Carenath asked.
        As long as we have firestone to fight with! Sean replied grimly. He
had just taken a faceful of char, and his cheeks stung. In the back of his
mind he noted that full face masks would be useful.
        Manooth says they have no more firestone! Carenath announced
suddenly after a nearly mindless length of fighting time. Shall they see if
there is more at Fort Hold?
        Sean had not realized how far inland their battle had taken them.
They were indeed over the imposing ramparts of Fort Hold. He stared in a
moment of bewilderment, suddenly very much aware of how he ached from cold
and strain. His body felt bruised from the riding straps, his face smarted,
and his fingers, toes, and knees were numb.
        Tell them to land at Fort! he said. Thread has moved up into the
mountains. We can do no more today!
        Good! Carenath replied with such enthusiasm that Sean forgot his
sore cheeks and grinned. He slapped affectionately at his dragon´s shoulder
as the formation executed a right turn, spiraling down to land.

»Emily!« Pierre burst into his wife´s room. »Emily, you´ll never believe
it!«
        »Believe what?« she said in the tired voice that seemed all she
could muster since the accident. She turned her head on the cushioned back
of the support chair and smiled wanly at him.
        »They´ve come! I heard, but I had to see it to believe it myself.
The dragons and their riders have all reached Fort. They reached it in
triumph! They´ve actually fought Thread, just as you dreamed they would, as
Kit Ping designed them to do!« He caught the hand she lifted, the one part
of her that had not been broken in the crash. All seventeen brave fine
young people. And they cut a real swath in the Fall, Paul says.« He found
himself smiling broadly, tears in his eyes as he saw color flushing across
her cheeks, the lift of her chest, and the flash of interest in her eyes.
She raised her head, and he rattled on. »Paul watched them flame Thread
from the skies. They didn´t stay for the entire Fall, of course, part of it
was over the sea anyhow, and the rest will fall in the mountains where it
can´t do much harm.
        »Paul said it was the most magnificent thing he´s ever seen. Better
than the relief at Cygnus. They have a record of it, too, so you can see it
later.« Pierre bent to kiss her hand. He had tears in his eyes for Emily,
and for the valiant young people who had ridden against so terrible a
menace in the skies of their wondrous and frightening new world. »Paul´s
gone down to greet them. A triumphant arrival. My word, but it puts heart
in all of us. Everyone is yelling and cheering and Pol and Bay were
weeping, which is something quite unscientific for that pair. I suppose
they feel that the dragonriders are their creations. I suppose they´re
right, don´t you agree?«
        Emily struggled in the support chair, her fingers clutching at him.
»Help me to the window, Pierre? I must see them. I must see them for
myself!«

Most of the inhabitants of Fort Hold turned out to greet them, waving
impromptu banners of bright cloth and shouting tumultuously as the dragons
backwinged to land on the open field, where here and there ground crews had
gotten rid of what Thread had escaped the dragons´ fire. The crowd surged
forward, mobbing the individual riders, everyone eager to touch a dragon,
ignoring at first the riders´ strident appeals for something to ease
Thread-pierced wings and scored hide.
        Gratefully Sean saw a skimmer hovering, and heard the loud-spoken
orders to give the dragons room, and let the medics in.
        The hubbub subsided a decibel or two. The crowds parted, allowing
the medical teams access, giving the dragonriders space to dismount, and
whispering sympathetically when the cheering had died down enough so that
the dragons could be heard whimpering in pain. Some of those gathered
around Carenath eagerly helped Sean doctor him.
        Is everyone here to see us? Carenath asked shyly. The bronze turned
his left wing so that Sean could reach a particularly wide score and sighed
in audible relief as anesthetic cream was slathered on.
        »I don´t know how we got so lucky,« Sean muttered to himself when
he was certain that all Carenath´s injuries had been attended to. He looked
around him, checking to see that all the other dragons had been treated.
Sorka gave him a thumbs-up signal and grinned at him, her face smeared with
blood and soot. He returned her sign with both fists. »Sheer fluke we got
out of that with just sears and scores. We didn´t even know what we were
doing. Blind luck!« His mind roiled with ways to avoid any sort of scoring
and ideas for drills to improve how much Thread a single breath could char.
Their fight had been, after all, only the first, brief skirmish in a long,
long war.
        Hey, Sean, you need some, too,« one of the medics said, pulling off
his helmet to anoint his cheeks. »Got to get you looking spruce. The
admiral´s waiting!«
        As if her words were a cue, a murmurous silence fell over the
plain. The riders converged together and moved forward to the foot of the
ramp where Paul Benden, in the full uniform of a fleet admiral, with Ongola
and Ezra Keroon similarly attired flanking him, awaited the seventeen young
heroes.
        In step, the dragonriders walked forward, past people grinning
foolishly in their pride. Sean recognized many faces: Pol and Bay looking
about to burst with pride; Telgar, tears streaming down his cheeks, Ozzie
and Cobber on either side of him; Cherry Duff upheld by two sons, her black
eyes gleaming with joy. He caught sight of the Hanrahans, Mairi holding up
his small son to see the pageantry. There was no sign of Governor Emily
Boll, and Sean felt his heart contract. What Peter Chernoff had said was
true, then. This moment would not be the same without her.
        They reached the ramp, and somehow the queen riders had dropped a
step behind the others and Sean stood in the center. When they halted, he
took a step forward and saluted. It seemed the correct thing to do. Admiral
Benden, tears in his eyes, proudly returned the salute.
        »Admiral Benden, sir,« said Sean, rider of bronze Carenath,« may I
present the Dragonriders of Pern?«

About the Author

Born on April 1, Anne McCaffrey has tried to live up to such an auspicious
natal day. Her first novel was created in Latin class and might have
brought her instant fame, as well as an A, had she attempted to write in
the language. Much chastened, she turned to the stage and became a
character actress, appearing in the first successful summer music circus at
Lambertville, New Jersey. She studied voice for nine years and, during that
time, became intensely interested in the stage direction of opera and
operetta, ending this phase of her life with the stage direction of the
American premiere of Carl Orff´s Ludus De Nato Infante Mirificus, in which
she also played a witch.
        By the time the three children of her marriage were comfortably at
school most of the day, she had already achieved enough success with short
stories to devote full time to writing.
        Between her frequent appearances in the United States and England
as a lecturer and guest-of-honor at science-fiction conventions, Ms.
McCaffrey lives at Dragonhold, in the hills of Wicklow County, Ireland,
with two cats, two dogs, and assorted horses. Of herself, Ms. McCaffrey
says, »I have green eyes, silver hair, and freckles; the rest changes
without notice.«