All The Weyrs of Pern

3

Down the hall, in the refurbished conference room, seven Lord Holders, eight Craftmasters, eight Weyrleaders, and four Weyrwomen were assembled in an extraordinary meeting. Harper Journeyman Tagetarl had been brought in to take full notes of the proceedings.

F'lar stood up to take charge, though everyone could see that Master Robinton would have been happy to officiate. There were those who thought the Harper had not looked so animated and vigorous in many a Turn, and assumed that the rumors of his decline must have been vastly exaggerated. Note was also taken that the Weyrleaders looked less haggard, almost cheerful-even optimistic.

"I believe you've all been introduced to Aivas," F'lar began.

Lord Corman of Igen snorted."Introduced? To a talking wall?"

"It is much more than a talking wall," Robinton said tartly, glaring at Corman, who rolled his eyes at the Harper's unexpected vehemence and nudged Lord Bargen of High Reaches Hold beside him.

"Considerably more than just a wall," F'lar said. "Aivas is an intelligent entity, constructed by our ancestors who first settled this planet. It contains the information which our ancestors needed and used. Valuable knowledge which can teach us how to improve Hold, Hall, and Weyr." He took a deep breath. "And destroy Thread completely."

"That I'll believe when I see it," Corman replied with a disbelieving snort.

"I promised you that, Lord Corman, at the beginning of this Pass, and now I can fulfill that promise!"

"With a wall's help?"

"Yes, with this wall's help," Robinton replied, his voice intense with conviction as he glared angrily at the Holder.

"You wouldn't be so skeptical if you'd been here yesterday and heard Aivas!" Larad said, jumping to his feet, his tone trembling with controlled anger. Corman recoiled in surprise.

"With all due respect, F'lar, Robinton, Larad," Warbret said appeasingly, "we've been called down here so frequently to see useless hulks, empty buildings, and caves bulging with shards and artifacts that I personally didn't think anything could be that urgent this time. I do find it very odd in you, Weyrleader, to be taken in by talking walls spouting archaic legends."

Robinton rose up out of his seat, bellowing such a protest that Warbret regarded him with amazement. "Gullible? Warbret, I, Robinton of Cove Hold, may be old but I cannot be considered gullible..."

"Nor I," Fandarel added, also on his feet and looming over the incredulous Holders. "This is not a wall, Lord Corman." The scorn in the usually equable Mastersmith's manner made everyone stare at him. "This machine, this Aivas, was so efficiently and beautifully crafted by our ancestors that it has survived centuries and still functions. That is more than the best any present crafthall can do!" He jerked his big head to emphasize his respect. "Make no further insult on our intelligence or integrity, Lord Corman. You may not choose to believe in Aivas but most assuredly, I"-and he thumped his chest with his massive thumb– "Fandarel, Mastercraftsman, do!"

Corman subsided in bewilderment.

"So why have you called this session, then?" Warbret asked.

"Out of courtesy. So you'd all be made aware of the importance of this find as soon as possible," Lessa snapped. "I'm not letting the Weyrs open to any charge of duplicity or hiding away valuable artifacts."

"My dear Weyrwoman," Warbret began placatingly.

"Well, maybe not you, Warbret," Lord Groghe intervened, "but I could name some..." He left his words hanging. "You weren't here, so you didn't listen, as I did, and I'm no more gullible than Robinton, F'lar, or Fandarel. But if this Aivas thing really can rid us of Thread, I'm all for giving it every assistance."

"If it can do that," Corman challenged, "then why didn't it do it for our ancestors?"

"Yes, why didn't it?" Toronas of Benden asked.

"Because two erupting volcanoes altered their plans," F'lar replied with great patience. "Landing-which is what our ancestors called this place-had to be evacuated. No one returned from the North to find out what Aivas might have learned."

"Oh." With that, Tbronas subsided.

"I didn't mean offense, F'lar," Warbret said reasonably. "I just think you're all jumping to conclusions on very flimsy evidence that this Aivas apparatus can do the half of what you think it can."

"Aivas has already proved to me," Fandarel said, his rumbling voice overpowering the others, "that it can restore information that has been lost to my Craft over the last millennium: information that will improve not just my Craft but conditions throughout Pern. You know very well, Lord Warbret, that the depredations of time have rendered many Records illegible. And that many of the conveniences which were our heritage from our ancestors have begun to fail. Further, Aivas has given me plans for a far more efficient power system. One so efficient," the Mastersmith added, pointing a thick forefinger at the Igen Lord Holder, "that your Hold could be kept cool even at high noon at the height of the summer by the current of your river."

"Really? I can't say I'd mind that," Corman admitted, but his skepticism remained. "And just supposing," he added in a sly voice, glancing sideways at F'lar, "this Aivas does help you get rid of Thread, what will dragonriders do for occupation?"

"We'll worry about that when we have destroyed Thread."

"So you have some doubts yourself, Weyrleader?" Corman asked quickly.

"I said when, Lord Corman," F'lar said in a grating tone. "Are you arguing with our eagerness to dispense with accepting your tithes?" The Weyrleader's expression was sardonic.

"No, I mean, we've willingly tithed this Fall..." Corman floundered briefly and threw up his hands, recalling the time when he had not willingly supported Benden Weyr.

"And just how will this talking wall of yours destroy Thread, Weyrleader?" Masterglass-smith Norist demanded, his cheeks red with more than the broken capillaries from facing his hearths. "By blowing up the Red Star?"

Larad leaned across the table toward Norist, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Does it matter how it is achieved if it is, Master Norist, so long as there is never another Pass?"

"May I live to see that day," Corman said in a facetious tone.

"I intend to." F'lar's voice and expression were steely with determination. "Now, if we have settled the question as to why at least the dragonriders feel Aivas is important..."

"Dragonriders are not the only ones, F'lar," Fandarel said, bringing his heavy fist firmly down on the table, rattling everything on it.

"Nor Mastercraftsmen," Lord Asgenar added staunchly.

"I, too," Groghe said when Corman snorted. "Sometimes you can be sharding hard to convince, Corman. You'll change your mind when you've heard Aivas. You're not that much of a fool."

"Enough!" F'lar took charge again. "The purpose of this meeting is to apprise you of the discovery of Aivas and its inescapable value to Pern as a whole. Which we have done to those of you who bothered to come. Further, I trust you other Weyrleaders" -F'lar scanned the seven present. "-will join Benden in making full use of the Aivas."

"Now listen here, F'lar. You can't arbitrarily decide something that's going to effect Hold, Hall, and Weyr until everyone's had a chance to see for themselves," Corman began, glancing at Warbret and Bargen to support him. "I think this ought to be taken up at the Holders' quarterly meeting-which isn't that far off now."

"Holders may decide for themselves," F'lar said.

"And Craftmasters," Norist put in, his expression forbidding. His glare rested longest on Fandarel.

"Decisions on who uses the Aivas ought not to be delayed," F'lar said.

"C'mon, F'lar," Groghe said. "You haven't waited on anything. Scrambling about caves in the dark, hauling in apprentices and journeymen from all over the continent to resurrect bits and bobs of strange gear." He held up a hand when he saw F'lar's concerned expression. "Not that I, personally, don't agree with you, Weyrleader. Deciding anything at the Holders' Quarterlies can try the patience of a dragon. However, I did see and hear Aivas." He turned slightly in his seat toward the other Lord Holders. "The device is amazing, and I am convinced of its value!"

"There was a time, Corman," F'lar said, with a slight smile that reminded the Lord Holder of another occasion when the Benden Weyrleader had faced the massed and armed disapproval of the Lord Holders and bested them, "when you and all the other Lord Holders urgently required me to put an end to Threadfall. Surely you want me to get on with that task as swiftly as possible?"

"You've done exactly as you ought," Groghe said, daring Corman to protest.

"Indeed you have, Weyrleader," Toronas agreed. F'lar found the new Benden Holder a vast improvement on the previous one, Lord Raid.

"However," the Weyrleader went on, "it is painfully obvious that we have lost most of the skills our ancestors had. We must relearn them, with Aivas's guidance, so that we can indeed remove forever from this planet the menace of Threadfall." F'lar looked from Norist to Corman to Warbret and then other Lord Holders, who had not taken part in the argument. "Isn't it sensible to start on the program as soon as possible? To restore what we have lost?"

"And you expect all of us to take our orders from this Aivas?" Norist asked sarcastically. He had been exceedingly reticent when Aivas had queried him about his Craft.

"Master Norist," Fandarel began in his slow deliberate way, "if there are opportunities to improve our Craft skills, surely it is incumbent on us to do so?"

"What that Aivas suggested I do in the Craft which I have Mastered, and efficiently, for the past thirty Turns, goes against every established procedure of my Hall!" Norist wasn't going to give an inch.

"Including the now illegible ones in your oldest Records?" Master Robinton asked gently. "And here is Master Fandarel, fretting to get on with the restoration of an ancestral power station, quite willing to accept new principles from Aivas."

Something akin to a sneer curled Norist's thick, scarred lip. "We all know that Master Fandarel is endlessly fiddling about with gadgets and gimmicks."

"Always efficient ones," Master Fandarel replied, ignoring the disparagement. "I can plainly see that every Craft can benefit from the knowledge stored in Aivas. This morning Bendarek was given invaluable advice on how to improve his paper, Aivas called it, and speed up its production. Very simple, but Bendarek immediately saw the possibilities and has gone back to Lemos to develop this much more efficient method. That's why he's not here."

"You and Bendarek," Norist said, a flick of his fingers dismissing the newest Mastercraftsman's products, "may exercise your prerogatives. I prefer to concentrate on maintaining the high standards of my Halls without dissipating effort on frivolous pursuits."

"You don't, however," Lord Asgenar said, with a droll grin, "object to making use of the frivolous pursuits of other crafthalls. Such as the load of sheets delivered to you last month. Bendarek expects to be able to increase production of paper" Asgenar grinned more broadly-"so that no one will be kept waiting for supplies."

"Glass is glass, made of sand, potash, and red lead," Norist stated stubbornly. "You can't improve on it."

"But Aivas suggested ways to do just that," Master Robinton said at his most reasonable and persuasive.

"I've wasted enough time here already." Norist stood up and stalked off down the hall.

"Damned fool," Asgenar muttered under his breath.

"Back to the important point, F'lar," Warbret said, leaning forward across the table to the Weyrleaders. "The possibility of eliminating Thread. Just how does this Aivas propose to go about this? F'nor didn't have much luck when he tried."

Remembering how close F'nor had come to dying in his attempt to go between to the Red Star itself, F'lar stared at him for a moment, then collected himself and went on. "Lord Warbret, until you have first listened to and seen the history Aivas has to tell you, you will not appreciate how much we will have to learn before we can even understand his explanations of what we have to do."

"And Aivas's showing and telling beggars my poor skill," Robinton said with unusual humility. "For he was there! He knew our ancestors. He was created on the planet of our forebears! He witnessed and recorded events which have become our myths and legends." His voice rang with such feeling that there was a moment of respectful silence.

"Yes, you and Lord Corman should hear Aivas before you dismiss the gift we have been offered," Lessa added softly but just as fervently.

"Mind you, I'm not against going along with your course of action," Warbret said, after a moment, "if it can help us eradicate Thread. And if you say, Weyrwoman, that we should hold our decision until we've heard this Aivas speak, when will that be possible?"

"Hopefully, later today," F'lar replied.

"The batteries should be in place now," Fandarel reminded him, "but I must go. Aivas is going to need much more power. And I will see that he gets it." He rose and stood there for a moment, surveying the gathering. "Some of us will be called upon to change the ways and patterns of a lifetime, which is not an easy thing to do, but the benefits will more than compensate for that effort. We have endured enough of Thread. Now we have the chance to eradicate this menace, and we must grasp it firmly in both hands and succeed! Facenden," he said, turning to his journeyman, "stay in my stead and report to me later."

Then he left, his heavy steps audible down the short corridor.

"I think this meeting has gone on long enough, too," Corman said. "Do as you wish, Weyrleader. You generally do anyhow." But this time his comment held no rancor. "Just see that there is a full report of these activities for the quarterly Convocation."

He also got to his feet, nudging Bargen to join him. But the High Reaches Lord Holder only regarded him thoughtfully and did not rise.

"Will you not stay to hear the history, Corman?" Robinton asked.

"In that stuffy little room?" Corman asked indignantly. "Have my harper learn it and I'll hear it in my own Hold, in comfort and at my own convenience." And with that he left.

"I will listen," Bargen said. "I have come this far, though I am by no means certain that it is the wisest course to encourage this awesome Aivas thing."

"At least you will listen," Robinton said, giving an approving nod. "Sebell, how many can we comfortably accommodate in that stuffy little room?" He said it blandly enough, but several of the Weyrleaders smiled.

"Certainly all here who wish to attend," Sebell said. "There are now enough benches and stools, and if a few of us have to stand, I gather no one minded yesterday. I certainly won't."

"We don't have to ask this creature's permission?" Bargen asked.

"Aivas is nothing if not accommodating," Master Robinton said, grinning broadly.

They filed down the hall then; three Lord Holders, the Weyrleaders and Weyrwomen, and the Craftmasters. Terry was already there, looking mightily pleased with himself but warding people away from the bundle of cords that wound from Aivas and stretched along the left-hand wall and out into the adjacent room. A window had been inserted, high on the right-hand wall, allowing fresh air to circulate through the room. There turned out to be enough benches and stools to seat almost everyone, including Lord Groghe, who had decided to sit through Aivas's telling a second time. Menolly stood beside Sebell. She groped and found his hand when the first vision of Pern in the blackness of space lit the screen.

"Now that's amazing," Bargen exclaimed, but he was the last to speak until Aivas ended its account with the final view of an airsled disappearing through the ashfall to the west. Then, slightly dazed, he muttered, "Corman's an old fool. Norist, too."

"Thank you, Aivas," Groghe of Fort Hold said, rising and shaking out stiffened limbs. "Of course, I saw it yesterday, but it's worth seeing again. And any time I can." He nodded emphatically at F'lar. "You know that I'll support you, dragonriders. You will, too, won't you, Warbret, Bargen?" His question was more of a demand, and he jutted his chin at his peers, ready to coerce them into agreement.

"I think we must, Warbret," Bargen said as he rose and turned, courteously inclining his body toward F'lar and then Master Robinton. "Good day. And good luck."

The other lords left with him.

"I don't mean to dash all this optimism," Gdened of Ista Weyr said, "but Aivas said nothing to the point of just how we're going to accomplish the elimination of Thread."

"No, he didn't exactly, did he?" R'mart agreed, shaking his head as if to clear it. "The ancestors had a lot more equipment and gadgets and those sleds. If they couldn't get rid of Thread, how shall we?"

"There is a time for all things to be accomplished," Aivas said. "As mentioned last night, several conclusions had been made. The most important, for you, is that in four years, ten months, and twenty-seven days, it will be possible to jolt the eccentric planet out of its present orbit, permanently. It will then be close to the orbit of your fifth planet, far from Rukbat though, as you now know, the Thread swarms still follow it past Pern."

The Aivas had the stunned attention of everyone in the room as a diagram of Rukbat's planets blazed on the screen. They moved slowly around their primary, and the wanderer crossed at an angle to them.

F'lar gave a weak laugh. "The dragons of Pern are strong and willing, but I don't think they could move the Red Star."

"They will not," Aivas said. "For to attempt the feat would be to endanger their lives and their riders'. But the dragons are able to perform other, vital tasks that will allow you to alter that planet's course permanently."

Once again everyone was silent.

"That I might live to see the day," G'dened of Igen murmured fervently. "I'd go forward another four hundred Turns if we could do that!"

"If that could be done," R'mart asked, "why didn't our ancestors do it?"

"The conjunction of the planets was not then auspicious." The Aivas paused briefly, then went on with what Master Robinton heard as irony. "And by the time these calculations had been made, all had gone north, leaving this facility unable to inform its operators." Aivas paused again. "The dragons you have nourished to such size and strength will be critical to the success of the project. If you are willing."

"If we are willing!" T'gellan and T'bor cried in astonished chorus. All the dragonriders sprang to their feet. Mirrim hugged T'gellan's arm, her expression fierce with determination.

"F'lar's not the only one," N'ton added, "whose greatest wish is to exterminate Thread!"

D'ram, the oldest of the riders, had tears streaming down his cheeks. "We are nothing if not willing, Aivas. Even this old man and his ancient dragon!"

From outside came a chorus of dragons bugling, the rich bass of the bronzes, the thrilling sopranos of the queens, and the high piercing tone of Mirrim's green Path.

"It will not be an easy task, " Aivas said, "and you will have to study assiduously in order to lay the necessary foundation to bring success to that day."

"Why must it be four years, ten months, and whatever days?" K'van, the youngest Weyrleader, asked.

"Twenty-seven days," Aivas corrected him. "Because that is the precise moment when a window will be open."

"A window?" Inadvertently K'van looked at the new one in the wall.

"As a rider, you always take your dragon to a precise place when you go between, do you not?" K`Van was not the only rider to nod agreement. Aivas went on. "It is even more important to be precise when one is traveling in space."

"We're going to be traveling in space?" F'lar asked, gesturing toward the screen where they had briefly seen what space was like.

"In a manner of speaking," Aivas said. "You will come to understand, and correctly interpret, the terms that define the tasks before you. In the lexicon of space travel, a window is the interval that brackets the moment within which you have flexibility to achieve your objective, also traveling in space. If this is to succeed-"

If?" R'mart almost yelled. "But you said it could!" He glared accusingly at F'lar.

"The plan is viable and has every chance of succeeding if the requisite effort is put into its implementation," Aivas said firmly. "But success will depend on the learning of new skills and disciplines. It is obvious that while all dragonriders are dedicated men, you also have little leisure at your command. But the dragons and the riders are requisites to the task, supported by Craftmasters and those Lord Holders who will lend men and women as support staff. It would be best if everyone on the planet could be involved in the project. As were your ancestors."

"I still don't see why our ancestors didn't take care of the problem when they had the chance to," R'mart said.

"Your ancestors did not have dragons the size and intelligence of yours. The species has evolved and exceeded the original genetic specifications. If you will observe..." Images of two dragons flicked onto Aivas's screen. "The bronze is Carenath, Sean O'Connell is his rider, and the other is Faranth and Sorka Hanrahan." Two more dragons appeared on screen, three times the size of the first two. "Now, there are Ramoth and Mnementh. The scale of comparison is accurate."

"Why, that bronze isn't as big as Ruth," T'bor said, shooting an apologetic glance at the Benden Weyrleaders.

"No, he doesn't seem to be," F'lar replied equably. "You've made the point, Aivas. Now, how do we start this training you speak of?"

"Not today, certainly," Aivas said. "The first priority is a proper power source, which Master Fandarel has been good enough to undertake in his efficient fashion." Master Robinton swung to stare sharply at the screen. Aivas continued. "Second, the installation of the additional stations. Third, a supply of paper sufficient for hard copy for instruction and explanation. Fourth-"

F'lar waved both hands, grinning. "Enough, Aivas. When the craftsmen have done your bidding, we'll be ready to take instruction. That I promise you."

"Good," Master Terry said, rising from his stool and hitching his heavy tool belt to a more comfortable position. "Are you leaving here now?" he asked amiably. "Because I've got more connections to make to Aivas, and you're in my way."

"There'll be food and drink in the conference room by now," Lessa said, encouraging everyone to leave.

Master Robinton waited until all the others were well down the corridor. He glanced at Terry, busy laying out the cables and muttering to himself.

"Aivas?" the Masterharper said in a whisper, "do you have a sense of humor?"

There was a distinct pause before the reply came. "Master Robinton, this facility is not programmed for senses. It is programmed to interact with humans."

"That is not an answer."

"It is one kind of an explanation."

With that, Master Robinton had to be content.

The four Eastern Weyr dragonriders glided down in a spiral to the hillside above the dam. All interest in the ancients' settlement had been centered on Landing. No one had yet had any occasion to wander about the nearby hills looking for evidence of the settlers' handiwork, so the presence of an obviously man-made lake for Fandarel had dammed up a few useful streams in his Turns as apprentice and journeyman in the Smithcrafthall and recognized the configuration-was yet another surprise.

The lake stretched back, a glittering long finger contained between two high ridges. The dam had been built across the neck of the southeast end. Though the structure had been broached and two cascades fell gracefully from the height into the ravine below, it was still the biggest dam Fandarel had ever seen.

The marvelous thing, Master Fandarel realized, was not that it had been made, but that so much of it had survived for twenty-five centuries. As D'clan's brown Pranith skimmed the top, Fandarel could see that the passage of all that time had taken some toll on the dam. Grooves, like the bites of a creature larger even than a dragon, had been gouged in the top, creating openings for the falls to tumble through. Floods, no doubt, he decided, pushing large boulders or debris relentlessly against it. He pulled on D'clan's sleeve and pointed a thick forefinger vigorously downward. D'clan nodded, grinning, and in the next instant, Pranith tightened his spiral and glided to a neat landing on the left-hand side, the longer intact span.

With a grace and agility envied by many younger and fitter men, Fandarel slid from the brown neck and landed lightly on his feet. In a moment he was down on his hands and knees, knife blade scraping aside mud and caked dirt to examine the material of the dam. He shook his head.

"Plascrete, Aivas said," he muttered to himself as the others in his party joined him. Evan, the journeyman who often translated his designs into solid reality, was a self-contained man who hadn't so much as blinked when he took instructions from "the talking wall." Belterac was nearly as grizzled as Fandarel; he was wise in his craft, and the steadiness of his work habits offset the apprentice Fosdak, who was erratic and troublesome but strong as a draft animal. The last was Silton, a useful and diligent young man who had shown some of Master Terry's dogged perseverance. "They built this of plascrete," Fandarel went on. "Stuff that will last for millennia. And it has. By the shell of the first Egg, it has!"

The three dragons were as interested in the dam as the humans were: they walked along the wide top, their wings folded to their backs, and suddenly V'line laughed and said aloud that his bronze Clarinath wanted to know if there would be time for a bath. The water looked so clear and clean.

"Later, please," Fandarel said, continuing his inspection of the edifice.

"Amazing construction," Evan murmured, scuffing the surface with his heavy boots on his way to the lake side of the structure. He peered over the edge. "Water levels are marked, Fandarel. Can't have been high in Turns, though it has been from time to time."

Then he walked to the ravine side and pointed downward and to his left. "There, Master, that's where the ancients had their power station."

Fandarel squinted, shielding his eyes with one huge hand, then nodded in satisfaction as he saw the remains of the building. Something had smashed into it from a height. Probably the same debris that had breached the dam, crashing down on the place with tremendous force.

"D'clan, if you and Pranith would be good enough to take us down there," Fandarel said, pointing. "Evan and I will go first to be sure it is safe enough."

D'clan and Pranith obliged, finding sufficient room to set down by the ruins. All that was left of the structure were the heavy girders that had supported the roof of the power station, and the inner wall, which looked to be cemented to the naked rock. But the floor, despite a thick carpet of pebble-encrusted dirt a full knife blade deep, had remained impervious to the passage of time.

"Those strong young backs can clear this, Evan," Fandarel said. "D'clan, can you wave the others down here? Then the dragons may have a swim."

"They spend more time in the water than in the air," D'clan complained. "They're more likely to wash the hide off 'em, if they're not careful. A hide-damaged dragon's no good between." But his tone was more affectionate than captious.

While the others started shoveling away the mud, Fandarel and Evan made careful measurements of the area to be enclosed, then calculated where the new power wheel would be situated. With deft lines, Evan made a preliminary sketch of what the finished installation would look like. Fandarel, watching over his shoulder, nodded approval. Then he looked about, squinting up at the high, smooth face of the dam and the hillsides.

"Now," he said, satisfied with his analysis of the site's needs, "we go back to Telgar, to assemble the components." He grinned at Evan. "It will be a novel thing, will it not, to work from proper plans?"

Evan merely raised his eyebrows. "Can't be but more efficient that way."

"My dear F'lar," Robinton said reassuringly to the Weyrleader, who was patently disappointed at his failure to gain the full backing of the Lord Holders, "Aivas impressed Larad, Asgenar, Groghe, Toronas, Bargen, and Warbret, plus Jaxom. Seven out of sixteen's not bad for a start. Oterel's doddering, and Corman always needs time to mull things over. If the various projects for which you will need workers here continue to clear out that beggars' cave of Laudey's, he'll back you." Robinton put one hand on F'lar's shoulder and gave it just a little shake. "F'lar, you so desperately want to eradicate Thread. That's your first responsibility. Managing their Holds is theirs, and sometimes, as we both know, they forget the wider view. Yes, K'van?" The Harper had been aware that the young Southern Weyrleader was hovering in the background. "Have I been monopolizing F'lar when you need a word with him?"

"If I might intrude..." K'van said.

"My glass is empty." With a raffish grin, Robinton took himself back to the food-laden table in search of a wineskin.

"Was Lord Toric asked?" K'van said hesitantly.

"Yes, indeed, he was, K'van." F'lar drew him to one corner of the room, where they were less likely to be drawn into the lively discussions of the other Weyrleaders. "I charged Breide in particular to let him know."

K'van managed a fleeting grin-they both knew that Breide's main function at Landing was to report to the Southern Lord Holder everything of interest. Breide's conscientiousness often served up such quantities of trivia that Toric obviously did not bother to read the reports.

"He's trying to get enough men over to the island to shift Denol and his kin." Everyone knew that Toric was furious about the attempt by a band of rebels to take over the island he claimed as part of his Hold.

"I'd've thought he'd accomplished that already," F'lar said in surprise. "Toric can be very determined."

K'van's grin was sour. "He's also determined to have the Weyr's help."

F'lar started angrily. "There's no way he's to have that, K'van!"

"And so I've told him, time and again. The Weyr is not there for his convenience."

"And?"

"He doesn't take my no as final, F'lar." K'van faltered and he gave a helpless shrug to his shoulders. "I know I'm young to be a Weyrleader..."

"Your youth is not a relevant factor, K'van. You're a good Weyrleader, and I've had that assurance from the older riders in your Weyr! "

K'van was young enough to flush with pleasure at hearing such praise. "Toric wouldn't agree," he replied, twitching his straight-held shoulders.

F'lar could not deny the fact that K'van's slim, youthful build would put him at a disadvantage in a confrontation with the tall and powerful Southern Lord Holder. At the time K'van's Heth had flown Adrea's queen, Toric had been enthusiastic about having a Benden-trained Weyrleader. But he had not had rank rebellion in his Hold at that point.

"At first," K'van went on, "he wanted the Weyr to take his soldiers to the island. When I refused, he said that he'd be satisfied that I'd done my duty to the Hold if I told him where the rebels had made their camp. His argument was that we overfly the island during a Pass so we'd see where they were, and that information would assist him in suppressing the rebellion. When I refused, he started to harass some of the older bronze riders, suggesting that I'm too young to know my duty to the Lord Holder."

"I trust he's had no joy on that score," F'lar said sharply.

K'van shook his head. "No, they told him that such action was not a Weyr responsibility. Then-" The young Weyrleader hesitated.

"Then?" F'lar prompted grimly.

"He tried to bribe one of my blue riders with the promise of finding him a suitable friend."

"That is enough!" F'lar's expression darkened, and he irritably pushed hair back from his forehead. "Lessa!" he called, beckoning urgently to her.

When F'lar explained K'van's problem, she was equally incensed.

"You'd think he'd know better by this time not to try to bully dragonriders," she said, her voice crisp with anger. When she saw K'van's apprehensive expression, she gave him a reassuring touch. "It's scarcely your fault Toric is as greedy as a Bitran."

"Desperate, more like," K'van said with the hint of a smile. "Master Idarolan told me that Toric had offered him a small fortune in gems and a fine harbor if he'd sail a punitive force to the Island. But he wouldn't. And, furthermore, he's told all the other Shipmasters that they're not -to help Toric in this matter. They won't, either."

"Toric has ships of his own," Lessa said irritably.

K'van had relaxed enough to grin. "But none large enough to transport a sufficiently large force to be effective. His landing parties have been ambushed and either wounded severely enough to make them useless or imprisoned by the rebels." His grin grew broader. "I've got to hand it to Denol-he's clever. But I wanted to tell you what's been happening before lies or rumors got back to you-or other Lord Holders complained about our attitude."

"Quite correct, K'van," F'lar said.

"We'll have to find time to visit Lord Toric," Lessa said, a steely look in her eyes. Then she smiled, a nasty smile that made K'van relieved that it was not directed against him. "Lord Toric needs a full report on Aivas and what's happening here at Landing. I think we'll inform him ourselves, F'lar?"

"I'm not sure when," F'lar said with a sigh. "But we'll make the time somehow. K'van, just keep your Weyr out of Toric's squabble."

"I shall!" And there was no doubt in the Benden Weyrleaders' minds that he would. K'van had been a determined and responsible youngster, and now that he was grown to manhood, those traits were refined. He would stand against Toric simply because Toric didn't think he could.

Now, place this plug," Aivas told Piemur, illustrating the appropriate one on the monitor, "in this female socket!" When Piemur had complied, Aivas went on. "There should be a green light on the base of the monitor."

"There isn't," Piemur said in a voice that was almost a wail. He sighed gustily, hanging on to his patience.

"Then there is a faulty connection. Remove the cover and check the boards, mother, input-output, and memory," Aivas said. It didn't help Piemur's temper that Aivas seemed totally unruffled by yet another failure. It simply wasn't normal for an entity to be so bloody methodically insensitive. "Machines must first be properly assembled before they can function as they were designed. That is the first step. Be patient. It is only a matter of discovering which is the faulty connection."

Piemur found that he was trying to bend the screwdriver in his hand. He took a deep breath and, not daring to look to either side of him, where Benelek and Jancis were concentrating on assembling their own devices, he removed the cover of his. Once more.

They had been at this tedious and exacting task ever since Terry had arranged all the wires and connecting cords to Aivas's satisfaction. It soothed Piemur only slightly that Benelek, who had always been mechanically inclined and good with his hands, was not faring any better. Nor was Jancis, though her current ineptitude distressed him for her sake. Piemur's shoulders ached with cramp, his fingers were thick with all the finicky little movements, and he was going sour on the whole project. It had seemed such a simple affair. Find the cartons in the caves with the stored units, dust 'em off, start 'em up, and that d be that. But it wasn't. First Aivas had made them learn what each unit was-keyboard, liquid-crystal display, computer box, touch keyboard panel and the codes for the various "boards" that activated the computer terminal. Fortunately, when it came to soldering broken connections, Jancis and Benelek were adept. Piemur burned his fingers once or twice in practice, but he caught on quickly enough. Fingers made dexterous by playing instruments easily adapted to the new task. But the initial enthusiasm that had motivated Piemur since before dawn had long since drained out of him. Only the fact that neither Jancis nor Benelek faltered kept him going.

"Let us begin again," the inexorable, calm Aivas voice continued, "by checking each panel to be sure there is no damage or break in the circuits or chips."

"I've done that twice already," Piemur said, setting his jaw.

"Then it must be done again. Make use of the magnifying glass. That is why our boards were all made to be visible, serviceable. On Earth it was not possible to check them visually like this. There it was done by facilities in factory outlets. Here we must just proceed patiently."

Holding his temper firmly in check, Piemur went over the chips, circuit by circuit, scrutinizing the resistors and capacitors. The beads and silvery lines that had once fascinated him had become anathema, called by stupid terms that meant nothing to him but trouble. He devoutly wished he had never seen the bloody things. Close scrutiny did not disclose any obvious breaks. So, exercising the greatest control on his fingers, he replaced each component as carefully as he could. They all slotted firmly into place.

"Be sure that each card is seated securely in the grooves," said the ever-calm Aivas.

"I just did, Aivas!" Piemur knew he sounded petulant, but in the face of Aivas's imperturbability, he found it even harder to be objective. Then his good humor reasserted itself. Machines, he reminded himself facetiously, did only what they were programmed to do. They did not have emotions to interfere with the smooth performance of their duties-once a smooth performance had been attained.

"Before you replace the cover, Piemur, blow gently across the unit to be sure there are no motes of dust clogging the connections."

Master Esselin had the reconstruction of the Aivas facility in hand, but the work roused clouds of dust, some of which sifted into the chamber despite all precautions.

Piemur blew carefully, Replaced the cover. Picked up the plug and inserted it. It took him a full moment to realize that a green light indeed shone on the panel just where it was supposed to, and that a letter had appeared on the liquid-crystal display. He let out a whoop, startling Jancis and Benelek.

"Don't do that, Piemur," the young journeyman exclaimed, scowling up at him. "I nearly soldered the wrong connection."

"It's really working, Piemur?" Jancis looked up hopefully.

"Green and go!" Piemur chortled, rubbing his hands together, ignoring Benelek's sour looks. "All right, Aivas, now what do I do? "

"Using the letters on the keys in front of you, tap out README."

Hunting out the various letters, Piemur tapped out the phrase. Instantly the screen in front of him blossomed with words, numbers, and letters.

"Hey, look, you two. Words! My own screen full of words!"

Benelek spared only an irritated glance, but Jancis rose to stand behind him and admire the result. She gave him an approving pat and then returned to her task.

"Read carefully and absorb the information on the screen," Aivas said, "and you will learn how to access the programs you need to reach the information you desire. First you must become familiar with the terms. Being comfortable with these terms increases your efficiency as an operator."

By the time Piemur had read through the instructions several times, he wasn't much wiser, for it appeared to him that familiar words no longer meant what they should. He sighed and started at the beginning of the page again. Words were a harper's profession, and he would learn these new interpretations if it took him a full Turn.

"I've got it, too!" Jancis cried elatedly. "I've got a green light, too!"

"That makes three of us then," Benelek said smugly. "And I tap Out README, Aivas? "

"The initial lesson is the same for all, Benelek. You are to be congratulated! Have more students been enlisted in this project? There is much to be done."

"Patience, Aivas," Piemur said, imitating the machine's tone and grinning at Jancis. "They'll come in their fairs once word has got round."

"The rider of the white dragon, Lord Jaxom? Will he be one?"

"Jaxom?" Piemur asked, mildly surprised."I wonder where he got to."