All The Weyrs of Pern

10

Master Idarolan became legless before anyone else on Lord Ranrel's celebratory day. He rarely imbibed, but having stood to lose the most if Ranrel was not elected, he had been under great stress and evidently had started drinking at his Hall over breakfast and continued all through the long morning until the result of the convocation was announced. Since the Masterfisher was also extremely popular, his uncharacteristic inebriety was kindly ignored. When he lurched over to the courtyard corner where Jaxom, Sharra, Robinton, Sebell, Menolly, and Tagetarl were seated, his gaiety was a welcome change from their gloomy conversation.

"There was no way," Idarolan announced in drunken joviality, "that we fisherfolk would have been happy to keep our Hall here with Blesserel Holding. He'd mortgage us mast, spar, hull, and anchor when we wasn't looking!" His exuberance was so infectious that Jaxom was not the only one to grin at his antics. "I'd've moved me, Hall, Master, journeyman, and apprentice, down to that fine harbor the old maps call Monaco. Yessur, that's what I'd've done had anyone but Ranrel become Holder."

"But Ranrel is Lord Holder, so you don't need to worry now," Robinton assured the Masterfisher. The Harper gestured for Sebell and Jaxom to find the man a stool before his legs buckled. Menolly and Sharra offered him choice portions to eat in the hope of counteracting the wine.

"I won't waste time eating what'll doubtless return on me all too soon," Idarolan said, waving aside the plates. Then he belched and apologized. "Don't mind me, ladies. I'm a relieved man, and I think that's what I'd better do, if you'll pardon the expression. Lord Jaxom..." He leaned at a dangerous angle toward the young Holder, his eyes unfocused. "Before I continue my drinking, would you be good enough to indicate the proper direction?"

Jaxom signaled to Sebell to help, and with both lending Idarolan support, they steered him toward the nearest head, just past the busy kitchens.

"I was fearful worried, I was, my of friends, that that Blesserel would take the honors. We'd be done for then, we would, we decent hardworking fisherfolk," Idarolan rambled on. "I couldn't've borne the waiting sober, could I? So I'd had to take a heartener, or three or four," he added, grinning with a fine appreciation of his present state. "But you know me, lads, I never drink on board. Never. Nor do any of my Masters-them as are on the Crafthall rolls, that is."

Jaxom got him into a stall, Sebell deftly adjusting his clothing. Then they both politely looked away. Idarolan began to sing some sort of a sea song, but though his speech was clear for a man well gone in wine, he couldn't do more than mouth the lyrics in a hoarse bass voice. He took his relief for such a long time that, despite themselves, the two old friends locked eyes in amazement at the older man's bladder capacity. Jaxom's grin became a chuckle, and then Sebell started to laugh. Oblivious to them, Idarolan continued his wild garble.

Then abruptly, the Masterfisher completed his business and sagged between them.

"Oops! Hang on to him," Jaxom said urgently, just managing to throw Idarolan's limp arm across his shoulders as the man started to slide to the paving.

"He is gone, Jaxom, gone," Sebell said, grinning broadly and shaking his head. "It might be kinder to just leave him here to sleep it off."

"Master Robinton would never forgive us. Slip into the kitchen, Sebell, and grab a pot of klah. We'll sober him up. Why should he celebrate only half a day? The best part's still to come." Closing the lid, he eased Idarolan onto the stool, one hand on the Masterfisher's chest to keep the flaccid body from falling.

"Be right back." Sebell slipped out of the stall, carefully closing the door behind him. Jaxom heard his boot scraping on the stone floor, and then the second door opened and closed.

Jaxom rearranged Idarolan into what he felt would be a more comfortable, or at least more manageable, posture, but the man was as slippery as a fish on a deck.

Jaxom adjusted boneless arms and hands on the man's lap, all the while holding his torso upright on the stool. The knees were together and the toes pointing in. Even in the soft court leather boots, Idarolan had big feet, Jaxom noticed for the first time.

Just then the outside door slammed inward, and the brush of footsteps on the flagging indicated the arrival of several men; men shod in leather shoes, not workboots, Jaxom decided, pleased with his power of observation. Wishing to spare Idarolan embarrassment, he quickly leaned forward to slip the bolt of the stall door shut.

"Well, he's not the only heir. He's not even the direct heir," one man was saying.

"We know that," a second man said in a gravelly voice. "His dam was only a third cousin, once removed, of the Blood. But the second cousin's alive, known to be of the Blood, and it's her son we'd support in his place. The lad'd be dead easy to manipulate. Fancies himself as a true Blood."

"Which he is," a lighter voice said.

"Don't forget her son has sons who're in the direct line, even if his mother disqualified him to the succession," the gravel voice said.

Jaxom couldn't figure out who they meant, for there had been no question of Ranrel's lineage. He had his father's light eyes and the rugged features of his maternal grandfather. But the tone of their discussion about this facile rearrangement of sons and true Bloods was distinctly unsettling.

"That doesn't disqualify him," the first man said in disgust.

"He's weyrbred, not holdbred, and a dragonrider, so he can't hold."

"His sons are too young to be considered, even with a warder. No, this local lad will suit the purpose. He only needs encouragement."

"So all we have to do is arrange a convenient accident to bring the Hold into contention again?"

"That's all," the gravel voice said.

"Yes, but how?" the light voice asked.

"He flies Thread, doesn't he? And he goes up to the Dawn Sisters, doesn't he? That's dangerous. We just wait for the right moment and..." He had no need to finish his grisly premise.

Incredulous, Jaxom shook his head. He was aware of a paralytic chill oozing from his guts to his gorge as he realized that the men had to be referring to himself, Lessa, and F'lessan. The "local lad" could only be Pell, for his mother, Barla, was of the direct Ruathan Bloodline.

"I'm not going off good solid earth, I'm not," the second man exclaimed. They were moving away, their business completed.

"You won't have to," the first man said with an icy chuckle. "We've..." And the closing of the door cut off the rest of his sentence.

Jaxom realized that he had been holding his breath and expelled it. He was shaking. Lack of oxygen, he told himself, drawing in deep breaths. Idarolan groaned and began to slide out of a grip Jaxom had inadvertently relaxed.

"C'mon, Sebell. Hurry up!" If only Sebell arrived just at that moment, he would see who had left the head. "C'mon, Sebell!"

I'll tell his fire-lizard, Ruth said suddenly, his tone anxious. What's worrying you? I can feel it. Is the fisherman ill?

No, Ruth, he's only very drunk. Ask Kimi to tell Sebell to get a move on. Though I think it's too late now, he added glumly. He had not recognized any of the voices, and none of them had betrayed any particular twang that might have identified which Hold or Hall they came from.

He heard the door crash open. "Jaxom? What's wrong?"

"You didn't happen to see three men leaving here, did you?" Jaxom called anxiously.

"What's wrong? Kimi said it was urgent. Which three men? Everyone and his cousin is packed into the courtyard."

Sebell fumbled with the stall door until Jaxom threw the latch over. Anxiously the Masterharper looked down at the comatose Masterfisher and then in astonishment at Jaxom. He had a pitcher in one hand and a mug tucked under his arm.

"Never mind, too late now," Jaxom said, feeling defeated.

He decided not to worry Sebell by reporting a conversation that might well have been just disgruntled speculation. Talking was harmless, he told himself, though the conversation he had overheard had sounded anything but harmless. He sighed in fateful resignation.

"What happened?"

Sebell's harper instincts were very good, Jaxom thought grimly. But then the man was trained to observe, to hear the unsaid.

Jaxom managed a detached manner. "I suppose one has to expect that not everyone is happy about Ranrel's Holding."

Sebell gave him a shrewd look. "No, but here's one who is. Hold his head up. Maybe the aroma of klah will revive him. And we've got reinforcements coming."

"I don't mind..." Jaxom began. He hated people to think him pretentious and unwilling to cope with an inebriated friend.

Sebell grinned as he passed the full cup of klah back and forth under Idarolan's nose. The man began to stir. "Yes, you're good about such things, Jax, but his people are worried about him, so let them handle it discreetly."

Once again the door crashed open and several men entered in haste. "Master Sebell?"

Sebell swung the stall door open. "In here!"

The switchover of attendants was quickly made, and just as Sebell and Jaxom swung out of the place they heard the unmistakable sounds that Idarolan had foretold and grinned at each other.

"My timing has always been excellent," Sebell said. "Even Master Shonagar agreed. Ah, the music has begun."

In the doorway, Jaxom hesitated, seeing very well why Sebell would not have noticed three men emerging from the head. In just the short time that they had been assisting Idarolan, the courtyard had filled up with celebrants, all merry with wine and stuffing themselves on whatever was on the trays the drudges were carrying.

"When are you and Menolly doing a turn?"

Sebell winked. "Whenever the good Lord Ranrel asks us to!"

"A new song?"

"What else for a Lording!"

Jaxom took heart from Sebell's merriment. No use borrowing trouble. It had probably just been talk. But he would keep his eyes open.

Jaxom was feeling decidedly better by the time he and Sharra reluctantly retired from the dancing square. But duty called: Threadfall was scheduled to begin over water but creep forward over the southern border of Ruatha Hold. Jaxom never missed flying against Thread, no matter how involved he was with Aivas at Landing, and obligingly joined the wings of T'gellan's Eastern Weyr when Thread fell there. It wasn't simply a point of honor with Jaxom; both he and Ruth were stimulated by the implicit danger of Fall and reveled in being part of a fighting Weyr.

"Look, Jaxom," Sharra said as they readied themselves to leave the Hold. She pointed upward, to the mass of dragon bellies just visible in the glow of the myriad lights that had blossomed at sundown on every wall, hold, cot, and ship. "I'll bet that's all of Fort Weyr going home!"

Jaxom was trying to adjust the riding straps so as not to damage Sharra's gown and spared only a glance. "You'd be right about that."

"Don't worry about my skirts, Jax, not after all the dust they've picked up from the dance square."

Jaxom humphed and felt Sharra's hand ruffling his hair. Then he grinned. He had worried that she had worn herself out with the dancing, but if she was still so playful, she wasn't too tired. They would get back to Ruatha in good time. Ruth?

I'll time it for you for good reason, but that isn't.

Oh, and isn't it? Jaxom swung up on the white dragon with a huge smile on his face. Sharra smiled back as she wrapped both arms tightly about him, trying to work her fingers up under his flying jacket to his bare skin.

You've time enough in hand. And Ruth sprang lightly from the ground, his wings making that crucial downward sweep.

"It's so beautiful!" Sharra shouted in Jaxom's ear. "Ask Ruth to hover. We'll never see Tillek look so beautiful again."

Ruth considerately began to glide in a wide slow circle, head down so that he, too, could enjoy the sight. Jaxom could see that the white dragon's eyes were sparklingly blue; each of the many facets of his eyes reflected tiny points of the bright lights of Tillek. The Hold, all the cots, and every ship in the harbor were outlined in radiance. There couldn't be a glowbasket left indoors.

Jaxom felt Ruth's sigh through his buttocks and, replacing this with a vision of Ruatha's unadorned heights, told Ruth to take them there.

It was not easy to climb out of bed the next morning, even though Sharra had already left it to comfort young Shawan, who had cried fretfully about dawn. Fall was not due until early afternoon, so Jaxom allowed himself a few more moments to savor the first morning cup of klah. Sharra came in with Shawan, once more a cheerful child. Jarrol appeared the moment he heard his father's voice and bounced across the bed, demanding a tickle, his cheeks still rosy with sleep and his curly hair mashed on one side of his head. The tickle duly administered, Jarrol followed his father as he washed and dressed. By then, breakfast was ready in the main room of their apartment.

Jaxom sent Jarrol to request Brand's company. Now was a good time to clear up any urgent Hold business that might have come up in the past seven days of his latest absence from Ruatha. With Sharra and Jarrol planning to accompany him back to Landing the next day, there were other details to be arranged, as well.

It was while Sharra took the boys off on her own rounds that Jaxom remembered the strange conversation in the Tillek head.

"Tell me, Brand, what's young Pell, Barla and Dowell's son, doing with himself these days?"

"Learning his Craft from his father, but he'd rather be in Landing."

"Like half the Northern youngsters," Jaxom replied, leaning back in the fine wooden chair that Dowell had carved for him. "Has he any ability as a joiner?"

"He's capable enough when he gets into a task." Brand shrugged carelessly. "Why do you ask?"

"In the head at Tillek, I heard a rather odd conversation. It could be no more than disgruntled supporters spouting disappointment with the decision, I suppose. Pell would have a good claim to Ruatha, wouldn't he?"

Brand sat up, a look of consternation on his face. "What are you talking about, Jaxom?" he scolded, in the tone he had used to scold the erring boy that Jaxom had once been. "There's not a thing wrong with you, and you've two fine sons and probably more to come." He scowled. "What exactly was said? Have you told Lytol?"

"No, and you're not to either. This is between us, Holder to Steward, as well as friend to friend, Brand. I want that understood."

"Yes, of course," Brand hastily assured him, then waggled a finger. "But only if you tell me what you heard."

It was a relief to unburden himself, for Jaxom trusted Brand completely. He had hoped that, in the telling, the sentences would lose their burden of dread, but Brand took the implications quite seriously.

"Could anyone plan an accident for you or Ruth up there?" Brand asked.

Jaxom gave a snort. "I assure you that from now on, I intend to pick my companions carefully. But I don't think an accident could be easily contrived."

"The two trips you've already made were not without dangers."

Jaxom shook his head vigorously. "Not with Ruth so close at hand. Not with Aivas in constant communication with me. Piemur, and Farli and Trig, as well, were with us the first time. Sharra's to go up tomorrow-you knew that? Good. Mirrim and S'len are scheduled for the day after. None of them would conspire against me. Besides which, Ruth wouldn't let anything happen to me."

You may be very sure of that!

Jaxom grinned, and Brand, recognizing the signs of a Ruth-Jaxom exchange, began to relax and even allowed himself a slight smile.

"Clearly they underestimate both you and Ruth, and now that you're forewarned..." Brand frowned, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I'll have a word or two with young Pell. And young he is, proud of his heritage but not so foolish as to wish to become Holder by way of your demise. Besides you and your sons, there're also those three lads of F'lessan's. Their claim to Ruatha is direct through Lessa, even if she did defer to you at your birth. I can't see the older Lord Holders denying their claim because F'lessan's a dragonrider. The Bloodline would be the important aspect, so I don't think Pell would have a chance. At least not with the present composition of the Council. Not that the circumstance will ever arrive!" Brand's conviction did much to assuage the niggling anxiety in Jaxom's mind.

Then Brand squared his shoulders the way he always did when he was about to change the topic. "That was quite an inauguration," he commented. As Chief Steward of Ruatha, he had also attended the festivities at Tillek Hold. "Can't say as how Tillek Hold ever looked as inviting. We'll see some grand changes now Ranrel's Lord Holder. Good for you to have another Holder nearer your age."

Jaxom grimaced. "Yes, maybe then I can speak now and again at these Councils."

Brand smiled broadly. "I heard that Toric finally got your message."

"Hmm, yes, even if it was Groghe who delivered it. Now, what have you for me? I've Fall after the noon meal."

"More or less minor details to be discussed, Lord Jaxom. Let's see." Brand lifted the top sheet from the pile he had brought with him.

As Jaxom and Ruth circled down to Fort Weyr, Jaxom once again wondered what it had been like for the first dragonriders who had inhabited the old crater. Had they ranged themselves in preparation for their leader's commands as this century's dragons did, along the rim from the Star Stones to where Fort Weyr's bowl had crumbled in an ancient landslide? How many dragonriders had there been before they had needed to expand into Benden Weyr? There was no way of knowing-and Jaxom felt a pang of regret for the lost history, a regret made all the more bittersweet for the history they had been able to reclaim through Aivas. Still, whatever the glory of the past, the sight of the Weyr displayed was as breathtaking as ever. And Fort was right now at full strength, with this Turn's young riders taking their places in the wings. Green, blue, brown ranked in their wings beyond the bronze Wingseconds, every hide glistening with health in the midday sun.

Bronze Lioth, carrying N'ton, stood statuesquely in front of the Star Stones. Ruth answered Lioth's bugle of welcome and neatly took his customary position to the right of the Fort Weyrleader. N'ton gave Jaxom a salute and pointed down to the Bowl, where four queenriders were being accoutered with flamethrowers. A blue rider, returning from a preliminary sweep, emerged abruptly into the air, giving the ancient two-armed signal that Thread was imminent. N'ton acknowledged that even as the assembled dragons, almost simultaneously, turned their heads to receive firestone from their riders. The queens bellowed their readiness and one by one lifted from the floor of the Bowl and spiraled up to take their positions to the left of N'ton and Lioth. The big bronze was carefully masticating the first of the many lumps of firestone that he would chew before the end of the Fall. Jaxom offered Ruth his hunk and listened, awed as ever to the sound of draconic teeth chomping on the phosphine-bearing rock. Knowing as he did now the scientific explanation for the process by which dragons digested the rock in their second stomach and belched the phosphine gas forth in flame did not in the least destroy his reverence for dragonkind.

Jaxom carefully watched Ruth chew, for now and then every dragon bit his own tongue or cheeks, a minor accident that nevertheless would disqualify him from flying that Fall.

When Lioth had finished his chewing, he let out another roar, and N'ton pumped his arm in the age-old signal to take to the skies. With a powerful upward lunge, Lioth left the Rim, Ruth a breath behind him. The queens with effortless grace were airborne the next second. Making height, Lioth veered to the southeast, and one by one the wings rose into the air, maneuvering into their fighting positions: three on the level above, three just behind N'ton and Ruth, and the third carefully on a lower level with the queens' wing just below them.

All human eyes were trained on N'ton; all dragons listened for Lioth's word. As often as Jaxom had seen the flights of dragons go between, as often as he had himself been a part of that transfer, it never ceased to thrill him.

Between is colder than space, he told Ruth. A breath later they were above Ruatha's southern border, the expanse of the river a silver snake below them. And to the east was the silver rain they had come to destroy.

The wings met Thread, breathing fire on the thick strands and watching them curl and twist in flame and drop harmlessly as ash on the ground far below. The upper wings streaked across the sky, and at the lowest level, the queenriders sent flaring gouts of liquid fire after those few Threads that escaped the upper wings.

Once again, Jaxom and Ruth were part of the ancient defense of Pern, falling into its rhythm, escaping its hazards, flicking in and out of between, weaving across the breadth of Thread, flaming swathes through the deadly rainfall. Together they acted by reflex born of long practice, quite apart from conscious direction of either partner.

They had done at least eight traverses of the Fall, drifting farther and farther south and east, when a blue dragon just ahead of them screamed and ducked between. Jaxom tensed and waited a heartbeat, scanning for the blue's return. The blue reentered hundreds of lengths below his point of exit. His left wingsail was dotted with Threadchar.

He's badly hit, Ruth told Jaxom as the blue winked out again, no doubt to return to the Weyr and the waiting weyrfolk who would drench his injury in numbweed, ending his pain. One of the new young riders. There's always one who doesn't keep his eyes open.

Jaxom wasn't sure if Ruth meant the rider or the dragon. Suddenly Ruth veered, the riding straps cutting into Jaxom's left thigh as the white dragon evaded a thick clump. He did a reverse turn, almost on his tail, and flung himself down at the receding cluster, blowing mightily. Righting himself, he turned his head peremptorily to his rider, and Jaxom obediently offered more firestone. Chomping as he rose to see where his flame would next be useful, Ruth swerved to his right, once again throwing Jaxom's weight against the riding straps. Abruptly Jaxom felt the front strap stretch, leaving him far too loose in the saddle. Quickly he grabbed a neck ridge with his right hand, clamped his legs tight to the saddle, and hung on tight to the left-hand straps.

Ruth reacted on the instant, halting midair to allow Jaxom to regain his balance. A dribble of flame escaped his lips as he turned wondering eyes on his rider.

The strap broke? Ruth's query was laced with astonishment.

Jaxom felt along the length of it with gloved fingers. The worn spot was easy to locate, right below the belt clip, the leather stretched but not parted. It had been a very near thing. A little more pressure, and the strap would have snapped, flinging the rider dangerously out of the saddle.

All too clearly now, Jaxom remembered the ominous conversation he had overheard. Surely they could not have implemented their plan overnight? "An accident," they had said. What would be less suspicious than a rider's faulty harness?

A dragonman maintained his own riding straps, renewing them frequently, testing them every Fall for signs of wear or strain. Jaxom cursed himself. He hadn't actually looked at his harness that morning, merely lifted it from its peg in Ruth's weyr, a place open to anyone in Ruatha. And to any casual visitor.

One thing was colder than between or space. Fear!

It's not broken, Ruth. But the leather is badly stretched. Let's get back to Fort, and I'll cadge a replacement from the Weyrlingmaster. Tell Lioth why we're leaving. We won't be long.

Jaxom endured a well-deserved scolding from H'nalt, the Weydingmaster, for when they examined the leather strap, they found it to be plainly cold-hardened, brittle enough to stretch and crack. At least the metalwork of the toggles was bright enough to pass old H'nalt's scrutiny. Relieved that in this instance the problem had been caused by ordinary wear and tear, Jaxom and Ruth rejoined the Weyr and fought till the end of the Fall.

The first thing Jaxom did when he reached Ruatha was to cut new straps from the thick well-tanned leather made in his own Hold. That evening, with Jarrol's assistance, he oiled and sewed the straps onto the turnbuckles. He said nothing about the close call to Sharra, who, fortunately, was accustomed to seeing Jaxom spending an evening mending riding straps. Later, when he saw that Ruth was comfortably bedded down in his weyr, Jaxom put the mended harness on the peg, but thereafter he concealed the one he was using, as well as the double harness he and Sharra shared. Forewarned is forearmed, he told himself.

Waking hours before dawn in Ruatha for the trip to Landing, Jaxom helped Sharra wrap a sleeping Jarrol in his warm flying gear. Shawan was far too young to be exposed to the cold of between and would be tended by his nurse during his mother's absence. There were enough enticements on this trip to pry Sharra from her maternal duties: she would see firsthand why Jaxom was so preoccupied with this venture; she would have a chance to practice her profession; and she would see her dearest friends; Jancis had agreed to mind Jarrol along with her own Pierjan while Sharra was on the Yokohama. Her two fire-lizards, bronze Meer and brown Talla, were even more excited than she was and were rebuked for their agitation by Ruth as he launched himself from the dark courtyard at Ruatha.

The weather at Landing was chilly, as the Southern Continent was in its winter season, but the land was never as bleakly brown and bare as Ruatha in winter. Sharra loved Ruatha-it was Jaxom's home and where her children had been born-but Southern was where she had spent her youth.

As soon as they entered the Aivas building, Mirrim, who had been chatting with D'ram, ran to greet them.

"I'm ready when you are," she announced.

"Easy, girl!" Jaxom laughed. Her association with T'gellan had calmed her considerably, but she still tended to become a bit overzealous in her enthusiasms. Not necessarily a bad trait, Jaxom realized, but it could be wearing on her companions.

"Well I am ready, with only the two barrels and tanks to be positioned on my green Path. And if we don't know what we're supposed to do by now"-she shot a glance at Sharra– "we never will. It's so simple. Open the packets, add water, and stir."

"Not quite," Sharra said with a grin. "It's the setting of the mirrors that'll take time, and their positioning is crucial to the success of the algae propagation."

"I know, I know." Mirrim impatiently dismissed that with a flick of her fingers.

"Is S'len ready, too?" Jaxom asked.

"Him!" Mirrim gave an amused grunt. "He's studying the photos of the bridge area in spite of the fact that we're supposed to get our placement directly from Ruth."

"Who's to carry the water barrels?" Sharra asked. Taking Mirrim by the hand, she led her away to check on that detail.

"Heard you told Toric what to do," D'ram commented to Jaxom, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"No," Jaxom replied smoothly. "Lord Groghe told Toric. Anything else I should know about Landing?" he asked pointedly.

"Aivas will tell you what you need to know about Landing." D'ram shooed him down the corridor. "He's expecting you."

Just as if Jaxom had not been absent for several days, Aivas outlined the schedule.

"There is sufficient oxygen in the Environment Sector now, but the duties are nevertheless to be carried out as expeditiously as possible. The fire-lizards are to accompany Lady Sharra and Greenrider Mirrim, as they would be sensitive to any sudden drop in pressure or in oxygen level. It is also an integral part of these exercises to accustom as many fire-lizards as possible to the act of transferring from the planet to the Yokohama."

"When will you explain that particular wrinkle in your master plan?" Jaxom asked. Silently he mouthed the response he had come to expect.

"In due time. If you knew the answer, why did you ask, Jaxom?"

Jaxom batted both hands at the Aivas. Little escaped that entity-even silent flippancy.

"Just checking," he replied amiably. "In case due time had arrived while I was gone."

"There is a great deal to be prepared before that time is accomplished. Surely you, of all people, who have been on the Yokohama, should realize that."

"Two more Turns?"

"Five months, and twelve days, with respect to the position of the eccentric planet. Meanwhile the fire-lizards can become messengers even as they are here on the surface, transporting items required on the Yokohama which are within the scope of their abilities."

Jaxom kept his resignation to himself. They had no option but to proceed at the pace Aivas set. But what-eventually-did Aivas intend the fire-lizards to transport? Jaxom couldn't imagine.

Aware that further questioning of Aivas would be futile, he joined the others to prepare for the day's exercise. There were plenty of willing hands to help them load Ruth, Path, and S'len's Bigath with oxygen tanks and water barrels, although Mirrim fussed inordinately about how the tanks were situated on her beloved Path.

"You're wasting time, Mirrim," Jaxom said finally, when she insisted on padding the knots across Path's back. "The load sits fine and we're not flying straight, you know." Privately he wondered if Mirrim was covering up a case of nerves. Sharra was composed enough, and so was S'len, though his face was flushed with excitement.

"I just don't want them shifting," Mirrim replied stiffly.

"Shift they will. All the way to the Yokohama," S'len remarked, grinning at her.

"Enough. We go! Now, Ruth!" Jaxom said, and felt Sharra's hands work tighter onto his belt. Then he gave Ruth the mental vision of the bridge and heard the white dragon pass the instructions on to Path and Bigath.

If there were many things Jaxom did not understand about Aivas, the artificial intelligence had some problem understanding dragon capabilities. For instance, how much weight could a dragon carry? For which the answer was: How much weight did the dragon think he could carry? An answer Aivas found specious-and certainly not helpful when what was needed was hard numbers.

Then there was the question, How do dragons know where to go? "Their riders tell them," did nothing to explain the actual process to Aivas. While Aivas did accept teleportation, it could not understand why telekinesis was so impossible a concept to explain to the dragons and the fire-lizards. Especially when Ruth had indeed understood what Farli had not: to go to the Yokohama.

In checking the details of this joint trip to the spaceship, Jaxom had asked Ruth if he could carry two riders, as well as two padded barrels, one of pure water and one of carbonated water. Ruth's reply had been affirmative although, as Aivas saw the load, it was more than the dragon's slight frame ought to be able to bear.

"If Ruth thinks he can, he can," Jaxom could only reply. "And it's not that far."

It might be easier, the white dragon remarked to his rider as he launched himself into the air, to just go between from the ground instead of lifting.

Is the load too much for you after all? Jaxom asked, teasing.

Of course not. Just bulky! Everyone's set. Here we go!

There was a squawk from the five escorting fire-lizards, and the next moment the tanks clanked against the bridge walls. Exclamations of surprise from the three newcomers punctuated their arrival. Jaxom heard Sharra inhale in astonishment. Grinning, he skewed about on Ruth's neck and saw the expression of wide-eyed awe on her lovely face as she viewed the incredible vista of Pern spread out beneath them, framed by the vast blackness of space beyond. Meer and Talla, her fire-lizards, plus Mirrim's three, Reppa, Lok, and Tolly, had made the successful transfer and were tumbling about, shrieking with delight at the experience of free-fall.

"Oh!" she said, her eyes luminous with the dazzle she beheld. "Now I understand, dear heart, why you're so involved with this! Pern is so beautiful, so serene from up here. If only some of those contentious sour old men could see our world from this vantage point... Isn't it incredible, Mirrim?" There was a pause. "Mirrim?"

Jaxom turned to the green rider, who was staring out the wide window with bulging eyes.

"That's Pern?" Mirrim asked in a cracked voice. "Down there?" A limp hand pointed a finger to the deck.

"That's Pern! Isn't the view great!" Jaxom tried to sound reassuring-Mirrim was patently overwhelmed. "S'len? You all right there?"

"I th-think-ssso," the other green rider said with little confidence.

Jaxom grinned back at Sharra. "It is awesome," he agreed with the nonchalance of one who has overcome astonishment. "But stir yourselves. Remember how Aivas keeps reminding us we can't waste oxygen."

"Why not?" Mirrim demanded in her usual assertive way. "All we have to do is haul more tanks up here." With crisp motions, she unbuckled her riding straps.

"Careful now, Mirrim. You're in-ah-oops." Jaxom broke off; Mirrim had indeed forgotten how she was supposed to move in free-fall and was drifting ceilingward. "Just hold out one hand, and very carefully push away from the roof. That's right."

Mirrim had been too startled to cry out; also, she had no great wish to show to disadvantage. Now she did as directed and managed a weak grin as she grabbed Path's helpfully extended muzzle. Fortunately, the green was wedged fairly tightly between guardrail and wall and thus was not susceptible to the whimsies of free-fall.

"Make every motion slow and easy, S'len, when you're dismounting. Hang on to a neck ridge or something," Jaxom advised. Before he detached his riding straps he nodded to Sharra to follow the same advice.

Keeping up a running line of encouragement and advice, he supervised the unloading. S'len crowed in delight when he realized that the heavy tanks could be shifted by the judicious prod of one finger.

"They're still awkward," Mirrim said, poking one of the tanks toward the storage area. Then she grinned. "T'gellan should see me now. But I understand why Aivas specified green dragons."

"For once greens get the best assignments," S'len added proudly.

"Green dragons are far more versatile than anyone knows," Mirrim added staunchly. "Can't say the same for green fire-lizards," she went on, sourly observing the absurd antics of Reppa and Lok, who were tumbling end over end overhead, chittering ecstatically. Meer, Talla, and her own brown Tolly had abandoned such nonsense and were plastered against the window, their wings limp in their utter fascination with the view.

As soon as the dragons had been unloaded, Ruth encouraged Path and Bigath to join him at the window. While the white dragon floated serenely from the upper level, Path and Bigath had a few problems that the human observers found hilarious.

"They get the hang of it quickly enough," Jaxom said, watching approvingly. "After all, they're used to flying."

Once the oxygen tanks had been secured, the others had a chance to view the magnificence of the vast planet beneath them.

"Does the view stay the same?" Mirrim asked. "I can't see Benden from here."

"Or Ruatha, " Sharra added.

"I can barely make out Eastern Weyr," S'len put in, "and I thought it was pretty big!"

"That's what a geosynchronous orbit means, my friends, the ship stays in the same position relative to the surface of the planet," Jaxom said. "However, if you'll move over to that first console-easy does it!" He grabbed Mirrim before she could propel herself too forcefully away from the window. "We can see the coast of Nerat and something of Benden on the rear screen, but," he added with a nod to Sharra, "Southern Hold's over the horizon."

"Then don't let Toric up here, because all he wants to see is Southern spread out before him," she replied with a wry smile.

They all managed to transfer without incident to the. navigation console, where Jaxom activated the rear screen.

"That's nothing," Mirrim said bluntly. "Too small."

"Just a minute," Jaxom replied, holding up one hand as he mentally rehearsed the procedure for altering the view on the main screen. He tapped it out and was gratified to see the screen alter.

"By the Egg, that's incredible!" S'len sighed, eyes round with amazement. "How'd you do that, Jaxom?"

Jaxom recited the sequences, and S'len nodded, repeating them in a mutter.

"Now, I'll help the girls get the barrels to Environment. If you'd rather Ruth and I accompanied you to the Bahrain..."

"No, no, that's hardly necessary," S'len said, affronted, and started to fasten his jacket.

S'len mounted Bigath.

Ruth, check their direction, would you? Jaxom asked his dragon.

Bigath knows exactly where he's going. Be easy, Ruth replied without turning his head from the window.

When Bigath and S'len had departed, Jaxom clapped his hands briskly.

"All right, girls, let's get these barrels down to Environment," Jaxom said, beckoning to them. "The section we're using is only one level down. It would keep the bridge supplied in case of emergency."

They got the barrels into the lift and down to the next level.

"I thought you said Aivas warmed this place for us," Sharra exclaimed, rubbing her arms vigorously.

Jaxom grinned. "It's warmer than it was, believe me."

Mirrim's teeth started to chatter, and she rolled her eyes and hurried to palm open the double doors just in front of the lift. "Wow! This is bigger than I thought it would be," she said as she entered the white room, glancing at the cabinets that lined one wall and the huge spirals of trays that would slowly revolve on their posts to allow each section the required amount of deflected light to propagate the algae.

"Come back here, Mirrim," Jaxom said as he gently kicked a barrel out of the lift.

It didn't take the three long to set up the supplies. Jaxom offered to help prepare the trays with the wet padding that would moisturize the algal spores, but the girls shooed him away. He watched while they found the supplies they needed, the packages of algae and nutrients that had to be added carefully to the fluid.

"Where's the con-" Sharra began, and then spotted the console that had been meticulously covered by whoever had decommissioned the facility. "All right, dear," she said, smiling absently at her bemused mate and flicking her fingers at him to leave, "we've all we need. You'd best get on with your chores."

Jaxom made no move to leave. Mirrim, hunkered down by the shelves, glowered at him. "Git!"

Back on the bridge, Ruth and the five fire-lizards were still plastered to the window. Jaxom activated the link between the two ships and located S'len as he was painstakingly soaking the padding in a tray, holding one hand to prevent water from flowing out of the barrel.

Reassured that the others were doing fine on their own, Jaxom at last settled himself at the navigation board and activated the telescope to begin his own chore. He opened the channel to Aivas and received the new sequences for the telescope, which he was programming to scan the visible stars above Pern. By the time he and Aivas had double-checked the installation of the program, Sharra and Mirrim had returned to the bridge, moving with considerably more confidence in the weightlessness.

"S'len's working away?" Mirrim asked. "Time for us to do the Buenos Aires, then." She buckled up her jacket, nodding at Sharra to do the same. "Aivas, Farli has turned on the lifesupport systems there, hasn't she?"

"Yes. There is now oxygen in the relevant areas of the Buenos Aires."

Sharra gave Jaxom a look that was tolerant of Mirrim's predilection to take charge.

Ruth, Jaxom began, for although he did really trust Mirrim and Path, it was Sharra they would be taking to the Buenos Aires.

If Path caught me looking in, Mirrim'd never forgive you, the white dragon replied, giving his rider a doleful stare.

All right, all right. I trust her or I don't. And I do. I'll restrain myself.

So will I! And the white dragon dropped his jaw in a draconic grin.

When the girls were mounted on Path, Mirrim gave him a salute. "Don't wait for us. We'll go straight back to Landing."

Before he could protest, Path disappeared, along with the firelizards. Jaxom's fingers flew on the console, calling up the link to the Buenos Aires just as Path, with the girls and the firelizards, arrived.

Ruth gave such a scornful snort that he blew himself slightly away from the window.

"All right then, big eyes," Jaxom said, closing down the console. "Since my work's finished, we can go back to Landing."

When Sharra and Mirrim returned to Landing, Brekke and Master Oldive were there. Brekke, F'nor's introverted wife, had agreed to learn more about the treatment of wounds, since she often worked as an aide to Benden Weyr's healers.

"Master Morilton delivered the petri dishes today," she told them. "Aivas says that if you are not too tired, he can elaborate on his last lecture about bacteria and how to overcome them with what he calls an-tee-bi-ah-tics."

Sharra and Mirrim exchanged glances, but they were more exhilarated by their morning's work than tired. Sharra had been fascinated with the concept of isolating certain bacteria and finding ways to combat infection by developing special bacteriophages. So they filed into the laboratory room-and exclaimed in pleasure at the sight of sufficient microscopes for all. Brekke smiled quietly.

"We won't have to take turns!" Mirrim cried. "For my eye only!" Slipping onto the high stool, she peered through the eyepiece. "Hmmm. If you're looking at nothing, that's what you see."

"Please take positions at the microscopes," Aivas told them in a tone that meant they should listen carefully. "Not only has Master Morilton been able to deliver the petri dishes in which you may culture the bacteria of your choice, and the microscopes so that each of you may progress at your own speed, but Master Fandarel has contrived an ultrasound device by which we can break the bacteria up so that we may examine their structures chemically. Master Fandarel has put to good use his studies in electromagnetics. This is but one application-but, for you, a very important one.

"The bacteria collected for today's lesson come from wounds," Aivas went on, oblivious to or ignoring the grotesque face that Mirrim made. "Wounds that you will have seen in your independent areas. Wounds that become infected. By separating the bacteria, it is possible to discover the parasites, mostly symbiotic-which exist in the bacteria. By altering these symbiotic little parasites into pathogenic forms, making them like predators-you do recall the lesson on determining which is a predator and which is a parasite?"

"Yes, indeed, Aivas," Mirrim said, grinning. "Whether you admire them or they disgust you."

"You can always be counted on to remember such distinctions, Mirrim. It is to be hoped that this skill will extend into this area of your studies." Mirrim wrinkled her nose impudently, but Aivas continued. "So, one can disimprove a symbiotic parasite, turning it into a predator, and have a useful organism to destroy that particular bacterium. This is often more useful than using antibiotics, as you will see."

"How many bacteria are there?" Brekke asked.

"More than there are grains of sand on all your beaches."

"And we have to find every one of them?" Mirrim was not the only one aghast at that prospect.

"You will have ample chance for independent study to do so if you desire. This is, however, one step to take along the road toward the reduction of bacterial infections. Now you will begin by culturing the efuent from a wound or a blood-containing medium, then isolating one kind of bacterium."