“Why must it be four years, ten months, and whatever days?” K’van, the youngest Weydeader, 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 wed 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.”

4

   FOR MOST of that day, Jaxom had been as thoroughly thwarted as Piemur could have wished. He and Ruth had transported five loads of cartons from the caves to the Aivas building, then just when the last had been off-loaded, Master Fandarel had urgently requested the two of them to convey Bendarek back to Lemos and his crafthall. The woodsmith couldn’t wait to initiate Aivas’s plans to redesign his paper-making machinery and to improve the quality of the product by adding a rag content to the wood pulp.

   When Jaxom and Ruth returned to Landing, Master Terry had needed help in locating cables and wires which, after much scrambling about, were found in an almost-overlooked alcove in the caves. Jaxom and Ruth naturally obliged Master Terry by transporting him and the coils back to the Aivas building. Jaxom tried not to care, reminding himself that he was assisting the overall effort, except that he had had rather different notions of how he and Ruth would spend the day.

   The white dragon had looked forward to basking in the hot Southern sun. The winter in the North had been cold and clammy, with little sunshine. And Jaxom had especially wanted to work on Aivas’s contraptions with Piemur, Jancis, and Benelek.

   But Jaxom had made a habit of being accessible, amiable, and helpful. People found it much easier to ask him to oblige than they did other dragons and riders. As Ruth never objected, Jaxom felt constrained to assist whenever they could. Sharra thought it was because he was so determined to be the opposite of his despotic sire, Fax. She felt Jaxom carried this second-generation atonement too far sometimes, and she was quick to interfere if she felt his willingness was being abused. But she was back in Ruatha, and this was rapidly becoming one of those times when amiability was a bloody nuisance.

   By the time Terry had off-loaded his coils of wires, Jaxom became aware of a rumbling in his stomach-not surprising, since he had had nothing but klah and a meatroll with Menolly and Sebell in the early morning. Sharra always worried about him remembering to take time to eat, and Jaxom tried to remember her injunctions. He wished that her gravid condition had not prevented her from accompanying him here, but she couldn’t risk going between right now. So he walked over to the kitchen building, unaware that F’lar was holding the extraordinary meeting, or he would have been there to lend his support. Jaxom had to help himself to food, because the cook and the drudges were busy dealing with an apprentice who had badly burned his hand do a hot spit-which reminded him that he had promised to convey Master Oldive to Landing. Maybe when that chore was done, he and Ruth could do as they wished.

   When Jaxom and Ruth came out of between above the great courtyard of the combined Harper and Healer Halls in Fort Hold, Ruth was suddenly surrounded by a chittering fair of fire-lizards, their demands shrill with warning.

“What’s the matter with them, Ruth?” Jaxom asked.

   Master Oldive doesn’t want you to land in the courtyard, Ruth replied. He says the harpers will latch on to you and he’ll never get to Landing. Ruth sounded puzzled, but Jaxom laughed.

   “I should’ve thought of that myself. So what does Master Oldive suggest we do?”

   I don’t know. They’ve gone to tell him we’re here. Ruth glided to the far side of the big Harper Hall complex, where they would not be so easily seen from either the Hall or the adjacent Fort Hold.

   He comes, Ruth said, just as they were once again surrounded try now happily chirping fairs of fire-lizards, doing one of their intricate aerial displays of delight. They see us from the Hold, he added, as another full fair of fire-lizards came zooming in on them, shrieking urgently. No, we have more important things to do than stop at the Hold right now, Ruth said, and added a warning bugle that sent the newcomers whizzing back, their voices thin with distress at his reprimand.

   “Lord Groghe’s at Landing,” Jaxom said, trying not to feel guilty about ignoring the request. “He’ll tell them all he wants them to know when he gets back.”

   His queen fire-lizard has been in and out of the Hold with messages. They know all they need to know about this Aivas, Ruth rumbled in subtle discontent.

   Jaxom slapped the white dragon’s neck affectionately. “You wouldn’t fit in the room, dear friend. Piemur said his Farli went to sleep, totally uninterested in Aivas.”

   Ruth rumbled again. Here comes the Masterhealer. He veered sharply, descending at such an angle that Jaxom reflexively grabbed the riding straps and arched backward against the steep

   “You could have warned me,” Jaxom remonstrated mildly. Ruth had a habit of sharpening up his rider’s reflexes with unexpected maneuvers. The white dragon grunted with satisfaction at the success of his trick as he back-winged to land neatly a length from Master Oldive, who shambled up to them at a surprisingly rapid rate for a man with legs of unequal length and a humped back. He had a large satchel thumping behind his normal shoulder, but he waved a greeting, a huge grin on his face.

   “Ho, there, Jaxom! I feared that you’d forgotten me in all the furor.” He leaned against Ruth for a moment to recover his breath. “I’m not as fit as I think I am,” he said. They both heard the shouts and saw folk in harper blue charging out of the courtyard archway. “Quickly. If they catch you, we’ll never leave.”

   Ruth crouched down on his forequarters, crooking his left foreleg as a step for the Masterhealer. Jaxom leaned down to grasp Oldive’s arm. Winded the man might be, but he exerted a powerful pull as he hauled himself to Ruth’s back and settled behind Jaxom.

   Immediately Ruth sprang aloft, his white wings taking the first important downstroke and beating upward so that the disappointed cries were quickly lost.

   “When you’re ready, Ruth,” Jaxom said, picturing the Aivas building and being very careful to detail the alteration of the mounds in front of it so as not to have Ruth land out of time. Since the initial excavation, enough space had been cleared there for several dragons to land.

   The cold of between sucked warmth from their bodies, and then they were suddenly in the bright, hot southern afternoon sun. A good-sized fair of fire-lizards swirled up to welcome Ruth, who was a particular favorite of theirs. As usual in the South, there were as many wild ones as those whose necks were banded in the colors of the people they were beholden to.

   “By the first Egg, I don’t recognize the place,” Oldive said in an awed voice as Ruth glided in to land.

   “Um not sure I recognize it either,” Jaxom said, grinning over his shoulder at Oldive. “Master Esselin has already got one annex up.” He pointed to the swarm of men working furiously to erect walls on the right-hand side of the Aivas building.

   “Oh, you’re using parts of the old building!” Oldive exclaimed.

   “F’lar suggested it! Makes sense, instead of having to haul in building materials when there are all those empty buildings.”

   “Oh, true, true.” Oldive’s tone did not indicate complete approval.

   “And only from the smaller buildings-the family units, Aivas called them. There are several hundred of them,” Jaxom went on reassuringly. During their rummaging in the Catherine Caves, Terry had given Jaxom an account of the morning’s session with Aivas and the renovations planned.

   “Is every Weyrleader here?” Oldive went on, suddenly aware of the long line of sunbathing dragons on the ridge above the settlement.

   Jaxom laughed. “Since Aivas promises to help obliterate Thread, they wait on his every word.” He held up a steadying hand as Oldive dismounted from Ruth’s back.

   “How?” The old man almost lost his footing in surprise. Jaxom braced him, catching the pack before it could swing around and totally unbalance the healer.

   “I don’t exactly know.” Jaxom shrugged, experiencing another surge of annoyance at being out of things so far that day. “I was hoping to find out more this morning, but I’ve been otherwise occupied.”

   Oldive put a sympathetic hand on Jaxom’s arm, his expression apologetic. “Conveying the curious to the new wonder?”

   “Oh, I don’t mind, Oldive.” He grinned slyly at the healer. “If you will remember to ask Aivas about those two patients Sharra’s so worried about.”

   “They are first on my list, I assure you, Jaxom. Marvelous woman, Sharra, always giving of her own energies and as selfless as you are yourself!”

   Jaxom looked away, his embarrassment made all the more acute by the awareness that he would have preferred to have spent the morning learning new things from Aivas. But he was here at last, and he eagerly anticipated Master Oldive’s reaction to Aivas.

   Inside the building, Esselin’s craftsmen were making an appalling amount of noise with their hammering. There was dust everywhere. Jaxom was amazed at how much had been accomplished. Walls had been washed clean, revealing bright, cheerful colors. He wondered how color had been impregnated into the material, for it didn’t look like any painted surface he had ever seen. He could hear lively conversations off to the left; F’lar’s voice was recognizable, as were T’gellan’s and R’mart’s. He guided Master Oldive to the right and relived the thrill of the previous day’s discovery as they faced the closed door to Aivas’s room.

   Jaxom rapped on the door in a courteous warning and then opened it on a scene of great industry, which only served to reinforce his niggling resentment. Seated in front of a table made of a board supported by empty cartons, Piemur, Jancis, and Benelek were crouched over the units that he had helped resurrect from the Catherine Caves. And, adding insult to his sense of injury, the sharding things were working. His three friends were tapping away industriously at the keyboard units in front of them. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils to disperse his pique: a reaction he found unacceptable in himself.

   Piemur craned his neck around to see who had entered. “Good day to you, Master Oldive. Welcome to the hallowed Aivas chamber. Where’ve you been all day, Jaxom?”

   “I see you’ve made good use of your time,” Jaxom replied, trying very hard to neutralize his ill feelings and not quite succeeding. He caught Oldive’s sideways glance and made himself smile. “But I’m here now, and you can teach me what I need to know.”

   “No chance of that,” Piemur replied with his usual impudence. “You have to start from the same point we did. Aivas’s orders.”

   “I’m quite willing,” Jaxom said, trying to see the writing on Jancis’s screen, the closest to him.

   She had stopped whatever she had been doing to smile at her old friend Master Oldive. Now she wrinkled her nose at Piemur. “You are the limit sometimes. The components are all carefully set out in the next room, Jaxom. I’ll help you, even if he won’t.”

   Benelek didn’t look up from his work. “He’s to muddle through all by himself, Jancis, or he doesn’t learn.”

   She rolled her eyes at Benelek’s uncompromising attitude. “Oh, he’ll have to do it himself, but a wink is as good a nod at times. Besides, I think wed all better move into the other room. I can’t stand it when Master Oldive goes into gory details. And that’s what he’s here to do with Aivas.” She winked at the healer. “Every Craft has its hazards, I suppose.”

   “Oh, yes, we certainly should allow him some privacy,” Piemur agreed, rising from his stool.

   “Interruptions, always interruptions,” Benelek muttered sourly. But he got up, too, and carefully began to start the transfer.

   “I heard the Weydeaders back there,” Jaxom began, wanting to effect the introduction protocol for Aivas. “Should I get one in here?”

   “Won’t be needed,” Piemur said. “Special dispensation has already been recorded by Aivas. Just go ahead and introduce Master Oldive.”

   Which Jaxom did, exceedingly grateful that he would have no further delay in catching up with his friends.

   “It is a pleasure to meet a man who is so highly praised by all,” Aivas said.

   The rich voice, so humanly inflected, caused Master Oldive to stare about in considerable consternation.

   “Aivas is, so to speak, all around you in this room,” Jaxom said encouragingly when he saw how disconcerted the healer was. “He’s a bit much to get used to at first, I agree. Scared the lot of us.”

   Busy disassembling the makeshift table, Piemur shot Master Oldive an indulgent grin. “You’ll get used to a disembodied voice real quick, the kind of sense Aivas talks.”

   “Go teach yourself to be sensible for me, young Piemur,” Aivas said in a jocular tone that startled everyone.

   “Yes, sir, good Master Aivas, yes, sir,” Piemur quipped, bowing humbly as he backed out of the room, carrying the table board and nearly knocking himself down when he forgot to lower the board to get it through the door.

   Jancis, following Piemur and Benelek, pulled the door shut behind her as she left.

   “Please make yourself comfortable, Master Oldive,” Aivas suggested. “Did you by any chance bring recent Records from your Hall? Those from the Harper, the Mastersmith, and the Woodsmith have already been assimilated, but for a proper assessment of your society’s achievements, Records from every Hall, Hold, and Weyr are gratefully accepted.”

   Master Oldive had absently seated himself, and his satchel, heavy with the notes he had brought with him, began to slide from his shoulder. He caught the strap and, with a shake of his head, recalled his wits.

   “Lord Groghe said that-“ Master Oldive hesitated briefly, not knowing the appropriate form in which to address the entity, -you know, well, everything.”

   “The memory banks of this facility contain the most comprehensive data available at the time the colony ships set out for their destination of the Rukbat system. That includes medical information.”

   “May I ask how that information is organized?”

   “Basic anatomy, microanatomy, physiology, autocrinology, medical biochemistry, and many more categories, such as immunology and neuropathology-which, it is fair to suggest, may no longer be known to you.”

   “In that you are correct. For we have lost so much knowledge, so many techniques.” Oldive had never been more keenly aware of the gaps in his Craft.

   “You distress yourself unnecessarily, Master Oldive, for all those whom I have met so far are in excellent health and well above what was considered normal weight and height by the medical standards of your ancestors. There is much to be said for a non-industrialized civilization.”

   “Industrialized? That term is unfamiliar to me, though I recognize the root word.”

“Industrialize, “ Aivas intoned. “Transitive verb: to organize large industries in; as, to industrialize a community; to introduce the economic system of industrialization into; as, to industrialize a new nation. An industrialized society, in contrast to an agrarian one like yours.”

   “Thank you. Why would an industrialized society produce less healthy folk?”

   “Pollution of the atmosphere and environment by industrial wastes, noxious fumes, chemical effluents, contamination of field-grown edibles, among other evils.”

   Master Oldive was speechless.

   “Those who settled Pern wished to found an agrarian society. To that end they were receptive to many anti-industrial cultures, like the ancient gypsies, as well as retired military types. Their objective has been attained in this, your present,” Aivas said.

   “It has?” Master Oldive was surprised that Pern had succeeded in anything other than surviving nine Passes of Threadfall.

   “In more ways than you might imagine, Master Oldive, being too close to have an objective view. Apart from the inconvenience of the organism, Thread, you have achieved much.”

   “Addressing you, Aivas, I perceive that we have also lost much.”

   “Perhaps not as much as you think, Masterhealer.”

   “In my Craft, I know that we have lost the capacity to alleviate much suffering, prevent the plagues which have all but decimated the population from time to time...”

   “The strong survived, and your population was renewed.”

   “But so much knowledge was irretrievably lost, especially in my Craft.”

   “Those losses can be remedied.”

   Master Oldive was caught up short by what sounded very much like a pun to him. But surely a machine... He cleared his throat, but it was Aivas who continued speaking.

   “Would it ease your mind to know that even the most astute medical. practitioners among your ancestors sometimes felt themselves helpless against plague? That they constantly sought new methods of easing pain and correcting afflictions?”

   “It should, but it doesn’t. But, to urgent matters, if I may, Aivas?”

   “Of course, Master Oldive”

   “There are several patients, three suffering severe pain which we are unable to relieve, wasting in both flesh and spirit. If I tell you their symptoms, would that be sufficient for diagnosis?”

   “Proceed with the symptoms. If they can be matched with cases on record, a diagnosis is possible. As there are three point two billion documented histories that can be consulted, a similarity may be found that would suggest suitable treatment.”

   With fingers fumbling with hope, Master Oldive opened his casebook to the first of Sharra’s two patients. He owed Jaxom that courtesy.

   “What’re you doing?” Jaxom asked, mystified by the way the others were intently regarding their gray screens. Aivas’s main screen was not at all like these smaller ones.

   Benelek gave a snort of impatience and bent further over the board. He pecked about with his index fingers in no pattern that Jaxom could discern.

   “We’re becoming familiar with the keyboard configuration,” Piemur said, with a malicious grin at Jaxom’s ignorance. “We’re learning our way through the commands. Don’t let us keep you from contrapting your own. You’re a half day behind us already.

   “That’s mean, Piemur,” Jancis said. Taking Jaxom by the hand, she pulled him over to the boxes and cartons that had only been partially unpacked. “Take a keyboard, then one of those larger boxes. Put them on the table, and take one of the liquid-crystal display screens.”

  “The what?”

  “One of those.” She pointed. “And be careful. Aivas said they’re fragile, and we only have so many of them. Take off the plastic, and you’ll need your knife. That stuff is unbelievably tough. Then,” she continued, handing him a very small-headed screwdriver and a magnifying glass, “unscrew the big box. You’ll have to check over all the circuits to be sure none of them have come adrift. The glass will help you quickly locate any breaks.”

   Benelek suddenly uttered a resounding oath and banged his fists on the table. “I’ve lost it all. Everything!”

   Piemur glanced up, surprised at Benelek’s uncharacteristic outburst. “Well, reboot.” The new word tripped easily from his Harper-trained tongue.

   “But you don’t understand!” Benelek waved his hands wildly above his head. “I lost all I had typed. And I had it almost done!”

   “Did you save?” Jancis asked sympathetically.

   “Yes, I did, up until just the last bits,” Benelek said, his frustration dissipating. Jaxom watched in fascination as the journeyman jabbed at various places on the board in front of him and then ahhed in satisfaction at the result.

   “Don’t dally now, Jaxom,” Piemur said with a wicked grin. “You must join our jolly band, where one misused key can destroy a whole hour’s hard work.”

   “Aivas did say we’d have to learn many new skills,” Jancis said reasonably. “Oh, shards! I’ve done something wrong now, too.” She peered at the blank screen, then frowned down at the keyboard. “Now what key did I press that I shouldn’t have?”

   As he drew his beltknife, Jaxom wondered just why he wanted any part of what was obviously an occupation fraught with frustrations.

   The quick tropic evening caught them unawares. Piemur, cursing under his breath at any interruption, darted around the room, opening the glowbaskets. But the light was not shining at the correct angle to light up his screen so, still swearing, he altered his chair. Absently, still tapping away, Benelek followed his example. Jancis and Jaxom, seated at the right angle, continued with their lessons.

   “Who’s in here now?” Lessa’s voice said from the hallway. The door opened and she stuck her head in. “So this is where you all got to. Jaxom, Master Oldive needs you and Ruth again, and I think it’s high time you left here. Your eyes are burnt holes in your head. And the rest of you are no better.”

   Benelek glanced up only briefly. “This is no time to stop, Weyrwoman.”

   “This is the time to stop, Benelek,” she replied in an uncontradictable tone.

   “But, Weyrwoman, I’ve got to assimilate all these new terms and be able to-”

   “Aivas!” Lessa raised her voice as she turned her head to the right. “Can you turn these things off? Your students are too diligent. Not that I don’t approve-in theory-but they could all use a good night’s rest.”

   “I didn’t save-“ Benelek shouted, spreading his hands in high indignation and staring in horror at a suddenly darkened and unresponsive screen.

   “Your work has been saved,” Aivas’s voice assured him. “You have toiled without renewing yourself all day long, Journeyman Benelek. Even machines need maintenance. Your body can be considered a soft machine which also needs frequent sustenance. Refresh yourselves. Return tomorrow with energy and concentration renewed.”

   For a few seconds Benelek looked as if he might rebel. Then he sighed and pushed himself back from the table over which he had been bent for hours. He gave Lessa a sheepish grin. “I will eat and rest. And begin again tomorrow-but there is so much to be learned, so much more than I ever imagined.”

   “Indeed there is,” Master Oldive said, emerging from the Aivas room, a thick sheaf of papers clutched in one hand and his satchel in the other. He looked from one to the other in bewilderment. “So much more than I dreamed.” And then he sighed with great satisfaction, holding up the sheaf. “But this is a good start. A very good start.”

   “You will need some klah before Jaxom takes you anywhere, Master Oldive,” Lessa said. She took the healer firmly by the arm and nodded to Jancis and Jaxom to take his encumbrances from him.

   He relinquished the satchel readily enough but he clutched the sheaf to him.

   “Let me at least tidy them up, Master Oldive,” Jancis said earnestly. “I shan’t disarrange their order.”

   “It wouldn’t matter anyway,” Oldive said with a weary flick of his long-fingered hand. “They’re numbered and separated into categories.” Jancis still had to gently pry his fingers loose. “I have learned so much, so much,” he muttered with a bemused smile on his face as Lessa led him down the hall. The others followed, suddenly aware of their own fatigue.

   You have been in there for six hours, Jaxom, and you had better eat something, or Sharra will blame me, Ruth said. You’re very tired, you know.

   Oh, I know I am. I know I am. Jaxom wondered if klah would be enough to revive him.

   “Is it our turn now?” Terry asked as he and several eagerfaced journeymen came around the corner from the entrance hall. When Lessa nodded, he urged his followers down the hall at a jog trot.

   Their energy appeared almost obscene to Jaxom. No one had the right to have that much vitality at the end of a day. As they passed him, he noted that their shoulder knots identified them as coming from Tillek, far enough west that it was actually early in the day for them. He sighed.

   Lessa installed Master Oldive in a chair at the table and gestured for the drudges to supply everyone with klah and plates of roast beast and tubers. Never had such a plain meal smelled so appetizing to Jaxom. He gobbled down the food, and when he was offered a second helping, he took as much again.

   There was more color in Master Oldive’s cheeks as he made inroads on his generous serving. Benelek ate with single-minded intensity, his eyes focused on some obscure distance, and occasionally he nodded his head as if approving his ruminations. Jaxom decided he hadn’t the energy for thinking right then. He would think again the next morning. Sharra would understand. He hoped Brand would, since he would once again have to leave the Steward to cope with the details of running Ruatha Hold. Brand never seemed to mind. On the other hand, Lytol might, but surely Master Robinton would explain the importance of Aivas to Jaxom’s old guardian.

   “I must send a message to that young journeyman of Wansor’s,” Oldive told Lessa, his enthusiasm vivid on his long face. “I must have an apparatus similar to the one that was found in Benden Weyr. It will magnify blood and tissue so that we can identify disease and infection.” He reached for the neat pile Jancis had made of his papers and started leafing through them. “Aivas states that the use of a microscope is essential to improve medical diagnosis and even treatment. He has given me the details of how to run other necessary diagnostic tests.”

   “A microscope?” Lessa asked indulgently. She thought highly of the Masterhealer, who had recently sent her a woman possessed of a miraculous talent for repairing even the most damaged wings or hideous Thread scores.

   “That’s the word.” Oldive put a hand to his forehead. “Aivas crammed so much into my poor head today that I wonder I can remember my name.”

   “It’s Oldive,” Piemur said, putting on an innocently helpful expression. He rolled his eyes at the quelling glance Lessa threw him. Jancis poked him in the ribs, and he subsided meekly enough.

   When they had finished their meal, Jaxom presented himself ready to convey Master Oldive back to the Harper Hall.

  “Ah, no, Jaxom, I would like to go directly to Ruatha. I have advice for Sharra.” There was a radiant smile of erect satisfaction on the healer’s face.

   “Aivas knows a cure?” Jaxom asked.

   Master Oldive nodded toward his stack. “Cure? Perhaps. Certainly several avenues of investigation that may provide relief.” Then he sighed. “There was so very much medical acumen lost over the centuries. He didn’t say so, of course, but Aivas was clearly taken aback by our lack of remedial surgery. He was, however, most commendatory about our preventive measures and non-surgical techniques. Ah...” He made a weary gesture with one hand. “I could go on and on.” He smiled with self-deprecation. “With whom should I arrange additional time with Aivas? There are both Masters and journeymen who would benefit immensely by consultations with him.”

   Lessa looked up to see a weary-looking F’lar standing in the doorway. He shrugged.

   “I hadn’t thought about apportioning Aivas’s time,” the Weyrleader said.

   “As soon as we manage to set up these individual stations,” Piemur said, “there’ll be four more links to Aivas.”

   “The Healer Hall should have priority,” Lessa added with a frown, scrubbing at her face in fatigue.

   “Those are to be teaching consoles,” Benelek said, scowling.

   “For us, maybe,” Piemur said. “But if they access Aivas, then they can be used for other purposes. At least that’s what I figure.”

   “You’re a harper, not a journeyman mechanic.”

   “I’m a Mastersmith,” Jancis put in, her tone edged, “and let me remind you that Piemur got his unit up and running before either of us did.”

“Enough! “ Lessa brought her hand down on the table with a slap of authority. “We’re all tired.” She rose abruptly. “Ramoth!” Outside, the golden queen dragon bugled a response. “You’re all to leave this building now!” She leveled a stern look first at Benelek and then the others. “Including us.” Her gaze settled on F’lar, who grinned and held up both hands as if to fend her off. “The two buildings to the left of this one have been set up as dormitories. Go!” She shooed them off with her hands, then glared at them until they started to move.

   Master Oldive chuckled softly as he accompanied Jaxom out of the building. “Not that I think I will sleep tonight at all with so much to absorb and review. Why, Jaxom, even what I learned today is only the veriest crumb of the medical knowledge which Aivas had stored! He clarified my understanding of several perplexing conditions. I must have Master Ampris, our herbalist, bring him our pharmacopoeia.” A weary smile lit Master Oldive’s face. “He said we have made very good use of indigenous plants, and he recognized many as those brought by our ancestors from Earth. Earth!” And Oldive looked up at the star-spangled sky, turning his twisted body to scan the dark heavens above them. “Do we know where Earth is in relation to Pern?”

   “I don’t think so,” Jaxom replied in mild surprise. “I don’t remember that Aivas gave the direction. Maybe he didn’t want to. Our ancestors came here to escape a war, a conflict of such scope and dimensions, waged against an evil far more destructive than Thread, that they wanted to forget Earth.”

   “Really? Could anything be more destructive than Thread?” The healer was both astonished and appalled.

   “I find it hard to believe, too,” Jaxom agreed.

   Ruth glided in from his sunning spot to the cleared area in front of the Aivas building. He ducked his head to receive his weyrmate’s affectionate slap.

   “You must have baked yourself,” Jaxom said, shaking his hand as if to cool it.

   Yes. It was good. Ramoth and Mnementh are waiting for us to leave this space, Ruth said. There’s really enough room, but you know Ramoth. She likes to boss me.

   Jaxom chuckled as he mounted, aware that fatigue was making him clumsy. With no prompting needed, the white dragon crouched down to accommodate Master Oldive.

   Hauling the healer up only emphasized Jaxom’s weariness. But they would be home soon. Inwardly he groaned: They would have to make yet another run later, to take Oldive back to his Hall.

   Sharra will make him stay the night. He’ll want to talk, so she won’t let him go, Ruth said.

   As Ruth rose from the ground, Jaxom and Oldive were able to appreciate just how busy Landing had become. Paths lit by glowbaskets spread like the spokes of a wheel radiating out from the Aivas building. Carpenters and joiners were working by glowlight to finish roofing the substantial annex. All of the housing immediately adjacent was lit, and the warm evening air was redolent with the aromas of roasting meats. On the mounds beyond, large, vivid, blue-faceted dragon eyes punctuated the darkness like immense jewels on a deep blue background. Two rose and glided beneath Ruth as he continued to rise.

   All right, Ruth, let’s go home to Ruatha. Jaxom gratefully focused his thoughts on the Hold, the big courtyard in front of the wide steps, and the smaller court that had been their quarters during their youth. The cold of between held a wicked bite on tired minds and bodies. It did not help to emerge into the weak afternoon sunlight and the chill of winter. Jaxom could feel Oldive shivering behind him. But Ruth had emerged only a few wing strokes above the Hold and glided effortlessly into the main courtyard, the Hold’s fair of fire-lizards wheeling in raptures at his return.

   Sharra, a thick furry cloak thrown over her shoulders, came running down the steps to them, effusive in her welcome, helping Master Oldive dismount, securing his satchel as it swung off his shoulder, smiling her delight up at Jaxom, and with her free hand giving Ruth an affectionate slap. Though she asked nothing, Jaxom knew his wife well enough to know that she was bursting with questions. He threw one arm across her shoulders and kissed her cheek; her smooth skin and the scent of her revived him as he guided Oldive up the steps and into the warmth of the Hold.

   I’m going inside immediately, Ruth told his rider, or I’ll lose all the benefit of my sunning. And he took himself off to his weyr in the old kitchen where, Jaxom knew, a fire would be waiting in the hearth.

   Sharra ordered food and drink as she pushed the two men toward the small office where they would have some privacy from the many people eager to hear Jaxom’s report of the ongoing events at Landing. “Later, later,” she told them firmly, and closed the door.

   Before Oldive joined Jaxom and Sharra at the fire, he carefully laid his satchel on the wide desk where Jaxom generally sat to manage the details of his Hold. A pile of messages and Records lay waiting for his attention. There was a scratch at the door, and then the Steward himself entered, carrying a laden tray.

   “Oh, that’s kind of you, Brand,” Jaxom said. “Lessa made us eat before she’d let us leave, Sharra, but klah will go down well. With a lashing of that fortified wine I see you brought along.” Jaxom grinned at the stocky man who had been his friend since his childhood and was now his most valued assistant. “No, stay, Brand. You’ve the right to hear what keeps me from my proper tasks.”

   Brand waved his hand in a disclaimer as he helped Sharra pass the hot drinks, the pungent wine masking the klah’s fragrance. Jaxom took a judicious sip and felt the liquid rushing to restore warmth. Master Oldive, too, seemed to revive somewhat and sank into the chair that Brand placed close to the fire for him.

   “My dear, your female patient is suffering a gall bladder malfunction,” the old healer told Sharra. “Unfortunately, the man appears to have a cancerous growth, as we suspected. We can cure the one, for I have been given a specific medication for dissolving the gravel within the organ, but we can only ease the other from life.” Master Oldive paused, his eyes wide and bright with excitement. “Aivas has the most extraordinary fund of medical information, which he is quite willing to impart to us. He can even help us revive corrective surgical procedures, which you know I have yearned to do. Our Craft may have been limited to repair surgeries for lack of proper training, but he can help us recover much of that lost skill.”

   “That would be wonderful, Master, but would we be able to overcome the prejudice in the Hall about intrusive measures?” Sharra exclaimed, her face mirroring her hope.

   “Now that we have a mentor of unquestionable probity, I think that once we have proved the benefits to patients who will not mend without drastic measures, we can overcome those scruples.” He drained his cup and resolutely rose to his feet. “A few moments in your infirmary, my dear Sharra, and we shall have the medication for your gall bladder sufferer. The other poor wight...” Oldive shrugged, his expression deeply compassionate.

   “Come then, and you can tell me all the medical details that would bore Jaxom and Brand to tears,” Sharra said, grinning fondly at her mate.

   “You never-“ Jaxom paused to give that adverb full emphasis. “-bore me, Sharra.” The loving look that she gave him warmed as the klah had not.

   “You look tired, Jaxom,” Brand said when the door had closed.

   “I am, Brand, and my head aches with what I’ve seen and heard in the last two days. But I feel-I feel-” Jaxom stopped, clenching one fist. “That this is most momentous thing that has happened to Pern since-” and he laughed. “-our ancestors landed here.” His second laugh was not as easy. “Not that everyone will see it that way, I’m sure.”

   “There are always those who oppose change,” Brand said with a resigned shrug. “Has the Aivas told you exactly how it proposes to eliminate Thread?”

   “We are mere babes, Brand, and must put in much hard work and learn many new things before Aivas will give us any details. But you should have seen Fandarel.” Jaxom’s laugh was uninhibited. “And Benelek. They were spinning like tops to do everything at once. When Ruth and I got off transport duty, I was allowed to put together one of Aivas’s gadgets.” He examined the fingers of his right hand, the solder burn and the nicks where the screwdriver had slipped. “I’m learning to access knowledge. Tomorrow I may even get to read some of Aivas’s stored wisdom. I tell you, Brand, the next few weeks are going to be fascinating.”

   “Another way of telling me you’ll frequently be away from the Hold?” Brand asked, grinning.

   “Well, apart from overseeing Falls, there’s not much to do right now in the depths of winter, is there?” Jaxom replied defensively.

   Brand laughed and, with the familiarity of their long and close relationship, clapped Jaxom on the shoulder. “That there isn’t, lad. I’d be happy to learn if Aivas knows any way of heating stone-cold holds.”

   “I’ll ask him!” Jaxom promised earnestly. “I’ll ask him.” And he leaned forward to warm his hands again.

5

   AGAINST HIS ENTREATIES, F’lar took Master Robinton back to Cove Hold.

   “You need the rest and the quiet, Robinton,” F’lar told the Harper sternly. “You won’t get that if you’re allowed to stay at Landing again tonight. You’re exhausted.”

   “But what a wonderful way to get tired, Flat. And every time I turn around, I think of something else I must ask Aivas.” Robinton chuckled. “It’s rather like knowing you have the most fabulous vintage in your glass and being torn between drinking and admiring.”

   F’lar shot him an amused look. “That’s apt enough, considering the source.”

   “I try! But surely you appreciate why I’m loath to leave?” And the Harper’s expression was entreating.

   “Oh, I do, Robinton.” F’lar grinned as he handed the man down from Mnementh’s great shoulder. “But it’d be worth my peace with Lessa if we let you overstretch yourself.”

   “But this is giving me new life, F’lar. A new hope that I never imagined to receive.”

   “Nor I,” F’lar replied fervently. “Which is why we must take care of you all the more-to interpret for us.”

   “Interpret? He speaks in plain and simple terms.”

   “Not what Aivas says, Robinton, but how our people will see what he offers. For me, and all dragonriders, despite the future effects on Weyrs and dragonkind, I cannot but accept Aivas’s offer to rid us of Thread. But already there are those who are either frightened or feel threatened by what Aivas can tell us, or give us.”

   “Yes, similar thoughts had crossed my mind,” Robinton said solemnly, but then he flashed F’lar a roguish grin. “But I also cross them out. The good done us will far outweigh the bad.”

   “Get a good night’s rest, Robinton. Benden flies Thread tomorrow, but Dram will oblige, I’m sure, to get you back to Landing.”

   “Him!” Robinton was suddenly petulant. “He’s worse than a milk mother, as it is.” And he settled easily into D’ram’s voice.” ‘I wouldn’t, if I were you, Robinton! Have you eaten enough, Robinton? Now would be a good time to rest in the sun.’ Tsck! He fusses me!”

   “Not tomorrow. D’ram’s as eager to see and hear more of Aivas as you are, you know,” F’lar said just before Mnementh launched himself upward.

   I’ve told Tiroth to take you tomorrow only if you’re well rested, the dragon said. Zair, bronze tail wrapped about the Harper’s neck and talons lightly clasping his right ear, chirruped agreement.

   “Oh, you!” Robinton was torn between irritation at their overprotectiveness and pleasure that Mnementh had a word for him. He could never forget how much he personally owed the dragons who had kept him alive when his labored heart had faltered that terrible day at Ista Weyr two Turns earlier.

   When he arrived at Cove Hold, Robinton was forced to admit to himself that he was tired. Just walking the short distance to the steps of his lovely residence winded him. There were lights on in the main hall: Dram and, doubtless, Lytol waiting up for him.

   Zair chirped again, confirming his guess. Well, they would not tax him, and certainly they both deserved a brief report of the day’s activities. Only how to be brief, considering all that had occurred since he had awakened early that morning? Only that morning? It was Turns away in knowledge and understanding.

   But when he walked into the pleasant, well-lit room, Dram, the venerable retired Weydeader, and Lytol, former dragonrider and Jaxom’s mentor, would listen to no explanations; they ushered him to his room with instructions that he was to rest first.

   “Whatever momentous events occurred after I left can wait until morning,” Dram said.

   “Drink your wine,” Lytol added, holding out the Harper’s beautiful blue glass goblet. “And yes, I’ve added something to make you sleep tonight, because just one look at your face tells me you need rest above all else.”

   Robinton closed his hand about the goblet. Norist might be a closed-minded Craftmaster, but he blew elegant glass when he had a mind to, and in the exact shade of harper blue. “But I’ve so much to tell you,” the Harper objected after a sip of the wine.

   “All the better told when you’ve had a good night’s sleep,” Lytol said. When he would have bent to undo Robinton’s boots, the Harper became indignant and pushed him away.

   “I’m not quite that tired, thank you, Lytol,” he said with great dignity.

   Laughing, Dram and Lytol left. Robinton took another sip of wine before loosening the fastenings of his boots. The third before he hauled his tunic over his head. And another as he loosened his belt with his free hand. That’s enough, he told himself and, draining the cup, lay back. He had only sufficient energy to pull the light blanket over him against the possible chill of a morning sea breeze. He felt Zair nestle down on the next pillow-and that was all.

   The next morning he awoke slowly, aware that the dream he had had during the night had been both satisfying and confusing, but its ephemeral details eluded a conscious effort at recall. He lay for a moment, orienting himself. Sometimes, of a morning, he had difficulty remembering what day it was, or the tasks he had mentally assigned himself to accomplish.

   Today he experienced no such disorientation. He remembered everything that had happened the day before with amazing clarity. Ah, that was good. A challenge to stimulate his flagging faculties. Corman and his accusation of gullibility! Indeed! Zair rumbled reassuringly on the pillow and stroked his head against Robinton’s cheek.

   “Will you pass the word along that I’m now completely refreshed?” he asked the bronze fire-lizard.

   Zair regarded him, tilting his head sideways, his eyes whirling ever so slightly with the green of contentment, and gave a chirp. Then he rose and stretched, his transparent wings arching over his head before he shook and folded them tightly along his spine.

   “So, are Tiroth and Dram awake to take me?”

   Zair ignored him and began to groom his left hind claws.

   “I gather that means I must bathe and eat first?” As he rose, Robinton realized that he had slept in his trousers-for the second night in a row. He shucked them off, snagged a large towel, and, opening the door from his corner room to the wide porch that sheltered Cove Hold from the intense sunlight, strode out. Descending the flight of steps with more vigor than he had climbed them the previous night, he jogged down the sandy track to the sea. Zair swirled overhead, crooning approval as Robinton dropped the towel on the white sand of the Cove and continued on into the pleasant waters. With Zair plunging into the next wave right beside him, Robinton emerged, propelling himself forward with a strong overarm stroke. A group of wild fire-lizards joined him and Zair, zipping just above the water alongside him or plunging in just in front of his face, missing body contact by inches. As often as they had seen humans bathing in the sea, they never ceased to be fascinated by swimmers.

   Robinton turned back to shore, allowing the waves to carry his body forward. The sea was gentle this morning, but the exercise was still a fine toner. He dried himself off, then knotted the towel about his waist and strode off toward the house, where Dram and Lytol were waiting on the porch. “Tell them, Zair, that I’m completely refreshed and in vigorous health.”

   “You’re awake, are you?” D’ram called. “About time. It’s well past noon.”

   “Past noon?” Robinton stopped in his tracks, appalled at having wasted so much time sleeping. Who knew what he had missed of Aivas’s disclosures that morning? “You should have wakened me!” He did not attempt to keep the irritation out of his voice.

   “Your body has more sense than you do,” Lytol added, rising from the hammock hanging in the corner of the porch. “You got only the sleep you needed, Robinton. Pour him some klah, Dram, while I finish preparing his breakfast-our lunch.”

   As Robinton came up the steps, the aroma of the klah that Dram was pouring was enough to remind him that hunger was a need, too. He settled himself down, and between bites of the substantial breakfast that Lytol served him he brought them up to date.

   “And so, the miracle begins,” he said, finishing his account.

   “You’ve no doubt in your mind, Robinton,” Lytol said with his usual skepticism, “that this Aivas can effect the annihilation of Thread?”

   “By the first Egg, Lytol, one cannot doubt it. The marvels we saw, the very fact that our ancestors made that incredible flight from the planet of our origin, lend credibility to his promise. We have. only to relearn the skills we lost, and we can triumph over this ancient menace.”

   “Aye, but why didn’t the ancients rid us of Thread then, with all their incredible crafts and their full knowledge of the technology lost to us?” Lytol asked.

   “You’re not the only one to query that, Lytol,” Robinton said. “But Aivas explained that the volcanic eruptions came at a crucial time and the settlers went north to establish a safe base. So their plans to defeat Thread were interrupted.”

   “Why didn’t they come back when Threadfall ceased?”

   “That Aivas didn’t know.” Robinton had to recognize that there were gaps in Aivas’s account. “And yet... a musical instrument can only do what it is constructed to do, or one of Fandarel’s machines. Therefore, a machine, even as sophisticated as Aivas, could do only what it/he was designed to do. It/ he”-I really must make up my mind how I consider the thing, Robinton thought-“is unlikely to tell lies. Though I suspect he,” Robinton said, making up his mind, “does not reveal the whole truth. We’ve had enough trouble absorbing and understanding what he’s already told us.”

   Lytol gave a snort, a cynical expression on his face which, Robinton was relieved to notice, was not mirrored by Dram.

   “I would like to believe that we can!” Robinton added.

   “Who wouldn’t?” Lytol said, relenting slightly.

   “I believe Aivas,” Dram said. “He speaks with such authority. He explained that the time will be right in four years that is, Turns-ten months and twenty-seven days. Twenty-six today. The time factor has to be correct to succeed.”

   “Succeed in what?” Lytol persisted.

   “That is something we must also learn.” Robinton laughed in self-disparagement. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Lytol, but we’re plainly too ignorant to understand his explanation. He did try-something about windows, and leaving Pern at just the precise moment to intercept the Red Star, or rather the planet which appears red to us for so much of its orbit in our skies. He showed us the diagram.” Noting his defensive tone, he shook himself. “If you wish to query him, Lytol, I’m sure you can.”

   Lytol cast Robinton a sardonic look. “There are others with greater reason to consult Aivas.”

   “But you must hear our history from Aivas, Lytol,” Dram said, leaning forward across the table. “You’ll appreciate then why we can so unreservedly believe in Aivas and in his promise.”

   “He really has got to you, hasn’t he?” Lytol shook his head at their credulousness.

   “If you listen to what he says, you’ll believe,” Robinton said, rising. He had to clutch at the towel to keep it from slipping, which reduced the dignity of his pronouncement. “I’m dressing to return to Landing. Dram, will you and Tiroth oblige me?”

   “Since you are rested,” Dram said, giving his housemate a long and searching look, “we will, of course, oblige. Lytol, will you not join us?”

   “Not today.”

   “Are you afraid of being won over despite your reservations?” Robinton asked.

   Lytol shook his head slowly. “That’s not likely. But go. Enjoy your dream of Threadfree skies.”

   “The last of the true skeptics,” Robinton muttered under his breath, somewhat disturbed by Lytol’s continued disbelief. Did Lytol think old age had dulled Robinton’s wits or discriminatory faculties? Or did he believe, like Corman, that the Harper was gullible enough to be taken in by any plausible story?

   “No,” Dram assured him when he voiced the question to the old Weyrleader as they walked toward bronze Tiroth, waiting for them on the strand. “He’s too pragmatic. He told me yesterday that we were far too excited to think logically about the repercussions Aivas will have on our lives. Altering the basic structure of our society and its values and all that twaddle.” D’ram’s snort indicated that he did not agree. “He’s been through several upheavals himself. He’s unlikely to welcome another.”

   “But you do?”

   Dram smiled over his shoulder at the Harper as he settled himself between Tiroth’s neck ridges. “I’m a dragonrider, Harper, and dedicated to the eradication of Thread. If there is even the slightest hope . . .” He shrugged. “Tiroth, take us to Landing!”

   “Watch out, D’ram,” the Harper cautioned. “It’s undergone considerable alterations even since yesterday noontime when you left it.”

   So Monarth warns me. Although the Harper knew that Tiroth was speaking directly to Dram, his chest swelled with the privilege of hearing. I have the altered .scene from him. It has changed.

   Was there a note of discontent in Tiroth’s tone?

   However, the great bronze dragon took them between and reentered on the hill west of the Aivas building, hovering in the air above the line of dragons sunning themselves on the promontory. Robinton looked up at the dragons on the hill, to see if he recognized any of the bronzes or the queens. Then he remembered that Benden Weyr would be involved in riding Threadfall today.

   Gliding down toward the building, Robinton and Dram could not see the alterations until the bronze veered to his right and backwinged to land on the wide yard.

   “I’d no idea!” D’ram gasped, turning to stare at the Harper, who was no less surprised than he.

   Robinton hid his own reaction behind a quick smile of reassurance. Obviously, Lytol was in the minority, to judge by the changes here: all designed to facilitate access to Aivas. The original wing had been tripled in size, with odd lean-to sheds, like skirts, along all three sides. As the Harper dismounted, he recognized more of Fandarel’s batteries housed under the sheds-sufficient power, he assumed, to sustain the entity all the hours of the day and night until the new and more powerful water-turbines were finished.

   In the broad new courtyard, several knots of folk were arguing vociferously with each other while, above their heads, fire-lizards made raucous sounds of agitation. Most of the people wore the shoulder knots of Masters and journeymen from various Crafts; their tunic devices told Robinton that they came from different Holds, as well.

   “Free-for-all?” D’ram asked, dropping to the ground beside Robinton.

   “That’s what it certainly sounds like,” Robinton did not recognize any of the dissenters, though he noted four of Master Esselin’s biggest workmen standing in front of the closed doors of the building. He took a deep breath and strode forward.

   “Now, just what seems to be the trouble here?” he asked loudly. It took only a moment for all the disputants to realize who was addressing them; immediately he was encircled, each plaintiff demanding his attention. “Now wait just a moment!” he bellowed. Behind him on the hill, bronze and gold dragons added their authoritative bugle, and silence fell. Then he pointed at one man wearing a Masterminer’s knot and Crom’s device.

   “Master Esselin will not let us in,” the man said belligerently.

   “And my Lord Holder”-a man wearing the head-Steward knots of Boll pushed forward from the group-“insists that we be given the facts about this mysterious being.”

   “Deckter charged me to do the same,” a Steward from Nabol said in the most aggrieved tone of the three. “We demand to know the truth about this Aivas. And I’m to see this marvel before I return to Nabol.”

   “Yes, you all have been unconscionably slighted,” Robinton said soothingly. “And those of us who have been fortunate to hear Aivas know that seeing Aivas is the first step in believing what he can do for us all, Hold, Hall, and Weyr. Why, I’ve only just been allowed to return.” He feigned indignation at such an omission. That the much respected Harper of Pern should be denied access, too, seemed to appease them. “Now, you must realize that the room where Aivas is installed is quite small, though I notice there have been attempts to enlarge the space.” He craned his neck as if trying to see just how much larger it was. “Hmmm. Yes, working day and night from the look of it. Most commendable really. Now, if you’ll just bide here, I’ll see what can be done about your quite legitimate request to see Aivas.”

   “I don’t want to just see it,” the miner complained. “I want it to tell me how to get back to the main lode of a very rich vein of ore. The ancients located all the ores on Pern. I want it to tell me where to dig, since it knows everything about Pern.”

   “Not everything, my dear fellow,” Robinton said, less than surprised that Aivas was already being considered an omniscient being. Should he emphasize that Aivas was only-only? he thought bemusedly-a machine, a device that had served their ancestors as the receptacle of information? No, their understanding of machinery, craftsmen though many of them were, was too rudimentary. They would not grasp the concept of so complex a mechanical apparatus, let alone the concept of an artificial intelligence. The Masterharper didn’t understand that all too well himself. He sighed with resignation. “And he knows very little about Pern as it is today, though a great deal about Pern as it was twenty-five hundred Turns ago. I suppose none of you heard that you were supposed to bring Hall Records with you? Aivas particularly wants to bring himself up to current times with every Hall, Hold, and Weyr.”

   “No one said anything about Records,” the miner said, taken aback. “We heard it knew everything.”

   “Aivas will be the first to inform you that while his knowledge extends to many subjects and skills, he is not, happily, all knowing. He is... a talking Record, and far more accurate than ours, which tunnel snakes, time, and other perils have rendered illegible.”

   “We was told he knew everything!” the miner insisted stubbornly.

   “Not even I know everything,” Robinton responded gently. “Nor has Aivas even once suggested that he does. He knows a great deal more, however, than we do. And we shall all learn from him. Now, let me speak to Master Esselin on your behalf. There are, let’s see, how many of you?” And he did a quick head count. “Thirty-four. Well, that’s too many for one go. Dram, choose by lots. You all know Dram here as a fair man. You’ll all have a turn-brief it may be, but Aivas you shall see.”

   Master Esselin was delighted to see the Harper but appalled at Robinton’s solution to the matter of the plaintiffs.

   “We can’t send them away unhappy, Esselin. They have every bit as much of a right to see Aivas as a Lord Holder. More, even, because they’ll be the doing of Aivas’s grand plans over the next few years. Who’s in there now?”

   “Master Terry with Masters and journeymen from every Smithcrafthall in the world.” Then his eyes went round with anxiety. “And Master Hamian from Southern Hold and two of his apprentices.”

   “Ali, Tories finally sent an emissary?” Robinton wasn’t sure if the news pleased or worried him. He had rather hoped not to have to contend with Tories avarice yet.

   “I don’t think he comes on Lord Tories behalf.” Esselin shook his head, his eyes still wide with apprehension. “Master Hamian did say to Master Terry that his sister, the Lady Sharra of Ruatha, suggested that he drop everything and come here immediately.”

   “And so he should. So he should,” Robinton agreed affably. Hamian would be an excellent man to have involved here. A clever innovator who had already put back to use what the ancients had left behind in a Southern mine. “I’ll just see when it’s convenient to interrupt them for a few moments. Believe me, Esselin, it’s the better part of discretion to give those fellows out there the chance to see Aivas for themselves.”

   “But they’re only Stewards and small miners . . .”

   “There are more of those than of Lord Holders and Crafthallmasters and Weyrleaders, Esselin, and every single one of them has the right to approach Aivas.”

   “That wasn’t what I was told,” Master Esselin said, resorting to his usual obstructive attitude, thrusting his heavy chin belligerently forward.

   Robinton eyed him pityingly for such a long moment that even the thick-skinned Esselin could not fail to notice that his behavior was unacceptable to the Harper.

   “I think you will find before the day is out that you will be told differently, Master Esselin. Now, if you will excuse me...” And with that Robinton strode down the hall to the Aivas chamber.

   As he approached, he could hear Aivas’s sonorous voice using the sort of penetrating tone that suggested he was addressing a large group. When Robinton quietly opened the door, he was first amazed at how many people were standing in the room, and then that even more occupied the new wings on either side of the Aivas facility. Two doors had been opened into the large annexes on either side. The two walls enclosing Aivas were intact, of course, but much more space had been made for larger audiences. This afternoon the group was composed of smiths who were, in general, possessed of large, powerful bodies. Master Nicat, the Masterminer, was seated at the front on a bench with Terry and two of his best Masters, who were all busily copying the diagrams on the main Aivas screen. Jancis was also there, in a corner, bent over a drawing board on her lap. Others in the room were doing their best to draw, too, some using the backs of others to steady their pads. Robinton could make no sense of the complicated design, but it was obvious from the rapt attention it was being given that it was of great importance to the Smithcrafters. Aivas was explaining, adding numbered specifications that also meant nothing to the Harper. The measured voice enjoined his listeners to ask questions on any point that was not clear.

   “You have explained in such detail,” Master Nicat said, his swarthy face wearing a most respectful expression, “that even the most simple-minded apprentice would understand.”

   “Ah, if you don’t mind, Aivas...” A Masterminer whom Robinton knew to be the Master of the works at one of the larger Telgar iron foundries raised his hand. “If faulty melts can be remedied up to standard, then can we repair the damage to ones long since discarded?”

   “That is correct. The process can be applied to used metals. In fact, quite often the use of old metal improves the final product.”

   “Even metals made by the ancients?” Master Hamian asked. “We have found some in what I understand were the original workings at Andiyar’s Stake in Dorado.”

   “Once in the crucible, the melt burns off impurities of all kinds.” Then, to Robinton’s astonishment, Aivas added, “Good afternoon, Master Robinton. What assistance do you need today?„

   Robinton found himself embarrassed. “I do not intend to interrupt...”

   “You aren’t,” Terry replied, rising and stretching. “Right, Nicat?” he added to the Masterminer, who looked like a man hoping that he had understood his orders.

   The other craftsmen began low conversations with neighbors, and those nearest the door began to file out, carefully folding their drawings and notes.

   As Robinton moved farther into the room, he caught the pungency of sweating bodies, laced with the taint of metal’s acidity and the odd dank smell of deep mine shafts. As the room emptied, he could appreciate the size of the room that had been achieved overnight.

   “Well, well!” he murmured, noticing the windows on either ends, opened to a breeze which began to circulate freely as the last of the craftsmen left. Jancis alone remained in her corner, furiously scribbling.

   She looked up and smiled at the Harper. “We’ve accomplished so much today, Master Robinton.”

   “And did you get any sleep last night, young woman?”

   Her cheeks dimpled in a mischievous smile. “Indeed we did!” And then she colored. “I mean, we both slept. I mean, Piemur fell asleep first-oh, blast!”

   Robinton laughed heartily. “I won’t misconstrue, Jancis, even if it mattered. You’re not going to let all this fuss and fascination delay your formal announcement, are you?”

   “No,” she said firmly. “I want to bring the date forward.” She blushed prettily but kept the eye contact. “It would make things easier.” She gathered up her things. “The others are all in the computer room. You might want to take a crack at it, too.”

   “Me?” The Harper was dumbfounded. “That’s for young resilient minds like yours and Piemur’s and Jaxom’s.”

   “Learning is not limited to the young, Master Robinton,” Aivas said.

   “Well, we’ll see,” the Harper replied, hedging and running his fingers nervously over his face. He was acutely conscious that he could no longer retain the words and notes of new music and had few doubts that the problem would extend to other areas. He did not think himself a vain man, or excessively proud, but he did not wish to show to disadvantage. “We’ll see. Meantime, we have a minor problem...”

   “With that lot out there; determined against all Master Esselin’s prejudice on seeing Aivas?” Jancis asked.

   “Hmm, a minor miner problem,” Robinton heard himself saying, and groaned.

   Jancis pleased him by chuckling. “It is apt,” she said. “They need to see Aivas so that they can tell their lords and masters that they have?”

   “That’s about the size of it. Aivas, if you would agree, I shall waft them in and out, with just time enough to say that they’ve been here.”

   “Is that your true wish in this instance?”

   Robinton cleared his throat. “I could wish that as many men and women as possible on this planet could be exposed to your fund of knowledge, but even with these enlarged accommodations, that is neither possible nor wise. The parochially minded tend to flog petty issues to a nubbin. The worried assume their problems are uniquely threatening, or that you are omniscient enough to solve any problem put to you.”

   “It has always been so, Master Robinton,” Aivas said, as accepting as ever. “Mankind has always put great faith in oracles.”

   “Oracles?” The word was unfamiliar to the Harper.

   “A full explanation of the phenomenon should be kept until you have forty-four hours free, for the file on religion is lengthy. At this moment in time, how do you propose to satisfy the petitioners outside?”

   “By sending in small groups to see and question you, however briefly.”

   “Then permit them all to enter. The outside sensors indicate the exact numbers that this room can now accommodate.”

   While Master Esselin looked on in dismay and disapproval, the entire gaggle hurried down the corridor.

   “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Aivas said, his mellifluous voice startling the newcomers into awed silence. “Within the walls you are currently facing, there is an Artificial Intelligence Voice-Address System that stores information for retrieval. Or Aivas, to use the appropriate acronym. It is seen that there are among you those of the miner craft. No doubt you noticed that Masterminers attended the previous lecture. It would be of considerable value to you to consult with these men on the new methods of smelting ores. It is hoped that you two Stewards from Crom and Nabol have brought with you the Records of your Holds. These will be vital in assessing the present, and future, productivity of the properties you so ably manage for your Lord Holders. You glass-smiths and journeymen from the Halls at Igen and Ista have, in the sandpits and lead mines of your respective Holds, some of the best silicates in this world, which accounts for the fact that you produce the finest, most durable glass on the planet. If this facility may be of service in any way to your crafthalls, please ask Master Robinton to appoint a time for a longer discussion.”

   Most of the attendees simply gawked, trying to find the source of the disembodied voice. The Ista glass-smith took a hesitant step forward, swallowed hard, and spoke.

   “Master Aivas, Master Oldive asked me to construct the lens of a microscope for him.” The words came out in a rush.

   “Yes, such an instrument is of vital importance to the Healer’s Hall.”

   “I looked up our Records, Master Aivas.” He pulled from his tunic some moldering sheets, stained, spotted, and full of holes. “But, as you see...” He held them out toward the screen.

   “Place them over the lit panel on the worktop, Masterglasssmith.”

   Looking about for reassurance, the Istan hesitated, until the Harper shooed him forward. The others stared at the glass-smith for his audacity. Part of one page crumbled off even as he placed it over the lighted panel. His journeyman rushed forward and, with the air of a man greatly daring, shoved the missing corner up against the broken end.

   Instantly the screen lit up with an image of the much damaged drawing. Magically an unseen point connected up the missing lines and while the watchers gasped in wonder, the diagram became entire. From the printer slot emerged a sheet, which the dazzled journeyman took at Aivas’s suggestion.

   “Look! Look! Finer than the best draftsman we have could render it!” the excited man exclaimed.

   “Next page, please,” Aivas said, and the glass-smith, with some fumbling, managed to comply.

   Very shortly the missing notes and explanations had been restored, and everyone in the room had had a chance to see the reconstructed sheets.

   “Have you any queries regarding the manufacture of barrel, focusing devices, or lenses?” Aivas asked politely.

   There were one or two questions from the journeyman; his master was too dazed to be coherent.

   “If some should arise during manufacture-” Aivas finished.

   “During what?” the journeyman was startled into asking by the unfamiliar word.

   “During the making, either send your question to Master Robinton or return for additional explanations or further demonstration.”

   It was easy then for Robinton to move the group out of the room and speed them on their way down the hall.

   “That took ten minutes,” Aivas said in a low tone. “A useful disposition of time.”

   “Have you been advised to appoint me your aide?” the Masterharper asked in an amused tone.

   “Your impartiality is legend, Master Robinton, and your scrupulous sense of fair play has just been demonstrated. Master Esselin’s definition of priority is noticeably skewed toward rank. The glass-smith’s need of stored information was indeed a priority that ought to have been immediately scheduled when he arrived early this morning. Master Esselin ignored him.”

   “He did?” Robinton was annoyed.

   “If you will see to it that he does not exceed his very limited authority, considerable future ill-feeling will be avoided.”

   “I will see to that immediately, Aivas.”

   “If you should be unwilling to act in this capacity, perhaps D’ram, the bronze dragonrider, would assist. He, also, is held in the highest regard by peer group, Hall, and Hold. Is it true that he came forward in time four hundred Turns to fight Thread? That he has already spent a good portion of his life in that onerous task?”

   “That is correct, Aivas.”

   “This generation, and his, are amazing, Master Robinton.” Though the words were spoken levelly, the tone of admiration was unmistakable, and Robinton squared his shoulders proudly.

   “We are of one mind in that.” Then, brusquely, Robinton added, “As your aide, Master Aivas, I’ll just set Master Esselin straight on the matter of assigning priorities without consultation. You may be sure he will obey you as promptly as he does myself or the Weyrleaders.”

   Back in the hall, Robinton cut short all of Master Esselin’s tedious explanations and apologies. He found D’ram in the room where Piemur, Jancis, Jaxom, and Benelek were clattering away at their lessons on the small screens. They were each working on different projects, he could see; he recognized that Jancis was somehow replicating the diagram that Aivas had shown the miners.

   “Come on, Master Robinton,” Piemur said, looking up from his screen. “I fixed a station for you to experiment with.”

   Robinton held up his hands and backed away. “No, no, I’ve appointed myself aide to Master Aivas for the afternoon. You cannot believe how stupid Esselin is.”

   “Ha! Yes, I can!” Piemur said emphatically.

   “He’s as thick as two short planks,” Benelek grumbled. “And he doesn’t like any of us coming and going as we need to.”

   “I don’t have any trouble,” Jancis said, but her eyes danced with mischief. “All I have to do is give him a cup of klah or something to eat from the tray when I bring it in.” ‘

   “And that’s another score I’m going to settle with of Master fuddy-duddy Esselin,” Piemur said heatedly. “You are not a kitchen drudge. Does he never see the Master tab on your collar? Doesn’t he know you’re Fandarel’s granddaughter and top of your own Craft?”

   “Oh, I think he will,” Jaxom remarked without looking up from his board, his fingers flying across it. “I caught his paternal act this morning, and I reminded him that the proper form of address for Jancis is Mastersmith. You know, I don’t think he had noticed the collar tabs.”

   “That’s no excuse,” Piemur retorted, likely to fume until he himself had settled the score with the old man.

   “Perhaps Master Esselin should go back to his archives,” D’ram said. “That’s what he’s supposed to be doing.”

   “And about all he’s good for,” Piemur muttered.

   “However, since someone must take over his current responsibility, I think I shall appoint myself in his place.”

   “A marvelous notion, D’ram,” Robinton said while the others let out a cheer. “Actually, Aivas had already recommended you in that capacity. He’s heard that you are a well-respected and scrupulously honest character. He doesn’t know you as well as I do, of course.” When D’ram glanced apprehensively at him, Robinton broke into a teasing grin. “In fact, I think we should inveigle Lytol up here, too. Or would three honest men be too much for the job?”

   “There can never be enough honest men,” Jaxom said firmly, looking up from his screen. “I think the challenge would be good for Lytol.” His expression reflected a deep concern for his aging guardian. “The pair of you already look the better for some proper use of your long experience. And there ought to be someone in charge who’s got the sense he was born with.”

   “I second that,” a voice said from the doorway. In walked Mastersmith Hamian. “I had to elbow the old fool aside to get back in here. I see what Sharra meant when she said you were all wrapped up in this, Jaxom,” he added, tolerantly grinning at his sister’s mate before he nodded courteously to the others in the room. “I didn’t want to cause undue consternation among my peers earlier, Master Robinton, but would Master Aivas be able to tell any of us-me, because I’m dead keen to know-how the ancestors made their durable plastics?”

   “Hurrah!” Piemur and Jancis cheered together. And Piemur jumped from his stool and thumped Hamian’s back.

   The big smith from Southern Hold was not as tall or as massive as Master Fandarel, but he was solid enough to absorb Piemur’s hearty pounding without giving an inch. He grinned at his friend, his large and even teeth white in his tanned face. “Glad someone approves. Do you?” He looked directly at the Harper.

   Robinton looked inquiringly at Dram. “And thus we make the first test of our authority?”

   “I’d say Hamian is exactly the right man to try something so new-new to us at least,” Dram said, nodding.

   “So it’s now up to him who knows,” Robinton said, and jerked his head towards Aivas’s room. “Let’s ask.”

   All but Benelek traipsed along to hear what Aivas would say. Robinton beckoned for Hamian to stand squarely in front of the screen, then had to prod him when the big smith suddenly found it difficult to frame the question.

   “Ask him. He hasn’t bitten anyone,” Robinton said.

   “Yet,” Piemur added, pretending to be worried.

   “Ahem, Master Aivas . . .” Hamian faltered again.

  “You are volunteering to learn how to make silicate-based plastics such as your ancestors used in building materials, Master Hamian?”

   Hamian just nodded, his eyebrows raised in comical surprise. “How d he know that?” he asked in a low aside to the Harper.

   “He’s got long ears,” Robinton replied, amused.

   “Incorrect, Master Robinton,” Aivas said. “This facility has far more sensitive receptors than ears, Master Hamian, and since the door to the adjacent room was open, the conversation was audible. To reiterate, you wish, Master Harman, to learn how to produce the plastics your ancestors used.”

   Hamian squared himself in front of the screen, throwing his head up. “Yes, Master Aivas, that is my wish. There are sufficient of my peers eager to improve the quality of iron, steel, brass, and copper, but, having seen the durability of the ancients’ plastic materials, I would like to specialize in them. It is my belief that this could be as important a material to us as it was to our ancestors.”

   “The manufacture of plastics was a highly refined skill in your ancestors’ time. Different polymers produced different end products that could be pliable, semimalleable, or rigid, depending on the chemical formulae. As surface petroleum was discovered near Drake’s Lake, there is no reason you cannot revive organic plastic manufacture. However, you will have to understand considerably more chemistry than is currently part of your Mastery training. The manufacture itself can be defined as a continuous mass solution process. Two units were left in the Catherine Caves by Joel Lilienkamp.”

   “Lilienkamp?” Piemur cried, pivoting to point both forefingers at Jancis, who also cried, “Lilcamp?”

   “Who was Joel Lilienkamp?” Piemur asked Aivas.

   “The Expedition’s supply officer: the person who preserved so many artifacts in the Catherine Caves.”

   “Jayge just has to be a descendant,” Piemur crowed, and then abruptly apologized for his interruption.

   “The two large polymerizing units are not marked as having been protectively packaged. Therefore they will have suffered decay and are unlikely to be operative. But they can be used as templates. You will learn much in the reconstruction, Master Hamian, and have more to learn in the chemistry and physics experiments that you will be set.”

   Hamian’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “My pleasure, Master Aivas, my pleasure.” He rubbed his big callused hands together in eagerness. “When do I start?”

   “First, you must find the prototype models in the cave.”

   Aivas’s screen lit up with the pictures of two thick cubes with a variety of curious extrusions. “These are what you must find. They will be heavy and cumbersome to move.”

   “I’ve moved odder and heavier objects, Master Aivas.”

   A paper illustrating the necessary objects extruded from the slot, and Piemur handed it to the Southern smith.

   “You will require a workshop in which to disassemble them and decide what materials you have readily available with which to assemble a modern model. It is advisable that you not be the only one to study these basic sciences: The manufacture of suitable polymers will require a considerable team of workers trained in chemistry and physics.”

   Hamian smiled ruefully. “Study will obviously be necessary, just to understand the unfamiliar words you’re using.”

   “I think it’s safe to say,” Master Robinton put in, glancing pointedly at Piemur and Jancis, “that you will have at least three or four more students in your class, Aivas. I’m sure, Hamian, that you will want some members of your own Hall trained, as well.”

   “I’ve one or two likely fellows in mind, that’s certain,” Hamian replied. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “My thanks, Master Aivas.”

   “Acknowledged, Master Hamian.”

   “How’d you escape Toric?” Piemur asked softly, masking his words behind one hand.

   “Escape doesn’t enter into this, Piemur.” Again Hamian said with a droll grimace, “I’m my own master. I’ve organized Southern’s mines to produce with or without me leaning on anyone. Now I shall broaden my own horizons, as Toric did his. My thanks, Master Robinton, Dram. I know where the caves are. I’ll start right away.” And he strode purposefully out of the room and down the hall.

   As soon as the smith had turned the corner, Master Esselin ducked out of one of the sleeping rooms on the corridor, his expression aggrieved.

   “Master Robinton, I told that smith he wasn’t to-”

   “Master Esselin...” Robinton adopted his most charming manner as he put an arm around the man’s fleshy shoulders and turned him around. Dram closed in on the other side, so that Esselin was inexorably led toward the entrance hall. “I do believe that you have been most shamefully treated lately.”

   “I?” Esselin’s fretful look turned to surprise as he laid one plump hand on his chest. “Yes, Master Robinton, when bullies like that Southern smith pay absolutely no attention to my orders...

   “You’re quite right, Master Esselin. Most shameful, and I think your good nature in suspending your invaluable archival contributions to this site has been woefully abused. Therefore, it has been decided that Weyrleader D’ram, Lord Warder Lytol, and myself should relieve you of this onerous duty and let you get back to your own responsibilities.”

   “Oh, but, Master Robinton...” Esselin would have slowed his pace if the other two had let him. “I didn’t mean to imply that I was unwilling...”

   “You have been willingness itself,” D’ram said, shaking his head. “And all to your credit, Master Esselin, but fair’s fair, and you’ve been more than kind to officiate. We will now take over from you.”

   Master Esselin continued his protests all the way out the door and down the walk to the path that led to the Archive complex. Gently but firmly Weydeader and Harper gave him a final push, smiling and nodding and totally ignoring his repeated demurrals.

   “There!” D’ram said once they were back in the building. He brushed his hands together in satisfaction. “I’ll take the first watch, Robinton.” He turned to one of the guards. “I’m in charge now. What’s your name?”

   “Gayton, sir.”

   “I’d take it kindly, Gayton, if you’d fetch something cool to drink from the kitchens. Bring enough for all of us here. And no, Robinton, he is not going to bring you any wine quite yet. You’ll have to have a cool head when you stand your watch, you know.”

   “Why, you old coot!” Robinton exclaimed. “My head remains cool no matter how much wine I take. The very notion.”

   “Take yourself off, Robinton.” Grinning, Dram shooed him away. “Get into mischief somewhere else.”

   “Mischief?” The Harper grumbled with mock indignation, but just then they both heard a triumphant shout from Piemur, so he hurried along to see what had occurred.

   “I did it! I did it!” Piemur was still carrying on when the Harper arrived. Jancis and Jaxom both looked slightly envious; Benelek adopted a distant attitude.

   “Did what?”

   “Made a program all by myself.”

   The Harper peered at the enigmatic words and letters on the screen and then at his journeyman. “That... is a program?”

   “Sure is. Dead easy once you get the hang of it!” Piemur’s elation was infectious.

   “Piemur,” the Harper found himself saying, “I have a few hours to spare right now while D’ram’s on duty. Did you or raid you not mention that there was a spare one of these contraptions? “

   “Indeed there is, Master.” With considerable satisfaction on his face and not a trace of his usual impudence, Piemur spun out of his seat and went over to the shelf where the components were neatly stacked.

   “I think I may regret this,” Robinton said to himself.

   “It is to be hoped that you will not, Master Robinton,” was Aivas’s low reassurance.

   Zair nipping his ear roused Robinton from a doze. He had been leaning back in his chair, head resting on the support, legs propped up on the desk, and as he woke the first thing he was aware of was the crick in his neck. His knees wouldn’t at first bend as he lowered his legs. When he groaned, Zair nipped him again, eyes flaming red-orange.

   Instantly the Masterharper was alert. Down the hall, he could hear Aivas’s voice explaining something and the lighter voice of one of the students querying. That was as it should be. He looked up at Zair, who was staring out the door into the night. It was then he caught the faint noise of something cracking, and the even fainter splashing of liquid.

   He rose, silently swearing at the recalcitrance of aging joints that no longer functioned smoothly. As stealthily as he could, he moved across the entrance hall and out into the night. He knew it was near dawn; the insect sounds that had lulled him to sleep on his post had ceased and daytime noises had not yet begun. He crept forward, hearing that soft cracking noise again. To his left, where the banks of Fandarel’s batteries had been installed against the wall, he saw darker shadows. Two men.

   Two men busily smashing the glass tanks that held the battery fluid.

   “Now, just what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, outraged. “Zair! Grab them! Pie... mur! Jancis! Someone!” He ran forward, determined to prevent any further damage to Aivas’s power supply.

   Later, he wondered what he had thought he was doing, an unarmed elderly man attacking vandals. Even as the pair came at him with upraised clubs or iron bars or whatever they had been using to smash the battery tanks, he wasn’t afraid: just purely and simply furious.

   Fortunately Zair had weapons, twenty sharp talons, and as the little bronze swooped to tear at the eyes of the first man, Piemur’s Farli, Jancis’s Trig, and half a dozen other fire-lizards joined the battle. Robinton caught a handful of tunic and tried to drag the man to the ground, but with a savage jerk, accompanied by an anguished squeal as fire-lizard claws racked facial skin, the man broke free and took to his heels. His companion swatted viciously at the aerial attackers and then ran off as well. The fire-lizards followed, dividing into two groups to follow the separating fugitives.

   By the time human assistance arrived, even the sound of the vandals’ retreat was lost to listening ears.

   “Don’t worry, Robinton,” Piemur said. “We’ve only to check who got clawed. We’ll find them! Are you all right, Master’?”

   Robinton was clutching at his chest and panting from his exertions, and although he gestured fiercely for Piemur and the others to follow the fugitives, he became their first concern.

   “I’m all right, I’m all right,” he cried, trying to avoid their solicitude. “Go after them!” And he fell into a fit of coughing, caused more by frustration than by exercise.

   By the time he had convinced them of his well-being, the firelizards had returned, looking exceedingly pleased with themselves for having chased the intruders. Disgusted at the vandals’ escape, Robinton grabbed up a glowbasket and led the way to the point of attack.

   “Five smashed, and if you hadn’t heard-” Piemur began.

   “I didn’t hear. Zair did.” Robinton was furious with himself for having dozed off.

   “Same thing,” Piemur replied with an impish grin. “And they didn’t break enough tanks to jeopardize the power supply. Don’t fret now, Master. There’re spares in Stores.”

   “I’m fretting because it happened at all!” Robinton heard his voice rise in angry stress.

   “We’ll find the vandals,” Piemur assured his master. Guiding the old Harper back to his chair, he poured him a cup of wine.

   “Wed better,” Robinton said savagely. He knew there was growing antagonism to Aivas, but he had not really considered, even for a moment, that someone would actually attack the facility.

   But who? he wondered, sipping at the wine and feeling its usual efficacious soothing. Esselin? He doubted the fat old fool would dare, no matter how upset he might have been over losing his sinecure. Had any of Norist’s glassmen been at Landing that day?

   “Don’t fret yourself,” Piemur repeated, regarding his master with continued anxiety. “See? Zair’s bloodied one of them. We’ll find them, never fear.”

   The men were not found the next morning, although Piemur organized a discreet search of the entire complement at Landing. He even went so far as to rouse Esselin well before the indolent man was apt to be awake, but the round, fat face was blemish-free.

   “They must have just kept running,” he reported to the worried Harper, who was overseeing the replacement of the battery tanks.

   “We must build a barrier across these,” Robinton said. “We must mount a watch at all times. Aivas cannot be jeopardized.”

   “Have you decided who’s the most likely suspect?” Piemur asked, watching his master’s tired face.

   “Suspect? I’ve a variety of choices. Proof, no!”

   Piemur shrugged. “Then we watch harder.” Then, as an afterthought, he asked, “Why didn’t Aivas sound an alarm? He usually sees what’s going on, night or day.”

   When queried on that point, Aivas replied that the vandals had been operating under the level of the exterior visuals, and the only sound the audio sensors had picked up had been consistent enough with usual nocturnal activity.

   “What about in here?” Robinton asked.

   “This facility is safe. Do not fear vandalism in here.”

   Robinton was not all that reassured but could not argue the point, as the first of the new day’s students were arriving.

   “We’ll keep this to ourselves for the time being, Piemur,” Robinton said in a tone that brooked no argument.

   “What about a message to all harpers to watch out for claw-marked faces?”

   Robinton lifted his shoulders briefly. “I doubt they’ll appear in public until they’re healed, but send the message.”

6

   As EVENTS OVER the next few weeks proved, the self-appointment of the Harper, the old Weyrleader, and the retired Lord Warder as Aivas’s custodians was providential. The management by three men who already enjoyed reputations for probity and impartiality went unchallenged. Certainly the accumulated knowledge of Harper, Weyrleader, and Lord Warder was utilized to its fullest in the rebirth and administration of Landing.

   Some visitors-the merely curious-became disenchanted when they discovered that Aivas ignored foolish or egocentric questions. Those willing to be enlightened and to work hard to acquire the new disciplines stayed on and profited.

   Until ten secondary stations were up and running, the three custodians arranged appointments for Aivas, deftly slotting in emergency consultations without offending anyone. And, because Aivas needed no rest, concentrated lessons, such as those for Master Oldive and other healers, were scheduled for the early hours of Landing’s day.

   The major crafthalls were not the only ones to send representatives; it became prestigious for the Lord Holders to send promising sons and daughters, as well as likely candidates from minor holds. There were so many at first, some of whom were obviously ill-equipped to deal with radical new concepts, that it was kinder and less bothersome to set each applicant a basic test: an aptitude test, Aivas called it. It certainly weeded out the idlers and those without true scholarship.

   Lessa and F’lar never became proficient in their use of a console, mostly because, in the Harper’s estimation, they had little time to spend learning the essentials; but they did grasp the fundamentals of accessing information. F’nor didn’t even try, but his mate, Brekke, joined the Masterhealer’s dedicated group in their striving to regain the lost medical techniques. Mirrim, determined to keep up with T’gellan, struggled on despite a most distressing start and succeeded. K’van became as adept as Jaxom and Piemur.

   To the surprise and delight of his close associates, the taciturn Lytol became an avid user, accessing files from the widest range of topics. He insisted on taking the late shift, as he never required more than four hours of sleep anyway.

   “Lytol’s always been a deep person, with unexpected reserves-or he wouldn’t have survived as long as he has,” Jaxom replied to those who commented on Lytol’s new obsession. “Though I don’t understand his fascination with all that dry historical stuff when there’s so much more that we can apply to living and working here and now.”

   “On the contrary, Jaxom,” the Harper replied. “Lytol’s investigations may be the most significant of all.”

   “Even more significant than Fandarel’s new water-turbine power stations?”

   The Mastersmith had taken great satisfaction in demonstrating how a model of the proposed generator worked, as his foundry labored day and night to complete the components of the full-scale machinery.

   “That is certainly significant now,” the Harper replied, choosing his words carefully. “But there’s the problem of general acceptance.”

   Various study rooms had been set up, each dedicated to a different subject. Two of the larger rooms became laboratories to teach the basic sciences that Aivas felt were required as foundation courses, as he termed them: chemistry, physics, and biology. One room had been set aside for short consultations, and another for general teaching; a fairly large room was set aside for the healers, and its walls covered with various diagrams “of the most gruesome sort,” in Jancis’s estimation. Aivas also requested that a room be reserved for special students, those who were taking concentrated courses in a variety of subjects: Jaxom, Piemur, Jancis, K’van, T’gellan, N’ton, Mirrim, Hamian, three journeymen, an apprentice of Hamian’s, four other young bronze riders, two brown, four blue, and three green riders. Other riders would follow when there was space in the classes, since the Weyrs were the most eager to take advantage of Aivas.

   Occasionally Robinton liked to walk down the hall and listen in on the instructions. One day when he peered in on a lesson including Jaxom, Piemur, Jancis, and two Smithcraft Journeymen, he saw an astonishing sight.

   A ring of dull metal hovered about two inches above the high worktop in front of them. As they reached forward to touch it, it slipped along the bench as if it were on invisible rollers. Aivas continued his explanation.

   “The lines of magnetic force in the ring are induced in such a way that they exactly oppose the electromagnets that are generating the field.”

   Robinton made himself small against the doorjamb, so as not to disturb the fascinated students.

   “This is far more D’ramatic at very low temperatures, where there is no electrical resistance, the rings are superconducting, and the current passes without any loss. There are not the facilities here to show you this, but you will be ready for the superconductivity lesson in three or four weeks. Jaxom will be ready for it sooner; Piemur must do more on winding electromagnets with proper toroidal windings. Journeyman Manotti, your metal formers were not up to the standard required, but you have a week in which to improve.”

   Robinton tiptoed quietly away, not wishing to embarrass the students. But he was smiling as he sauntered back to the entrance hall: a good teacher should give praise, encouragement, and admonition as required.

   There were auxiliary workshops for smith, glass, and wood crafts in the larger of the excavated structures at Landing, staffed with masters, journeymen, and apprentices.

   One morning, Lytol and Robinton were startled to hear a loud explosion and rushed to the source of the sound, which had come from Master Morilton’s glass forge. There they found Master Morilton helping Jancis to blot the blood from a mosaic of cuts on the face of Caselon, one of the Glass-smith’s apprentices. There were tiny bits of mirrored glass everywhere.

   “Now,” Master Morilton was saying calmly, addressing his remarks to the others in the forge, “you appreciate why protective goggles are so important. Caselon could well have lost his eyesight when that thermos glass exploded. As it is...” Morilton glanced inquiringly at Jancis.

   “As it is,” she said, with a wry grin, “Caselon’s going to have the most interesting pattern of scars. Oh, don’t worry,” she added as the youth cringed. “They’ll heal to nothing. Don’t grimace. You’ll only bleed until I’ve got you properly annointed with numbweed.”

   As Lytol turned to deal with the press of curious people who had rushed over, Robinton looked about the place. Master Morilton had certainly set up quite a crafthall here. A pump was going tapockety-tapockety in the corner. A tube reaching up to the apparatus had a leather collar at the top, on which were the remains of a mirrored bottle neck. The rest of the glass was everywhere in the room, a myriad of tiny glinting pieces.

   “Shards,” Caselon muttered, trying not to flinch from Jancis’s ministrations. “That was my twentieth!”

   Robinton then noticed that nineteen vacuum flasks were neatly racked on Caselon’s half of the worktable; another twelve stood on the other side, where another apprentice, Vandentine, was working. How they had escaped the flying glass splinters, he didn’t know.

   “We are not in competition mode here, Caselon,” Master Morilton said, wagging a stern finger at the boy. “What exactly happened? I was concentrating on Bengel’s wand work.”

   “I dunno,” Caselon said, shrugging one shoulder.

   “Aivas?” Master Morilton asked. The glasswork facility included a direct connection to Aivas.

   “When he molded the glass, he didn’t ultrasonicate it or even tap it as you have taught him, to get the bubbles out of the mix. He was too busy trying to outproduce his partner. There were bubbles in the glass, so that under vacuum it imploded. But you may now use two of his vessels to demonstrate the properties of liquefied gases.”

   Numbweed had stemmed the bloodflow from Caselon’s face, so Master Morilton gestured for him and Vandentine to follow him to an adjacent room. Robinton trailed behind. In this room, there was a different kind of pump; from a frost-covered nozzle, drops of a faintly blue liquid dripped to fall into a thick, mirrored catch-pot every second.

   “The blue liquid is the air itself, the air in this room,” Aivas continued, “which we are compressing and then rapidly expanding so that it cools again and again, further and further, until a tiny fraction of it liquefies.”

   Master Morilton said, “Don’t touch the radiator vanes-they’ll blister your fingers. This, Master Robinton,” he added, smiling at their guest, “is a multistage refrigerator, quite different from the one you’ve been using in Cove Hold to chill fruit juice and foodstuffs.”

   Robinton nodded wisely.

   “This last stage is the most difficult,” Aivas said as Master Morilton gestured for Caselon to fill his flask. The room was filled with mist as the liquid air seethed until it had cooled Caselon’s flask. Robinton moved his feet away as some of the pearly drops ran across the floor toward him. “Now, Caselon,” Aivas instructed, “return to your workspace and observe the antics of liquid air.”

   Caselon was already doing so as he left the room.

   “Play with air?” Robinton asked, perplexed, and he noticed Master Morilton’s knowing smile.

   “This liquid helium,” Aivas went on, “or rather, these liquids can flow in opposite directions at the same time; they will creep out of the top of a tall vessel and leave none in the bottom, and will even creep faster, much faster, through tiny holes than through large ones. You may fill a flask with liquid air yourself, Master Robinton, and experiment on your own. This is one of the most dangerous, and therefore educational, exercises for the students to do. Jancis, Sharra, there are flasks for you, too; this experiment is an important one for both of you.” The way the two girls smirked at each other suggested to Robinton that they didn’t know why it would be. “When you have become familiar with liquid air, we can begin to learn about the special properties of liquid hydrogen, and especially of liquid helium.”

   “If it’s dangerous, should we be doing it?” the Harper asked.

   “Danger can be quite educational,” Aivas replied. “It is unlikely, for instance, that Caselon will forget to tap his mix no matter how many glass inserts he blows from now on.”

   It was an hour before Robinton and Lytol, whom the Master harper had interested in the liquid-gas experiments, returned to their usual duties.

   More and more of the dwellings at Landing became occupied. Many of the artifacts so long stored in the Catherine Caves had been put to use, though the custodians had decreed that samples of each be retained to exhibit in Master Esselin’s Archive building. Abandoned Landing once again became a bustling community. Where the walks and small yards had been cleared, there were even signs of renewed grass and weed growth.

   “Are we a bit mad to reestablish this settlement?” Lessa asked one evening when she and F’lar had taken an evening meal in the Aivas building with Jaxom, Robinton, D’ram, Lytol, Piemur, and Jancis. “Those volcanoes could erupt again.”

   “I did mention that to Aivas,” Lytol said, “and he replied that he is naturally monitoring seismic activity. Some of the instruments which the settlers’ vulcanist installed are still functioning. He also assured me that there is little activity in the chain.”

   “And that is a positive thing?” Lessa asked, still skeptical.

   “So Aivas assured me,” Lytol replied.

   “I ‘d hate to lose all we’ve rebuilt here,” F’lar said.

   “Unfortunately,” Lytol commented, with an ironic half smile, “Aivas can’t be moved.”

   “Then let’s not worry about something that may not develop into a problem,” Robinton said firmly. “We have sufficient immediate ones. Such as how we’re going to handle Master Norist. As you know, he had threatened to disavow Master Morilton’s Mastery and to disown all journeymen and apprentices who have produced glass according to the, ahem, spurious methods and techniques of Aivas.”

   “He calls Aivas ‘the Abomination’!” Piemur said with a malicious chuckle. “Aivas said-”

   “You didn’t tell Aivas that?” Jancis was aghast at Piemur’s tactlessness.

   “He didn’t mind. I got the feeling it amused him.”

   Master Robinton gave Piemur a long look. “Do you-any of you-ever get the feeling that Aivas is amused by us?”