Master Robinton suddenly put his hand up. Surprised, Jaxom allowed him to speak. As the victim, the Harper had the right to be heard, as well as to face his assailants. Jaxom worried that Robinton might plead for leniency, which he thought would only exacerbate the problem-especially with a man as narrow-minded and vindictive as Norist had proved to be.

   “For those of you who witness this,” Robinton began, speaking not to the Lord Holders or the Craftmasters but to the people outside the court, lining the walls, the ramp, and the roofs of the nearer cots. His voice was weak but true. He cleared his throat and started again. “For those of you here, let me say that Aivas has taught us nothing that our ancestors did not know. He has given us no machines and tools and conveniences that they did not have and use when they first came to Pern. He restored to all crafts only that knowledge which time had blurred or eradicated in Records. So, if that knowledge is evil, then we all are. But I do not think any of us here believes that we are intrinsically evil, or work evil in our crafthalls. For the Holds, he filled in the gaps in their separate histories, so that all know of their past and which of those who traveled to start a new life on Pern started each Hold. And they do not consider themselves evil, or spawned by evil men and women.” Master Robinton stared at Norist, who refused to make eye contact.

   “For our Weyrs, he gave the promise of deliverance from a long, long struggle, a deliverance made possible by the abilities of our dragons, who were created by our ancestors, and the courage of their riders. They are not evil, or they would have turned the power of the dragons upon us and enslaved us all. But they have not.

   “The evil that was done to me by these men was brought on me for the worst of reasons: to force others to destroy our link with our past, our chance of making this world what our ancestors hoped it would become-peaceful, prosperous, pleasant. I have done none of these men harm,” Robinton went on, a wave of hand indicating Sigomal, Begamon, and Norist, “nor wished them harm, nor wish them harm now. I pity them for their fear of the unknown, of the unusual, for their violence and unthinking narrowness of vision and spirit.”

   Master Robinton then looked at the three abductors. “I forgive you for myself; but you took marks to do evil, which is a great wrong. And you were ready to silence a Harper, and that is a greater wrong, for when speech is restricted, all men suffer, not just I.”

   He sat down, almost as if he could not stand any longer, but when Menolly would have gone to his side, he shook his head.

   Groghe bent across Warbret beside him and whispered to him and Bargen; Toric, who couldn’t hear, stepped around the table to be where he could. Ranrel, Deckter, and Laudey followed his example. Nessel looked exceedingly uncomfortable with Asgenar on one side and Larad on the other, while Sangel and Toronas disputed a point.

   The Craftmasters also huddled close together, Fandarel in the center, his voice lowered to a harsh rumble. Morilton spoke only once and then was silent, though he listened intently to the others. He was representing the Glasscraft on the tribunal, as none of the other Glassmasters had been willing to accept the onus.

   “My lords and masters, you may retire if you choose,” Jaxom repeated.

   “We’re well enough here,” Groghe said loudly.

   Thinking that Robinton might be the better for a glass of wine, Jaxom poured it, then sipped from it himself before passing Robinton the glass, with a reassuring grin. Master Robinton made a little show of distrust but then, after raising the glass to Jaxom, drank eagerly and smiled approval-a little byplay that sent a ripple of applause and laughter through the waiting crowd and succeeded in reducing somewhat the tension that had been building.

   “I find that what I resent the most,” Robinton said in a guarded aside to Jaxom, “is that people might think I could no longer handle my wine, to see me sprawled asleep like that so early in a Gather.”

   “We have come to a decision, Lord Jaxom,” Groghe announced. The Lord Holders resumed their seats.

   “And we,” Master Idarolan, said standing up.

   “What is your decision, Lord Holder Groghe?” Jaxom asked.

   “Sigomal and Begamon have proved themselves totally unacceptable to this Council; they must not govern their Holds. They are dishonored. In the first part, to plot and carry out a punitive action in another Hold or common property, which is the designation of Landing; and in the second part, to abduct a person against his will for purposes of extortion against the best interests of the planet and all of us.”

   Sigomal took his censure with some dignity, but Begamon began to sob, falling from the bench to his knees.

   “Sigomal’s third son, Sousmal, is known to most of us, and it is our decision that he should temporarily manage Bitra Hold until further notice by the Council of Lord Holders. As Begamon has no children old enough to Hold in his stead, we appoint his brother, Ciparis, as temporary Lord Holder, also until further notice. Gomalsi is to be exiled with his father for his part in the first attack on the Aivas installation, for his part in the abduction, and because, by setting himself up as a captain of a seagoing ship without qualifications, he has offended all members of the Fishercrafthalls. We suggest that one of the islands in the Eastern Ring be designated the place of exile.”

   Sigomal groaned, and Gomalsi bit back a cry of protest.

   “Master Norist is also stripped of his rank, as are the other Craft members of this conspiracy,” Idarolan said. “All are to be exiled. The same place would doubtless give them the company of like minds.” He turned to where the other Glasscraftsmen were standing in the crowd. “It is the decision of this body that you must accept Master Morilton as your Craftmaster until such time as we, your peers, decide that you can choose, without prejudice, a man with a more open mind and forward vision than Norist.”

   Lytol nodded at Jaxom, whose task it was to pass judgment on the other scofflaws. Jaxom had never had to discipline a man for the rest of that man’s natural life, but he thought again of the anguish he had felt on that wild ride to rescue Master Robinton.

   “Exile!” he announced. Most of the men accepted that, though two of the younger ones looked so desperate that Jaxom added, “Your families may accompany you into exile, if they so choose.”

   He saw Sharra’s slight smile and Lessa’s approving nod.

   “The convicted will be returned to their quarters and tomorrow will be taken to their place of exile. From this time onward, they are holdless, craftless men and no longer protected by the Weyrs.” Jaxom raised his voice over Begamon’s frightened babble. “This court is adjourned.”

   Guards closed in around the condemned, and judges and jury filed into the Hold.

   Somehow food had been prepared to serve the unexpected numbers who had come to Ruatha. Sharra told Jaxom in the few moments they had for private conversation that everyone had been exceedingly helpful, Hold, Hall, and Weyr, in accumulating enough provisions to send none away hungry.

   “You were, by the way, my love, magnificent,” she added. “It was a terrible case to have to judge, but given the evidence and the admissions, no one can fault your decision. The sentence was fairer than they deserved.” Her face set in angry lines, and she clenched her fists. “When I saw the bruising Master Robinton sustained...”

   “He’ll be all right?” Jaxom wondered if maybe he had been too forbearing, though he could not have ordered a death sentence. Had Master Robinton died-or had Biswy not died of heart failure-he might have had to decide differently.

   Lord Groghe sought him out then, to reassure Jaxom that he himself, had the offenses happened in his Hold, would have done exactly the same. To Jaxom’s surprise and a certain sad gratification, Lord Corman also approached him later in the evening.

   “Well handled, Jaxom. Only thing you could have done under the circumstances.”

   The Keroonian Holder did not remain for the evening meal, nor did he ever visit Landing again. But from then on he neither prevented his holders from using the new products nor objected when young folk asked to go South to study. Of Aivas-developed items, Lord Corman purchased only paper, remarking once in his harper’s hearing that Bendarek had discovered a form of paper on his own before “the machine” had awakened.

   The next morning three Fort Weyr wings arrived at Ruatha to convey the convicted to their place of exile. Delivery of the letters the men had written to their families was promised. Those wishing to join their menfolk would be brought to the island as soon as they were ready.

   Master Idarolan had chosen the exile site. “Not too large, not too small, with good fishing and some game, though wherry makes a dull diet. Plenty of fruit and root vegetables. They’ll have to work to survive, but that’s no more than we must do.”

   “Threadfall?” Jaxom asked.

   Master Idarolan shrugged. “There’re a few caves, and you’re taking care of the future of that problem. They can endure it or not as they choose. There’s also an old volcano and evidence that the island has been inhabited before. It’s far more hospitable than Far West Continent, where they’d have only sand and snakes.”

   When the men were mounted on the dragons, they were handed sacks with basic tools and a few supplies. Then the wings took off between.

   Jaxom felt enervated as never before, his spirits sunken to a bleak nadir. But as Ruatha’s Lord Holder, he had to respond with courtesy and civility to others who were acrimonious in their opinions and harbored considerable rancor for the guilty. Those he admired most among the Lord Holders said little or nothing.

   Asgenar and Toronas departed to assist young Sousmal at Bitra. On their way back to Cove Hold, D’ram and Robinton would drop Lytol off at Nerat Hold to apprise Ciparis, who had previously acted as Begamon’s Steward, of his new status.

   Brand and his under-stewards were busy arranging for transportation for the many visitors, seeing to travel supplies for those who had exhausted their own and directing the drudges to clear up the debris and repair the damage caused by the large crowd.

   Jaxom was perversely grateful when Sharra, looking extremely torn between her responsibilities, asked him if she was needed to help.

   “You’re wanted back at the laboratory on the Yokohama?” he asked.

   “Oldive and I both.”

   He gave her a brief hug and a kiss and nodded. In a way it would be a relief to be able to sort out his thoughts without infecting her with his dejection.

   “I’ll spend some time with the boys,” he said. “I’m not needed right now for anything at the Yokohama or Landing.”

   That was not essentially true, and Sharra knew it. She gave him a quick stare, but then she smiled sadly, kissed his cheek, and left him alone in their quarters.

   From his window, he watched her and Oldive mount on the young blue who was now on duty at Ruatha-and that, unfortunately, reminded him of G’lanar.

   I am here, Ruth said softly from his weyr in the Hold.

   You always are here for me, dear friend, Jaxom said, intolerably weary.

   You did as you had to, as you ought to. No blame is yours.

   But I am left to deal with its aftermath.

   You have acted with honor. Others did not. Can you do more than act with honor?

   A good question, Ruth, a very good question. Jaxom stretched out on his bed, hands clasped behind his head. Could I have avoided this outcome?

   How? By not helping Piemur and Jancis to uncover Aivas that day? The machine would have been found by someone. More good has come of that day’s work than any other-except, of course- and Jaxom, hearing the odd satisfied chirp in Ruth’s tone, smiled faintly-the day we brought the queen egg back to Ramoth. And yesterday, when we went forward and assured our success...

   Jaxom’s smile deepened in spite of his disconsolate mood, as he envisioned Ruth’s eyes twirling with blue mischief.

   Men think differently than dragons do, Ruth went on thoughtfully. Most of the time dragons understand their mates. Sometimes, like now, I cannot quite understand why you are troubled. You allow people to think as they wish so long as they do not impose their thoughts on you. You are good about listening to both sides of a problem. I’ve heard you. You allow people to do as they wish, so long as they do not injure anybody, especially someone you love and admire.

   Ah, but when we knew that Sigomal was plotting against Robinton, we should have confronted him then, Jaxom said.

   Were the plans known?

   No, not exactly.

   And you took measures to protect the Harper.

   Which didn’t work, did they?

   Not your fault. Who could have thought that they would try something at a Gather, with so many other people about? You must put aside such useless thoughts, Jaxom. You only make yourself miserable. We have much to look forward to...

   Don’t we! Jaxom grimaced as he flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, knowing as he did so that he was merely evading that issue. He made himself think of it: Would he and Ruth tackle the problem Aivas had posed them?

   It is not a problem, Jaxom. For it has been solved. Aivas has told you so. He has shown you so.

   And you agree with him? You’ll risk it?

   We went forward to see if it worked. It had. Therefore we will do it because we have done it. It will be quite a feat. Ruth sounded eager and elated. Surprised, Jaxom pushed himself up to his elbows. It will be even more challenging than saving Ramoth’s egg, Ruth went on. And even more important for the future of this world. That is what you must think of, not these sad and useless pasts. What has been done, has been done and cannot be undone.

   Did Sharra have a word with you before she left? Jaxom wouldn’t have put it past his wife to enlist the aid of his dragon.

   She did not need to. Am I not always close to your heart and your mind?

   Always, dear heart. Always! And Jaxom swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was still a lot to be done at Ruatha before he could return with a clear conscience to Aivas and Landing.

19

   AIVAS HAD EXPLAINED to Fandarel and Bendarek exactly how to alter and reinforce the HN0₃ tanks that were to corrode the metal casing of the antimatter engines. Fandarel followed his instructions, though he thought that the tolerance needed on the alloy of the tanks as well as the padding seemed redundant. He did enjoy constructing the gauges and the nozzles that would let the agenothree drop on the engine casing.

   “A slow process, to be sure, but the rate of penetration can be measured and monitored,” Aivas told the Smithcraftmaster. “The safety factors built into the great star-crossing engines were immensely sophisticated. The construction data are not available to discover a more efficient way of broaching the antimatter suspension, so this crude method is the only option. Sometimes the simple solutions are best. Therefore, it is prudent to allow a wide window, which has been calculated as two weeks, give or take a few days. By the time the dragonriders transfer the engines to their positions, the corrosion should have penetrated almost to the antimatter capsule.”

   “Now, look here, Aivas,” Fandarel began. “I know the rate at which agenothree corrodes metal-”

   “Not metal such as the builders of this ship used, Master Fandarel.”

   “That’s so.” Fandarel scrubbed at his close-cropped scalp. “What puzzles me is the amount of agenothree required to reach the antimatter material.”

   “As has been explained”-a diagram appeared on the monitor in the engineering section: a massive block surrounding a ridiculously small cube in a slightly larger sphere-“the antimatter material is not a large mass, approximately two hundred grams. Even the suspension unit masses only about fifteen hundred kilograms.”

   “Frankly, Aivas, that’s what perplexes me. How could two hundred grams of anything power a ship the size of the Yokohama through space?”

   “Do you not appreciate efficiency, Master Fandarel?” Aivas asked in reply, in a tone that could have been interpreted as amused. Fandarel often had the feeling that the machine was amused. “The matter/antimatter engine is the quintessence of efficiency. Only a small amount is ever required.”

   “With two hundred grams of black powder or even nitro, one cannot explode very much,” Fandarel replied.

   “Do not equate black powder or nitro, or anything used in mining operations, with antimatter on any count. There is no comparison to the explosive energy released. Despite the distance involved, you will be able to see the flash of the explosion with an ordinary telescope when the antimatter explodes on the Red Star. You would see no trace of an explosion using two hundred grams of black powder, or even nitro. You must be assured that this facility does comprehend the power that is to be discharged.”

   Fandarel continued to scratch his pate in wonderment, nodding as he tried to accept what Aivas had said.

   “You are an excellent craftsman, Master Fandarel, and have advanced at an astonishing pace in the past four years and nine months. Since antimatter, unlike the atom that you have recently been investigating, cannot be studied in laboratory situations, you must rely on explanations. It cannot be exposed to matter as you know it-ore, earth, gases, water. Antimatter can be contained, as it is in the ship’s engine, and, with control, become the most efficient source of power Mankind has at its disposal. At this point in your study of physics, you cannot understand these concepts. But you can use them to your advantage-with proper guidance, techniques known to this facility, and the safeguards that have already been explained to you. As you pursue your studies, you will come to understand even the anomalies of antimatter. But not now. Time becomes a critical factor. The Red Planet must be jarred out of its current orbit just where it will later approach the fifth planet of your system.

   “Do you have the couplings to attach the HN0₃ tanks to the engine blocks?”

   “Yes,” Fandarel said with a sigh, and indicated the metal braces and T-junction that he and his best smiths had built to hold the tanks tightly against the engines in a way that would allow the corrosive material to leak onto the metal in a regulated flow.

   “Then you should proceed to install the tanks as indicated.” The screen altered to show a new diagram.

   “I could do it in my sleep,” Bendarek muttered.

   “It would be unwise to fall asleep in space, Journeyman Bendarek,” Aivas replied immediately.

   Bendarek grimaced and shot Fandarel an apologetic glance.

   “You will remember to use tether lines while you are EVA,” Aivas continued. “F’lessan and his bronze dragon are in the cargo bay in case of an emergency.”

   Gathering up their bundles, Fandarel and Bendarek made their way to Airlock E-7, nearest the engine shaft. The bulky agenothree tanks, the largest that Fandarel had ever manufactured, ringed the wall of the lock where the rest of the work detail awaited them, all suited up except for helmets. When Fandarel and Bendarek were ready, helmets were donned and secured, each member of the six-man team checking his mate’s tank, fastening, and safety lines.

   At Fandarel’s nod, Bendarek cycled the airlock closed and then opened the outer door. Evan and Belterac took one tank, while Silton and Fosdak took the second. Bendarek handed out the couplers to the other journeyman, checking that each had the tools that would be required. Fandarel swung himself out onto the catwalk that led from the hatch to the great engine shaft.

   Big as the Mastersmith was, he was dwarfed to insignificance by the immensity of the metal mass that contained the so-efficient two hundred grams of antimatter. For once in his life, Fandarel felt inadequate as he made his lumbering way: a grain of sand beside a dune. However, there was work to be done, for which he was quite capable, so he suppressed the comparison and, without looking back, gestured for Evan and Belterac to follow him. Pern was spread out below them, and with an accustomed glance, he located the odd pimples that were the Landing volcanoes. It comforted him in the grandeur of space to be able to identify something he knew. He proceeded, feeling the vibration in the walkway as others set foot upon it.

   They all had EVA time, were accustomed to moving in freefall, and were all aware of yet fascinated by the inherent dangers of the new environment. To Fandarel’s surprise, Terry, who had been his second hand for so long, could not handle the vastness of space, or even the lack of gravity, though he had never minded going a-dragonback. Still, Master Fandarel thought, space was a different medium altogether than between and just as hostile as Aivas told them. There had been those one or two-well, actually five-mishaps, Fandarel had to admit. Fortunately there had been dragons about, and the men who had inadvertently loosened their safety lines, had been hauled back to the Yokohama. Belterac was the only one who had overcome fear of a repetition and continued that exercise. But Belterac was phlegmatic by nature.

   At last Fandarel’s gloved right hand touched the access ladder, which was crafted as a recess into the metal side of the engine shaft, complete with safety-line rail. Beyond his reach, by half a length, were the long, rounded spars to which cargo pods had been attached during the Yokohama’s long journey from Earth to Pern. When it came time to move the engines to the Red Star, the dragons, wearing special gloves to protect their flesh from the lacerating cold of the metal, would grip these spars and carry the engine between. Aivas, Fandarel knew, still entertained doubts that the dragons, even several hundred of them working together, could move such a mass. He thought that if they must have faith that what Aivas told them was true, Aivas should return the compliment. Fandarel caught a glimpse of Evan and Belterac behind him; then, clipping his line to the safety rail and placing his hands on the rungs, he pulled himself up.

   It was a long way up. When he reached the top of the engine block, it was wide enough for five dragons to stand tail to nose. The length of it vas four times its width. Fandarel was still not accustomed to thinking in such colossal measurements.

   With Aivas’s diagram firmly in mind, he stepped carefully to where the tanks were to be positioned, nozzles end to end and joined by the junction that would permit their contents to drip relentlessly into the metal. The waste of all that incredible metal distressed Fandarel, especially after Aivas insisted that they did not have some of the basic raw materials on Pern to reproduce such an alloy. He contented himself with the knowledge that he had seen it, felt it, and yes, even destroyed it. There was nearly as much destruction in smithing as there was creation.

   Bendarek and Fosdak had stayed below to attach the hoist cables to the tanks. When those on top had adjusted their lines, they were secure enough to haul the tanks up without drifting off in the effort. The team had been well drilled, and soon the tanks were up, then pressed down so that the ingenious suction cups would keep the tanks firmly in place until the special glue set. The couplings were attached, and the junction installed. Finally the black solar panels were clipped on, so that the agenothree would not freeze, or boil, during the operation. Then Bendarek ceremoniously handed Master Fandarel the spanner to open the plastic nozzles and release the corrosive agenothree.

   “One down, two to go,” Fosdak said in his usual impudent manner.

   “And we will all be careful going down that ladder,” Fandarel said, relieved that there had been no mishap. Efficiency was safety, he reminded himself.

   He motioned for the others to precede him and checked the gauges that would indicate the amount of agenothree in each tank. There was, of course, no change in the amount yet, but it was second nature for Fandarel to check.

   “I know, I know,” Hamian said irritably, using both hands to push sweaty hair off his face. He regarded F’lar levelly. Hamian was stripped to work pants in the heat that was part of his discomfort. The major dissatisfaction was the plastic material that he, Zurg, Jancis, and a half hundred other journeymen and Masters of a variety of Crafts were trying to produce in sufficient quantities-and quality-to protect the dragonriders in their epic endeavor.

   While the plastic he had produced, using Aivas’s formula, was pliable and tough as an outside layer, the filling and cotton lining made assembly difficult. Since the plastic outer skin of the space suits had to be airtight, it could not be sewn. Hamian had been experimenting with glues of every sort, trying to find one that would not become brittle in space and that bonded all three layers. He could not recall now how many suits he had sent up to the Yokohama to be tested.

   The dragon gloves had been relatively easy in comparison, even if dragon feet differed in length and width as much as human feet did. Still the production of over three hundred pairs had taken some of his work force several months.

   “Yes, I know that time is catching up with us, F’lar, but we’re working flat out. We’ve got one hundred and seventy-two finished and tested.” He held his hands in a gesture of resignation.

   “No one can fault you for trying,” F’lar said.

   “Look,” Jaxom said in a placatory manner, “if worse comes to worst, we can send the engines in three sections. There should be enough variety of sizes so that the suits can be swapped over.”

   F’lar frowned, not liking that alternative.

   “Well, it’s a suggestion,” Jaxom said. “It would take the pressure off Hamian.”

   “But this was to be a joint effort...”

   “You know as well as I do, F’lar, that there’s a wide window available,” Jaxom said, arguing as subtly as he could so that F’lar would not realize that Aivas intended that there be only two hundred suits. Jaxom hated the necessity of manipulating his best friends, but it was essential if he was to bring off Aivas’s plan. He didn’t like it any better than F’lar did, but he had come to realize that Aivas was not all that confident about the dragons’ abilities. The zebedees were a slower way of destroying Thread, but a second option seemed prudent. “It isn’t as if the engines have to be deposited at the same instant.”

   “No, that’s true,” F’lar said, absently blotting the sweat off his forehead.

   “How long does it take us to shuck space suits now? Half an hour at most, between the two lifts. Hamian needs only to get another twenty-more if at all possible, of course, Hamian, but we’ve almost enough as it is.”

   “And time’s running out,” Hamian said, some of the tension easing from his face and body. He had not liked to fail in this project, but so much time had been spent in little details that no one had considered when they had blithely started. “Everything takes longer and costs more. Shells! but I hate to fall down on you.”

   “Who said you had?” Jaxom demanded. “You’ve got enough kits to do the job right now.”

   F’lar regarded Jaxom with faint surprise. Jaxom knew that he had just usurped some of F’lar’s prerogative, so he smiled as ingratiatingly as he could, giving a slight shrug.

   “Yes, as you say, Jaxom, there are enough suits to do the job right now if riders trade off,” F’lar agreed.

   “Well, then,” Hamian said, radiating relief, “I can take time for a bite to eat. Join me?” He gestured toward the trestle table set under an awning. Some of his large teams were already serving themselves, for meals were taken whenever there was time. “There’s always enough in the pot for dragonriders.”

   Although Jaxom knew that F’lar was scrutinizing him all during the meal he pretended not to notice. He intended to have a few private words with Aivas about easing up on Hamian. The man was trying-and could have no idea that Aivas was deliberately rejecting space gear that was probably suitable in all respects. Two hundred finished and acceptable units-and no more-would solve Jaxom’s travel problems.

   Although Landing bore the brunt of the preparations for the final assault on Thread, there was excitement throughout the planet as the days of the last month were ticked off.

   Oldive and Sharra had drafted as many healers as possible and then, at Master Nicat’s suggestion, some of the gem cutters who were accustomed to the use of magnifying glasses and small tools. Efforts to find the most effective “disimprover” for the Thread spring were redoubled. Many parasites of the Thread ovoids had been found, and many of those had been infected with a variety of “viruses.” While some of the “disimproved” forms had adverse effects on the Thread, none had produced virulent enough reactions, according to Aivas. Massive reproduction had to take place, with the chosen virus-changed to a more parasitic form-able to replicate itself using the material within the ovoid.

   Everyone in the laboratory on the Yokohama, or in the schoolrooms at Landing, worked long, hard, tedious hours, suffering eyestrain, headache, and back cramps.

   Aivas consoled them. “Thread is a very disorganized lifeform, not even as organized as the indigenous bacteria you were isolating in biological studies. You cannot be expected to understand reproduction of such a life-form.”

   “We don’t have time!” Mirrim said, speaking through clenched teeth. It was her offering that Aivas had just rejected. Then she brightened. “Of course, we could keep some around to study and learn from, couldn’t we?” She saw the horror and disgust of some of her colleagues. “No, I guess we couldn’t. Ali, well, back to the microscope. My ninety-eighth batch of trials today. Maybe we luck out at a hundred!”

   “Twenty-two more days?” Oldive said with a massive sigh as he, too, turned back to his station.

   Afterward, when Lytol wrote up the history of the Aivas years, he would remember the results, not the frenzy that accompanied them, though he gave full credit to everyone involved in the different projects.

   At last all the preparations had been completed-two full days before the date Aivas had set them.

   Two hundred suited riders on two hundred gloved dragons awaited the signal in their Weyrs. Another nine suited riders were ready to do their part in this great enterprise, scattering the “disimproved” ovoids. The three leaders, F’lar, N’ton, and Jaxom, were in the Yokohama cargo bay. Lessa was there with Ramoth, who was breeding, and Jaxom did not dare ask how F’lar and Mnementh had timed that so precisely. She had accepted the fact that she would not take part in this venture, but she didn’t like her exclusion one bit.

   Master Fandarel and Belterac were about to proceed with the separation of the Yokohama’s engine shaft from the main sphere. Bendarek was aboard the Bahrain, and Evan was on the Buenos Aires to perform the same operation. Once that was done, the dragons would be called up to take their places.

   Aivas had appointed F’lar to take the Yokohama’s unit and deposit it in the approximate center of the great Rift on the Red Planet. Jaxom was to take his group to one end of the Rift, while N’ton was to take his to the other, more or less, close to the immense craters. Only Jaxom knew what had caused those craters-and when. The trick would be to keep N’ton from guessing.

   Each section would be accompanied by three brown, blue, and green dragons, Mirrim included, who would scatter the sacks of disimproved Thread toroids in a low-altitude flight across the bleak Red Planet’s surface and across the flat ring of ovoids orbiting above the planet’s equator. Oldive and Sharra had just barely accomplished their part of the undertaking. Mirrim’s one hundredth attempt had indeed been the crucial one.

With careful fingers and a frown of concentration, Master Fandarel pressed in the code words that would activate the appropriate sequence to disengage the engines. Aivas had had to delve deeply to find the secret ciphers in the captain’s private files. ‘

“There,” the Mastersmith said with an air of triumph.

The monitor displayed lights, and then a message lit up-but not the one that Fandarel expected.

“There is a problem,” he said. “The computer refuses to activate.”

“The appropriate code word was given, the necessary sequence was provided. Separation should be initiated,” Aivas said crisply.

“The screen says ‘Unable to activate.’ “

“Unable to activate?” There was genuine surprise in Aivas’s voice.

“Unable to activate,” Fandarel repeated, wondering what the problem could possibly be. The Yokohama’s machinery, though it had lain dormant for many centuries, had always complied with the proper action for every operation requested. “I will try again.”

“A scan is being run to ascertain if there is any computer malfunction,” Aivas replied.

“Master Fandarel?” Bendarek queried from the Bahrain on the ship linkup. “Shall I proceed now?”

“We do not have separation here yet,” Fandarel said, keenly feeling the failure and hoping it would be momentary.

“Should I not see if the Bahrain is more responsive?” Bendarek could not quite suppress his eagerness to begin.

“Aivas?” Fandarel was always a generous man. If Bendarek could proceed, it would be as well.

“No malfunction in the program can be discovered,” Aivas said. “It is recommended that the Bahrain proceed with separation.”

Bendarek had a little more luck than Fandarel. “My screen says ‘dysfunction discovered.’ Dysfunction of what?”

   Evan, on the Buenos Aires, initiated the program in his turn and received MECHANICAL MALFUNCTION as his message.

“Which one is correct?” Fandarel asked, feeling somewhat vindicated by the failure of all attempts.

“They may all be correct,” Aivas replied. “Reviewing.”

Fandarel thought that seemed a good idea for himself as well, and rehearsed, without actually pressing the keys down, the sequence he had inserted.

“It is a mechanical malfunction,” Aivas announced.

“Of course!” Fandarel bellowed as he realized what it had to be. “These ships have been in space for over twenty-five hundred years. The mechanical parts have had no maintenance.”

“You are correct, Master Fandarel,” Aivas replied.

“What’s the delay up there?” F’lar asked from the cargo bay.

“A minor one,” Fandarel answered. Then paused. “Where?” he asked Aivas.

“The clamps have locked, due to cessation of timely servicing “It’s not just frozen, is it?” Fandarel asked.

“You have learned much, Master Fandarel. Fortunately the clamps can be lubricated on the inside, through an access, a narrow one.” The screen lit up with the schematic of the area between the skins of the Yokohama. “It will, however, be necessary to use a special lubricant, for there is little heat in that area, and the oils you ordinarily use will be ineffective. A mixture of liquid neon, liquid hydrogen, and liquid helium must be made with a tiny amount of silicone fluid. That is the equivalent of penetrating oils for use in these very cold conditions. The low molecular weight of gases causes them to evaporate first, but their viscosity is quite low and carries the heavier silicone oil into very thin spaces. That should effect the solution to this minor problem.”

“Minor problem?” For once, Fandarel lost his patience. “We do not have those liquids.”

“You have the means to produce them, if you remember the liquid-helium experiments.”

Fandarel did. “That will take time.”

“There is time,” Aivas said. “A wide window was allowed for this transfer. There is time.”

The dragonriders were not pleased with the delay-they had built themselves and their dragons up to this incredible effort and were impatient to go.

   “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another, isn’t it?” N’ton said with a wry grin.

   “Tomorrow?” Jaxom asked, grinning to allay F’lar’s irritated frown. “Same time, same stations?”

   F’lar pushed back the lock of hair that never seemed to stay in place and acknowledged the unanticipated delay with a flick of his finger. ,

   “We’ll speak to the riders, Aivas.”

   Despite his lightheartedness, Jaxom had experienced an Incredible letdown at having the expedition postponed. More than anyone else, he had had to fortify himself for the tremendous effort required of him and Ruth.

   A day makes little difference to me, Jaxom, Ruth said encouragingly. The meal I had yesterday will last long past tomorrow.

   That’s good, Jaxom replied, more grimly than the circumstances warranted-but he had been primed for action today! Well, let’s get back to Eastern and tell my wings to relax.

   It was, in fact, several days before the penetrating oil could be manufactured. Jaxom had Ruth eat at least one small wherry each evening, and Ruth complained that he would be so full he wouldn’t be able to complete one jump, let alone two.

   “That’s preferable to having you fade out on me when we’re stuck between times,” Jaxom replied.

   He waited out the delay at Cove Hold with Sharra, who was recovering from intensive hours in the laboratory. She had lost weight and had deep circles under her eyes. At least he could occupy himself with seeing to her needs. And his. And Robinton’s.

   Jaxom was distressed to see the change in the Masterharper, a subtle one, but he could tell that Lytol and D’ram were also aware of it. Robinton had recovered from the physical shock but not from the mental one. He seemed himself when in company, but too often Jaxom would catch him deep in thoughts-disturbing and unhappy ones, to judge by the sadness in the Harper’s eyes. Also, he seemed to drink less, and with less relish. He was a man going through the motions of living.

   Zair is worried, Ruth told Jaxom when he caught his rider worrying about the Harper.

   “It may just take a little more time for Master Robinton to recuperate,” Jaxom said, trying to reassure himself. “He’s not as young as he was, less resilient. And it was a ghastly experience. When this is over, we’ll think of something to rouse him from his apathy. Sharra’s noticed it, too. She’ll talk it over with Oldive. You know how testy he gets when he thinks you’re fussing over him. We’ll do something. Tell Zair. Now, just once more, let’s go through the star pattern for our first timing.”

   We both know those stars better than the ones above us now, Ruth said, but he dutifully did as Jaxom asked.

   The call to assemble came in late afternoon. Fosdak, the slimmest of the smith journeymen, had squeezed his suited self into the interstices and pumped the penetrating liquid and oil into the fine crack of each of the huge clamps that held the engine shaft onto the main ship segment. By the time he had done the Buenos Aires and returned to the Yokohama to see if the application had dispersed, he was reasonably confident of success.

   Once again Fandarel used code-word and key sequence, punched ENTER, and waited. This time the computer acknowledged the commands and responded with READY TO EXECUTE.

   “I am ready to execute the order,” Fandarel said.

   “Go, man, go!” F’lar cried.

   Fandarel activated the program. He didn’t know if anyone else heard the metallic squealings and clangings, or the final clunk as the clamps let go, the noise was loud enough in the engineering section.

   “We have separation,” he said, and then remembered to activate the exterior optics to view the effect.

   “Weyr, alert!” F’lar called, and Fandarel had a fine view of the sudden appearance of the massed dragons, each dropping to prearranged positions along the upper spars. “Magnificent!”

   “The Bahrain has separation!” Bendarek cried.

   Fandarel could not see the Bahrain.

   Jaxom could, for this was his responsibility. When F’lar had alerted the wings under his command-from Benden, Igen, and Telgar Weyrs-Jaxom had called up his from Eastern, Southern, and Ista. The assembly that answered him was the most impressive he had ever seen in all his Turns. Each arrived in place at the same moment, just as they had drilled. Dragon claws gripped the long spars, and every faceplate was turned toward the spot on the tail section where he and Ruth were perched.

   Ruth, give the dragons their direction to the Red Star in star-pattern. Remember, there will be no crater at that end of the Rift.

   I do, because we will put it there! Ruth sounded elated.

   There would be no confusion over that formality: the dragons expected to receive their destination from Ruth. None of them had been to the Red Star. All the riders had been told that it would appear to be a longer jump than they were accustomed to making, and that they should remember to breathe regularly in the interval.

   They understand and are ready, Ruth reported a moment later. ‘

   Jaxom took in a deep breath, resting one gloved hand on Ruth’s shoulder before he raised it high. Then we must go, he said, before I lose my nerve. And he dropped his arm.

   It was a long jump, even if it was expected. Jaxom counted thirty carefully inhaled and exhaled breaths. Too bad Lessa hadn’t remembered how long it had taken her to go back four hundred Turns-that knowledge would have been reassuring. On thirty-two breaths, Jaxom’s anxiety began to ooze out of his control.

   Here! Ruth announced in a great echoing shout in Jaxom’s mind.

   And they were hovering inches above one end of the Great Rift. The stars were in the correct pattern in the sky. The desolate landscape at that edge of the Rift was just as bleak at this time of its life as it was in Jaxom’s Turn.

   Jaxom hauled his mind back to the business at hand. They had ten minutes to let the massive engine down into the Rift.

   Those who sow the ovoids are proceeding, Ruth told him.

   Jaxom relayed the order for the dragons to lower their burden-and then he grinned broadly. The dragons had accomplished this incredible journey! The weight of the engine had been as nothing-because they had not thought of it as anything out of the ordinary. A surge of elation buoyed his spirits immeasurably.

   We did it, Ruth! We did it!

   Of course we did it. Easy now, keep that thing level, Ruth added, and Jaxom gestured to the rear dragons who were dropping faster than the forward ones. T’gellan asks how far down are we to go with this?

   Tell him, as far down as we can lower without the dragons scraping their wings. There should be some rocky protrusions that’ll hold it in place long enough. Steady now, keep a regular rate of descent.

   They were well below the rim of the Rift when Jaxom felt the whole structure jar.

   Can we drop down, Ruth, and see if this will do?

   Ruth’s eyes gleamed off the strata of rock, feldspar, granite, and darker stone mixtures. Then he was below the bulk of the engine.

   It will slant a bit if they release it, Ruth said, his sight more acute in the shadows than Jaxom’s.

   Who’s on the bow end? Jaxom asked.

   Heth, Clarinath, Silvrath, Jarlath.

   Please ask them to lower as far as they can.

   They have.

   Ask them to release their grip but be ready to grab again. We can’t have the thing slipping down into the abyss.

   Heth says if the stern will move forward half a length, there is a good shelf of rock for the bow end.

   Give Monarth that message.

   I have.

   Jaxom could see the slight movement as the engine mass settled.

   All right. Jaxom gestured to the riders facing him to release their end carefully.

   That accomplished, with tension obvious as talons hovered inches above the spars, the massive engine seemed secure. Jaxom glanced at the timepiece strapped to his wrist. Eight minutes had elapsed. They were done.

   As he signaled for the wings to rise out of the Rift, he asked Ruth to tell the dragons to land on the rim.

   Are the sowers all right, Ruth?

   They are, the white dragon said equably. Minim landed Path once to look at the ovoids in the dust. There are many many more than she thought there would be.

   Tell Path that Mirrim is not to bring a sample back. We have enough of them, Jaxom said firmly. The last thing they needed was an artifact from eighteen hundred Turns before.

   Path says a lot of them are rotten.

   All the more reason to leave them where they are!

   Path will not bring one.

   Jaxom glanced at his watch. Another minute had ticked by. The dragons and riders were glancing curiously about them.

   Monarth says T’gellan says Threads are welcome to this planet, Ruth remarked. The engine will not explode yet, will it?

   No, not according to the way Bendarek read the gauge when he checked this one over. I wonder how F’lag’s doing.

   The small hand had circled once again.

   Call the others in, Ruth. We d better get back.

   In eight seconds the green, blue, and brown riders rejoined the others.

   Now came the dangerous part, the one Jaxom had fretted over since Aivas had informed him of this maneuver: getting all the dragons and riders safely back to their own time.

   Impress on every dragon, Ruth, that he is to return to his own weyr. We will have been gone fourteen minutes, so there is really no chance that they will collide with themselves on the way back-is there?

   I have told you many times, Jaxom, that I do not think they will become lost. Every dragon knows his way back to his own weyr.

   Every dragon is to impress on his rider that there are to be no exceptions to this order, Jaxom insisted.

   I will tell them that they are too far away from Pern to disobey. They will not. The dragons certainly will not. Ruth paused briefly. I have told them. I may not be a queen, but dragons trust me.

   Still apprehensive, Jaxom asked Ruth to rise up over the surface, so that every dragon could see him.

   Back at their weyrs, they are to get out of the suits immediately, so they can be collected by browns and brought to Fort Weyr.

   For our next trip. Jaxom couldn’t believe the smug satisfaction in Ruth’s tone. So much for worrying if this double time jumping was affecting the resilient white dragon. He saw that faceplates were turned in his direction, and he raised his arm, making the hand gesture to go between. A second later, he asked Ruth to take him back to Yokohama.

   Curiously, time seemed to go more slowly on the return. Yet Jaxom reached his thirtieth exhalation gust as they emerged in the cargo bay of the Yokohama. The first dragon he saw was Ramoth, Lessa beside her, and to one side, Mar appeared. Jaxom glanced down at his wristwatch: F’lar’s trip had lasted the full fifteen minutes that dragons could endure without oxygen. The cargo bay. was lit, but not well enough for Jaxom to tell if Mnementh was off color. Looking down at Ruth, he saw no alteration in the lustrous coat.

   We’ve done it, he said. Everyone safely back below?

   Monarth tells me so. Heth... Ruth hesitated, and Jaxom felt part of him shrivel in fear. Heth says they are all back, but several dragons are in bad color.

   If that’s all, it’s nothing a good meal won’t cure. And you?

   I’m fine. We have done very well. So far.

   Now if I can only think of some pretext for the Buenos Aires, Jaxom said as he removed his helmet.

   You will.

   “Yeeeeow!”

   Jaxom was so startled by the loud cheer from F’lar that he  nearly lifted himself from Ruth’s back. The white dragon, eyes whirling in amazement, also turned his head to see F’lar propel himself off Mnementh and go shooting toward the equally surprised Lessa. When he grabbed her, his momentum spun them off in a lazy twirl until they careened into Ramoth. The great gold dragon arched her neck to look down at the extraordinary behavior of the Benden Weyrleaders.

   “We did it! The dragons of Pern did it! Aivas’ll have to eat sand on this one! He never thought we could do it!” F’lar was yelling at the top of his voice and laughing when echoes bounced back at him.

   “Really, F’lar...” Lessa struggled to regain her balance, but Jaxom could see that she was smiling. “Yes, it is a splendid moment for the Weyrs! A splendid one! You’ve kept your promise. Indeed you have. That’ll show the Holds and Halls!”

   Still grinning fatuously, F’lar leaned back against Ramoth, pushing back his wayward lock.

   “In point of fact, Lessa,” he said then, his expression turned wry, “we haven’t quite done it. There’s N’ton’s wings to lift the third engine, and then we have to wait. First for the explosion, and then to see if it had the proper effect.”

   Jaxom rubbed his hand across his lips. Knowledge of the fixture was a parlous asset. But it was enough that Jaxom knew this great enterprise would work.

   “All safely down with your wings, Jaxom?” F’lar inquired as Jaxom floated to the deck.

   “A few dragons off color...”

   “Ruth’s not,” Lessa said, scrutinizing the white dragon and smiling approval at Jaxom.

   “He says I’ve been stuffing him. Which of us gets to tell Aivas?” Jaxom asked, smiling broadly. ,

   “We both do,” F’lar said. He clapped an arm across Jaxom’s shoulders, and together they bounced across the deck to the cargo-bay console. “You know, I didn’t see your wing.”

   “Nor I yours,” Jaxom said, chuckling. “We poor soil-bound Pernese have no appreciation of real size...” He spread his arms wide. “That Rift is mammoth. We planted our engine really well down in the Rift on a wide stone ledge.”

   “Aivas already knows,” Lessa said. “I told him you’d all gone and that Ramoth was in touch with Mnementh. Oddly enough,” she added, peering at Jaxom, “she couldn’t hear Ruth.”

   “That is odd,” Jaxom said, pretending to be puzzled. “Ramoth hears him quite well. But you both forget how far that Rift stretches, and we were at the far northern tip of it.”

   They reached the console.

   “Aivas?” F’lar said.

   “You have succeeded. Are all safely returned?”

   “Yes. Now do you doubt draconic abilities?” F’lar asked, vindication mixed with the triumph in his laugh. He pulled Jaxom over in a comradely fashion. “You didn’t want to believe that dragons could do what we said they could.”

   “We were right on schedule, too,” Jaxom said, allowing himself to chuckle. “My team set that engine down right where you wanted it. No problem!”

   “You are both to be complimented on your courage and daring.”

   “Don’t lay it on too thick, Aivas,” F’lar said.

   “You deserve every credit that will accrue to your valorous deed. You have performed an incredible feat, Weyrleader F’lar. There is no doubt of that. Or that you will have achieved your personal goal-the end of Thread on this planet.”

   Jaxom grinned at F’lar, pleased at Aivas’s unusual rhetoric.

   “Your achievement is historically equivalent to that of the first dragonriders to fight Thread. Your name will be remembered with Sean O’Connell’s, Sorka Hanrahan’s-”

   “That is laying it on too thick,” Jaxom said. “You’re the only one who remembered who were first to fight.”

   “Actually, Jaxom,” F’lar said, grinning broadly, “Sebell showed me the corrected Harper Hall Records, and the eighteen riders who participated in that Fall were honored in their Turn. No one ran afoul of any of those dangers you warned us about,” F’lar added, savoring this auspicious moment.

   “It is wise to prepare for unusual contingencies,” Aivas said.

   “Well, we’ve done it.”

   “And you deserve this,” Lessa said, joining them with a wineskin in her hands. “Best Benden.”

   “The ‘sixteen?” Jaxom asked, craning his head for a look at the label.

   “What else?” Lessa replied with a coquettish smile before she put the wineskin to her lips.

   Jaxom blinked and, recovering, grinned back. It was about time that she treated him as an adult. Then he grew serious as he accepted the wineskin from her and raised it to the Benden Weyrleaders. “To all the Weyrs of Pern!”

   “To us for this triumphant day!”

   Jaxom took a long swig, then passed the wineskin to F’lar, who drank, then passed it to Lessa. As she sipped, F’lar turned to Jaxom. “You did tell ‘em all to shuck those suits for the next round?”

   “As planned, brown riders’ll bring them to N’ton at Fort Weyr.”

   “Did your team scatter those treated ovoids as Aivas wanted?”

   Jaxom winked at Lessa. “Mirrim wanted to bring back some examples of empty ones she found lying about.” Lessa looked outraged, but he waved a reassurance. “I recommended that she didn’t.”

   “How long before the explosion, Aivas?” F’lar asked.

   “The HN0₃ gauge readings reassure that there is no stoppage. The corrosion continues.”

   “That’s no answer,” F’lar said, frowning.

   Jaxom grinned. “That’s all you’re going to get right now. And we’ve still the third one to go.” Which constituted a major problem for him. He desperately needed a few private words with Aivas, to see if he had come up with any ideas on how Jaxom could insinuate himself into N’ton’s flight and get the dragons to take Ruth’s coordinates for the second time leap of a mere five hundred Turns. Somehow he had accomplished it, for the other crater was there on the southern tip of the Rift. Jaxom had racked his brains and, whenever he was private with Aivas over the past few days, had tried to figure out any way that didn’t involve explaining to N’ton. Not that Mon wouldn’t believe Jaxom, or that he wasn’t discreet, but the fewer who knew about the time-traveling the better. Lessa would be furious at the risk involved.

   So now he looked around him. “Are you the only ones up here, Lessa?”

   “Oh, no.” She grinned. “Everyone else is on the bridge, peering through the telescope, hoping to see the explosion. Oh, I told them it wouldn’t happen soon. They were confident that they’d see the wings.” Jaxom’s breath caught when she said that. Oblivious, she went on. “Of course, they couldn’t. Sometimes, even Fandarel doesn’t comprehend vast distances. But today’s excitement is being shared.”

   “How long has it been since we got back?” F’lar asked Jaxom.

   “About twenty minutes,” Jaxom replied. “N’ton’s wings won’t be ready yet, F’lar. Does anyone need your suit?”

   “I shouldn’t think so, but to be on the safe side, I’ll shuck out of it. Could you bring it over to the Buenos Aires if it is needed?” F’lar handed Jaxom the helmet and, with Lessa’s help, started removing the bulky suit. As he laid it over Jaxom’s arm, he added, “I think we’ll join those on the bridge, and the telescope, and watch N’ton work.”

   As soon as the lift doors closed on them, Jaxom returned to the console. “All right, Aivas, just how do I get to go with N’ton?”

   “That is being arranged,” Aivas replied, surprising him.

   “How is it being arranged?” Jaxom demanded.

   “You are quick and clever. You already have a reason to be on the Buenos Aires. You will know what to do when the time comes. Transfer now to the other ship.”

   “I’ll know when the time comes, will I?” Jaxom muttered to himself as he threw the extra suit over his shoulder. Carrying the suit and two helmets, he made his way over to Ruth. “Hand this one up to me, will you?” he asked, giving the white dragon one of the two helmets so he would have a free hand to mount. “How’s Mon doing? Has he got all the suits yet?”

   As he arranged F’lar’s suit in front of him he caught a whiff of sweat. Well, he didn’t smell that sweet himself after his exertions.

   N’ton says that some suits have to be sponged, and helmets have to match the suit.

   Washed? Dragonriders tended to be fastidious in their personal habits, and dressing in a sweaty suit might be distasteful to many. Oh, yes, perhaps they might at that. I don’t understand about the helmets.

   There was a pause while Ruth inquired of Monarth, N’ton’s bronze.

   They forgot to put the suits back together-Ruth was obviously repeating something he did not quite understand-and the helmets got mixed up.

   How long is sorting going to take? And suddenly Jaxom had a glimmer of an idea. With nearly a hundred suits to match to helmets, it could take several hours. He hoped it would take a long time.

   Monarth didn’t know. N’ton is not happy.

   Reassure Monarth and N’ton, would you please, Ruth? Because this is going to work for our benefit. I think we can now put in an appearance on the Buenos Aires.

   There were three blues and two greens waiting there, all from Eastern Weyr, and Ruth was greeted with considerable awe by the young dragons. Knowing that the white dragon would enjoy their deferential attention, Jaxom left him there and took the lift up to the smaller bridge of the Buenos Aires.

   “What’s holding up N’ton’s wings?” Fandarel asked, relieved to see Jaxom. “That was a splendid sight, Jaxom, watching all those dragons lifting the engines like they were so many fire-stone sacks. Aivas has informed us that all went well.” Fandarel looked concerned. “Why isn’t N’ton here?”

   “Because no one thought to keep helmet and body suit together,” Jaxom said. Then he realized that he should also appear concerned and managed a frown. “I don’t think it’s going to matter in the long run,” he added thoughtfully as he made his way to the nearest console. “Aivas, there is going to be a delay. Helmets weren’t kept with suits, and they’ve got to match.”

   “That could be inconvenient if the delay is prolonged,” Aivas said.

   “It’s three-quarters of an hour since we went off. How long before N’ton has to have different star-pattern references? It would be disastrous if he arrived at the wrong time and his engine went off either prematurely or too late.” If Aivas expected Jaxom to use his wits, he hoped he would see what he was aiming at.

   “A consideration to be sure. Reprogramming contingency.” The screen altered from the current view of the Buenos Aires engine to rapid shifts of star configurations. “With any lengthy delay, the star picture will be slightly different.”

   “Is there going to be a problem?” Fandarel asked.

   Jaxom smiled reassuringly at the Mastersmith and the others on the bridge, Masterminer Nicat, Master Idarolan, Jancis, and Piemur. Jaxom wished Piemur were not there: they knew each other far too well. “I don’t think it’s insurmountable. As you heard, Aivas is already programming contingency plans. I’d better inform Lessa and F’lar of the delay.”

   When he had done that, a call came through from Evan in engineering, patiently waiting to complete the separation. Jaxom was glad it was he, rather than Fosdak, in charge of that task. Fosdak had no patience.

   Of all on the three bridges, Jaxom was the only one delighted that it took N’ton and his wings nearly four hours to get suited up. N’ton was usually a calm, easygoing, and relaxed Weyrleader; his patience had been sorely tried by the delays.

   Monarth says they’re ready. Ramoth says they must get the new configurations from you. Aivas is giving you the new star patterns to memorize and give Monarth. Ruth delivered the various messages just as the new configurations came up on the monitor. They were, as Jaxom knew, those for the five-hundred-Turn jump with the Red Star in the same relation to Rukbat at the Eighth Pass. Aivas had made a slight time alteration on those original coordinates, judging by the position of the Wheel and the Plow constellations on the horizon.

   “Lessa,” Jaxom said, toggling the ship-to-ship link, “I’ve got the visuals here. I’ll give them to N’ton. Can Ramoth tell them to transfer in five more minutes? I have to get Ruth from the cargo bay.”

   “Just give N’ton the coordinates, Jaxom,” Lessa said.

   “That’s what I intend doing,” Jaxom replied mendaciously. “Fandarel, five-minute warning for Evan?”

   The smith nodded enthusiastically, for the waiting had made everyone edgy. Waiting, in the smith’s lexicon, was inefficient. As Jaxom took the lift to the cargo bay, he wondered if Fandarel ever rested. Here he had completed the most complex and exhausting work of a lifetime and he still fretted over inactivity.

   We go? Ruth asked Jaxom, his eyes whirling with excitement.

   We don’t really have to go, you know, Ruth, Jaxom said. Lessa said we only have to give N’ton the new coordinates... Jaxom chuckled as he saw the disappointment in Ruth’s eyes. He mounted and, crowning his head with the helmet, twisted it shut. That will get them there safely enough but... I think you’ll make an error and go, too. You feel all right about that?

   I have rested, and this is the shorter trip, isn’t it?

   I hope so. Between the first jump, fretting over how to join N’ton’s wings, and the long wait, Jaxom was feeling slightly frayed. He took care not to let Ruth sense that.

   Monarth comes! Excitement colored Ruth’s tone.

   “Fandarel, do you see them?” Jaxom asked through his helmet link.

   “Yes, magnificent. I have given Evan the order to separate.”

   Let’s get to the stern, Ruth.

   Jaxom took a deep breath, but they flashed between so fast that he had not quite completed the inhalation when Ruth reappeared gripping the stern. Monarth and N’ton were beside them, and below, the bronze dragons of Fort, High Reaches, Telgar, and Ista ranged along the top spars.

   Jaxom held the image of where they were going vivid in his mind. Give Monarth and N’ton my compliments and ask Monarth to take our destination from you.

   N’ton threw Jaxom a salute, but Jaxom couldn’t see the Fort Weyrleader’s expression, obscured as it was by his faceplate. He gave N’ton a deferential salute.

   Monarth says we go!

   They went. The cold of between seemed to penetrate Jaxom’s space suit, and he could hear his breath coming raggedly. He forced himself to slow down.

   I’m here, Ruth said in encouragement.

   As always, Jaxom replied, and continued to count his inhalations. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

   And then they were hovering inches above the southern tip of the Rift.

   Monarth says where’s the crater?

   Tell him that Aivas picked this spot, so here’s where wed better deposit the engine. We don’t have time to find that bloody crater!

   Jaxom turned toward N’ton, who was looking at him, arms raised in query. Jaxom gave him an exasperated shrug in reply.

   Monarth says N’ton understands. They proceed.

   Mon was signaling to the auxiliary dragons to begin their task of sowing the zebedees. Then he turned all his attention to the lowering of the massive engine into the Rift. The maneuver went well, even better than Jaxom’s, taking just ten minutes.

   Mon waited another few moments, allowing the dragons a chance to rest. Then he called in the auxiliaries.

   I have told Monarth that everyone must return to their own Weyrs. But to keep the right helmets with the right suits this time, Ruth told Jaxom.

   We’re not likely to need two hundred slightly used space suits again, Jaxom said, trying to contain his elation until they were safely back. We must go back to the Yokohama.

   I have told Monarth. N’ton says he is grateful and apologizes for the delay.

   Tell him that it all worked out well in the end.

   It did, didn’t it? Ruth added. Shall we return now?

   Please yes!

   Once again, the return seemed longer than the outgoing journey, but it wasn’t. Finally the comforting dimness of the big cargo bay of the Yokohama surrounded them. And they were immediately attacked by Ramoth and Mnementh.

   Where have I been? Ruth exclaimed, rearing back away from Ramoth’s savage expression and dodging Mnementh’s massive wings. I’m fine. I in fine. So is Jaxom. He didn’t tell me not to go!

   “Jaxom!” F’lar was bellowing the moment he stepped out of the lift, with Lessa on his heels.

   Jaxom loosened his helmet. “So we went, too,” he said, raising his voice to top the angry ones of the Benden Weyrleaders. “Ruth’s not even a trifle off color. Not his fault. I forgot to tell him not to follow Monarth. But the job is now completely done!” He glared back at F’lar and Lessa and slid down Ruth’s side, patting his foreleg. “I could certainly use another pull at that wineskin, Lessa, if you wouldn’t mind...”

   He spoke with no trace of regret or apology, and he felt rather too battered to bother with the deference the Weyrleaders deserved from him. He undid the first of the suit’s fastenings, knowing that they were still angry with him and hoping they would give it up.

   “Here, I’ll help,” F’lar said unexpectedly. “Lessa, this Lord Holder deserves another swallow of that ‘sixteen!”

   Jaxom gave F’lar a sharp look and then grinned back. By the first Egg, so he had finally come into his own in the cargo bay of the Yokohama.

20

   A FEW RIDERS in the third group suffered some physical attrition. M’rand, one of the older bronze riders of High Reaches, returned long after the rest of the Weyr and in terrible condition. He was tormented by bad dreams, insisting that he had returned to his Weyr but it had not been his Weyr. Tileth had been frantic, recognizing none of the other dragons there and finding a strange bronze asleep on the ledge of his Weyr. M’rand couldn’t understand at first, but he had heard that bronzes could slip through time. He kept his wits and had tried to get home again, giving Tileth the most vivid images of their favorite view of High Reaches, with the blue M’rand knew was that day’s watchdragon. That time they had emerged in the right place and the right time.

   “Sloppy visualization,” Lessa said when she and F’lar had also spoken with M’rand and the others: two in Fort Weyr and another in Igen. “And they’re all older riders, leaving more up to their dragons than they ought.”

   Jaxom noticed that Mon was regarding him with a quizzical expression, and he responded with a perplexed grin. He himself had felt woefully tired after the exertions of that momentous day, pausing only long enough to let Ruth feed on a juicy buck before returning home, and no one thought it odd that he slept nearly a day. Sharra was equally exhausted by her last few days in the laboratory, churning out zebedees.

   Despite the fact that Aivas had repeatedly told everyone that the explosion would not take place for several more days and then would not be immediately visible due to light speed-which he had to explain again to some-a twenty-four-hour vigil was kept on the Yokohama. Every screen in the various areas on the ships where air was available was adjusted to the ships’ main screens and the big telescope, aimed at the Red Star.

   “Jaxom, aren’t you going to watch?” Sharra asked. “You of all people ought to have the right!” She was baffled by his apparent indifference to the event.

   “Frankly,” he said, “I have a lot of more important things to do here in Ruatha than floating about on the bridge, waiting for the thing to blow. Unless, of course,” he added considerately, “you really want to see it.”

   “Well...” Sharra paused, then smiled at him. “I’ve got those cultures going right now and...”

   Jaxom grinned at her. “If there’s enough warning, Ruth’ll get us there in time.”

   Sharra gave him a startled sideways glance.

   “All in a good cause,” he said, trying for nonchalance, “and a minute or two isn’t going to disrupt the universe. I’ll ask Ruth to keep an ear open, if you like. There’s always some fire-lizards or a dragon or two up at the Yokohama these days. Easy enough.”

   “If he can stay awake long enough to listen,” Sharra replied, having noticed that Ruth seemed to be taking an unusual amount of sleep.

   “He can sleep with one ear open,” Jaxom said, and then they each went about the concerns of the day.

   Brand had also observed Ruth’s somnolence, and while he and Jaxom were checking the brood mares, he mentioned it.

   “I don’t think it’s so very unusual, Brand,” Jaxom said easily. “N’ton said that all the bronzes who went with us are also sleeping a good deal. I suspect none of the dragons care to admit that they had to work pretty hard to transfer those engines.” Then Jaxom noticed his Steward’s hesitation. “Why? What’s wrong?”

   “It’s just that there have been some complaints about Fort Weyr.”

   “What do you mean, Brand?” Jaxom and Ruth had not flown the most recent Fall with the Fort wings. “Have I missed something?”

   Brand had shrugged expressively. “Well, because the bronzes are a big logy, they haven’t been as, well, diligent in chasing airborne Thread. There have been a lot of unhappy groundcrews. And that’s the other problem.”

   “Tell me.”

   “Somehow-“ Brand paused to frame his explanation. “A lot of people thought that there’d be no more Thread now. That once the dragonriders had done this explosion thing, Thread wouldn’t fall again.”

   “Oh!” Jaxom made a face. “Bloody shards, Brand. Don’t they ever listen? Harpers have been explaining for the last four Turns that we can’t stem this Fall, but there won’t be any more!”

   “They don’t see it that way, I’m afraid, from the accounts I’ve heard. And Holder Grevil isn’t a stupid man, as you know, but he hadn’t understood and feels aggrieved, especially when a clump of Thread came down on his best field.”

   “I can appreciate his annoyance. Did you manage to soothe him?”

   “I did, but he’s sure to approach you on the matter the next time he can. I thought I’d warn you. And you should know that he blames the Aivas.”

   Jaxom compressed his lips against rash words, momentarily defeated by this news: especially coming from Grevil, who was usually a moderate man. “I thought wed straightened all that out at the trial.”

   Brand shrugged, holding his hands up in an impotent gesture. “People will hear what they wish to hear, and believe what they want to. If they put the blame on Aivas, however, that absolves you, Jaxom, and even the Weyrs to a certain extent.”

   “I can’t really count that as an advantage,” Jaxom replied. “Why should Aivas bear any blame after all he’s done to help Pern?”

   “Ah, but the help is not so visible to some,” Brand said. “It’ll all sort itself out, Jaxom. But I did feel you should know current opinion.”

   “Hmmmm, yes, I should. How many has that new stallion covered of this lot?” he asked, welcoming the chance to change to matters less complicated.

   The more he thought about it, the more he felt obliged to let the Harper Hall know, and those at Cove Hold. He hated to disrupt the mood of euphoria and triumph they would be feeling. He sent Meer, who had been shadowing him constantly while Ruth slept, with a message to Lytol, who could mention the report at an appropriate moment.

   “What I don’t understand,” Sharra said when he mentioned the matter to her over their midday meal, “is that with all that has been explained so carefully to everyone who would listen, how they can possibly misconstrue what you and the Weyrs were doing, and its immediate consequences.”

   Jaxom grinned. “They probably stopped listening after the words ‘Thread will be forever destroyed.’ ” He sipped his klah pensively.

   F’lar and Lessa are up on the Yokohama, Ruth said in a sleepy voice. Ramoth says Aivas thinks the explosion wilt be any time now.

   Sharra politely cocked her head at Jaxom, knowing that Ruth had spoken to him. “What woke him up?”

   “It should be any moment now. The explosion. Want to go?”

   “Do you want to?”

   “Let’s not play the you-first, no-you-first game. Do you want to go?”

   She blinked rapidly, considering, and looking so like Jarrol that he grinned. “No,” she said with a sigh. “I think I’ve seen quite enough of the insides of the Yokohama to last me the rest of my life. And everyone will be crowding about up there. But you want to go...”

   He laughed, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I think I won’t. This moment should be F’lar’s.”

   Sharra eyed him long and thoughtfully, her eyes beginning to sparkle. “You’re a good man, but I do not concede that it is all F’lar’s triumph.”

   “Don’t be silly,” he replied. “It took all the Weyrs of Pern to do it.”

   “And a white dragon!”

   As she turned back to her soup, Jaxom wondered exactly what she meant by that. Could Sharra have guessed Ruth’s unusual role?

   After so many long days of watching the round ball that was the Red Star, the explosion, when it became visible, was an anticlimax. An orange-red fireball blossomed on the side of the wanderer planet.

   “Only one?” F’lar exclaimed, feeling a certain chagrin that half the planet had not exploded, too, after all Aivas had told them about the awesome power of the antimatter.

   “That is how it would appear at this distance,” Aivas replied.

   “It is rather spectacular,” Robinton murmured.

   “Then all three engines went off at the same time?” Fandarel asked.

   “It would seem so,” Aivas said.

   “Well done, Aivas, well done.” Fandarel beamed, evidently not bothered by a tinge of disappointment. “That junction was successful.”

   “And efficient,” D’ram said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease Fandarel.

   “It’s odd, you know,” Piemur began, more to Jancis than the others. “You work your butt off to achieve an end, and suddenly you’ve done it! And all the excitement, frustration, sleepless nights, and involvement are over! Gone!” He snapped his fingers. “In one large and impressive fireball! So what do we do with all that extra time we have on our hands now?”

   “You,” Robinton said, pointing a stern finger at the journeyman, “will now have the unenviable task as a harper of explaining the true facts of the achievement to those who didn’t understand that this effort would not alter the path of Thread during the remainder of this Pass.”

   To Lytol’s surprise, Robinton had not been at all dismayed by Jaxom’s report. In fact, the Harper had seemed to expect such disgruntlements.

   “Menolly’s already composed one ballad,” Robinton went on, “with a chorus to hammer home the point that this is the Last Pass for Thread, that Pern will be forever free from the end of this Pass.”

   “A point!” Piemur said. “Is that certain, Aivas?”

   “That is now guaranteed, Piemur. You must realize, of course, that an immediate alteration of the Red Star’s orbit will not be perceived,” Aivas said, “for some decades.”

   “Decades?” F’lar exclaimed, surprised.

   “Naturally. If you consider the size of the object you were trying to move,” Fandarel said, “and the scale of this solar system, there is no such thing as sudden change. Even chaos takes time to develop. But in several decades, that alteration will be measurable.”

   “Rest assured of that, Weyrleader,” Aivas added in a tone so laden with certainty that F’lar’s consternation eased.

   “It’s too bad Jaxom and Sharra didn’t come,” Lessa said, slightly irritated by their absence. “I knew that Ruth would strain himself, taking part in the second lift.”

   “Jaxom is quite capable of making his own decisions now, my dear,” F’lar said, amused at her proprietary concern for the Ruathan Holder.

   “There is one more minor adjustment to make, however,” Aivas said, “which it is recommended to be undertaken by the lesser colors.”

   “Oh? What?” Lessa and F’lar were very much aware that the brown, blue, and green riders were somewhat aggrieved by their exclusion from the project. “All the Weyrs of Pern” had been limited to most of the bronze dragons and only a few of the other colors, even if it had been obvious that there wasn’t space enough on the spars to accommodate every dragon who wished to take part, much less space suits to protect their riders in space.

   “The matter of the Buenos Aires and the Bahrain.”

   I ‘What about them?” F’lar asked just as Fandarel emitted an “ah” of comprehension.

   “Readings on the orbits of the two smaller ships have shown a marked increase of frequency of adjustments. The adjustments take more and more power, and the prognosis is that their orbits are likely to decay over the next decades to the critical point. The Yokohama, of course, has the fuel to remain in a stable orbit and must be maintained as long as possible, since its telescope will be used to track the Red Star. But the other ships ought to be moved.”

   “Moved?” F’lar asked. “Where?”

   “A slight alteration in their speed and altitude will break them out of orbit and send them coasting harmlessly off into space.”

   “Eventually to be captured by the sun’s gravity and pulled into it,” Fandarel added.

   “Burned up?” Lytol asked.

   “A heroic end for such valiant ships,” Robinton murmured.

   “You mentioned nothing of this before,” F’lar said.

   “There were more urgent priorities,” Aivas replied. “It is certainly a task that must be accomplished sooner rather than later when the orbits have decayed, and while the skills your riders have learned for the more essential task are still fresh in their minds.”

   “It would certainly ease the tension in the Weyr,” Lessa said. “We hadn’t anticipated that.”

   “What exactly does this entail, Aivas?” F’lar asked.

   “As stated, the dragons are to alter the direction of the two ships and give a ‘push’; that is, transport the ship between, all moving at the same cue. There are many handholds on the exterior of the ships to give dragons a grip. Judging by what you were able to accomplish in transferring the engines, such a maneuver is well within the scope of your smaller creatures.”

   F’lar grinned. “You’re no longer skeptical about them?”

   “In no way, Weyrleader.”

   “What is the time frame on this?” Fandarel asked.

   “Preferably within the next few weeks. There is no immediate danger, but do not let the dragons and riders lose the edge.”

   “I think that will be good news,” F’lar said, nodding acceptance.

   “Then you will set a time for this maneuver?”

   “As soon as I can discuss it with the other Weyrleaders.” Oddly enough, F’lar’s spirits rose with the thought of another project. Flying Threadfall had become less exciting since the removal of the engines to the Red Star.

   “It seems ungrateful to condemn those ships to death,” Lessa murmured.

   “It’s a crime to waste all the material,” Fandarel added.

   “These ships were never designed for planetary landings, Master Fandarel,” Aivas said.

   “In one piece, that is,” Piemur added.

   “Yes, Piemur, the pieces could have lethal consequences if they were to enter the atmosphere without disintegrating entirely.”

   “I’ll let you know,” F’lar said. “Shall we go, Lessa?”

   Watching the fireball soon lost its appeal for many on the Yokohama bridge that day. Shortly thereafter, when D’ram and the Eastern Weyr rider were ready to take the last watchers back to the Landing, Fandarel and Piemur cycled the life-support systems down to the holding mode.

   “I’m glad we’re able to keep the Yokohama,” Piemur said. “I’ve gotten rather fond of this old girl.” He let his fingers trail along the console.

   “She has served long and well,” Robinton said, sighing deeply.

   “Why don’t you write a ballad about her, Piemur?” Jancis suggested.

   “You know, I think I will!”

   As the last one entering the lift, Piemur palmed off the bridge lights.

   Jaxom heard about the second expedition from N’ton, who dropped in to Ruatha Hall two days after the Red Star explosion. N’ton had been on the Buenos Aires with half a dozen of his wingleaders.

   “I feel an affinity to that little ship,” N’ton said, with a wry smile. “I’ll be sorry to see her go.”

   “I wonder why she needs to,” Jaxom said. “Surely the solar panels...”

   “Aivas said that there have been too many corrections and the panels can’t handle them.”

   “Hmm, that’s quite possible.”

   “He also recommended doing it while we’re still accustomed to working in weightlessness. There is, I might add,” N’ton said with a broad grin, “great rejoicing among the riders of browns, blues, and greens. At that, they know that there are only two hundred and some suits available, so they’ll have to draw lots. But that’s fair enough.”

   “Let’s hope the helmets are with the right suits this time.”

   “Oh, we made sure of that.” N’ton rolled his eyes. “What a mess that was! I tried on twenty helmets before I found one that would attach snugly to the collar. Then I had to get the wingleaders to check every rider to be sure all the bloody things fitted properly. Some riders were just cramming helmets on any old way.”

   “The important thing is that everyone did get rigged out and we got where we were supposed to go.”

   N’ton regarded him for such a long moment that Jaxom wondered if the Fort Weyrleader had somehow guessed what had happened. Considering his disoriented bronze riders, a man as intelligent as N’ton might extrapolate the truth. As long as Jaxom didn’t admit it, N’ton would be kept guessing.

   “Maybe that’s what happened to those disoriented riders,” Jaxom went on as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Maybe they had badly fitting helmets and lost air.”

   “I hadn’t thought of that,” N’ton replied. “You know, that would certainly explain a lot.”

   Jaxom nodded in agreement, saying nothing more.

   “F’lar’s not best pleased to have to wait, yet again, to be sure the blastings did the trick,” N’ton went on.

   “Aivas was evidently satisfied.”

   “Yes, but he always sounds certain.”

   “Everything he’s sounded certain about has worked just as he said. He’s never prevaricated. I don’t think an AI facility can.”

   “You’d know better than I.” N’ton grinned at Jaxom over his wineglass. “We certainly can’t fault Hold and Hall, then, for disbelief if the Benden Weyrleader is still skeptical.”

   “Again, Aivas has been right so often we have to trust him this time.” Jaxom had a whimsical desire to confide in N’ton that he knew, incontrovertibly, that Aivas’s great Plan had worked, at least as far as the orbit of the Red Star was concerned. That he had seen it with his own eyes-fifty Turns in the future.

   “As he trusted our dragons?”

   “Well, he did, in the end, didn’t he?” Jaxom replied. “No, N’ton, don’t fret. It’ll be as Aivas has predicted. You wait, you’ll see.”

   “Ah, but F’lar might not. And he’s the one who wants to know for certain, or he will not have kept that promise!”

   Maybe, Jaxom thought, he could just reassure F’lar.

   I wouldn’t, Ruth said. You’d have to explain everything to him then.

   Not necessarily, Jaxom replied.

   Ruth’s silence indicated complete disagreement.

   “So,” N’ton went on, “now that we’ve solved the world’s problems, what do you intend doing with all that spare time you’ve got?”

   “What spare time, N’ton? I’ve only just scraped the surface of the information in Aivas’s files. I was in the process of organizing Hold affairs before I resume my studies-at an easier pace, now that the urgency is over.”

   “We’ve Threadfall in two days. Are you and Ruth rested enough to join us?”

   “I’d better, what with all these misconceptions about the end of Thread.”

   “Indeed!” From that succinct but heartfelt comment, Jaxom knew that N’ton had been heavily criticized for letting Thread get through the Fort Weyr wings.

   “I’ll be there!” Jaxom promised.

   “Master Robinton, it is good to see you,” Aivas said as the Harper entered.

   “I’ve been meaning to come for the last week,” Robinton remarked with a droll smile. Even that short walk down the corridor had taken more breath than he had in his body.

   “You are well?”

   Robinton laughed softly and eased himself into the chair he had occupied for so many hours in the recent past. “Can’t fool you, can I?”

   “No.’

   Robinton sighed and stroked Zair, curled asleep on his shoulder. “I did forgive them, then, you know,” he began slowly, so his words would not come out at the end of a gasp, “at the trial. I’m not so sure now that I would.”

   “The effects of inappropriate fellis administration?”

   “Yes, I must assume so.”

   “You have not consulted Master Oldive?” Aivas’s tone was sharp.

   Robinton waved one hand, dismissing the advice. “He has enough to do, teaching his healers all the new techniques he learned while doing your work. That will take him the rest of his life.”

   “You must consult-”

   “Why? You can produce no cures for worn-out human parts, can you, Aivas?” When there was silence, Robinton went on, still stroking Zair’s soft body. “Neither Zair nor I will recover from that abduction. Sometimes, I think he stays out of spite.”

   “Or love of you, Master Robinton?”

   The Harper had never heard that particular tone from Aivas.

   “Quite likely, for they can be exceedingly loyal, these fire-lizards.”

   Robinton had his breath back now, and being in this room brought back some of the excitement of the early days of discovery. He felt at ease here in the Aivas room as he did not at Cove Hold, especially when Lytol and D’ram kept treating him like an invalid. Which, he had to admit, he was. He heard the chatter of students changing classes in the hall.

   “The classes continue?” he asked, well pleased that they did.

   “The classes continue,” Aivas said, using that soft, almost rueful tone that had surprised the Harper before. “The machines now harbor all the information this world will need to build a better future.”

   “The future which you have given them.”

   “The priorities for this facility have now been met.”

   “That’s true enough,” Robinton said, smiling.

   “This facility now has no further function.”

   “Don’t be ridiculous, Aivas,” Robinton said somewhat sharply. “You’ve just gotten your students to the point where they know enough to argue with you!”

   “And to resent the superiority of this facility. No, Master Robinton, the task is done. Now it is wise to let them seek their own way forward. They have the intelligence and a great spirit. Their ancestors can rightfully be proud of them.”

   “Are you?”

   “They have worked hard and well. That is in itself a reward and an end.”

   “You know, I believe you’re right.”

   “ ‘To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven,’ Master Robinton.”

   “That is poetic, Aivas.”

   There was one of those pauses that Robinton always thought was the Aivas equivalent of a smile.

   ‘From the greatest book ever written by Mankind, Master Robinton. You may find the entire quotation in the files. The time has been accomplished. This system is going down. Farewell, Masterharper of Pern. Amen.”

   Robinton sat straight up in his chair, fingers on the pressure plates, though he hadn’t a single positive idea of how he could avert what Aivas was about to do. He half turned to the Hall, to call for help, but no one who had the knowledge-Jaxom, Piemur, Jancis, Fandarel, D’ram, or Lytol-was near enough at hand.

   The screen that had paraded so much knowledge and issued so many commands and diagrams and plans was suddenly blank, lifeless. In .the right-hand corner, a single line blinked.

   “ ‘And a time to every purpose under heaven,’ “ Robinton murmured, his throat almost too tight for him to speak. He felt incredibly tired, overwhelmingly sleepy. “Yes, how very true. How splendidly true. And what a wonderful time it has been!”

   Unable to resist the lethargy that spread from his extremities, he laid his head down on the inactive pressure plate, one hand holding Zair in the curve of his neck, and closed his eyes, his long season over, his purpose, too, accomplished.

   D’ram found them there, for Zair had breathed his last as well, following the Harper as selflessly as any dragon followed his rider into death.

   Tiroth lifted his head, his keening alerting all those at Landing and, indeed, broadcasting to every Weyr, every dragon, and every rider on Pern, and throughout the Halls and Holds, from mountain to plain, from sea to sea on both continents.

   D’ram was so tear-blinded that he did not notice the opacity of the screen, or read the blinking message.

   In Ruatha Hold, Ruth gave out a bellow of anguish that had everyone in the Great Hall rushing to the door.

   The Harper! The Harper!

   Jaxom didn’t think. He grabbed Sharra by the hand and propelled her down the steps to where Ruth had reared, head back, wings extended.

   “Jaxom!” she exclaimed.

   “The Harper! Something’s happened to the Harper!”

   She needed no more urging. They scrambled astride the white dragon.

   “We need Oldive for this, Ruth,” Jaxom said. “Take us first to the Healer Hall.”

   They emerged almost immediately in the central court of the Hall, Ruth just barely managing to avoid setting down on anyone. Oldive, jacket flapping from one hand, his medical case in the other, was limping down the stairs.

   I told him! Ruth said.

   Just then the Fort Hold dragon began to keen, and swirling storms of fire-lizards, ululating in weird descant, flashed in and out of the court.

   “What has happened to the Harper?” Oldive demanded, handing his case up to Sharra and struggling into his jacket. “Neither of you has a jacket!”

   “Don’t worry about us.” Jaxom sat, leaning down to grab Oldive’s arm and haul him up. Is it Landing? Or Cove Hold? he asked Ruth.

   Landing!

   “Take us there! We must be in time!”

   Neither Jaxom nor Sharra even noticed the dread chill of between in that anxious trip. Dragons were arriving from all directions, so Ruth, ducking low, skimmed the tops of the houses and landed in front of the Aivas building, once again missing collisions with those on the ground rushing in response to the emergency. ,

   It is too late! Ruth said, and folded his wings over his head.

   “It can’t be too late! Move aside, let us through. Let Oldive through!” Jaxom pushed their way through, one hand hauling the Masterhealer along beside him, the limping Oldive somehow keeping up with him. “Make way here. Make way!”

   At the doorway, he came to an abrupt stop. Piemur, Jancis, D’ram, and Lytol stood around the chair, the Harper’s silverhaired pate visible where it rested against the back. Choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him, Jaxom slowly approached, moving to one side so that he could see. The Harper looked as if he were merely sleeping. Zair, gray with death, curled against his neck.

   “He just-went-to-sleep,” Piemur said brokenly. “He’s not even warm anymore.”

   “I thought he was just asleep,” D’ram said, “the last time I looked in. I never thought...” Hand to his face, he turned away.

   “Aivas!” Jaxom roared. “Aivas, why didn’t you call someone? You must have been aware-”

   “Look,” Sharra said, touching his arm and then pointing to the screen and the blinking message there.

   “ ‘And a time for every purpose under heaven’? What is that supposed to mean, Aivas? Aivas!”

   Only then did Jaxom realize the difference in the screen, as lifeless as it had been the very first time he had entered the room. “Aivas?”

   He pressed a “restore” sequence. Then, cursing at fingers that fumbled, he tried other codes, but got no response.

   “Piemur? Jancis? What do we do?”

   Sharra grabbed his trembling hands and held them, her tearing eyes bright with the knowledge that he could not accept.

   “Aivas has gone, too,” she said, her voice rough. “See the smile on Master Robinton’s face? Just as you and I have seen him smile so many times. The message was for him as it is there for us.”

   “We’ll go back, we’ll go back to when he was still alive-” Jaxom began, reaching for Master Oldive and heading toward the door. If he and Ruth could time it... F’lar and Lessa stood in the doorway. He didn’t care if they knew he meant to time it.

   Oldive grabbed his arm, shaking his head, his eyes blurred with tears. “We could do nothing for him, Jaxom. ‘A time for every purpose under heaven,’ Jaxom. And it was time for the Harper.”

   “He wouldn’t let us tell anyone,” Sharra said to Jaxom, “how serious his condition was.”

   “It was only a matter of time,” Oldive murmured, peering up at him, his long face grooved with sorrow. “His heart was badly strained by the abduction. This was a kind ending, Jaxom, no matter how abrupt and unexpected.”

   “I know Robinton wasn’t well,” Jaxom went on, shaking his head, tears coursing down his cheeks. “But I don’t understand about Aivas, too.”

   “He tells us plainly enough,” D’ram said, having recovered his composure. He pointed to the message. “He has served his purpose in helping us destroy Thread. You will come to realize just how wise Aivas was in this. We were beginning to count on him too heavily.”

   “Machines can’t die!” Jaxom chewed the words out resentfully.

   “The knowledge he gave us will not,” F’lar said, and stood aside to let Menolly and Sebell enter the room. “Now let us all honor Masterharper Robinton.”

   The day was inappropriately beautiful when the Masterharper, wrapped in a harper-blue shroud, was laid to rest in the beautiful blue-green waters of his beloved Cove Hold. Master Idarolan had dispatched his fastest ship and came a-dragonback to captain it himself. Master Alemi, with his sloop from Paradise River, and the small ketches that fished in Monaco Bay, assembled to accommodate the many people who would escort Master Robinton to his resting place.

   All the Weyrs of Pern hovered in the sky, and while fire-lizards made sad swirls around them the ship sailed out of Cove Hold. Lord Holders and Craftmasters lined the decks amid harpers of every degree.

   Sebell and Menolly sang all the songs that had made the Masterharper so beloved by everyone, Menolly remembering the day that she had sung farewell to his father, Petiron, the day that had begun the major change in her own life.

   And as the ship moved into the Current, scores of shipfish led the way, slipping, diving, gliding, and weaving among the ships’ bow waves.

   When his body was consigned to the sea, the dragons bugled one last note for Masterharper Robinton.

   Jaxom, aloft on Ruth, watched the ripples spread and then meld into the waves. After a bitter night, he had come to terms with his grief for Master Robinton and his wild notion that he and Ruth could or should have forestalled that peaceful death.

   But he could find no surcease yet for the bitter blow of losing Aivas. He felt that he had been abandoned just when he had the most grievous need of Aivas’s wisdom and support. Had he not done everything Aivas wished? Put himself and Ruth in danger to fulfill those bleeding priorities of the ungrateful machine?

   I understand your grief, Jaxom, Ruth said quietly, his head, like that of every other dragon, watching the scene below as the ships tacked about for their return to Cove Hold. Why do you harbor such anger and resentment?

   “He left us, and with Master Robinton gone, we need him now more than ever.”

   Not we you. But that is the wrong way to think about this.

   Aivas left behind all the information you need and you have only to access it to solve problems now.

   For the first time in their long association, Jaxom resented Ruth’s words.

   Probably, Ruth said at his drollest, you know I’m right. I think that Aivas was as tired as the Harper, having waited all those long Turns to complete his tasks and keep faith with his makers.

   Though Jaxom resisted the thought, the words of Aivas’s last message reverberated in his head. How much Robinton had enjoyed Aivas! Had Aivas ended his existence before, or after, Master Robinton had fallen into his last sleep? Surely if Aivas had been aware of Robinton’s condition, he would have summoned help. Those options had exercised everyone yesterday.

   But everyone had agreed with D’ram that Aivas had achieved those ancient priorities-with great honor.

   Then give Aivas the honor that is due him, Jaxom. Anger and resentment cloud your mind and heart.

   Jaxom sighed, accepting the gentle reproach of his white dragon. “I haven’t been thinking straight, have I?”

   Think of what we have done together, you and I, to show Aivas that we could. We did the impossible because I knew where and when to do it. It’s as well you cracked my shell that Hatching Day, Jaxom, or where would Perri be now?

   Laughter burst from Jaxom, provoked by the dragon’s sly cajolery. But draconic logic had lifted him out of his depression.

   “ ‘And a time for every purpose under heaven’!” he cried into the air about them. What Ruth said was true: Only he, Jaxom, Lord of Ruatha Hold, and Ruth, the white dragon, could have done what had to be done to free Pern forever from Thread, serving their world as only dragon and rider could, united in mind and heart to their purpose.

   And so Jaxom and Ruth turned back to Cove Hold, ready to delve into the legacy of knowledge that Aivas had left for them.