“I’m ready when you are,” she announced.

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

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

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

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

   “Is S’len ready, too?” Jaxom asked.

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

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

   “Heard you told Toric what to do,” D’ram commented to Jaxom, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “Two more Turns?”

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

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

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

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

   “I just don’t want them shifting,” Mirrim replied stiffly.

   “Shift they will. All the way to the Yokohama,” S’len remarked, grinning at her.

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

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

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

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

   “If Ruth thinks he can, he can,” Jaxom could only reply. “And it’s not that far.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “For once greens get the best assignments,” S’len added proudly.

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

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

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

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

   “Does the view stay the same?” Mirrim asked. “I can’t see Benden from here.”

   “Or Ruatha, “ Sharra added.

   “I can barely make out Eastern Weyr,” S’len put in, “and I thought it was pretty big!”

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

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

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

   “That’s nothing,” Mirrim said bluntly. “Too small.”

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

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

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

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

   “No, no, that’s hardly necessary,” S’len said, affronted, and started to fasten his jacket.

   S’len mounted Bigath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Jaxom grinned. “It’s warmer than it was, believe me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   “How many bacteria are there?” Brekke asked.

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

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

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

11

Present Pass 20

   “I SUPPOSE WE should be grateful that there are still so many youngsters who’d prefer to be dragonriders in spite of the competition from Landing,” Lessa said wryly as she looked out over the sixty-two candidates standing in the Hatching Ground.

   F’lar looked down at his diminutive weyrmate and grinned. “Anyone is available for Ramoth’s clutches. Groghe was almost dancing when his youngest daughter was chosen on Search.”

   “He’ll be insufferable if she Impresses the queen,” Lessa said with a chuckle. “Such a pretty child. Wonder where she got her looks.”

   “Lessa!” F’lar said, pretending shock. “Groghe shouldn’t expect a clean sweep of the honors. After all, Benelek was elected first Master of the Technical Hall, and Groghe’s got another son and a daughter doing very well in Aivas’s study group.”

   “At least Groghe keeps his sense of proportion. Here he comes now.” She pointed to Lord Groghe, who was leading the Fort Hold contingent into the Hatching Ground. His attire was almost sober in the midst of the other gaudily dressed folk. Lessa nodded approval. “And he’s sensibly wearing boots,” she went on as she watched the sturdy Lord Holder striding out across the hot sands while others in his party minced, lifting their feet high in an effort to cool their leather soles. “The Dance of The Hatching Ground Sands,” she added, stifling a laugh.

   “Come, we’d better get to our seats,” F’lar said, extending his arm to her. “And see if the insoles Master Ligand’s so proud of really do insulate the foot against heat, as well as the cold of between.”

   Lessa spared a critically admiring look at her new red boots before she took his arm. “It’s the plant fiber he used for the felt that provides the insulation for either extreme.”

   She had a complete new outfit in a deep wine-red for this Hatching-Ramoth’s thirty-fifth-especially as this clutch included a queen egg, the first in twelve seasons. The great queen rarely laid fewer than twenty eggs; this clutch, appropriately, numbered thirty-five.

   The eight Weyleaders had already agreed on the necessity of the foundation of a ninth Weyr. The existing eight were completely full, with some two-year-old dragons still living in the Weyrling cavern for lack of space. While Weyrleaders were proud to be flying at strength, dragon dignity required independent quartering. Not only were there no more suitable sites in the North, but since so many people were taking up holdings in the South, it was agreed that a new Weyr should be located in the vast Southern Continent, preferably equidistant between K’van’s Southern Weyr and T’gellan’s Eastern. The grubs might protect the land and vegetation, but dragons were still needed to repel Thread from human habitations and beastholds. A little reshuffling among the existing Weyrs and there would be plenty of older dragonriders to balance out the young ones: dragons and riders who would appreciate quarters in the South, where the climate was kind to aging bones and the stiffness of old injuries.

   Lessa experienced a flush of pride for what had been achieved over the past Turns by an ex-drudge from Ruatha Hold and the bronze Benden rider whom no one had wanted to believe. She glanced up at her mate, noticing that even more silver strands had appeared in F’lar’s crisp black hair. The sun creases around his eyes had deepened, additional touches of aging, though he seemed to have lost not a jot of his vitality. Maybe they should resign Benden to the energy of younger riders, she mused. With fewer responsibilities, they could devote more time to all the splendid projects at Landing. Not that she thought she had a chance of coaxing F’lar away from Benden until he had eradicated Thread from the skies forever.

   F’lessan had spent sometime explaining to her that once there was a breathable atmosphere in the cargo bay on the Yokohama, even as big a dragon as Ramoth would be able to jump between to view Pern from space. Lessa wasn’t sure either of them wanted to go that far, though she was more than pleased to find her ebullient son becoming a responsible and dedicated part of the Aivas team. She was genuinely fond of the only child she had been able to bear F’lar, but she had no illusions about him.

   “Gone between in thought, love?” F’lar murmured, leaning down to her, amusement in his amber eyes. “Groghe’s waving at us.”

   Spreading her best welcoming smile on her face as she stepped off the hot sands, Lessa located the Fort Holder and acknowledged his salute. The tiers were already packed with folk who had come to see a son or daughter Impress a dragon, or merely to attend what was invariably a magnificent occasion.

   “Those new insoles work,” F’lar said as he handed her up the stairs.

   “Hmmm, don’t they?” Then she noticed Larad and Asgenar with their wives and their older children on the second tier and waved cheerfully to them. Master Bendarek was on the same row as they were, but deep in a private dialogue with the recently appointed Masterprinter Tagetarl, he didn’t see her.

   She surveyed the ranks behind her, looking for Master Robinton and D’ram, a pair who rarely missed an Impression. Her eye picked them out easily, resplendent as they were in their Gather finery. Becoming so involved with the Aivas project had given them both, and Lytol, stimulation and new purpose. Why was it that these older men thrived on the challenge, while others, like Sangel, Norist, Corman, Nessel, and Begamon, rejected all that the new information provided Pern? No, not new: retrieved information. And just at the time of a Pass, when everyone needed such an infusion of hope.

   Absently she responded to several other salutes before taking her place in the first tier.

   It’s almost time, Ramoth told her driver, swinging her head possessively over the queen egg.

   Now don’t scare the girls, dear.

   Ramoth’s eyes glittered in a rainbow gamut as she looked straight at her rider. If they scare, they’re not worthy of my daughter.

   You liked them well enough yesterday.

   Today it is diferent.

   Yes, Lessa agreed affably, versed in her dragon’s whimsies. Today your daughter Impresses.

   The humming had already begun as the massed dragons of Benden chanted their welcome. Feeling the sound vibrating through her bones, Lessa turned to smile softly at F’lar, who smiled back and took her right hand in his. This moving overture had become a special moment for them, an affirmation of their own love and a rededication to their own dragons.

   An abrupt hush rippled down the tiers as the audience became aware of the distinctive sounds. Fire-lizards darted in to seek roosts on the topmost ridges, and though Ramoth followed their progress with her brilliant eyes, she no longer bellowed a warning if the creatures entered the Hatching Ground. After Lessa had heard Aivas’s account of the fire-lizards’ reception of their huge cousins at the first Hatching, she had told Ramoth, and both of them had felt more charitable since.

   Some of the eggs in the main group were rocking slightly, and the fifty-seven boys closed in about them, hope and eagerness mirrored on their clean, shining faces. The five girls moved slowly but resolutely toward Ramoth, whose immense form covered the mottled queen egg.

   Move back, dear, Lessa said gently.

   Not quite growling, Ramoth took one backward step, flicking her tongue over her egg.

   Ramoth!

   “Up to her usual tricks?” F’lar asked.

   “Hmmm.” Two more steps, please, dear, and do keep your tongue in your head. Such an undignified posture. Lessa spoke firmly, and though Ramoth swung her head in a last show of reluctance, she did move back-five steps, deliberately more than requested-before she crouched down, glaring with orange-red flashing eyes.

   Then Lessa cast an appraising glance over the five young women confronting the queen egg. Groghe’s daughter, barely fifteen Turns old, was the smallest, a daintily made child. She had already Impressed two bronze fire-lizards, and Lessa hoped that they would contain themselves until after Impression was over. Ramoth might tolerate the creatures in the Hatching Ground, but not flying about her head. Still, Nataly had bin sensibly raised, and her two fire-lizards had behaved themselves admirably since arriving at Benden.

   Breda, the wraithlike blonde, came from Crom. Odd that Nessel did not object to Search, for all he opposed the Weyrs’ energetic support of Aivas. She was very quiet, a journeyman weaver and, at twenty-two, the oldest candidate.

   Cona was Neratian, and Manora had reported that in the sevenday that the girl had been at Benden Weyr, she had already been in the weyrs of three bronze riders. That was not a bad trait in a queen’s rider; it was certainly preferable to a lack of sensuality.

   Why the dragons had chosen Silga was a bit of a puzzle, for the girl had been terrified by her first flight between, and that was not a good omen.

   The final girl, Tumara, was a cousin of Sharra’s and so delighted to leave the isolated fisher’s island off the Istan coast that Manora had commented the girl was wearing her out in her efforts to be useful.

   Compliancy was a good trait, but too much became subservience, and that was not one of the more desirable qualities. A Weyrwoman had to be firm, fair, and sympathetic with her queen. Not that this pairing was certain to become senior in any Weyr.

   Much had to be done, besides finding a suitable place for the new Weyr. Then, whichever junior queen-in whatever Weyrnext rose to mate would be flown by all unattached bronzes. The triumphant pair would be temporary Weyrleaders only until they had proved themselves. As fully three-quarters of the other queens on Pern were likely to come into season over the next few months, this was as fair a method as any to determine the leadership of the new Weyr.

   The humming had increased to a frantic pitch. The first egg. Lessa breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a bronze head and wing emerge-had split cleanly, and the hatchling was up and out. A fine strong bronze, unsteady on its feet, of course, but able to extend its wet wings and swivel its head to and fro, trying to focus its bleary eyes on the figures before it.

   With a shriek of triumph, it made a tremendous leap and landed in front of a stocky lad-from a Smithhall in Igen, if she recalled accurately. Sometimes the eager young faces seemed to blend into memories of all the candidates from the many Impressions held in this Hatching Ground over the past twenty three Turns she had been Weyrwoman. Holding her breath, she watched that magical moment when the boy realized that the dragon had chosen him: ecstasy wreathed his face as he knelt to caress the imperious creature butting at him. Tears of joy streamed down his cheeks as he threw his arms about the damp bronze neck.

   “Oh, Braneth, you are the most beautiful bronze in all the world! “

   The audience let out a cheer and applauded while the dragons interrupted their hum to bugle a welcome.

   After the initial Impression, other eggs cracked or split or crumbled to tip their inhabitants onto the warm sands, and brown, blue, and green dragonets were matched with compatible personalities.

   “Good, twelve bronzes,” F’lar said, keeping track of the pairings. “We could do with more browns-only four-but the distribution of blues and greens is exactly right.”

   Lessa had not been paying that much attention past the first three, for the queen egg was beginning to rock. Tentatively at first, and then with considerable energy. No cracks showed on the shell yet, a fact that was beginning to worry Lessa. Usually the queens were impetuous in their arrivals. Then the tip of the nose broke through, both wing claws appeared, and-as if the little queen had given a tremendous shrug-the shell parted vertically and she stood there, framed by the casing, looking about with great dignity.

   “Oh, she’s a darling, that one,” F’lar murmured to Lessa. “Just look at her, queen of all she surveys.”

   With the unusual suppleness of a hatchling, the little queen tilted her head backward almost to her spine and gave Ramoth one long look before she swung her head forward again to regard the five girls facing her. Daintily, she stepped away from her shell. With a calm arrogance she swept her coruscating glance once more over those awaiting her decision. Lessa wondered if any of the girls were actually breathing at that crucial moment.

   “I’ll wager you a mark on Cona,” F’lar said.

   Lessa shook her head. “You’ll lose. It’s Nataly. The two are perfectly matched.”

   However, the little queen was quite an individual. She stalked to one end of the semicircle of girls, giving each a close scrutiny as she passed. She never even made it to Cona and Nataly-she paused at Breda, extending her neck and pushing her head very gently against the tall girl’s body.

   “That,” F’lar said with a snap of his fingers, “for our choices.”

   Lessa chuckled. “The dragon always knows.” Then she gave a little gasp. As Breda knelt to clasp the little queen’s head to her breast, her rather plain face had taken on a beatific glow that transformed her into a radiant beauty.

   Eyes luminous, Breda looked up at Lessa. “She says her name is Amaranth!”

   “Well done, Breda. Felicitations!” Lessa called, having to shout above the applause that greeted the queen’s Impression. Are you satisfied? she asked Ramoth, who was staring dourly at the pairing.

   The girl wouldn’t have been Searched if she wasn’t suitable. Weal see how she copes with Amaranth. This one is a true daughter to me. From his high perch, Mnementh added a stunning triple-noted bugle. Ramoth craned her head up at him, her eyes dazzling with pulsating color. You flew me well.

   F’lar grinned at Lessa, for they had both heard the remark. “We’d better get on with our day’s duties, love,” he said, using that excuse to put an arm about Lessa’s slender waist and guide her down the stairs and out onto the Hatching Ground sands.

   In an unusual display of maternal approval, Ramoth followed Lessa and F’lar as the Weyrleaders helped Breda escort Amaranth out of the immense cavern.

   “Never for a moment did I think I’d be chosen, Weyrwoman Lessa,” Breda said. “I’ve never been out of Crom, not even to a Gather.”

   “Did your family come?”

   “No, Weyrwoman Lessa, my parents are dead. The Hall raised me.”

   In an uncharacteristic gesture, Lessa laid her hand on Breda’s arm. “And you are to call me Lessa, my dear. We are both queen riders.”

   Breda’s eyes widened.

   “Who knows, my dear?” F’lar said, half joking. “You may be a Weyrwoman, too, one day soon.”

   Astonished, the girl stopped in her tracks. Amaranth pushed at her, urgently creeling her hunger.

   Lessa tightened her hand on Breda’s arm and led her briskly to meet the weyrfolk bearing huge bowls heaped with herdbeast flesh. “It is a possibility, you know. But first, we’ll show you how to feed Amaranth. Don’t let her bleating bother you. They always think they’re starving after they’ve hatched.”

   Breda needed little instruction in feeding Amaranth, settling to the task with such ease that Lessa thought the girl had probably had to feed youngsters in the Hall that had raised her. Life in the Weyr was going to be quite different: Breda had just acquired a huge family.

   Then Lessa turned to discharge the less enjoyable task of an Impression day: comforting the unsuccessful candidates. Mar had already begun that process among the young men and boys. When Lessa looked about her for Nataly and Lord Groghe, she found them in a family knot at one of the tables. Manora was there before her, serving wine, klah, and fruit juices. Nataly was struggling to hide her disappointment and managing nobly, Lessa decided. Better than Silga and Tamara, who were in tears, with their families not really knowing what to say to console them. Cona was nowhere to be seen. Lessa wondered who had spirited her away, but decided that the girl’s preferred kind of consolation might mend matters more effectively than any other available method.

   She paused long enough to speak to Nataly and Lord Groghe and then moved on to help assuage the disappointment of Silga and Tamara.

   The harpers had started to play, and although there were some long faces among the visitors, the music would soon brighten them. Weyrfolk were already busy pouring from wine sacks and serving enormous platters of the pit-roasted herdbeasts and wherries. Food was so often a sovereign remedy, Lessa reflected.

   Finally, once the sated hatchlings were asleep on their pallets in the barracks, the Weyrlingmaster permitted the new dragonriders to join their families. With the honored guests present, the festivities went into full swing.

   “A most positive young queen, hmmm?” Robinton said, sliding into an empty space beside Lessa. He raised his cup in a toast to F’lar, opposite her. “Made rather an entrance, didn’t she?”

   Lessa smiled and offered to fill Robinton’s glass from the skin of Benden white that hung on her chair.

   “Is Amaranth why F’lessan’s been so interested in the vacant stakeholds in the South?” Robinton delivered his query in the guileless fashion that told Lessa and F’lar that he guessed a new Weyr was required.

   F’lar gave a knowing snort. “He offered.”

   “He’s more in Landing than he is here,” Lessa added wryly. With three sons by as many weyrgirls, F’lessan had need to be absent from their entreaties. He had provided well for each of his children, but he was no more ready to settle down with one than any young, handsome, and popular bronze rider. Manora had even suggested that the absence of that young charmer for a while might result in one or more of the girls settling for an older rider in a more stable, lasting attachment.

   Robinton cocked an eyebrow, suggesting to Lessa that he already knew about the demands on F’lessan. “He’s an excellent choice of explorer. Is a Weyr situation the only thing he’s to investigate? “

   F’lar picked up on that. “Why? Is Toric restless again?”

   Robinton took a judicious sip from his cup. “Not really. Now that Denol’s tenure of the Big Island has been settled, Toric’s making up for lost time with Aivas.”

   “And?” F’lar prompted.

   “He hid his chagrin rather well when he discovered just how mmm... less than vast the Southern Continent actually is. Fortunately he’s decided that Southern must have Halls of both new Crafts. I believe that he and Hamian had rather a vociferous confrontation over the filler plant Hamian’s been developing as an insulating material.”

   “The fibrous stuff that Bendarek’s been going on about?” Lessa asked. “You know that he’s genuinely concerned about the amount of trees that are needed to supply the demand for paper.”

   “Indeed.” Robinton nodded vigorously. “I do see his point that a weed that grows rampant in Southern should be utilized instead of chopping down those magnificent forests of his.”

   “I thought that Sharra discovered the plant and recognized its usefulness,” Lessa added.

   “I believe that’s Toric’s contention,” Robinton replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “That she found it on his holding while on a sweep for him.”

   “Will the man never be satisfied?” Lessa demanded with some heat.

   “I doubt it,” Robinton replied equably.

   “Will we end up having to fight him for holdings in the South?” Lessa went on, shooting him a fierce glance for his casual manner.

   “My dear Lessa, no one, absolutely no one, is going to challenge a man, or a woman, mounted a-dragon! And let us devoutly hope that there never is a point at which that is even remotely possible.”

   “Southern Weyr?” Mar reminded the Harper severely.

   “Well, yes, now, but that was not aggression-it was abduction.” Robinton had good cause to remember the time Ramoth’s egg had disappeared from the Hatching Ground and how very near Benden dragons had come to fighting the Oldtimer Southern dragons. Not wishing to remind the Weyrleaders that they had ostracized him at that point in time, Robinton held up his glass, looking plaintively at the wineskin hanging on Lessa’s chair. She filled it for him. “Mind you, I think you’re wise to send F’lessan to explore the tantalizing potential of Southern. When is he going?”

   Lessa grinned, lifting her eyebrows expressively. “He should be there even as we speak.”

   The great plains rolled on below F’lessan and Golanth as the big bronze glided on a south-southwest path, aided by high thermals. A slight twinge of guilt marred F’lessan’s happy contemplation of the scenery. He really should have been working up those equations for Aivas, who was under the impression that the young bronze rider’s presence was required at the Benden Hatching. As F’lessan had no wish to have to explain to Nera, Faselly, and Brinna why he couldn’t choose among them, he was glad enough to spend a free day obeying the injunction of Mar and Lessa.

   Golanth was so thoroughly enjoying himself that F’lessan decided it was unsuitable to belabor himself with unnecessary remorse. He had been unusually diligent in his studies-even enjoyed them. In truth, as F’lessan looked back over the past two Turns, he realized that he had devoted more time to Aivas than to the Weyr-save for Threadfall. He often flew as Wingsecond with T’gellan and the Eastern Weyr and with K’van in Southern. He liked fighting Thread, and he and Golanth were exceedingly deft at escaping injury.

   One thing he hadn’t dared to ask Lessa and F’lar: If he found a suitable site for another Weyr, was he in line to be Weyrleader? He dismissed that notion almost instantly. F’lessan had few illusions about himself. He was a good Wingleader, he understood draconic abilities, he knew which were the best riders in every Weyr and who were the most likely weyrlings in Benden, but he didn’t think he was anyone’s immediate choice for the next Weyrleader. And he was well aware of how such matters were decided: open mating flight for all unattached bronzes.

   I’m big and strong, Golanth informed him with just a hint of boasting in his tone. I’d’ve caught Lamanth that time, if Litorth had not done that clip-and-run dive maneuver. He d been practicing with the greens! he added petulantly.

   F’lessan soothed his dragon with hand and voice. He had been a bit provoked about that himself. Of course, Celina was nearly as old as Lessa, but it was becoming a matter of honor for Golanth to fly a queen, and Celina was a nice sort. Anyone could get along with her.

   A dust cloud caught F’lessan’s attention, and he asked Golanth to veer toward it.

   I’m not hungry just now, Golanth replied as they got near enough to distinguish the rumps of fleeing herdbeasts.

   Get in a little closer, would you, Golanth? I’ve never seen any like these. Brown and white, and black and white. Big beasts. Nice and juicy, F’lessan added coaxingly.

   If they are big now, they will be bigger when I am ready to eat.

   F’lessan chuckled. There were times when Golanth couldn’t be diverted. He glanced at the dial strapped to his arm, checking the time it registered against his reading of the sun. Accurate enough. Aivas called it a watch-and the first time F’lessan had worn it he had indeed watched, mesmerized, as the long second hand made its way around the dial. Jancis had presented it to him on his birthing day. She had designed and executed the device for him personally. F’lessan had felt both honored and elated to be the proud possessor of one of the few wristwatches on Pern. Jancis had only made six: Piemur, of course, wore one; so did Lord Larad and Lady Jissamy; Master Robinton and Master Fandarel were the other lucky recipients.

   He and Golanth had been a-wing for the past five hours. If they didn’t sight their objective soon, he was going to ask Golanth to land so that he could eat his lunch and stretch his legs. A six-hour stint during a Fall was one thing-then he was actively involved, too busy to become uncomfortable. Flying straight to a new location was a different matter altogether, always tedious. But it was necessary when one’s destination was unfamiliar, unless one had been given a detailed description or could grab an image of the site from another dragon or rider’s mind-which was not the case today. Golanth was making good time, catching the thermals and air currents to increase his speed, but it was a weary way to go.

   Still and all, F’lessan enjoyed being first at something. He was not by nature an envious sort, but it did seem that Piemur and Jaxom had the larger portion of luck with their discoveries. He was very pleased that Lessa and F’lar had entrusted this search to him. They could have sent one of the older bronze riders, or F’nor. Nevertheless, it was F’lessan and Golanth who were winging over the great plains, toward the huge inland sea that the settlers had named Caspian, to a Hold called Xanadu.

   Suddenly, off to his right, the sun dazzled him, reflecting off water.

   To our right, Golly, F’lessan said excitedly.

   A very big water, Golanth added.

   As he often had, F’lessan wondered if he would see clearer, better, farther if he had faceted dragon eyes.

   I can see anything you wish for you, Golanth replied meekly.

   F’lessan pummeled his neck affectionately. I know, big fellow, and I’m always grateful for your help. I was just thinking what it might be like, that’s all.

   Golanth began to stroke the air, beating upward. Thermal, he said cryptically, and F’lessan leaned down against the great bronze neck so as not to impede the ascent. He felt the alteration in the wind current and let out a triumphant yodel when Golanth flattened out and set his wings to glide on the hot air.

   And that’s something else you can do which I can’t-tell where the air currents are. How ever do you know where the thermals are?

   My eyes see the variation of air, I smell the difference, and my hide feels the altered pressure.

   Really? F’lessan was impressed with the explanation. Been listening in on my aerodynamics lessons with Aivas?

   Golanth thought that over. Yes. You listen to him, so I thought I should. Ruth does, and Path certainly. Ramoth and Mnementh don’t. They prefer to sleep in the sun while Lessa and F’lar are here. Bigath listens, and Sulath and Beerth. Clarinath occasionally, but Pranith always and Lioth whenever his rider’s down. Sometimes the listening is very interesting. Sometimes it’s not.

   Not only was that an unusually long speech for Golanth, but it gave F’lessan such food for thought that he was kept occupied with the ramifications until the edge of the vast inland sea became visible.

   How are the air currents, Golanth? Shall we cross it, or fly around?

   We cross it, was the immediate and confident answer.

   We need a nor’norwest heading, Golanth, to reach the point where the ancients settled. Not that I think we’ll find much.

   As they crossed the water, passing through several squalls on the way, they noted all the little islands and the strange pinnacles of rock upthrusts, like bony fingers or clenched fists. On some, odd-shaped trees had managed to find soil enough in the rock crevices to support their roots. In two instances, naked roots twisted down the spires, seeking additional dirt and sustenance. The trees, with their closely packed heads, leaned precariously away from the prevailing winds. Or were those branches that were seeking the summits and sunlight? Sharra would want to know about these. She liked such oddities.

   The western coastline was visible at last, a high palisade of cliff. The inland sea must have been formed in a vast subsidence, F’lessan decided, recognizing the geological formation from Aivas’s survey lectures. That would also account for the spires and islands: the tops of sunken mountains. Now if those distant cliff faces also held caves, this would be a splendid place for a Weyr, he thought. All that water! One would never have a dry dragon in one’s weyr.

   He was to be disappointed, however, once they got close enough to see the solid granite composition of the high bluffs.

   Dragons don’t have cliff weyrs in Southern or Eastern and they don’t complain, Golanth said helpfully.

   I know, but I was asked to find a useful old crater or two.

   The sun will find me in a clearing, and there are some very good-smelling trees on this continent.

   F’lessan thumped Golanth, grinning at the bronze’s effort to console him for the disappointment. This isn’t the only place I’m supposed to check out. There was a settler’s hold, called Honshu, in the foothills of the Southern barrier range. However, since we’re here, let’s look about for this Xanadu Stakehold.

   Golanth’s sharp eyes spotted unnatural outlines on a slight prominence, not far from where a wide river had worn a deep gorge from the outer sea to the inner one. F’lessan wasn’t sure about ruins, but he had to accept that wide steps had been cut in the palisade face. Someone had wanted an easy access to the lakeshore. Golanth landed neatly beside his alleged ruins. Looking around, F’lessan at first thought the dragon had been mistaken in seeing any shape whatsoever beneath the heavy vegetation.

   This is not natural, Golanth insisted, tapping a vertical thicket of twisted vines and moss. Extending his wing, he hooked a wingfinger claw on a twisted branch and pulled away the obscuring greenery. As myriad creatures scuttled away from exposure to the sun, F’lessan found himself looking at a tall chimney of worked stone. So the rest of the ruin had to be the remains of the walls of a dwelling.

   F’lessan shook his head for those foolish enough to build with so much vegetation all around them, making them twice as vulnerable to Thread. Taking a meatroll from his pouch, he ate as he walked around the hold walls, using his belt knife to scrape down to long-hidden dressed stone. It would have been a large dwelling. Golanth had shouldered his way into the thick forest and was calling his rider to inspect more ruins.

   “Sizable place all right enough,” F’lessan said, kicking at some rubble. “Xanadu, huh!” He turned back to the main building, snagging a ripe redfruit from a hanging limb as he walked. Chewing the juicy fruit, he contemplated the prospect of sea and distant shore that the original inhabitants must surely have enjoyed. Magnificent! If there hadn’t been Thread to worry about, it would have been an endlessly beautiful vista. “We’ve another place to investigate, Golanth,” he said abruptly, throwing off a sense of regret on behalf of those long-dead holders.

   He asked Golanth to wheel over the site so that he could imprint the details in his mind for future visits. If-no, F’lessan corrected himself defiantly, when Pernese skies were Threadfree, this would be an admirable situation for an open-air weyr.

   Golanth caught an updraft that put them quickly back into the westerly current. They had a long way still to go. Shielding his eyes, F’lessan glanced at the lowering sun and then, berating himself for his forgetfulness, looked at his wristwatch. Four more hours until dusk. Not that flying at night bothered Golanth, nor would it be the first night F’lessan had curled up in a bed made by his dragon’s forepaws, but if they didn’t hurry, F’lessan wouldn’t see what he had flown all this way to lay his eyes on.

   They flew onward, Golanth’s wings tirelessly carrying them, until the great Southern barrier range developed from a pale lavender smudge to vast purplish blue massifs, dominating the horizon.

Bi-i-ig- F’lessan drawled the adjective-mountains! Higher than anything we have in the North until you reach the Icy Wastes.

   The air would be very thin up there, Golanth observed. Will we have to cross them?

   I don’t think so. F’lessan rummaged in his jacket pocket for the map Aivas had printed out for him. It flapped so badly in the wind of their passage that he had trouble reading it. No, this Honshu holding is in ,the foothills below the real range. We’re just not close enough to distinguish them.

   The last of the brilliant sunset illuminated the general area of their destination. Only because sharp-eyed Golanth saw a line of herdbeasts ambling through a wide doorway in the foot of the cliff did they locate Honshu.

   Are you sure you saw what you said you saw? F’lessan asked in surprise. Surely they would have taken their beasts with them when they left.

   Maybe wild ones found the way into a place of safety, Golanth suggested. Speeding up his wing strokes, he reached the foot of the sheer cliff just as the last of sunset drained from western skies.

   There was no mistaking the wide track worn smooth by usage that led to the cliff face and through a wide entrance angled into the cliff. Peering inside, F’lessan coughed at the stench of the place. High in the walls, window slits did not give him light enough to see much-and the smell alone was enough to discourage investigation. The herdbeasts bawled in surprise at his entrance and milled anxiously deeper into what he guessed was an immense cavern. Choking and with eyes streaming from the intense ammoniac smell, F’lessan backed out. Leaning against the cliff, he breathed deeply of the fresh evening air.

   “Looks like you found me Honshu, Golanth,” he said, running his hand up the beasthold entrance. “This was cut as neatly as a hot knife in cheese. Just like Fort Hold and the Weyr-when the ancients still had power for their stonecutters. So this has to be Honshu.” His fingers also located a door, neatly retracted into the wall. “They left the door wide open, after all. Well, Golanth, let’s find us a place to camp for the night. A fire would be right cheerful on a black night like this. I don’t know if those big felines Sharra and Piemur talked about range this far south, but...”

   No feline would challenge me!

   “Not one who wishes to see tomorrow,” F’lessan said with a laugh as he peered into the dark for someplace to settle down.

   Follow me, Golanth said, and ambled to the left of the cliff face.

   “You’re better than a torch.” F’lessan followed, taking care not to tread on his dragon’s tail.

   Dead wood was easy enough to find, and rocks to contain a fire, so very shortly F’lessan was comfortably settled against Golanth’s shoulder, munching on his travel rations and sipping some Benden wine he had talked Manora into putting in his bottle. Then, because there was little else to do, F’lessan unrolled the fur that padded Golanth’s neck ridge, nestled himself snugly between Golanth’s forelimbs, and went to sleep.

   He woke up just as the eastern skies were brightening. Enough embers remained from his fire to be coaxed back into sufficient warmth to allow him to heat his morning klah and break his fast with a warm meatroll. Golanth ambled down to the river and drank deeply.

   This will be a good place to swim-once the sun is up, he said with the air of an expert. And the cliff a good place to warm after a swim. The sun will catch the stone and radiate heat.

   F’lessan grinned as he sipped his hot klah. You have been learning a thing or two from listening.

   Only the things that make sense to me.

   Then F’lessan heard the low bleating and moaning of the animals sheltering in the hold.

   Stay there, Golanth, or the animals won’t come out, and I want to investigate this place.

   I don’t mind if I do, Golanth replied equably, but they have nothing to fear for I am not hungry yet.

   Somehow I doubt they’d believe you, dear heart. F’lessan made a second cup of klah and then kicked dirt and gravel over his little fire lest the smell of burning wood alarm the beasts.

   He did not have long to wait. Once the sunlight hit the entrance, the animals-which proved to be of more than one species of herdbeast-began to file out, ready for a day’s browsing or grazing. Most of those had younglings at foot. Not stirring a muscle, F’lessan watched the exodus. Only when all had made their way down the track, spreading out on their separate ways, did the bronze rider approach the opening.

 “Faugh!” The reek still discouraged F’lessan from entering-the dung had accumulated to the level of mid-thigh in some places. Holding his breath, he stuck his head in. The cavern was huge, as far as he could tell in the patches of early-morning light that filtered in through the high windows. It was then that he noticed a flight of steps to his right.

   Golanth! I’m going in. There’re steps here. Drawing his collar across his nose and mouth, F’lessan darted toward the steps and ran up to the first landing, where he stopped. There, to his right, was a large door that had once been secured by a lock, now a rusted shell that fell into dust at his touch. He pushed open the door and stood on another landing, from which steps led down to a large, high-ceilinged room. Window slits let in barely enough light to make out a bulky object, half a dragon length in size, which appeared to be covered.

   I’ve found some sort of an ancient artifact! he told Golanth as he took the steps two at a time in his excitement.

   The covering was of ancient manufacture, soapy and slick to the touch once he brushed aside the film of dust that had turned a bright green fabric to gray. Flipping a corner up, F’lessan peered at the unmistakable prow of a vehicle. Struggling to uncover more of the incredible object, F’lessan recognized it from some of the tapes Aivas had shown them as a sled, one of the larger sort.

   Just wait till Master Fandarel and Benelek see this thing, Golanth! They’ll go spare! F’lessan crowed with delight and anticipation at the stir this beauty would cause. He rolled more of the cover back, noticing how carefully the craft had been stored by its owners and wondering why they had left it behind. No more fuel to fly it, probably.

   It’s a cumbersome-looking thing, Golanth remarked.

   Don’t worry, love, I d never trade you in for one of these. Cranky things from what the records tell us. Always needing to be serviced and have parts replaced. Don’t have that worry with a dragon. F’lessan laughed heartily at the thought of the Smithcrafters swarming over the sled-for all the good it would do them. Still, it was quite a relic to find lovingly stored away. So few of the settlers’ everyday implements had been discovered. Then he noticed the racks of dust-shrouded tools on the wall, a pile of empty plastic sacks such as the settlers had used to store all manner of items, and, under layers of fine dust, plastic containers in the settlers’ favorite bright colors.

   Well, when I tell Aivas what we’ve found, he won’t be so upset, F’lessan added. So I d better survey the whole place for a complete report. Aivas respects complete reports.

   Then he bounded up the steps to the landing and proceeded on upward. He noticed that there were piles of dung on some of the steps and muddy hoof marks that, fortunately, ended at another closed door.

   This one slid back into the wall-not without some grunting and shoving on F’lessan’s part. Having achieved a wide-enough gap to squeeze through, he stepped onto yet another landing, with stairs leading down to a huge cavern-a workroom, to judge by the variety of tables and cabinets. Slightly amazed, he identified both a forge and a huge kiln, as well as workbenches. And there he saw his first signs of a hurried departure, for some cabinet drawers were half out of their slides and there were odd cartons, not quite lidded shut, on three work surfaces. He didn’t go down to investigate further, for yet another flight of stairs led up to a higher level.

   I’m moving up in the world, Golanth, with more marvels to report to Aivas. Oooowhee, but this place is a treasure trove. The people may have left, but for once they didn’t take much with them. Robinton and Lytol are going to be fascinated!

   Golanth’s response was a deep grunt that echoed in F’lessan’s ears; laughing at his dragon’s lack of enthusiasm, the bronze rider galloped eagerly up the steps.

   Nor was F’lessan disappointed. The door on this level opened onto what had to be the main entry to the hold. Through a graceful archway, he could see into what must have been the central living area. For the first time, he felt like an intruder as he stepped into the immense room, and he stopped in the doorway. He heard the slither of tunnel snakes, retreating from his presence. Peering into the room, he could distinguish little beyond shrouded forms in the darkness, but he could see the thin lines of light around window apertures.

   Retracing his steps to the hall, he threw open the wide double leaves of the main door, blinking at the brilliance of the early-morning sun. The hold faced northeast, as a southern hold should, and an early breeze ruffled the thick cushion of dust on the floor. With that light to help him, he found the windows, which were set far above his head; he also found the long pole that opened them. He had opened five of the ten large windows before his eyes fell on the space above them.

   Golanth! You should see this! It’s amazing!

   See what? Where are you now? Is there room for me?

   “I-th-think so.” F’lessan heard his own stammer echo back from the vaulted ceiling, a ceiling that had been decorated in brilliantly colored murals that had lost nothing of their brightness. And he now knew part of the story they depicted. “This ought to shut up the doubters-an independent verification of what Aivas told us!” he murmured, more to himself than to Golanth, as he gave the walls a fleeting glance before beginning a more studied perusal. So involved did he become with the mural scenes that it took him a moment to realize that the scrabbling noise he heard was Golanth’s claws on stone.

   This door is not wide enough for me, Golanth said, sounding distinctly annoyed. F’lessan glanced around and stifled a guffaw. Golanth had got head and neck through the opening, but not his massive shoulders.

   “You’re not stuck, are you?” the bronze rider asked solicitously.

   They could have made the door a little bit higher and wider, since they made it as big us they did.

   “I don’t really think they had dragons of your size in mind when they built it, Golanth. But can you see the murals? There’s even a scene about dragons-right overhead. Oh, you can’t quite see it, but these murals are amazing. There are panels for every major event-” F’lessan pointed out the appropriate panels as he explained. “The actual landing in the shuttle craft; the ones in Ship Meadow; and yes, there are sleds just like the one down below; and the building of holds, and people working the land, and then Thread. They did that panel too graphically. Turns my stomach just to look at it. They’ve got lots of sleds, and smaller craft, and flamethrowers and-ah, high up in the ceiling, they’ve even got Rukbat and all its planets. If only we’d found this place a long time ago...” F’lessan was silent a long moment, his eyes moving from one beautifully painted panel to the next. “They’ll all want to see this place,” he said at length with infinite satisfaction. “We did good, Golanth, dear heart. And we were first here!”

   He looked around one last time, deciding not to investigate further so that others might have the pleasure of seeing the place as it had been left. Then he carefully closed the windows.

   Golanth, crammed into the doorway, had been trying to see what he could. As F’lessan approached him, he carefully backed out onto the broad shelf that jutted out from that level. F’lessan closed the doors behind him, marveling at the workmanship that allowed the heavy metal to pivot so easily after so many centuries of disuse. He gazed up at the sweep of the hold: three more levels of windows were visible.

   “Neither weyr nor hold but it would serve,” F’lessan said, remembering the point of his search. “That is, once the artifacters and Craftmasters get their look-in.”

   Dragons would find this spot eminently suitable, F’lessan, Golanth assured him. There is the river, which is deep, clear, and tasty to drink, and there are many ledges that face the sun all the day long. The bronze dragon swung his head to left and right to bring those places to F’lessan’s notice. This would make a very good Weyr indeed.

   “And so we shall report.”

12

   THE DISCOVERY OF Honshu was partially eclipsed by S’len’s discovery of eighteen usable space suits in the Yokohama EVA ready room. In Master Robinton’s opinion, Aivas had received that news with a great deal more excitement than he had displayed when hearing about Honshu’s state of preservation. Aivas said that the suits gave his schedule considerably more flexibility and dispensed with some rather awkward and possibly dangerous alternatives. However, some folk in the Smithcraft, and many in the Harper Hall, considered Honshu the more important, and certainly more immediately useful, discovery.

   While Aivas was revising his plan, Jancis and Hamian were appointed by Master Fandarel to inventory the tools at Honshu and, if their use was not immediately apparent, to decide what function they had had. Aivas did take time to print out a manual for the sled, out of respect for the keen interest shown, but added the qualifier that any such investigations were esoteric since he could give no assistance in powering it. That provoked some resentment in those who felt that aerial transportation should not be restricted to dragonriders and “a chosen few.”

   Aivas’s rebuttal to that accusation was to enumerate all the skills and technological improvements-which most of those same complainants objected to in theory-that would be necessary to produce powered aerial vehicles, including the development of an alternative and reliable power source.

   “The settlers used power packs,” Aivas reminded them. The subject had arisen before. “These units were rechargeable, but no recharging mechanism survived.”

   “But can’t you tell us how to make the power packs?”

   “There are two kinds of science,” Aivas began in his oblique fashion. “Practical and theoretical. With practical, engineers use only what is known-and proved to work in the everyday world-to achieve certain predicted and predictable results. Theoretical science, on the other hand, pushes at the boundaries and laws that are known to work-and sometimes even steps outside of them. For the projects you have been working on, you already had enough background and know-how to learn the necessary science to follow my instructions. But for some things-such as the alien power packs-Pern, simply has not the technology or the science to understand the theories well enough to apply them practically.”

   “In other words, we’re stuck with this world and what’s in it?” Jaxom asked.

   “Precisely. And it is up to you to work this out for yourself, or to gain help from Lytol rather than from this facility.”

   And that was as much time as Aivas would spend on Honshu. With additional space suits available, he initiated new projects, which, it was made clear, were much closer to the major task at hand: the destruction of Thread.

   Now that the life-support systems on the Bahrain and the Buenos Aires were fully operational, Mirrim and S’len were sent on their green dragons to make the necessary links between the bridge consoles on the two smaller ships and the Yokohama link with Aivas. The Bahrain and the Buenos Aires had, however, sustained more damage over the centuries than the Yokohama, losing antennae, exterior optics, and considerable areas of the outside skin from impacts that the shields had been unable to deflect. But that damage, Aivas was quick to state, would not interfere with the Plan.

   Terry, Wansor, three of the Glass-smith’s brightest journeymen, and Perschar, the artist, were ferried up by green dragons for long sessions on the Yokohama’s telescope, mapping the Red Star for any distinctive features. The vid-link down to Aivas was still imperfect; Aivas had been unable to discover the problem and so had to rely on human observations. They soon reported to Aivas that only one side of the planet was turned toward them. Perschar was to do large reproductions of whatever geographic features the surface of the eccentric planet presented. Wansor had to be peeled away from the console, so exhausted by his lengthy efforts that he actually fell asleep between on the return trip.

   Teams made up of green and bronze riders-all transported by the smaller green dragons-explored the deserted levels of the Yokohama in case anything else had been left behind. But the ancients had stripped an amazing amount of material from the ship. The space suits-and the banks of coldsleep capsules-were all that had been deemed useless on the surface.

   Then a team of Mastersmiths was sent to all three ships, starting with the Yokohama, so that all four could familiarize themselves with the cargo bays and engine rooms. The four-Fandarel, Belterac, Evan, and Jancis-were fascinated by the ship’s construction, pausing to examine the way struts had been secured, how walls, ceilings and floors had been fitted into the skeleton of the ship. It was difficult for them to assimilate the fact that the Yokohama had been assembled in space at one of the old Earth’s gigantic satellite shipyards, and that the heaviest portions had been pushed into position by single workers with computer-controlled machines.

   Master Fandarel made full use of the Yokohama as a schoolroom, getting Aivas to explain the designs and the safety aspects of the compartmentalization. He was truly amazed at the rationale behind the odd design of the spacegoing ship and had many questions to put to Aivas about the apparent anomalies.

   The main section of the Yokohama was a huge sphere of many levels, each of which could be closed off, as could sections of each level-to sustain life, Aivas told them, should the main hull be breached. Thus heat and oxygen could be maintained only where necessary, as was being done now, to conserve supplies. The bridge area, the environmental section and the lift accessing it, a small infirmary, and Airlock A were the most heavily shielded. According to Aivas, escape pods had once been attached to Airlock A, until the Yokohama had been recommissioned as a colony ship and those pod positions had been altered to access supply drones.

   The huge matter-antimatter engines were housed on a long shaft, attached to the midsection of the main sphere but separated by the heaviest shielding on the Yokohama. Two great wheels on either end of the engine shaft had held the fuel and cargo pods that had been wrapped around the engines. Those had, of course, been emptied during the journey and launched to splash down in the seas off Monaco Bay. Retrieved, the basic metal had been smelted down and reworked. The ceramic fuel tanks had been put to different uses. Very little of the superstructure of the Yokohama and the other two colony ships remained. The narrower stern wheel on the end of the engine shaft still held its band of maneuvering jets which, powered by the solar panels and in conjunction with those around the main sphere, were what kept the Yokohama’s orbit stable. One of the first checks Aivas had commissioned was to ascertain how much fuel remained in the Yokohama’s main tank.

   Fandarel, thinking about that fuel, wondered why the settlers had dared to leave the colony ships in an orbit that was ultimately destined to decay. Aivas replied curtly that that was not an immediate concern: So far, the orbits had not decayed, and the surface of Pern was not at risk-not, at least, from ship debris.

   It was while Jancis was busy patching the main engineering board into Aivas while the others were examining the “readiness” run of the great propulsion units that one of the green riders activated the red alert from the bridge. Jancis’s bronze fire-lizard, Trig, became so agitated that she had a hard time calming him down enough to make sense of his response. She could raise neither S’len nor L’zan on the com. And the red alert signal continued to blink in the engineering facility.

   “Thread attacking the Yokohama?” Jancis got that much from Trigs chaotic thoughts. “It can’t, Trig. It can’t. We’re safe here! No, don’t you dare breathe fire in here!”

   Jancis then bellowed directions through the speaker to the bridge until S’len hit the right sequence of buttons to make voice contact.

   “It’s Thread, Jancis, I’m sure of it,” S’len replied. “Not space debris. There’s this flood of egglike things of varying sizes streaming toward us. Looks just like the stuff Aivas described to us in his lecture. Space debris wouldn’t come in a steady flow, would it? This stuff goes back as far as we can see from the window. Only none of them ever hits the window, and the pilot’s board is all lit up and the engineer’s station is beeping at us.” His words came tumbling out in his haste to describe the situation. Then his voice became agitated. “Bigath and Beerth are demanding that we go outside. They say it’s Thread. I never should have even thought what I thought it is!” Then in an explosive aside: “No, Bigath, we can’t fly this sort of a Fall. It’s not Thread yet, -if that’s what it is! We haven’t any firestone, and there’s no air out there, and you wouldn’t fly outside anyway you’d float, just like in here. Shards! Jancis, I can’t make her understand!”

   S’len didn’t panic easily, and Bigath was not as erratic as some greens. In the background, Jancis could also hear Aivas’s loud reassurances. If Bigath was not obeying her rider, she certainly could not be disciplined by the Aivas. Her bugling challenge at Thread took on a frantic edge.

   “Tell them Ruth says they’re not to go! They obey him!” she said, latching on to an authority the greens respected. She didn’t know a green dragon who wasn’t partial to the white dragon.

   “When is Ruth coming, Bigath wants to know!” S’len’s tone had altered from dismay to desperation. Aivas’s calm voice continued to exhort the green dragons to listen to reason, but he was using reason that the dragons were not in a state to hear.

   Jancis was scribbling a note to Jaxom to come at once when S’len, with a cry of relief, said, “Ruth’s here and everything’s under control!”

   Jancis looked at the note and then at her fire-lizard, who cocked his head at her quizzically. She considered the matter for a moment longer and then made a decision. There was absolutely no way in which Jaxom and Ruth would have known to come to the bridge. He was in Ruatha today, and Aivas had no way of communicating with him there. She checked the exact time on her watch and wrote it down on the note. She added a final phrase in big letters: “TIME IT!” Then she sent Trig off to Ruatha and Jaxom.

   “But if Ruth and Jaxom are here, why send the note now?” Fandarel asked.

   Jancis smiled at her grandfather. “Trig needs the practice, Granddad.”

   Trig was back almost immediately, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

   “He needs more than practice,” Fandarel said, dismayed at the apparent disobedience.

   “I don’t know about you,” Jancis said as a diversion, striding over to the lift, “but I want to see this ‘attack.’ I’ve never been allowed out of Hall or Hold during a Fall, so now may be my only chance. Aren’t any of you interested?”

   The reaction to her challenge was immediate, and when Jancis found herself crammed into the lift with three big smiths she was sorry that she had issued it.

   Then the lift door opened to a curious bedlam: two green dragons, wings plastered to the window, were so fiercely hissing and spraying saliva that the view was largely obscured, while Ruth, his wing fingers on those of the two greens, putting him at full stretch, overlapped their bodies. He was loudly emitting some sort of croon that was only just audible through their angry sputters.

   Jancis managed to grab Trig before he took off to join the dragons in their futile posturing. She pinned him firmly under one arm while she hung on to the railing lest his violent attempts to free himself send her into a spin. Ruth turned his redshot eyes in their direction and barked peremptorily. The bronze fire-lizard immediately subsided.

   The view-or the part of it that was not blocked by green and white dragon bodies-was awesome: the objects blanketed the entire panorama. Jancis had to exert a firm control over an urge to recoil as the shapes, zooming straight at Yokohama, were deflected at seemingly the last moment before impact by the ship’s shields. But gradually, she and the smiths became accustomed to the spectacle and could appreciate it with detachment. Not that any of them found it as amusing as Jaxom did. He was clutching the pilot’s chair in one hand to prevent himself from floating off, but he was nearly doubled up with laughter. S’len and L’zan, hovering circumspectly out of reach of furiously swishing dragon tails, looked on in chagrin and embarrassment.

   Being the tallest man there, Fandarel had a reasonably unobstructed view. “An amazing spectacle. Aivas, is this one of those meteor showers you’ve told us about?”

   “What you are seeing is not a meteor shower,” Aivas replied. “Comparing the present onslaught with reports made by Pilot Kenjo Fusaiyuki during his reconnaissance flights and pending examination of a sample, it is reasonable to assume that Thread, in its space-traveling form, is flowing past the Yokohama on its way to your planet.”

   “But where will it fall?” Jaxom asked, unable to remember which Weyr was scheduled to fly Fall next.

   “On Nerat, in precisely forty-six hours,” Aivas replied.

   Jaxom let out a long whistle.

   “This swarm has a long way to go yet to reach the atmospheric envelope of the planet,” Aivas continued.

   “Hmmm,” Fandarel said, moving closer to peer out the window. “Fascinating! To be amid Thread and unharmed by it. Truly astounding. It’s a great pity we can’t do something to stem the tide here, before it reaches the surface.”

   S’len groaned. “Please don’t even think that,” he said, flicking his hand at the willing creatures whom Ruth was visibly restraining at the window.

   “Thread doesn’t look so dangerous right now,” Jancis said thoughtfully as she watched the ovoids sweep in and abruptly disappear.

   “In its frozen state, it is unlikely to be life-threatening,” Aivas said.

   “But you don’t know for sure?”

   “Attempts were made by Nabhi Nabol and Bart Lemos to secure specimens, but their ship disintegrated before they were able to return with them.”

   “We could get some now,” Jaxom suggested. “There’re plenty out there.”

   There was a significant pause, and Jaxom winked at Jancis. It wasn’t often that Aivas was caught speechless.

   “You fail to recognize the hazards of such a venture,” the Aivas replied at last.

   “Why? We could stash the thing in Airlock A, for instance, and it would stay frozen. As you keep telling us, it takes the friction of the atmosphere for Thread to metamorphose into its dangerous state.”

   Jancis was mouthing words at Jaxom, shaking her head violently. Under her arm, Trig struggled with renewed vigor to free himself from restraint.

   “The Yokohama is moving at approximately 38,765 nautical miles per hour or about twenty thousand miles per hour relative to the Thread ovoids. To attempt to capture one would be an impossible maneuver even for persons trained in extravehicular activities. It would also be essential to have nonheat-conducting tongs.”

   Trig squawked.

I would capture a Thread egg for you, Ruth said, turning his head at an impossible angle over his shoulder to his rider.

   Jaxom looked in alarm at his white dragon and regretted his spontaneous suggestion. “Oh, no, you don’t.” At Ruth’s crestfallen expression, he added, “No one else can keep those greens under control.”

   “Did Ruth just offer to go get a Thread?” Jancis asked, holding more tightly to the writhing Trig. “Let Trig go.”

   “You heard what Aivas said about the velocities and nonheatconducting tongs.”

   “It doesn’t look as if we’re traveling anywhere near that speed,” she replied. Then she sighed. “Even if I know we must be. Anyway, fire-lizard talons aren’t exactly heat-conductive, are they? Trig seems to think he can.”

   “What!” Belterac demanded, his eyes bulging with horror. “Bring one of those-those things in here with us?”

   “Not in here,” Jancis told him. “Into the airlock, where we can examine it closely. In its frozen state, it poses no danger.”

   “Do you really think Trig would be able to manage?” Fandarel asked, his insatiable curiosity getting the better of an ingrained revulsion to Thread.

   “If he thinks he can,” Jancis said. She looked down at the struggling fire-lizard. “Letting him do something about Thread may calm him down.” She looked out at the barrage.

   “It has been noted,” Aivas said, “that fire-lizards are particularly courageous in the presence of Thread. It has also been noted that, in both fire-lizards and dragons, the thought becomes the deed by some method which does not bear investigation. If Trig should think he can retrieve a specimen, despite the obvious difficulties, it would greatly facilitate a useful examination of the organism. Placing it in Airlock A would, of course, keep the specimen frozen, dormant, and impotent. Then it could be examined at leisure, a procedure your ancestors scheduled but did not implement. It would complete their biological investigations of this organism.”

   Jaxom looked warily at Jancis. All in all, he wasn’t sure they should ask this of Trig. Didn’t they know as much as they needed to know about Thread? And yet, to have a Thread impotent, at their disposal, locked in a primal form, would be subtly gratifying.

   It wouldn’t be at all hard to do, Ruth told Jaxom.

   “Ruth!” Jaxom vetoed that with a sharp chop of his hands. “You stay out of this fire-lizard assignment. Show-off!”

   To his surprise, Jancis laughed. “Does Ruth think he’d fit in Airlock A?” she asked, grinning at Ruth’s reproachful expression. “First, let’s see if Trig is certain he can manage. Now, dear...” She lifted Trig up level with her eyes, took his triangular head, and pointed it toward the window. “We want you to get one of those big eggs and put it in Airlock A. You remember where that is. It’d be like catching a wherry midair.”

   I’m telling him, too, in case he doesn’t understand, Ruth said, turning a reproving eye on his rider. I’d be perfectly safe. I’m much bigger than the Thread eggs. I wouldn’t be thrown off balance as a little fire-lizard would be. And it’s no more than a jump between.

   Trig gave a cheep, turned his head toward Ruth, and cheeped again, the whirling of his eyes speeding up with anticipation and resolve.

   He understands. He says he can easily do that.

   “Ruth has now briefed Trig thoroughly,” Jaxom told Jancis.

   “You’re sure you can do this, Trig? You don’t have to, you know,” she said, but Trigs eyes were orange-red with challenge and confidence. With a sigh, she bounced him off her arm. He disappeared. A moment later they all saw him through the bridge window, catching an ovoid nearly as large as himself. Briefly, the force of the capture sent him spinning backward, but before he hit the window, he abruptly flipped out of sight again. Three heartbeats later, he reappeared on the bridge, chittering with satisfaction.

   “His hide is so cold,” Jancis said as she stroked him. “He’s got stuff on his talons! Freezing! Ugh!” But, for all of that, she didn’t dislodge him from her shoulder.

   Everyone made much of him, including Ruth, with the notable exception of the two greens, who were sullenly rumbling their discontent at being kept inside the Yokohama.

   “Apparently the extravehicular activity was successful?” Aivas asked.

   Jaxom activated the optics in Airlock A and saw the ovoid floating gently above the lock floor.

   Eyes widening in surprise, Jancis jiggled her finger at the screen showing the airlock. “Look!” she exclaimed. It took a moment for the others to realize that the ovoid was gliding across the lock. It hovered briefly by the wall and returned to approximately the same position in the center of the facility.

   “Excellent demonstration of an incident of magnetic levitation,” Aivas remarked.

   “And congratulations from Master Robinton and D’ram. Warder Lytol is already mobilizing a team to examine the specimen.”

   “Is he indeed?” Jaxom asked flippantly, wondering who Lytol would tag with the unenviable task.

   “The extent and density of this stream would be useful knowledge,” Aivas went on. “Jancis, such readings can be taken from the navigator’s console by activating the exterior optics, using title EXAM.EXE code.”

   “It occurs to me, Aivas,” Jaxom began, winking at Jancis, “that this phenomenon was not on your agenda for today in space?” He was amused to see Fandarel regard him with astonishment for such an impudent question.

   There was so profound a silence from Aivas that everyone on the bridge exchanged amused glances. Twice in one day they had confounded Aivas? Fandarel began to chuckle, a deep rolling sound, when an answer finally came.

   “Regrettably, this facility did not compute that possibility, though calculations now indicate that the Yokohama and her sister ships have been in the line of Thread showers every fourth Fall.”

   “Well, imagine that!” Jaxom remarked, his eyes glinting with mischief. He had never thought to catch Aivas unprepared.

   With what Jaxom decided was considerable aplomb, Aivas asked, “Is the shield destroying the ovoids, or is it deflecting them?”

   “Deflecting,” Jaxom replied. Then he absorbed the nub of that remark. “The shield has a destructive mode? We could destroy what’s raining down on us? What an ingenious concept! There’d be just that much fewer to fall on Nerat. And that might persuade old Begamon that all this”-he gestured about the bridge-“is worth the effort.”

   “Jaxom, the destruct capability can be activated from either the captain’s chair or the pilot’s console. Call up the shield function program and alter DEFL to DEST.”

   “I hear and obey,” Jaxom said eagerly, his breath quickening as he slid into the pilot’s seat and activated the console. “Program altered.” For a moment, he let his finger hover above the ENTER tab. “Engaged!”

   In the next instant, the pellets streaking toward them dissolved in puffs, clearing a path so that the width and depth of the stream became all too visible.

   “If you will activate the rearview screen, Jaxom, “ Aivas went on, “you will see how effective the destruct mode is.”

   Plainly a wide swath of Thread had been eliminated.

   “That’s beautiful! Just beautiful! Charring Thread in the air is one thing! This is much better. Much better!” Jaxom muttered. He turned the forward view back on and continued to watch the visible destruction of Thread with intense satisfaction. The green dragons had stopped spitting and were rumbling in delight.

   “Is there any way to extend this destruction beyond the Yokohama?” Master Fandarel asked.

   “No,” Aivas replied. “The shield’s main function is to defect ordinary space debris. Considering the width, breadth, and depth of the stream, it would be analogous to trying to destroy a snow shower with a candle.”

   “Then how, Aivas, do you propose that we shall destroy this menace-as you promised we would?” Jaxom demanded.

   “By removing the vector that brings Thread to Pern. That should have been obvious to you all by now,” Aivas chided them. “The path of the eccentric planet must be altered sufficiently so that it does not come close enough to spin Thread into Pern’s orbit.”

   “And how can we possibly do that?” Master Fandarel demanded.

   “That will become apparent as you continue with the Plan. Everything you have learned, every seemingly simple exercise either here or on the ground is directed toward preparing you for that end.”

   No amount of wheedling or blustering could move Aivas to elaborate. “You cannot run before you walk,” he repeated to almost every rephrasing of that question from Fandarel, Jaxom, Jancis, and Belterac.

   Finally, Jaxom desisted and turned to the immediate situation. “Don’t the Buenos Aires and Bahrain have similar shields?”

   “They do,” Aivas replied.

   “Well, then.” Jaxom rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

   “Now wait a moment, Lord Jaxom,” Jancis said. “You’re not going to have all the fun today. I want my turn at destroying Thread.”

   “And I,” her grandfather said, a rapturous grin replacing his usual composure.

   “It would be a dangerous task for a young woman, a young mother,” Belterac said, glancing anxiously at Fandarel to support him.

   “I will not be done out of my opportunity on those grounds,” Jancis said, her stance so belligerent that Belterac nearly recoiled in surprise. “Besides, I fit into a space suit. You’re much too big, Belterac.”

   “I’m not,” Evan said, speaking up for the first time.

   “I thought that life-support systems had been reactivated on both the smaller ships,” Fandarel said. “Am I not correct, Aivas?”

   “You are, Master Fandarel.”

   “Well, then, space suits are not required.”

   “A knowledge of the sequence is, Granddad, and you always leave console work to someone else.”

   Fandarel drew himself up to his full height, swelling his massive chest importantly. “It did not seem too difficult. A few pecks and then the enter.” He threw a quizzical glance at Jaxom.

   “Cease!” Jaxom said, throwing up his hands and nearly propelling himself out of the pilot’s chair by mistake. “As Lord Holder, I outrank everyone else, so I will make the decision. Master Fandarel deserves the chance for many reasons, and Jancis, too. However, Bigath and Beerth brought all you Smithcrafters up here, so they can just haul you across to the other ships, as well. You-” He pointed at Belterac. “-can be trusted with switching the screen from deflect to destroy. And you-” He indicated Fandarel. “-can then engage. Jancis, you reprogram the shield, and Evan, you can hit the ENTER key. So you’ll all take part.”

   “It must be pointed out,” Aivas said, “that the amount of Thread that would be destroyed, even utilizing the destruct mode of the shields on all three ships, is only point-oh-nine percent of an average Fall. Is this trip necessary?”

   “That’s point-oh-nine percent the dragonriders don’t have to worry about, Aivas,” Jaxom said jubilantly.

   “Then let us make this efficient use of the available technology,” Fandarel said eagerly.

   “It is apparent that such participation would give immense psychological satisfaction, far outweighing either the risk or the actual destruction ratio,” Aivas said.

   “Immense satisfaction,” Jaxom agreed.

   “Raising morale to a new height,” Jancis put in. “And to think I can have a part in it!”

   “That is,” Jaxom said, turning to the green riders, “if you and your dragons are amenable...”

   S’len and L’zan were more than amenable. Jaxom drilled everyone on the steps necessary to alter the shield to destruct mode. Aivas did insist that everyone was to take along emergency oxygen equipment. The atmosphere on the two smaller ships was only minimal, and oxygen deprivation could not be risked.

   When the greens, well laden with riders, departed, Jaxom found the bridge remarkably quiet.

   “Jaxom,” Aivas began, “how much weight can the green dragons carry? Their burdens today weigh more than their body weight.”

   “A dragon is capable of carrying as much as he thinks he can,” Jaxom replied with a shrug.

   “So if the dragon thinks he can carry any object, irrespective of its actual weight, he will?”

   “I don’t think anyone’s actually tried to overload a dragon. Didn’t you tell me that the earliest ones were used to transport loads out of Landing following the eruption’?”

   “That is true. But they were never, as you surmised, permitted to carry great weights. In fact, Sean O’Connell, the leader of those early riders, resented the fact that the dragons were used in such a capacity.”

   “Why?”

   “That was never explained.”

   Jaxom smiled to himself. “Dragons can do a lot of inexplicable things.”

   “For instance,” and Aivas’s voice altered subtly, “arriving in very timely fashions?”

   Jaxom chuckled. “That’s one.”

   “How did you contrive such a serendipitous entrance?”

   “Jancis was clever enough to put down the time. When I visualized the bridge for Ruth, I also visualized the bridge clock”-Jaxom pointed to the digital face-“at a minute before the one she gave. So, of course, we arrived-” He chuckled again. “-in time!”

   Tell Aivas that I always know where in time I am, Ruth said, and Jaxom duly repeated the message to Aivas.

   “A most interesting ability.”

   “Mind you, Aivas, that is for your ears only.”

   “This facility has no ears, Jaxom.”

   The discussion was interrupted by the jubilant return of the teams, the green dragons looking as gratified as their passengers.

   “When Thread has passed by,” Aivas said, “someone must return to the other ships and reset the shield to deflect. The solar panels do not supply unlimited power and will need to be fully recharged.”

   There was a unanimous agreement to that suggestion. By then, Aivas had accessed all the data he required, the Thread flow had diminished to a few stray globules, and the green dragons returned the teams to reset the shields.

   “Aivas,” Fandarel began when they were once again assembled on the Yokohama’s bridge, “has the matter of our excursions to the other ships been mentioned on the surface?”

   “Master Robinton was on duty and approved,” Aivas replied.

   Fandarel cleared his throat. “No students listening to the exchange?”

   “Only Master Robinton was in the chamber at that time. Why?”

   “We can count on his discretion, then. This interesting facet of the Yokohama should be discussed before it is made public,” Fandarel said. “I found it most exhilarating to initiate the destruction.”

   “Wouldn’t it serve to convince the doubtful that these projects are useful?” Jancis asked.

   “That is the question that must be discussed,” Fandarel told her.

   Jaxom and Ruth made their farewells and left the bridge. As Jancis and the other smiths returned to the engine room and their disrupted tasks, she fleetingly wondered if he had timed it back to Ruatha...

   Jaxom did not return immediately to Ruatha. He felt obliged to inform the Benden Weyrleaders of the incident. Ruth was thoroughly in favor of a Benden destination, as he always enjoyed visiting his native Weyr.

   Ramoth and Mnementh are happy to see me, he told his rider as they circled in to land at the queen’s weyr. Lessa and F’lar are within. Then he turned his head up to Mnementh, and the two dragons touched noses. Mnementh says that F’lar will be very pleased to hear what we did on the Yokohama. He and Ramoth are.

   As Jaxom entered the queen’s weyr, Ramoth was watching for his appearance and rumbled a greeting.

   She greets you as the bearer of very good tidings, Ruth told him.

   “How about letting me deliver my own surprise?” Jaxom muttered with mock irritation.

   “And what surprise is that?” Lessa asked, looking up from reinforcing a join on a long strap. F’lar had his harness stretched from a peg set high on the wall and was rubbing oil into the thick neck strap.

   These reminders of his near escape from cold-damaged leather sobered Jaxom. He had seen no further indication that the conspirators at Tillek were carrying out their threat against him. But then, he had been careful not to provide opportunities.

   “Oh,” he began casually, “just that the Fall over Nerat won’t be as heavy as usual day after tomorrow.”

   “How’s that?” F’lar swiveled about, giving Jaxom his complete attention. Lessa’s stare suggested that the young Holder had better be quick with his explanation.

   Grinning because it wasn’t often that he could astound this pair, he related what had happened. When he had finished, and the two Weyrleaders had questioned him closely on details, Lessa looked less than pleased.

   “I’d say we were very lucky not to have last two green dragons. And don’t tell me you didn’t time it, Jaxom.”

   ‘‘Then I won’t,” Jaxom replied. “Bloody lucky Ruth’s so clever at it.”

   Lessa opened her mouth to remonstrate with him, but F’lar held up a hand. “And there can be a reduction in the density of Fall, using the destruct mode of the shields?” the Weyrleader asked.

   “It certainly looked that way to us out the back window... as it were.” Then Jaxom halted in dismay. “You know, if I’d had the sense of a fire-lizard, I’d’ve reprogrammed the telescope and gotten a good look.”

   “It takes time to become accustomed to using all this new technology. Anyway, we’ll confirm it at Nerat,” F’lar said, smiling as he pushed back his errant forelock. “This’ll be heartening news, Jaxom. Fall’s right now at its densest, and unless Thread can re-form-which I doubt-during its descent through the upper strata, the wings will have a brief breather. And that’ll cut down on our casualties.”

   “It may increase them,” Lessa said with a scowl. “If we decide to take advantage of this capability. Riders’ll become inattentive, expecting a lull.”

   “Oh, come now, love.” F’lar gave Lessa’s long, thick plait an affectionate tug. “You can be downright ungrateful for a favor.”

   She paused, reconsidered, then gave a grudging smile. “Sorry. I do tend to be gloomy just before a Fall.”

   “In that case, Lessa, you’d best come up to the Yokohama the next time this happens. I found it tremendously satisfying to be able to destroy so much Thread without endangering Ruth or myself!” Jaxom paused, then added, “We also have a specimen of Thread on the floor of Airlock A.”

   “What?”

   Jaxom grinned at her startled, horrified expression. “Oh, it’s safe enough. Airlock’s got no oxygen, and it’s the same temperature as outside. Aivas assured us that it’s impotent in this form, can’t alter. At that, we managed what the settlers never could-we captured Thread in its dormant stage.”

   Lessa shuddered in revulsion. “Get rid of it!” she said with a dramatic gesture of her hand. “Get rid of it!”

   “Lytol’s already assembling a team to dissect it.”

   “Why?” Lessa flinched again.

   “Curiosity, I suppose. Though Aivas could merely be responding to another of those earlier imperatives of his he’s so determined to implement.”

   F’lar gave Jaxom a long hard look. Then he held up the klah pitcher, gesturing for the younger man to join him at the table for refreshment. Jaxom nodded gratefully and took the chair  F’lar indicated while the steaming klah was poured.

   “I don’t care what Aivas is implementing,” Lessa said. “I I don’t like the idea of Thread on the Yokohama. Suppose-”

   “Aivas would not expose us to danger,” F’lar said, giving her a soothing smile. “I find Jaxom’s comments on Aivas’s mandates extremely perceptive.” He settled in a chair and, cradling his klah cup, leaned across the table. “I’m curious, Jaxom, and you’re more in Aivas’s company these days than we are: This dissection business makes me wonder if Aivas’s basic imperatives conflict with ours.”

   “Not where the annihilation of Thread is concerned. Though sometimes I don’t understand at all why he has us doing some of those endless drills and exercises. Especially now that he has been revealed as fallible.”

   F’lar grinned. “Did Aivas ever say he was not?”

   “He likes to give the impression that he’s never wrong,” Lessa said in a sharp tone, looking alarmed.

   Jaxom grinned. “Good teacher image, and that’s necessary when he has to pound all these radical ideas into our parochial heads.”

   “Is his fallibility a danger to us?” F’lar asked.

   “I don’t really think so. I’m just commenting on it since we are private today,” Jaxom went on, “and because I was so surprised when Aivas did not know that Thread’s descent passed so close to the Yokohama.”

   F’lar blinked, absorbing that information, and Lessa’s frown deepened. “Surprised? Or worried?” she asked.

   “Well, it’s not his fault. The ancients didn’t know it, either,” Jaxom said with some satisfaction.

   F’lar grinned back at him. “I see what you mean, Jaxom. Makes them more human.”

   “And Aivas not so inhumanly perfect.”

   “Well, it doesn’t please me,” Lessa snapped. “We’ve believed everything Aivas has told us!”

   “Don’t fret, Lessa. So far Aivas has not lied to us,” F’lar said.

   “But if he doesn’t know everything, how can we now be sure he’s guiding us in the right direction with this great plan of his that’s supposed to destroy Thread forever?” she demanded.

   “I’m beginning to figure out what that’s going to be,” Jaxom said so confidently that Lessa gave him a long look. “Aivas is obviously teaching us at the rate at which he feels we’ll be able to absorb the revolutionary ideas; these exercises are what we have to perfect before we can achieve his goals, which are ours, and were our ancestors’.”

   “And will you let us in on your conclusions?” Lessa’s tone was as caustic as Jaxom had ever heard it.

   “It has to do with having a Thread in the airlock and being able to analyze it unemotionally, the way Sharra, Oldive, and the others can identify bacteria and develop ways of combating infection. It has to do with becoming accustomed to moving in free-fall or in airless space, in using sophisticated equipment as if it were a third arm or an extra set of brains. That’s all Aivas is, you know. An extra set of brains with a phenomenal, and infallible, memory.” As Jaxom spoke, F’lar regarded him with growing respect. “And possessing a knowledge of the advanced technology we have lacked, so we couldn’t do more than hold Thread at bay. But it’s the dragons, and their riders, that Aivas needs to demolish Thread.”

   “That’s obvious, considering the questions Aivas keeps asking us,” Lessa put in sharply. “I’d feel happier if we knew what he wants our dragons to do.” Ramoth gave a crisp bark of agreement. “I’d also like to know when he’ll let the larger dragons up on the Yokohama.” Both Ramoth and Mnementh bugled.

   Jaxom grinned at Lessa. “Now, Lessa, don’t be mean. It’s not often that the greens get the jump on their bigger clutchmates. Allow them their moment of glory. At any rate, your chance comes soon. Sharra and Mirrim are monitoring the oxygen levels in the cargo bay, and as soon as the atmosphere’s at the proper consistency, you’ll be very welcome. Of course, you can always ask a green to fly you up there.”

   Emitting an angry rumble, Ramoth turned to fix Jaxom with eyes that whirled with occasional flickers of red.

   “There! You know what Ramoth thinks of that idea,” Lessa replied with a glint of amusement. “As if I’d consider for one moment being conveyed by a green,” she added to soothe her weyrmate.

   “A white?” Jaxom offered slyly.

   Ramoth rumbled again, but not quite so angrily, and sneezed.

   I’ll be exceedingly careful carrying Lessa, Ramoth, Ruth said. I fit on the bridge, which is warmer than the cargo bay, and Lessa would see much more on the bridge than in that dark cavern.

   “I heard,” Lessa said when Jaxom opened his mouth to relay the message.

   “I know that Aivas wants all the bronze and brown dragons to get used to free-fall conditions. The bay’s the only large open area that they’ll fit in. The algae farm is developing beautifully, so it shouldn’t be long now.”

   Lessa cocked her head at Jaxom, her expression thoughtful. “Does Aivas plan for the dragons to move those ships?”

   “Move the ships?” Jaxom asked, surprised.

   “Why? How?” F’lar asked.

   “Remember, F’lar, when Aivas insisted that the dragons should be able to move things telekinetically?”

   “Dragons can only move themselves, their riders, and what they carry,” F’lar said categorically. “They cannot move things they’re not holding. And what good would come of moving the ships? If his plan is somehow to use the ships to blow up the Red Star, I don’t see what good that would accomplish. Not as I understand his lessons in spatial mechanics.”

   “No more do I” Jaxom took the last gulp of his klah and rose. “Well, I’ve delivered my report of today’s surprise.”

   “For which you have our gratitude,” F’lar said.

   “If that kind of predestruction turns out to be beneficial, we can set up a regular schedule to switch the shields,” Jaxom said. “You can even have a chance at programming the mode yourselves.”

   “I’m sure it will be feasible, Jaxom. Anything that destroys Thread is helpful,” F’lar said, rising to accompany the young Holder to the ledge.

   “You won’t worry about Aivas’s fallibility, will you, F’lar?” Jaxom asked in a lowered voice when they were in the short corridor beyond the weyr.

   “Me? No, certainly not,” the Weyrleader assured him. “We’ve learned so much already from Aivas that, even if his vaunted Plan fails, we’ll surely find our own ways of ridding Pern of Thread by the next Pass. But, somehow, Jaxom,” F’lar said, gripping Jaxom’s arm hard to show his implacable resolve, “I know we’ll manage to do it in this Pass! Make no mistake about that! We’ll do it in my lifetime!”

   When the Smithcrafters returned to Landing, thoroughly elated by their time aboard the Yokohama, there was some contention over who should be allowed the opportunity to initiate the destruct mode. And of a more immediate nature, who would have the opportunity to dissect the Thread specimen.

   “You’d have to choose carefully,” Lytol said, “for too many folk believe that just being in the presence of Thread is followed by a terrible death. I’ve sent quite a few messages off to find qualified persons to perform the task, and so far, there’s been no response.”

   “You might not get one,” Piemur said. He had been waiting for Jancis’s return, a sleeping Pierjan limp in his backpack. “I suppose the knowledge would be useful even if it’ll become academic by the end of this Pass.”

   Master Robinton held up his hand. “I’ll go, if no one else will.”

   He was so besieged with protests that he grinned. “So long as I can visit the Yokohama at some point in the very near future. And don’t”-he glared about him-“tell me that my health won’t permit it. I found data in the medical files on how heart patients were frequently sent to free-fall wards on satellites to recuperate. A visit to the Yokohama would, therefore, be beneficial for my health, and it could do my heart good to stab a sequence that destroyed Thread! Did one of your messages go to Oldive or Sharra, Lytol? Well, then, they’re both busy folk, but they’ll get back to you in time. And if one of them goes, why, I’d have my healer at hand.”

   Considerable consternation was roused when it became more widely known that a Thread ovoid had been procured. Aivas obliged with scenes of it reposing in Airlock A. It remained there unchanging for several days, proving that in its present state it posed no danger to anyone.

   More importantly, Lessa and F’lar reported favorably on the reduction of Thread density during the largest Fall over Nerat. There had been three long columns entirely free of the deadly rain. So Lessa and F’lar came to Landing to discuss adding that task to the on-board duties. Aivas had a tape of the incident so that Benden Weyrleaders could view it, which they did several times.

   “Incredible to think Thread can be destroyed without dragon assistance,” Lessa murmured in a low voice.

   “Too bad there aren’t a dozen more colony ships up there,” Piemur said.

   “Then dragons wouldn’t have been needed, and that doesn’t bear thinking of, “ Lessa snapped back at him.

   “I spoke as a harper, Weyrwoman,” Piemur said courteously, “as I, for one, am very glad dragons do exist.”

   “I think, F’lar, that we should go to the Yokohama,” Lessa remarked. “There’s enough oxygen for Ramoth and Mnementh in the cargo bay by now. isn’t there, Aivas?”

   “There is. It is essential that the larger dragons become accustomed to the conditions of space,” Aivas replied. Lessa and F’lar exchanged meaningful glances. “The next stream should intersect with the Yokohama’s orbit in three days’ time, at precisely 1522 hours ship time.”

   “That’s late morning, isn’t it, Benden time?” F’lar asked, turning to Lessa. “We’ll go then, direct from Benden.”

   “Who’s going to take me then?” Robinton asked, sitting straight up in his chair and looking aggrieved.

   “I will,” D’ram said. “Surely there’s enough air for three big dragons, isn’t there, Aivas?” The old Weyrleader’s tone implied that there had better be.

   “Certainly,” was Aivas’s prompt assurance.

   “Well, then,” Robinton said, brushing his hands together in complete satisfaction, “that takes care of that.”

13

   LESSA WAS JUST a trifle put out when Ruth, with Jaxom, Sharra, and Oldive astride, joined the three big dragons the morning of their first ascent to the Yokohama.

   “Sharra and Oldive volunteered to dissect the Thread egg,” Jaxom said without apology, “and I’m to man the telescope and give Aivas fore and aft views of the Thread stream.”

   What Jaxom did not say was that Ruth might need to give the big dragons a few helpful hints on how to manage themselves in free-fall. So far, none of the green dragons had experienced any difficulty with the unusual sensation of weightlessness. The fire-lizards had been totally fearless and almost casual about coming up to see what the dragons, especially Ruth, were doing on the Yokohama. Mirrim was scheduled for algae-farming on the other two vessels that day, so that would give the party two dragons suitable for bridge-to-bridge transfer.

   Going between from the brilliant sunlight and balmy air of Landing to the big, dimly lit cargo bay on the Yokohama brought exclamations from all the initiates.

   “Jaxom, I thought you said there were lights,” Lessa said.

   “There are,” he replied, agilely dismounting and expertly pushing himself toward the main switches on the wall by the lift. He was rather pleased that, with such an audience, he arrived effortlessly at the exact spot. Being well aware of the load soon to be taxing the solar panels, he activated only the ring lights, not the power-eating overhead globes.

   “Amazing!” Master Robinton exclaimed, staring around the immense, empty facility.

   Ramoth made an odd little noise in her throat as she viewed her surroundings, her eyes idly whirling. Mnementh lowered his head, sniffing at the scarred deck plates, peering into the corners, his eyes calm. D’ram’s Tiroth stretched his neck until his head reached the ceiling. At that point, his feet lifted slowly from the floor, startling the big bronze into a bellow of protest.

   You are in free fall, Tiroth, Ruth said casually. Every action has a reaction. Gently push yourself back to the floor with your snout. See? That was easy.

   Then Ramoth swung her head too rapidly about to see what was happening to Tiroth and started to drift.

   Don’t fight the motion, Ramoth, Ruth said, just relax and let yourself go with the movement. Now, easily swing your head back. See, it’s not hard at all. Look at me.

   “Ruth!” Jaxom said repressively, “don’t you dare show off.”

   I’m not showing off, I’m showing! Ruth executed a slow backflip, careful to keep his wings tight against his spine where they would not interfere with his progress. We weigh no more than a fire-lizard up here! And then he twirled around on his tail end.

   “Ruth!” Jaxom bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls of the bay.

   “I think you’ve made your point, Lord Jaxom,” F’lar said, a ripple of suppressed amusement in his voice. “Easy does it, right?” Moving carefully, F’lar swung out of his accustomed perch between Mnementh’s neck ridges and found that he had propelled himself deckward. “An incredible feeling! Try it, Lessa. I know you don’t weigh much under any circumstances, but I just drifted down! Amazing sensation! No strain for you, Robinton.”

   There were a few misjudgments as the passengers experimented. Sharra, discreetly assisting Masterhealer Oldive to the deck, made for the lift to start their day’s project: a close examination of the egg in the airlock. Aivas has recommended that they take the Thread to the medical station on the top coldsleep deck. Laboratory facilities were still in place there, including a microscope more powerful than anything they had yet managed to build. The section had sufficient air but was not yet too warm, Aivas assured them. For an unemotional piece of machinery, Aivas was exhibiting an odd insistence for what Sharra would have thought a relatively unimportant element of the total project.

   When the others had grown somewhat accustomed to the vagaries of free-fall, Jaxom escorted them to the bridge. Certainly he was as eager to show Lessa, F’lar, Robinton, and D’ram his familiarity with the Yokohama’s bridge as Ruth was to discreetly supervise the big dragons. Standing in the open lift, Jaxom’s novices did not disappoint him: they were as genuinely awestruck by the view of Pern as he could wish. He gave them time to absorb the wondrous sight of the sunlit continent and the brilliantly blue sea, then gently shooed them into the room so that the lift door could close. They clung for a while to the guardrail, coming to terms with their experience.

   Propelling himself smoothly to the captain’s chair, Jaxom fed the telescope program, checked the ready room, where Sharra was helping Oldive into a space suit, and tuned one of the ceiling screens in to the laboratory.

   F’lar dragged his gaze away from the riveting view of Pern to eye the specimen. “It’s not as big as I thought it’d be,” he said.

   “No, it’s not. That’s why it d be interesting to see how a big, long Thread fits into such a confined envelope,” Jaxom replied.

   Lessa shot one glance at it before turning back to the more compelling panorama. “Can we go to the window?” she asked.

   “Just push yourself off gently-don’t worry,” he added when she started to float and tried to stop herself. “Just flow. Don’t struggle.” She went by him, rotating, and he reached up and halted the motion. Then, with a gentle shove, he aimed her at the window.

   Robinton, having observed her mistakes, did not repeat them, and shortly he was beside her at the window, his feet dangling a handspan above the floor. D’ram gave a grunt and went handover-hand down to the nearest console, where he strapped himself into the chair.

   “How long before the stream starts to intersect the Yokohama’s path?” he asked.

   Jaxom set D’ram’s screen at its highest magnification and called up the appropriate sector. As D’ram’s screen refocused, the old bronze rider reared back in his chair, his expression blank with shock as the ragged beginnings of the wave appeared so immediately in front of him.

   “It’s not that close to us yet, D’ram. I just gave you an enhanced image. Here, I’ll give you the actual perspective.” Jaxom altered the magnitude so that the incoming stream was merely a sunlit smudge dropping toward them from the fourth quadrant.

   “How near is it?” D’ram asked, his voice dry and cracking.

   “Proximity monitor suggests we’ve a good ten minutes before contact,” Jaxom said.

   F’lar cautiously made his way to D’ram and hung on to the chair back, his legs almost horizontal to the floor. Then he levered himself into the other station and strapped in.

   Are you all right down there? Jaxom asked Ruth as privately as he could so as not to be overheard by Ramoth.

   She’s far too busy enjoying free fall, Ruth replied, his tone amused. She’s better at it then Mnementh and Tiroth, for all she’s bigger. She’s not using as much shove. I think they are doing much better without their riders watching. Watch your wings, Ramoth! Not much room in here!

   Jaxom grinned, then froze as he caught movement in the lab. Sharra and Oldive were entering the room, Sharra moving as gracefully as the magnetic boots allowed, one gloved hand guiding Oldive’s jerkier progress. Jaxom watched, rapt, as they attempted to penetrate the hard shell of Thread. Then Mirrim, on green Path, arrived on the bridge.

   “Who’m I taking to the Bahrain?” she asked, grinning at the sight of Lessa and Robinton stretched across the window.

   “Whoever will go with you,” Jaxom said. “Lessa? F’lar?”

   Lessa made an injudiciously sharp movement of her head and flattened herself against the window. “I’ll go with you, Mirrim.” No, Ramoth, it’s perfectly all right. I assure you that you would not fit on the. bridge here, much less on the Bahrain’s. You learn to keep your balance down there in the bay where you have some space to maneuver.

   Jaxom asked Ruth to oblige F’lar, and the white dragon jumped between to the bridge.

   “You know the drill?” Jaxom asked the Benden Weyrleaders.

   Lessa gave him a hard stare as she floated across to Path, but F’lar chuckled and replied meekly, “I assure you, we’ve been practicing hard, Jaxom. My thanks, Ruth, “ he added as he glided up to the white dragon’s back and settled himself.

   “Bit easier to bestride than that great hulk of yours, isn’t he?” Jaxom replied, grinning at the mild surprise on the bronze rider’s face. “Have a good destructive time! You’ve got three minutes before contact.”

   “Where do I sit, Jaxom?” Robinton asked eagerly, pushing himself off from the window.

   “Where F’lar was.”

   Much as Jaxom’s fingers itched to insert the command, he found it equally gratifying to watch the expression on the Harper’s face as he performed the task. As the smiths had on the previous occasion, Robinton and D’ram both recoiled as the ovoids hurtled toward the window. D’ram grunted as the first puffs signaled the destruction, then sat with arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed, a look of deep satisfaction on his face.

   “You know, D’ram, we really ought to get Lytol to come here one time,” Robinton said. “It might ease his heart to destroy Thread. He never had the chance as a rider.”

   “Might do him some good at that,” D’ram remarked thoughtfully.

   “Aivas?” Jaxom opened the channel to Landing. “Are the pictures coming in clearly enough?”

   “Yes, Jaxom, and the density is up by seven percent or more on the previous Fall.”

   “Then this predestruction will be welcome.”

   Jaxom turned his attention to the coldsleep laboratory, where the two healers were having trouble penetrating the shell of the Thread with the instruments they had brought with them.

   “We’ve pounded, we’ve chipped, we’ve scraped-and we’ve not so much as scratched the surface,” Sharra told Jaxom in disgust, waving a chisel in frustration.

   “So much for those who fear it would leak out and devour us,” Oldive said. He sounded more amused than frustrated. “Amazing envelope. Impervious to everything we thought would easily cut through it.”

   “Diamond cutters?” Jaxom suggested.

   “You know, that might be just the thing,” Oldive said, pleased. “Well, I certainly won’t mind coming up here again. I’ve never felt so mobile.” Although he generally paid no attention to his physical handicaps, his hunched back and crushed pelvis had given him uneven leg lengths and a crabbed gait. In weightlessness those problems were neutralized.

   “This is an instance,” Aivas said blandly, “when the teleportational abilities of the fire-lizards would come in exceedingly useful.”

   “Meer and Talla wouldn’t know a diamond cutter if it bit them, “ Sharra said ruefully. Then Jaxom heard her ruffled breath of a sigh. “I doubt if even that sort of an edge will have any effect on this thing. Its casing is impervious.”

   “Not to heat,” Jaxom reminded her.

   “There is no way, Lord Jaxom of Ruatha,” Sharra said, settling her hands on her hips in a characteristic posture, “that you will get us to heat that thing up to simulate the friction of an ovoid’s passage through atmospheric levels! Not that one could use a flamethrower in such a confined space as this lab.”

   “You do not have the technology necessary to produce a narrow heat beam such as a laser that would be effective on such a casing,” Aivas added. “Another area in which you will have to make great progress over the next Turn.”

   “Oh? Why?” Jaxom asked, noting the quick interest of both Robinton and D’ram.

   “There is no point, at this juncture, to elaborate on device or need,” Aivas replied. “It is a matter that has been placed in the Mastersmith’s hands but does not have priority over other, more essential, projects.”

   “Haven’t you any helpful suggestions for us?” Sharra asked Aivas caustically.

   “The diamond-cutter edge will be effective.”