Table of Contents

Rukbat, in the Sagittarian sector, was a golden o-type star.

It had five planets, two asteroid belts, and a stray planet it had attracted and held in recent millennia. When men first settled on Rukbat’s third planet and called it Pern, they had taken little notice of the stranger planet, swinging around its adopted primary in a wildly erratic orbit - until the desperate path of the wanderer brought it close to its stepsister at perihelion.

When such aspects were harmonious, and not distorted by conjunctions with other planets in the system, the wanderer brought in a life form which sought to bridge the space gap to the more temperate and hospitable planet.

The initial losses the colonists suffered from the voracious mycorrhizoid organism that fell on them were staggering.

They had divorced themselves from their home planet, Earth, and had cannibalized the colony ships, the Yokohama, the Bahrain and the Buenos Aires, so they would have to improvise with what they had.

Their first need was an aerial defense against the Thread, as they named this menace. Using highly sophisticated bio-engineering techniques, they developed a specialized variant of a Pernese life form which had two unusual, and useful, characteristics: the so-called fire-lizards could digest a phosphine bearing rock in one of their two stomachs and, belching forth the resultant gas, create a fiery breath which reduced Thread to harmless char. The second of their unusual qualities were the ability to teleport and an empathy which allowed limited understanding with humans. The bio-engineered “dragons” - so called because they resembled the Earth’s mythical creatures - were paired at hatching with an empathic human, forming a symbiotic relationship of unusual depth and mutual respect.

The colonists moved to the northern continent to seek shelter from the insidious Thread in the cave systems which were called holds.

The dragons and their riders came, too, housing themselves in old volcanic craters or Weyrs.

The First Pass of Thread lasted nearly fifty years and what scientific information the colonists were able to gather indicated that Thread would be a cyclic problem, occurring every two hundred and fifty years as the path of the wanderer once again approached Pern.

During this interval, the dragons multiplied and each successive generation became a little larger than the last, although optimum level would take many, many more generations to reach. And the humans spread out across the northern continent, creating holds to live in, and halls in which to train young people in skills and professions. Sometimes folks even forgot that they lived on a threatened planet.

However, in both Holds and Weyrs, there were masses of reports, journals, maps and charts to remind the Lords and Weyrleaders of the problem: and much advice to assist their descendants when next the rogue planet approached Pern and how to prepare for the incursion.

This is what happened two hundred and fifty-seven years later.

Early Autumn at Fort’s Gather

Dragons in squadrons wove, and interwove sky trails, diving and climbing in wings, each precisely separated by the minimum safety distance so that occasionally the watchers thought they saw an uninterrupted line of dragons as the close order drill continued.

The skies above Fort Hold, the oldest of the human settlements on the northern continent, were brilliantly clear on this early autumn day: that special sort of clarity and depth of color that their ancestors in the New England sector of the North American continent would have instantly identified.

The sun gleamed on healthy dragon hides and intensified the golden queen dragons who flew at the lowest level, sometimes seeming to touch the tops of the nearby mountains as they circled Fort. It was a sight to behold, and always brought a thrill of pride to those who watched the display: with one or two exceptions.

“Well, that’s done for now,” said Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, the first to lower his eyes, though the fly-past was not yet over.

He rotated his neck and smoothed the skin where the decorative embroidered border of his best tunic had scratched the skin. Actually, he had had a few heart-stopping moments during some of the maneuvers, but he would never mention that aloud. The dragon riders were far too full of themselves as it was, without pandering to their egos and an inflated sense of importance: constantly appearing at his Hold and handing him lists of what hadn’t been done and must be done before Threadfall. Chalkin snorted. Just how many people were taken in with all this twaddle? The storms last year had been unusually hard, but then that wasn’t in itself unexpectable, so why were hard storms supposed to be a prelude to a Pass?

Winter meant storms.

And this preoccupation with the volcanoes going off. They did periodically anyway, sort of a natural phenomenon, if he remembered his science orientation correctly. So what if three or four were active right now? That did not necessarily have to do with the proximity of a spatial neighbor! And he was not going to require guards to freeze themselves keeping an easterly watch for the damned planet. Especially as every other Hold was also on the alert. So what if it orbited near Pern? That didn’t necessarily mean it was close enough to be dangerous, no matter how the ancients had gone on about cyclical incursions.

The dragons were just one more of the settlers’ weird experiments, altering an avian species to take the place of the aircraft they had once had. He’d seen the air sled which the Telgar Foundry treasured as an exhibit: a vehicle much more convenient to fly in than aboard a dragon where one had to endure the black-cold of teleportation. He shuddered. He had no liking for that sort of ultimate cold, even if it avoided the fatigue of overland travel. Surely in all those records the College was mustering folks to copy, there were other materials that could be substituted for whatever the ancients had used to power the vehicles? Why hadn’t some bright lad found the answer before the last of the air sleds deteriorated completely? Why didn’t the brainy ones develop a new type of air-worthy vessel? A vessel that didn’t expect to be thanked for doing its duty!

He glanced down at the wide roadway where the gather tables and stalls were set up. His were empty; even his gamesters were watching the sight. He’d have a word with them later. They should have been able to keep some customers at the various games of chance even with the dragon rider display. Surely everyone had seen that by now.

Still, the races had gone well and, with every one of the wager-takers his operators, he’d have made a tidy profit from his percentage of the bets.

As he made his way back to his seat, he saw that wine chillers had been placed at every table. He rubbed his be ringed fingers together in anticipation, the black Istan diamonds flashing as they caught sunlight. The wine was the only reason he had been willing to come to this Gathering; and he’d half suspected Hegmon of some prevarication in the matter. An effervescent wine, like the champagne one heard about from old Earth, was to have its debut. And, of course, the food would be marvelous too, even if the wine should not live up to its advance notice. Paulin, Fort Hold’s Lord, had lured one of the best chefs on the continent to his kitchens and the evening meal was sure to be good: if it didn’t turn sour in his stomach while he sat through the obligatory meeting afterwards. Chalkin had bid for the man’s services, but Chrislee had spurned Bitra’s offer and that refusal had long rankled in Chalkin’s mind.

The Bitran Holder mentally ran through possible excuses for leaving right after dinner: one plausible enough to be accepted by the others. This close to putative Threadfall, he had to be careful of alienating the wrong people. If he left before the dinner... but then he wouldn’t have a chance to sample this champagne-style wine, and he was determined to.

He’d taken the trouble to go to Hegmon’s Benden vineyard, with the clear intention of buying cases of the vintage. But Hegmon had refused to see him. Oh, his eldest son had been apologetic - something about a critical time in the process requiring Hegmon’s presence in the caverns - but the upshot was that Chalkin couldn’t even get his name put down on the purchase list for the sparkling wine. Since Benden Weyr was likely to get the lion’s share of it, Chalkin had to keep in good with the Benden Weyrleaders so that, at the Hatching which was due to occur in another few weeks, he’d be invited and could drink as much of their allotment of wines as he could.

More than one way to skin a wherry!

He paused to twirl one of the bottles in its ice nest. Almost perfectly chilled. Riders must have brought the ice in from the High Reaches for Paulin. Whenever he needed some, he couldn’t find a rider willing to do him, Bitra’s Lord Holder, such a simple service. Humph!

But of course, certain Bloodlines always got preferential treatment.

Rank didn’t mean as much as it should, that was certain!

He was surreptitiously inspecting the label of a bottle when there was a sudden, startled intake of fearful breaths from the watchers, instantly followed by a wild cheer. Looking up, he saw he had just missed some sort of dangerous maneuver Ah, yes, they’d done another mid-air rescue. He saw a bronze dragon veering from under a blue who was miming a wounded wing: both riders now safely aboard the bronze’s neck. Quite likely that Telgar Weyrleader who was such a dare-devil.

Cheers were now punctuated with applause and some banging of drums from the bandsmen on their podium down on the wide courtyard that spread out from the steps to the Hold down to the two right-angled annexes. Once again, both the infirmary and the teachers’ college were being enlarged, if the scaffolding was a reliable indication. Chalkin snorted, for the buildings were being extended outward, wide open to any Thread which was purportedly supposed to start falling again. They really ought to be consistent! Of course, tunneling into the cliff would take more time than building outside. But too many folks preached one thing and practiced another.

Chalkin grunted to himself, wondering acidly if the architects had got Weyrleader approval for the design. Thread! He snorted again and wished that Paulin, chatting so cozily with the two Benden Holders as he and his wife escorted them back to the head table, would hurry up.

He was dying to sample the bubbly white.

Rattling his fingers on the table, he awaited the return of his host and the opening of the tempting bottles in the cooler.

K’vin, bronze Charanth’s rider, put his lips close to the ear of the young blue rider sitting in front of him.

“Next time wait for my signal!” he said.

P’tero only grinned, giving him a backward glance, his bright blue eyes merry.

“Knew you’d catch me”, he bellowed back. “Too many people watching to let me swing and give Weyr secrets away!” Then P’tero waved encouragingly at Ormonth, who was now flying anxiously at Charanth’s wingtip. Though unseen from the ground, the safety-tethers still linked the blue rider to his dragon. P’tero unbuckled his end of the straps and they dangled free.

“Lucky you that I was looking up just then!” K’vin said so harshly that the brash lad flushed to his ear tips. “Look at the fright you’ve given Ormonth!” And he gestured towards the blue, his hide flushing in mottled spots from his recent scare.

P’tero yelled something else which K’vin didn’t catch so he leaned forward, putting his right ear nearer the blue rider’s mouth.

“I was in no danger,” P’tero repeated. “I used brand-new straps and he watched me braid ’em”.

“Hah!” As every rider knew, dragons had gaps in their ability to correlate cause and effect. So Ormonth would scarcely have connected the new straps with his rider’s perfect safety.

“Oh, thanks,” the rider added as K’vin snapped one of his own straps to P’tero’s belt. Not that they would be doing more than landing, but K’vin wished to make a point of safety to P’tero.

While K’vin approved of courage, he did not appreciate recklessness, especially if it endangered a dragon this close to the beginning of Threadfall. Careful supervision had kept his Weyr from losing any dragon partners and he intended to maintain that record.

Spilling off his blue before K’vin had passed the word was taking a totally unnecessary risk. Fortunately, K’vin had seen P’tero dive.

His heart had lurched in his chest, even if he knew P’tero was equipped with the especially heavy and long harness as a fail-safe. Even if he and Charanth had not accurately judged the mid-air rescue, those long straps would have saved the blue rider from falling to his death.

Today’s maneuver had been precipitous instead of well-executed.

And, if Charanth had not been as adept on the wing, P’tero might be nursing broken ankles or severe bruising as a result of his folly.

No matter how broad, those safety straps really jerked a man about in mid-air.

P’tero still showed no remorse. K’vin only hoped that the stunt produced the effect the love-struck P’tero wished. His mate would have been watching, heart in mouth, no doubt, and P’tero would reap the harvest of such fear some time this evening. K’vin wished that more girls were available to Impress green dragons. It made that facet of Weyrleadership considerably easier to deal with. There were still a few, of course, but with parents keenly interested in applying for more land by setting up cot holds for married children, fewer and fewer girls were encouraged to stand on the Hatching Grounds. While being a dragon rider didn’t prevent a girl from having children, if that’s what she wanted, it did prevent them from owning land. Still, grandchildren, even the Weyrborn, could claim land. Though, in actual fact, more Weyrborn preferred to stay in the Weyr even if they didn’t Impress.

The dragons who had taken part in the mass fly-by were now landing their riders in the wide road beyond the court.

Then they leaped up again to find a spot in which to enjoy the last of the warm autumnal sun. Many made for the adjoining cliffs as space on Fort’s heights filled up on either side of the solar panels.

Dragons could be trusted not to tread on what remained of the priceless installations. Fort’s were the oldest, of course, and two banks had been lost last winter to the unseasonably fierce storms. Fort, being the largest as well as the oldest northern installation, needed all its arrays in full working order to supply heat for its warren of corridors, power for air circulation units and what equipment still worked. Fortunately a huge stockpile of panels had been made during the first big wave of constructing new Weyrs and Holds. There would be enough for generations.

Weyrleaders sought their tables on the upper level with Lord Holders and Professionals, while riders joined whatever company they preferred at tables set up on the huge expanse of the outer apron. Not a sprout of vegetation anywhere on that plaza surface, K’vin noticed with approval. S’nan, Fort’s Weyrleader, had always been fussy and rightly so.

The musicians had struck up sprightly music and couples were already dancing on the wooden floor set over the cobbles. Beyond the dance square were the stalls, tents and tables where goods were being sold or exchanged. There’d been brisk business all day, especially for items needed during the winter months when there would be fewer big Gathers.

The various Craftsmen would be pleased, and there’d be less for the dragons to haul back.

Charanth was now circling over the annexes which had been started to increase living space for both Pern’s main infirmary research facility and teacher training. The dormitories were also going to house volunteers who were assiduously trying to save the records, damaged during last spring when water had leaked down the walls of the vast storage caverns under Fort. Riders had offered to spend as much time as possible from their training schedules to help in the project.

Everyone who had a legible script was acceptable, and Lord Paulin had done a bang-up job in making the copyists comfortable. The other Holds had contributed material and work forces.

The exterior buildings of the College were designed to be Threadproof, with high peaked roofs of Telgar slate and gutters which led into underground cisterns where errant Thread would be drowned.

All the Craftsmen involved, including those destined to inhabit the facility, would have preferred to enlarge the cave system, but there had been two serious collapses of caverns and the mining engineers had vetoed interior expansion for fear of undermining the whole cliff-side.

Even the mutant, blunt-winged, flightless photo-sensitive watchwhers had refused to go on further subterranean explorations which, their handlers insisted meant dangers human eyes couldn’t see. So build they did: stout walls more than two and a half meters thick at ground level, tapering to just under two meters under the roof. With the iron mines at Telgar going full blast, the necessary structural beams to support such weight had posed no problem.

The new quarters were to be finished within the month.

Even today there had been a work force, though they had taken a break to watch the aerial display and would finish in time for the evening meal and entertainment.

Charanth landed gracefully, with Ormonth right beside him so that P’tero could remove the tethering safety straps before they could be noticed. As he was doing so, M’leng, green Sith’s rider, came up to him, scolding him for “putting my heart in my mouth like that!” And he proceeded to berate P’tero far more viciously than his Weyrleader would.

K’vin grinned to himself, especially as he saw how penitent P’tero became under such a harangue. K’vin rolled up his riding straps and tied them to the harness ring.

“Enjoy the sun, my friend,” he said, slapping Charanth on the wide shoulder.

I will. Meranath is already there, the bronze dragon said, his tone slightly smug as he executed a powerful upward leap, showering his rider with grit.

Charanth’s attitude towards his mate, Meranath, amused, and pleased, his rider. No-one had expected K’vin to accede to Telgar’s Weyrleadership when it fell open after B’ner’s death nine months before. Who would have expected that the sturdy rider, just into his sixth decade, had had any heart problems? But that is what the medics said killed him. So, when Meranath was ready to mate again, Telgar’s senior Weyrwoman, Zulaya, had called for an open flight, leaving it to the dragons to decide on the next Leader. She’d insisted that she had no personal preference. She had been sincerely attached to B’ner and was probably still grieving for him. There had certainly been no lack of suitors.

K’vin had sent Charanth aloft in the mating flight because all the Telgar Weyr wing leaders were expected to take part, as well as bronze riders from the other Weyrs. He had no real wish to lead a Weyr into a Pass; he considered himself too young for such responsibilities. He had observed from B’ner that the normal duties of an Interval were bad enough, but to know that a high percentage of your fellow-riders would be injured, or killed, that the lives of so many people rested on your expertise and endurance was too much to contemplate. Some nights, now, he was racked by terrifying dreams, and Threadfall hadn’t even started.

On the occasions when he was in Zulaya’s bed, she had been understanding and calmly reassuring.

“B’ner worried, too, if that’s any consolation, Kev,” she said, using his old nickname and soothing back sweat-curled hair as he trembled with reaction. “He had nightmares, too. Comes with the title. As a rule, the morning after a nightmare, B’ner’d go over Sean’s notes. I figure he had to have memorized them.”

“I’ve seen you do the same thing. You’ll do well, Kev, when push comes to shove. I know it.” Zulaya could sound so sure of something, but then she was nearly a decade his senior and had had more experience as a Weyrleader. Sometimes her intuition was downright uncanny: she could accurately predict the size of clutches, the distribution of the colors, the sex of babies born in the Weyr and, occasionally, even the type of weather in the future. But then, she was Fort Weyrbred, a linear descendant of one of the First Riders, Aliana Zuleita, and knew things. It was odd how the golden queens always seemed to prefer women from outside the Weyrs, but sometimes a queen had a mind of her own and chose a Weyrbred woman in spite of what had become custom.

However, just like his predecessor, he constantly reviewed accounts of the individual Falls, how they differed, how you could tell from the Leading Edge of Fall that this would be an odd one. Most often the accounts were dry statements of fact, but the prosaic language did not disguise the presence of great courage: especially as those first riders had to figure out how to cope with Thread, easy or hard.

The fact that he was a several times great-nephew of Sorka Connell, the First Weyrwoman - and Zulaya pointed this out more than once - constituted a secondary and subtle reassurance to the entire Weyr.

“Maybe that’s why Meranath let Charanth catch her,” Zulaya said, her face dead serious but her eyes dancing.

“Had you, I mean... did you think of me... I mean...”, K’vin tried to summon appropriate words two weeks after that momentous flight. He had been overwhelmed by her response to him that night. But afterwards she had seemed very casual in her dealings with him, and she did not always invite him into her quarters, despite the fact that their dragons were inseparable.

“Who thinks at all during a mating flight? But I do believe I’m glad that Charanth was so clever. If there is anything in heredity, having a distant great-nephew of Fort Weyr’s First Weyrwoman - AND from a family that has put many acceptable candidates on the Hatching Grounds - as Telgar’s Weyrleader gives us all a boost.”

“I’m not my many times great-aunt, Zulaya”, She chuckled.

“Fortunately, or you wouldn’t be Weyrleader, but blood will tell!” Zulaya had a disconcerting directness but gave him no real hint how she - the woman, not the Weyrwoman - personally felt towards him. She was kind, helpful, made constructive suggestions when they discussed training programs but so impersonal, that K’vin had to decide that she hadn’t really got over B’ner’s death yet.

He himself was obscurely comforted that his distant great aunt had managed to survive Fall, and he would attempt to do the same. As, he was sure, would his two siblings and four cousins who were also dragonriders, though no others were Weyrleaders. Yet. Still, if his being of the Ruathan Bloodline which had produced Sorka, M’hall, M’dani, Sorana and Mairian offered reassurance to his Weyr, he’d reinforce that at every turn during the Pass.

Now, at probably the last large Gather Pern would enjoy wider Threadfree skies for the next fifty years, he watched his Weyrwoman leave the group of Telgar holders she had been talking to and stride towards him across the open Courtyard.

Zulaya was tall for a woman, long-legged - all the better for bestriding a dragon’s neck. He was a full head taller than she was, which she said she liked in him: B’ner had been just her height. It was her coloring that fascinated K’vin: the inky-black curly hair that, once freed of the flying helmet, tumbled down below her waist.

The hair framed a wide, high cheek-boned face, set off the beige of her smooth skin and large, lustrous eyes that were nearly black; a wide and sensual mouth above a strong chin gave her face strength and purpose which reinforced her authority with anyone. She strode, unlike some of the hold women who minced along, her steel-rimmed boot heels noisy on the flagstones, her arms swinging at her sides. She’d had time to put a long, slitted skirt over her riding gear and it opened as she walked, showing a well-formed leg in the leather pants and high boots.

She’d turned the high riding-boot cuffs down over her calves and the red fur made a nice accent to her costume, echoed in the fur trim of her cuffs and collar which she had opened. As usual, she wore the sapphire pendant she had inherited as the eldest female of her Blood.

“So, did P’tero win M’leng’s undying affection with that stunt?” she demanded, an edge to her voice. They’ve gone off together and she looked in the direction of the two riders who were headed towards the temporary tents along the row of cots.

“You might have a word with both later. They’re afraid of you,” K’vin said, grinning.

“For that piece of stupidity, I’ll make them more afraid,” she said briskly, hopping a step to match his stride. “You really should learn how to scowl menacingly.” She glanced up at K’vin and then shook her head, sighing sadly. She had once teased him that he was far too handsome to ever look genuinely threatening, with the Hanrahan red hair, blue eyes and freckles. “No, you just don’t have the face for it. Be that as it may, Meranath’s going to give out to Sith for allowing a blue to put himself in danger.”

“Get ’em where it hurts,” K’vin said, nodding, because Meranath was even more effective as a deterrent with the dragons than any human could be, even the dragon’s own rider. Damned fool stunt!

“However,” and now Zulaya cleared her throat, “the Telgarians thought it was Just marvelous!” she added in a gushing tone. “Especially since they won’t get much chance to see the dive in real action.” Now she grimaced.

“Well, at least Telgarians believe,” K’vin said.

“Who doesn’t?” Zulaya demanded, looking up at him.

“Chalkin, for one.”

“Him!” She had absolutely no use for the Bitran Lord Holder and never bothered to hide it.

“If there’s one, there may be others for all the lip service they give us.”

“What? With Second Fall only months away from us?” Zulaya demanded. “And why, pray tell, do we have dragons at all, if not to provide an aerial defense for the continent? Oh, we provide transportation services, but that’s not nearly enough to justify our existence.”

“Easy, lady,” K’vin said. ”You’re preaching to the dedicated.”

She made a disgusted sound deep in her throat and then they had reached the steps up to the upper Court. She put her hand through his arm so that they would present the proper picture of united Weyrleadership. K’vin stifled a sigh that the accord was only for public display.

“And Chalkin’s already into that new bubbling wine of Hegmon’s,” Zulaya said irritably.

“Why else do you think he came?” asked K’vin as he deftly guided her away from the Bitran, who was smacking his lips and regarding his wine glass with greedy speculation.

“Though today’s also a chance for his gamesters to profit. One thing sure, I hear tell he’s not on Hegmon’s list,” she said as they reached their table which the Telgarians shared, by choice, with the High Reaches Weyr and Hold leaders and those from Tillek. The senior Captain of the Tillek fishing fleet and his new wife completed the complement at their table.

“That was quite a show you put on,” said the jovial ship’s master, Kizan, “wasn’t it, Cherry, m’dear?”

“Oh, it was, indeed it was,” the girl replied, clapping her hands together. While the gesture was close to an affectation, the young wife was clearly awed by the company she kept at this Gather and everyone was trying to help her cope. Kizan had let it be known that she came from a small fishing hold and, while a capable ship’s master, she had little experience with a wider world.

“I’ve often seen the dragons in the sky, but never so close up. They are so beautiful.”

“Have you ridden one yet?” Zulaya asked kindly.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Cherry replied, modestly lowering her eyes.

“You may, and soon”, her husband said. ”We came overland here to Fort for the Gather, but I think we’d better see how good our credit is.”

“Very good, Captain,” said G’don, the High Reaches Weyrleader, “as you’ve never applied to us half as much as you’re entitled to.”

Mari, his Weyrwoman, nodded and smiled encouragingly at Cherry’s almost horrified reaction.

“What?” Kizan teased his bride. “The woman who sailed through a Force Nine gale without complaint is nervous about flying on a dragon?”

Cherry tried to respond, but she couldn’t find words.

“Don’t tease,” Mari said. “Riding a dragon is considerably different to standing on your own deck, but I don’t know many people who refuse a ride.”

“Oh, I’m not refusing,” Cherry said hastily, startled.

Just like a child fearful of being denied a promised treat, K’vin thought and struggled to keep from grinning at her.

“All of you, leave her alone,” said the Telgar Lady Holder, scowling at them. “I remember my first ride adragonback.”

“Back that far, huh,” said her husband, Lord Tashvi, eyeing her blandly. “And yet you can’t remember where you put that bale of extra blankets.”

“Don’t start on that again!” Salda began, scowling, but it was apparent to the others at the table, even young Cherry, that the Telgar Holders often indulged in such sparring.

“Have you not opened your wine?” asked an eager voice and they looked round at Vintner Hegmon, a stout, grey haired man of medium height with a flushed face and a reddened nose which he jokingly called an occupational hazard.

“Do us the honor.” said Tashvi, gesturing to the chilled bottles.

Hegmon complied and, in his experienced hands, the plug erupted from the bottle neck with speed and a plop. The wine bubbled up but he deftly put a glass under the lip before a drop could be spilled.

“I think we’ve done it this time,” he said, filling the glasses presented to him.

“I say, it does look exciting,” said Salda, holding up her glass to watch the bubbles make their ascent. Thea, the High Reaches Lady Holder, did likewise and then sniffed at her glass. “Oh, my word,” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her nose just in time to catch a sneeze.

“The bubbles tickle.” Try the wine,” Hegmon urged.

“Hmmmm,” Tashvi said and Kizan echoed the sentiment.

“Dry, too,” the Captain said. “Go on, Cherry,” he urged his wife.

“It’s quite unlike Tillek brews. They tend to be foxy and harsh. This’ll go down easily.”

“Ohhh,” and Cherry’s response was one of sheer delight.

“Oh, I like this!” Hegmon grinned at her ingenuousness and accepted the approving nods from the others at the table.

“I quite like it, too,” Zulaya said after letting a sip slide down her throat. “Rather nice.”

“I say, Hegmon, wouldn’t mind a refill,” and Chalkin appeared at the table, extending his glass under the mouth of the bottle the Vintner held.

Hegmon kept the bottle upright and regarded the Lord Holder coolly. “There’s more at your own table, Chalkin.”

“True, but I’d rather sample different bottles.”

Hegmon stiffened and Salda intervened.

“Leave off, Chalkin. As if Hegmon would offer an inferior bottle to anyone,” she said and waved him off.

Chalkin hesitated between a scowl and a smile but then, keeping his expression bland, he bowed and backed away from the table with his empty glass. He did not, however, return to his own table, but moved on to the next one where wine was being poured.

“I could...” Hegmon began.

“Just don’t supply him, Hegmon.”

“He’s already insistent that I give him vine starts so he can grow his own,” said Hegmon, furious at such importunity. “Not that he’d do that any better than any of those other projects he starts.”

“Ignore him,” Zulaya suggested with a flick of her fingers.

“M’shall and Irene do. He’s such a toad.”

“Unfortunately,” said Tashvi with a grimace, “he’s managed to find like minds.”

“We’ll settle him at the meeting”, said K’vin.

“I hope so,” Tashvi said, “though a man like that is not easily convinced against his will. And he does have a following.”

“Not where it matters,” Zulaya put in.

“I hope so. Ah, and here’s food to soak up all this lovely stuff before we’re too muddled to keep our wits about us this evening.”

Zulaya waved at the wine cooler. “I doubt there’s more than two glasses apiece, scarcely enough to muddle us, though it’s lovely stuff.” And she sipped judiciously. “Hegmon is generous, but not overly so. And here’s our dinner...” She sat back as a swarm of men and women in Fort colors began to distribute platters of steaming foods among the tables. And bottles of red wine.

“You spoke too soon about muddling, Zuli,” K’vin said, grinning as he served her roast slices from the platter before passing it around the table.

They had finished their meal and all the wine before Paulin rose from his table and signaled those in the upper Court to follow him into the Hold for the meeting. Dancing was well under way in the square and the music made a cheerful processional.

K’vin hoped the musicians would still be playing when the meeting ended. Despite the height of her, Zulaya was so light on her feet she was a pleasure to partner and, because he was so tall, she preferred him as her partner too. And a full orchestra of professionals was far more entertaining than the half-trained if enthusiastic players currently in the Weyr.

Different music, too.

“Ah,” said Zulaya appreciatively as they filed into Fort’s Great Hall, they’ve done a great job of freshening the murals.

“Hmmm,” K’vin agreed, craning his neck around and impeding Chalkin’s entrance into the Hall. “Sorry.”

“Humph,” was Chalkin’s response and he glared sourly at Zulaya as he passed, shrugging his garments away from touching them.

“Consider the source,” K’vin said when he thought Zulaya might fire a tart comment after the Lord Holder.

“I want to be at Bitra when the first Fall hits his Hold,” she said.

“Isn’t he lucky, then, not to be beholden to us, but to Benden?” K’vin asked wryly.

“Indeed,” agreed Zulaya and allowed herself to be guided to Telgar Weyr’s usual seat at the big conference table. “I wonder did anyone get any sleep in this Hold the past week,” she said, stroking the banner of Telgar’s colors that clothed their portion of the table.

“Makes such a nice display,” she murmured as she pulled out the chair which also sported Telgar’s white field and black grain design.

The table itself was made up of many smaller units hooked together, forming a multi-faceted circle: Telgar’s Weyr and Hold leaders were between High Reaches and Tillek since they were the northernmost settlements. Across from them were Ista Weyr and Hold, and Keroon Hold, with their brilliant colors. Benden Weyr was seated with Bitra on one side and Nerat and Benden on the other. The Chief Engineer, the Senior Medic and the Headmaster were also included in the meeting. Fort, traditionally the senior Hold, with Ruatha and Southern Boll on either side, was at table center and this time was the Chair.

“Now, if any of us still have our heads after Hegmon’s fine new wine, let’s get this over with so we can get in some dancing,” said Paulin, smiling around the table.

Chalkin banged the table in front of him with a very loud “Hear, hear!”

K’vin stifled a groan. The man was half-drunk, if not all drunk; his face flushed red.

“I’m sure we’re all aware of the imminence of Threadfall.”

Chalkin made a rude noise.

“Look, Lord Chalkin,” said Paulin, scowling at the dissident, “if you managed to get too much of the champagne inside your skin, you can be excused.”

“No, that’s exactly what he wants,” said M’shall, Benden’s Weyrleader, quickly. “Then he can claim anything decided today was done behind his back.”

“If he can’t shut up, we can always hold his head under the tap until he sobers enough to remember common courtesy, put in Irene, Benden’s Weyrwoman. He doesn’t like getting his Gather clothes wet.” Her expression suggested she’d had experience enough to know.

“Chalkin!” Paulin said, his voice steely.

“Oh, all right,” the Bitran said in a surly tone and he settled himself more squarely in his chair, leaning forward on his elbows at the table. “If you’re going to be that way...”

“Only because you are,” snapped Irene. Paulin gave her a stern look and she subsided, though she kept narrowed eyes on Chalkin for a while longer.

“Three independent calculations were made and there’s no doubt that the Red Planet is getting closer spatially speaking.”

“Is there any chance of a collision?” asked Jamson of High Reaches.

“Fraggit, Jamson,” Paulin said, “let’s not bring that up.”

“Why not?” said Chalkin, brightening.

“Because that... improbability has already been discussed to the point of nausea,” Paulin replied. There isn’t a hint in any of the information collected by our forefathers to indicate there is any chance of a collision between the two planets. Or that they considered the... improbability for any reason.

“Yes, but does it say anywhere that there can’t be?” Chalkin was obviously delighted with this possibility.

“Absolutely not,” Paulin said simultaneously with Clisser who was not only the College Head but the senior of the trained astronomers.

Paulin gestured for Clisser to continue.

“Captains Keroon and Tillek,” and he paused in reverence, “both annotated the AIVAS report which included data from the Yokohama’s records. I have repeatedly reworked the relevant equations and the rogue planet will Pass Pern on an elliptical orbit that can NOT alter to a collision course with us. A matter of celestial mechanics and Rukbat’s gravitational pull.”

“I’d’ve brought the diagram of the orbits involved if I’d had forewarning.” Clisser gave Chalkin a disgusted glare.

“Bad enough it brings in the Thread. Do you want to be blown to smithereens, Chalkin?” asked Kalvi, chief of the mechanical engineers.

“And I checked the maths, too, so I concur with Clisser and everyone else who’s done the equations. Why don’t you, if you’re so worried?” Chalkin ignored the jibe since he had never been noted for scholarship in any field. He was also well pleased with the reaction to his remark. No matter what they said, there was no proof that they were really that safe.

“Now, calculations indicate early spring will bring the first Threadfall of this Pass. There are several Falls which could be live, depending on the weather conditions, mainly the ambient temperature, at the time of Fall.” Paulin reached under his table then and hauled up a board on which Threadfall areas had been meticulously delineated.

S’nan cleared his throat, moving restlessly, as if he felt Paulin should not have usurped a Fort prerogative. “The first two will be in Fort Weyr’s patrol area, the second two in High Reaches and the third two in Benden’s. These are due to occur in the first two weeks, about three days apart. The second Fall in Fort territory and the first one in High Reaches happen on the same day - different flows of the same Fall. Also, we know from the records that there will be live Falls over the Southern Continent for about a week before the Falls commence here in the North.”

“S’nan,” and Paulin turned to the Fort Weyrleader, “may we have your progress report?”

S’nan stood, holding up his ubiquitous clipboard. (Rumor had it that that item had been passed down from the Connell himself.) He peered down at it a moment. The old Leader of the premier Weyr on Pern resembled his several times great-grandfather, though his silvery hair was more sandy than red.

Privately, K’vin didn’t think Sean Connell had been such a martinet, even if he had promulgated the rules by which the Weyrs governed themselves. Most of these were common sensible even if S’nan managed to pursue them into the ridiculous.

“The first Fall,” S’nan began, and there was a touch of pride in his voice, “would start over the sea east of Fort Hold and come ashore at the mouth of the river, passing diagonally across the peninsula and out into the sea in the west. The second two Falls, which will occur three days later, will be over the southern tip of Southern Boll.” He used his stylus and, at his most condescending, touched Paulin’s chart.

“This one may go south far enough to miss land entirely, and in any case will be over land for only a short while - and over the western tip of High Reaches, again proceeding out to sea, and 50 over land for only a short time. The third Fall will start on the south coast of the Tillek peninsula, east of the site of the Hold: and proceed out to sea, again over land only for a short time.”

“Thread giving us all a chance to get accustomed to fighting it?” asked B’nurrin of Igen.

“Your levity is ill-placed,” S’nan said, but there were too many grins around the table for his reprimand to affect the irrepressible young Weyrleader. He cleared his throat and launched once more into his discourse. “The next two Falls will be the most dangerous for unseasoned wings,” and he shot a stern glance at B’nurrin as he found the proper Thread path.

“The first will start over the sea in the east and proceed over Benden Weyr and Bitra Hold, ending almost at Igen Weyr. This would normally be flown jointly by Benden and Igen Weyrs.

“The second will start at the northern end of the Nerat peninsula and proceed across it, over the east coast of Keroon and the east tip of Igen, and end just offshore from Igen. This also would normally be a joint Fall, flown by Benden over Nerat, Igen over the northern part of Keroon, and Ista over the southern part of Keroon.

“We really do know what Falls we fly, S’nan,” M’shall said.

“Yes, yes, of course,” and S’nan cleared his throat again.

“However,” and his glance went to the Lord Holders seated around the table, “it was decided at the last meeting of the Weyrleaders that, since any of these would be the first Fall in our experience, every Weyr would supply a double-wing at the initial engagement. Thus each Weyr would have first-hand experience.”

“I still think we could all get that by hitting those first Southern Falls,” B’nurrin began. If the dragons miss, it’s not going to fall on anyone’s head or ruin any farmland.”

“B’nurrin!” M’shall said sternly before the startled S’nan could open his mouth.

K’vin privately thought B’nurrin had a good idea and had backed him, but they had been overruled by the older Weyrleaders. K’vin suspected that if he were to take some wings down South for that first Fall there, he’d be likely to find B’nurrin practicing there, too.

“I still think it’s a good idea,” the Igen leader said, shrugging.

Pretending such an interruption hadn’t even occurred, S’nan went on. “As was customary in the First Pass, Lord Holders will supply adequate ground crews and have them assembled as directed by the Weyrleaders. In this case, Weyrleader M’shall.” He inclined slightly towards the Benden bronze rider.

“Master Kalvi,” and he bowed courteously to the Head Engineer, “has assured me that his foundry has turned out sufficient HNO3 cylinders to equip the ground crews, but the HNO3 must be made up on site. As in the First Pass, the labor and material are supplied by the engineer corps as part of their public duty. You all should have received your full allotment of tanks by Year’s End.” S’nan paused and peered at Kalvi who rose to his feet.

The Fort Weyrleader was precise in his language, scorning to use the term Turn for a year which was coming into use among the younger generation.

“I’ve scheduled every major Hold with three days of training in the maintenance and repair of the flame-throwers and a practice session which, I think,” and Kalvi grinned, “you will find comprehensive as well as interesting.” He shifted his stance and would have gone on, but S’nan held up his hand and gestured Kalvi to sit.

With a bit of a snort and a grin, Kalvi complied.

Now the Fort Weyrleader turned his glance to Corey. “I believe you also plan a three-day seminar to instruct major and minor hold personnel in burn control and Thread --- ah first aid. “

Corey did not rise but nodded.

“Lords Holder must assign suitable medics with every ground control unit, or have one member of each trained in first aid and supplied with kits containing numbweed fellis juice and other first-aid medications,” S’nan continued.

“Now,” and he flipped over the top sheet, “I have done pre-Pass inspections of all Weyrs and find them well up to strength, with sufficient cadet riders to supply the wings with phosphine rock during the Pass. I have discussed all aspects of flight tactics and Weyr maintenance with the respective Weyrleaders.”

K’vin writhed a bit on his chair, remembering the exhaustive inspection carried out by S’nan and Sarai: they’d even inspected the recycling plant! Then he noticed that G’don, the oldest Weyrleader, was also squirming. So, the Fort pair had spared no-one in their officious search for perfection.

Well, they were heading into a Pass and the Fort Weyrleaders were correct to want every aspect of dragon riding at the highest possible standard and readiness. In the propagation of dragons, the pair had found no fault with Telgar Weyr: it had had the largest clutches of all the Weyrs in the last three years as the dragons themselves answered the tide of preparations for the coming struggle.

K’vin was hoping that Charanth’s first clutch would be larger than any that B’ner’s Miginth had sired; maybe then Zulaya would warm to him.

The two junior queens had done well in their latest clutches, producing more of the useful greens and blues. Telgar Weyr would soon be full! They might have to shift out some of the excess population to other Weyrs, but that could wait until the yearly review.

“And, in conclusion, let me state that we are as ready as we can be.” Far more ready than the First Riders were,” G’don remarked in his dry fashion.

“Indeed,” echoed Irene of Benden.

K’vin contented himself with a smile. Unbidden, a little wiggle of fear shot up from his belly to chill him and he gave himself a shake. He came from a Blood that had produced First Riders and contributed many sons and daughters to the Weyrs.

And you ride me, Charanth said firmly. I shall be formidable in the air. Thread will fly in the other direction when it sees my flame.

And that was not all draconic boast, for Charanth had racked up the Weyr Record for the length he achieved in flaming practice. Together we meet Thread, not just you on your own. I shall be with you and we shall overcome.

Thanks, Charrie.

You re welcome, Kev.

“You’ve got that look in your eye, K’vin,” Zulaya murmured for his ear alone. “What’s Charanth’s opinion of all this?”

“He’s raring to go,” K’vin whispered back, and grinned.

Charanth was right to remind him that he did not fly alone: they were together as they had been from the moment the bronze had broken his shell in half and stepped directly towards a fourteen year old Kevin of the Hanrahans waiting on the hot sands of Hatching Ground. And Kevin had realized that that was the moment all his life had been aimed at Impression. He’d seen his older brother Impress, and his second oldest sister, and three of the four cousins currently riders. From the moment he was Searched out, part of him had been sure-sure-sure, with all the fervor of an adolescent that he would Impress favorably.

The negative side of his personality had perversely suggested that he’d be left standing on the hot sands and he’d never live down such a humiliating experience.

“In conclusion,” S’nan said, “let me assure this Gathering that the Weyrs are ready.”

With that, he sat down to an approving applause. “I hope that the Holds are too” Not his voice end on an up-note but he raised”. Only did his thick brows questioningly at the Fort Holder.

Paulin stood up again, shuffling until he found the right clipboard and cleared his throat. “I have readiness reports in from all but two major Holds,” and he glanced first at Franco, Lord Holder of Nerat, and then tilted his head towards Chalkin. “I know you received the forms to fill in.”

The tall, thin bronze-skinned Neratian raised his hand. “I told you the problem we have with vegetation, Paulin, and we’re still trying to keep it under control” he grimace.

“Not easy with the excellent weather we’ve been having and the restriction against chemical deterrents. But I can assure you that we’ll keep at it. Otherwise, we have emergency roofing for the seedling nurseries and sufficient stores of viable seeds to replant when that’s feasible. We’re also continuing our research into dwarfing plants for indoor propagation. All minor holders are fully aware of the problems and are complying. Everyone’s signed up for the ground-crew course. “

Paulin made a notation, nodding. “Agriculture’s still working on the problem of an inhibitor for your tropical weed types, Fran.”

“I hope so. Stuff grows out of pure sand without any cultivation at all. “

Then Paulin turned to Chalkin who had been polishing his rings with every evidence of boredom.

“I’ve had nothing at all from you, Lord Chalkin of Bitra,” Paulin said.

“Oh, there’s plenty of time.”

“A report was required by this date, Chalkin,” Paulin reminded, pushing the issue.

Chalkin shrugged. “You all can play that game if you wish, but I do not believe that Thread is going to fall next spring, so why should I bother my people with unnecessary tasks...” He wasn’t able to finish his sentence for the acrimonious reactions from everyone at the table.

“Now see here, Chalkin - -.”

“Hey, wait a bleeding minute”

“Just where do you get off. “

Bastom was on his feet with indignation.

Chalkin pointed one thick be ringed finger at the Tillek Holder.

“The Holds are autonomous, are they not? Is that not guaranteed in the Charter?” Chalkin demanded, rounding on Paulin.

“In ordinary times, yes,” Paulin answered, waving a hand to the others to be quiet. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the angry remarks and protests. However, with...”

“This Thread of yours coming. So you say, but there’s no proof” Chalkin said, grinning smugly.

“Proof? What more proof do you need?” Paulin demanded. “This planet is already feeling the perturbation of the rogue planet. “

Chalkin dismissed that with a shrug. “Winter brings bad storms, volcanoes do erupt.”

“You can’t so easily dismiss the fact that the planet is becoming more visible... “

“Pooh. That doesn’t mean anything. “

“So,” and Paulin again had to quell angry murmurs to be heard, “you discount entirely the advice of our forebears? The massive evidence that they left for our guidance?”

“They left hysterical.”

“They were scarcely hysterical” Tashvi bellowed, “And they coped with the emergency, and gave us specific guidelines to follow when the planet came back. And how to calculate a Pass. “

“Hold it, hold it,” Paulin shouted, raising both arms to restore order. “I’m Chair, I’ll remind you,” and he glared at Tashvi until the Telgar Lord resumed his seat and the others had quietened down.

“What kind of proof do you require, Lord Chalkin?” he asked in a very reasonable tone of voice.

“Thread falling...” someone muttered, and subsided before he could be identified.

“Well, Chalkin?” said Paulin.

“Some proof that Thread will fall. A report from this AIVAS we’ve all heard about Landing is under tons of volcanic ash,” Paulin said, and then recognized S’nan’s urgent signal to speak.

“Nine expeditions have been mounted to investigate the installation at Landing and retrieve information from the AIVAS” S’nan said in his usual measured tones. As he spoke he searched for and found a sheaf of plastic and held it up.

“These are the reports. And?” Chalkin demanded, obviously enjoying the agitation he had aroused.

“We have been unable to locate the administration building in which the AIVAS was located. “

Why not?” Chalkin insisted. I remember seeing tapes of Landing prior to the first Threadfall. “

“Then you will appreciate the size of the task,” said S’nan, “especially since the blanket of volcanic ash covers the entire plateau and we have not been able to locate any landmark by which we could judge the position of the administration building. And since the housing was similar, it’s difficult to establish where we are when we have dug one out of twenty feet of ash and debris. Therefore we have not been able to establish the location of the building.”

“Try again,” Chalkin said, turning his back to S’nan.

“So you have done nothing at all to prepare your Hold for the onslaught?” Paulin asked calmly, reasonably.

Chalkin shrugged. “I don’t perceive a need to waste time and effort.. “

“And money” murmured the original heckler.

“Precisely. Marks are hard enough to come by to waste them on the off-chance... “

“OFF-CHANCE?” Tashvi erupted out of his chair. “You’ll have a revolt on your hands. “

“I doubt that,” Chalkin said with a sly smile.

“Because you haven’t bloody seen fit to warn your holders?” Tashvi demanded.

“Lord Telgar,” Paulin said repressively, I’m Chair.” He turned back to Chalkin. “If the rest of us, however misguidedly, do believe in the forewarnings - backed by irrefutable astronomical evidence of an imminent Pass - how can you deny them?” Chalkin’s grin was patronizing.

“A space-borne organism? That drops on a large planet and eats everything it touches? Why wasn’t Pern totally destroyed during previous visitations? Why is it every two hundred years? How come the Exploration Team which did a survey of the planet before it was released to our ancestors to colonize... how come they didn’t see any evidence? Ah, no,” Chalkin said, flicking the notion away from him with his be ringed hands, “ridiculous!”

“My calculations were confirmed by -“ Clisser said, feeling that he was being maligned.

“There was evidence of Threadfall,” Tashvi said, bouncing once more to his feet. “I’ve read the report. There were hundreds of circles where vegetation was just starting to grow... “

“Inconclusive,” Chalkin said with another flap of a hand. “Could have been caused by one of the many fungus growths. “

“Well then, when this inconclusive evidence comes dropping out of the skies onto your Hold, don’t bother us,” Bastom said.

“Or come crying to my Hold for help,” added Bridgely, completely disgusted by Chalkin’s attitude.

“You may be sure of that,” Chalkin said and, with a mocking bow to Paulin, he left the Hall with no further word.

“What are we going to do about him?” Bridgely asked, “because sure as night follows day, he will come running for aid to Franco and me. “

“There is provision in the Charter,” Paulin began.

Jamson of the High Reaches stared with wide and disbelieving eyes at Paulin.

“Only if he believes in the Charter” Bastom said.

“Oh, Chalkin believes in the Charter all right,” Paulin said sardonically. “The patent conferring the title of ‘Lord Holder’ on the original major northern Stakeholders is what gives his line the right to Hold. And he’s already used the Charter to substantiate his autonomous position. I wonder if he also knows the penalty for failing to prepare his Hold. That constitutes a major breach of the trust.”

“Who trusts Chalkin?” Jamson put in.

“The trust which holders rest in the Lord of their Hold in return for their labor,” finished Paulin.

“Ha!” said Bridgely. “I don’t think much of his holders either. Useless lot on the whole. Most of ’em kicked out of other holds for poor management or plain laziness.”

“Bitra’s badly managed, too. Generally we have to return a full half of his tithings,” M’shall said. “Half the grain is moldy and timber unseasoned, hides improperly cured and often rancid. It’s a struggle every quarter to receive decent supplies from him. “

“Really?” Paulin asked, jotting down notes. “I hadn’t realized he shorted you on tithes.”

M’shall shrugged. “Why should you know? It’s our problem. We keep at him. We’ll have to keep at him over this, too, you know. Can’t let him away with a total disregard for the upcoming emergency. Not every holder in Bitra’s useless, Bridgely.”

Bridgely shrugged. “ Good apples in every basket as well as bad. But I’d really hate to have to cope with the problem come springtime and Threadfalls. Benden’s too near Bitra for my peace of mind.”

“So what is the penalty for what Chalkin’s doing? Or, rather not doing?” Franco asked.

“Impeachment,” Paulin said flatly.

“Impeachment!” Jamson was aghast.

“I didn’t know Article Fourteen, Jamson,” said Paulin, “Dereliction of Duty by Lord Holder”.

“Can you give me a print-out on that, Clisser? Perhaps we all should have our memory refreshed on that point.”

“Certainly,” and the Head of the College made a note in his folder. “In your hands tomorrow.”

“So your system’s still working?” Tashvi asked.

Copies of the most important official documents were made in quantity by my predecessor,” Clisser replied with a relieved smile.

I’ve a list if you need any... handwritten but legible.” Paulin cleared his throat, calling them to order. “So, my Lords Holder, should we proceed against Chalkin?”

“You’ve heard him. What option do we have?” M’shall wanted to know, glancing about the table.

“Now, wait a minute,” began Jamson, scowling. “I’d want to have incontrovertible proof of his inefficiency as a Lord Holder as well as his failure to respond to this emergency. I mean, impeachment’s an extreme step.”

“Yes, and Chalkin’ll do everything he can to slide out of it,” Bastom said cynically.

“Surely there’s a trial procedure for such a contingency?” asked Jamson, looking anxiously about. “You certainly can’t act without allowing him the chance to respond to any charges.”

“In the matter of impeachment I believe that a unanimous agreement of all major Holders and Leaders is sufficient to deprive him of his position,” Paulin declared.

“Are you sure?” Jamson asked.

If he isn’t, I am,” Bridgely said, bringing one fist down firmly on the table. His spouse, Lady Jane, nodded her head emphatically.

“I haven’t wanted to bring it up in a Council before,” Bridgely began.

“He’s very difficult to confront at the best of times,” said Irene, setting her lips in a thin line of frustrations long borne.

Bridgely nodded sharply in her direction and continued.

“He’s come as near to bending, or breaking for that matter. What few laws we do have on Pern. Shady dealings, punitive contracts, unusual harsh conditions for his holders.”

“We’ve had some refugees from Bitra with stories that would curl your hair,” Jane, Benden’s Lady Holder said, wringing her hands in distress. I’ve kept records.”

“Have you?” Paulin said. “I’d very much like to see them. “

“Autonomy is a privilege and a responsibility, but not a license for authoritarianism or despotic rule. Certainly autonomy does not give anyone the right to deprive his constituents of basic needs. Such as protection from Threadfall. “

I don’t know about going so far as to impeach him. I mean, such an extreme remedy could have a demoralizing effect on all the Holds,” said Jamson, his reluctance deepening.

“Possibly...” Paulin began.

“Not being prepared for Thread will certainly demoralize Bitra!” Tashvi said.

Paulin held up his hand as he turned to M’shall. “Please give me specific instances in which Bitra Hold has failed to supply the Weyr.”

“Jane, I’d like to look at the records you’ve kept.”

“I’ve some, too,” Irene added.

Paulin nodded and looked round the table. “Since his dereliction of primary duty in regard to preparation against Threadfall could jeopardize not only his own Hold but that of his neighbors, I feel we must examine the problem as quickly as possible and indict him...”

Jamson jammed up an arm in protest, but Paulin held up a placatory hand. “If, that is, we do find just cause to do so. Just now, he was acting as if he’d had too much of Hegmon’s new wine. “

“Ha!” was Irene of Benden’s immediate response, a cynical reaction echoed by others around the table.

“We cannot allow personal feelings to color this matter,” Paulin said firmly.

“Wait til you read my notes, “ was her wry answer.

“And mine,” added Bridgely.

“But who could take his place?” Jamson asked, now querulous with anxiety.

“Not a task I’d like so soon to Thread,” Bastom admitted.

Paulin grimaced. “But it may have to be done.”

“Ah, if I may,” and Clisser raised his hand. The Charter requires us to find a suitable candidate from the incumbent’s Bloodline” he began.

“He has relatives?” Bridgely asked, mimicking surprise and consternation.

I believe so,” Franco said, “beyond his children. An uncle If they’re of the same Blood as Chalkin, would that be an improvement?” Tashvi wanted to know.

“They do say a new broom sweeps clean,” Irene remarked.

“I heard that Chalkin did his uncle out of succession by giving him an isolated hold.”

“He got him out of the way fast enough, that’s sure,” said Bridgely. “Some mountain hold, back of beyond.”

“All of Bitra is back of beyond,” Azury of Boll remarked, grinning.

A replacement is not the most immediate concern,” Paulin said, taking charge again, if we can persuade Chalkin that all of us can’t be wrong about Threadfall.”

Zulaya this time snorted at that unlikelihood. “He’ll admit he’s wrong only when Thread is eating him... which might solve the problem in the most effective way. Bitra’s in the path of the first Fall.”

“Remiss as Chalkin appears to be,” Jamson said, “Bitra Hold may be better off with than without him. You don’t learn the management of a Hold overnight, you know. “

Paulin gave the High Reaches Lord a long look. “That is very true, but if he hasn’t even told his people that Thread is coming and he opened up his hands to show dismay at such an omission. That’s a dereliction of duty right there. His prime duty and the primary reason for having a Leader during a crisis. As a group, we also have a responsibility to be sure each of us is performing duties inherent to our rank and position.”

Zulaya shrugged. “It’d serve him right to be caught out in the first Fall.”

“Yes, well,” and Paulin rattled papers. “I’ll accept reports of malfeasance and irregularities in his conduct of Bitra Hold. “

“We’ll do this properly, gathering evidence and making a full report on the problem. Now, let’s finish up today’s agenda. “

Kalvi, you wish to broach the subject of new mines?”

The lean hawk-nosed engineer sprang to his feet. “I sure do. We’ve got fifty years of Fall and we’re going to need more ore: ore that’s closer to the surface than the Telgar deposits. “

“Thought they would last us a millennium,” Bridgely of Benden said.

“Oh, there’s certainly more ore down the main shafts, but it’s not as accessible as these mountain deposits which could be worked more efficiently.” He unrolled an opaque plastic map of the Great Western range where he had circled an area beyond Ruatha’s borders. “Here! High-grade ore, and almost waiting to leap into carts. We’ll need that quality if we’re to replace flame-thrower equipment. And we’ll have to. He said that with a degree of resignation. I’ve the personnel trained and ready to move up there - which I’d like to do to get the mines going before Threadfall starts. All I need is your OK.”

“You’re asking to start a hold up there? Or just a mine?” asked Paulin.

Kalvi scratched the side of his nose and grinned. Well, it’d be a long way to travel after the shift is over, especially if the dragons are all busy fighting Thread.” He unrolled another diagram. One reason I’ve backed this site is that there’s a good cave system available for living quarters as well as coal nearby for processing the ore. The finished ingots could be shipped down river.

There were murmurs among the others as the project was discussed.

“Good thing Chalkin left,” Bridgely remarked. “He’s got those mines in Steng Valley he’s been trying to reactivate. “

“They’re unsafe,” Kalvi said scornfully. “I surveyed them myself, and we’d have to spend too much time shoring up shafts and replacing equipment. The ore’s second rate, too. There isn’t time to restore the mine, much less argue with Chalkin over a contract. You know how he can be, haggling over minor details for weeks before he’ll make a decision.” He contorted his long face into a grimace.

“If you,” and he turned to the others at the table, grant this permission, I’ll have a chance to noise it about the Gather this evening and see who’d be interested in going along in support capacity and necessary crafts.”

“I’ll second it,” said Tashvi magnanimously, raising his hand.

“Good. Moved and seconded. Now, all in favor of the formation of a mining hold?” Hands shot up and were dutifully counted by Paulin.

“Chalkin’s going to say this was rigged,” Bastom remarked caustically, and that we drove him out of the meeting before the subject came up.

“So?” Paulin said. “No-one asked him to leave and he has a copy of the agenda same as everyone else.” He brought his fist down on the table. “Motion carried. Tell your engineer he may start his project. “

“High Reaches Weyr,” and he turned to G’don. “Telgar,” and he included K’vin now, “can you supply transport?” Both Weyrleaders agreed. If a new hold was to be established, as many riders as possible from their Weyrs should become familiar with its landmarks.

“There won’t be that much extra to protect against Threadfall,” Kalvi said, with a grin for the dragon riders. “It’s all underground or within the cliff caverns. We’ll use hydroponics for fresh food from the start.”

“Any more new business?” Paulin enquired.

Clisser raised his hand, was acknowledged and stood, glancing at the assembled: falling into his lecture mode, K’vin thought.

“Lord Chalkin’s attitude may not be that unusual,” he began, startling them into attention to his words. “At least, not in times to come. We, here and now, are not too distanced from the events of the First Pass. We have actual visual records from that time with which to check on the approach of the rogue planet. We know it is a rogue because we know, from the excellent and exhaustive reports done by Captains Keroon and Tillek, that the planet was unlikely to have emerged from our sun. Its orbit alone substantiates that theory since it is not on the same ecliptic al plane as the rest of Rukbat’s satellites.

“I am assiduous in training at least six students in every class in the rudiments of astronomy and the use of the sextant, as well as being certain that they have the requisite mathematics to compute declination and right ascension and figure accurately the hour circle of any star. We still have three usable telescopes with which to observe the skies, but we once had more.” He paused.

“We are, as I’m sure we all must honestly admit, losing more and more of the technology bequeathed us by our ancestors. Not through mishandling,” and he raised a hand against objections, but from the attritions of age and an inability, however much we may strive to compensate, to reach back to the same technical level our ancestors enjoyed.” Kalvi grimaced in reluctant agreement to that fact.

“Therefore, I suggest that we somehow, in some fashion, with what technology we have left at our disposal, leave as permanent and indestructible a record as possible for future generations. I know that some of us,” and Clisser paused, glancing significantly to the door through which Chalkin had so recently passed, “entertain the notion that our ancestors were mistaken in thinking that Threadfall will occur whenever the Red Planet passes Pern. But we can scarcely ignore the perturbations already obvious on the surface of our planet the extreme weather, the volcanic eruptions, the other cosmic clues.

“Should it so happen in centuries to come that too many doubt - not wishing to destroy a flourishing economy and happy existence - that Thread will return, all that we have striven to achieve, all we have built with our bare hands,” and dramatically he lifted his, “all we have around us today,” and he gestured towards the music faintly heard outside the Hall, would perish.

The denials were loud.

“Ah,” and he held one hand over his head, “but it could happen.

“Lord Chalkin is proof of that. We’ve already lost so much of our technology. Valuable and skilled men and women we could ill-afford to lose because of their knowledge and skills have succumbed to disease or old age. We must have a fail-safe against Thread! Something that will last and remind our descendants to prepare, be ready, and to survive.”

“Is there any chance we could find that administration building then?” Paulin asked S’nan.

“Too close to Threadfall now,” M’shall answered. “And it’s going into the hot season down there which makes digging anything enervating.

“However, I most emphatically agree with Clisser. We need some sort of a safeguard. Something that would prove to doubters like Chalkin that Thread isn’t just a myth our ancestors thought up.”

“But we keep records... “ said Laura of Ista Weyr.

“How much plasfilm do you have left?” Paulin asked pointedly. “I know Fort’s stock is running low. And you know all that happened to our Repository.”

“True. But we’ve paper” and she looked over at the Telgar Holders, Tashvi and Salda.

“Look, how can we estimate how much of forestry acres will survive Threadfall?” Tashvi asked, raising his hands in doubt.

I’ve the timber jacks working non-stop, cutting, and the mill’s turning out as much lumber and pulp as it can.”

“You know we’ll do our best to protect the forests,” K’vin said, though privately he wondered how good their best could be since even one Thread burrow could devastate a wide swath of timbered land in minutes.

“Of course you will,” Salda said warmly, “and we will stockpile as much paper as we can beforehand. Old rags are always welcome.” Then her expression sobered. “But I don’t think any of us can know what will or will not survive. Tarvi Andiyar’s survey when he took Hold indicated that most of the slopes were denuded. Ten years before Threadfall ceased, he had seedlings in every corner of the Hold, ready to plant out. We were just lucky that natural succession also occurred in the three decades after the end of First Pass.”

“That is yet another item we must record for future generations,” Clisser said.

“The ultimate how-to,” put in Mari of High Reaches.

“I beg pardon?”

“What to do when Threadfall has Passed is even more important than what to do while it’s happening,” she said, as if that should be obvious.

“We’ve got to first survive fifty years...” Salda began.

“Let’s get back to the subject,” said Paulin, rising to his feet.

“The Chair concurs that we ought to have some permanent, indestructible, unambiguous, simple way to anticipate the rogue planet’s return. Has anyone any ideas?”

“We can engrave metal plates and put them in every Weyr, Hold and Hall where they’re too obvious to be ignored,” Kalvi suggested. “And inscribe the sextant settings that indicate the Pass.”

“So long as there’s a sextant, and someone to use it accurately,” Lord Bastom said, “that’s fine. But what happens when the last of them is broken?”

“They’re not that complicated to make,” Kalvi replied.

“What if there’s no-one trained in its use,” Salda put in.

“My fleet captains use sextants daily,” Bastom said. “The instruments are invaluable on the sea.”

“Mathematics is a base course for all students,” Clisser added, “not just fishermen.”

“You have to know the method to get the answers you need,” said Corey, the Head Medic, speaking for the first time.

And know when to use it., Her profession was struggling to maintain a high standard as more and more equipment became unusable, and unusual procedures became erudite.

“There has to be some way to pass on that vital information to future generations,” said Paulin, looking first at Clisser and then scanning the faces at the table. “Let’s have a hard think. “

“Etching on metal’s one way... and prominently placing tablets in every Weyr and Hold so they can’t be stored away and forgotten.”

“A sort of Rosetta Stone?” Clisser’s tone was more statement than query.

“What’s that?” Bridgely asked. Clisser had a habit, which annoyed some folk, of dropping odd references into conversations: references with which only he was familiar. It would lead to long lectures from him if anyone gave him the chance.

“On Earth, in the late eighteenth century, a stone with three ancient languages was discovered which gave the clue to translating those languages. We shall, of course, keep our language pure.”

“We’re back to etching again,” said Corey, grinning.

“If it’s the only way...” Clisser began and then frowned. “No, there has to be some fail-safe method. I’ll investigate options. “

“All right then, Clisser, but don’t put the project aside,” Paulin said. “I’d rather we had a hundred sirens, bells and whistles going off than no warning at all.” Clisser grinned slowly. “The bells and whistles are easy enough. It’s the siren that will take time. “

“All right then,” and Paulin looked around the table.

Toe-tapping dance music was all too audible and the younger holders and weyrfolk were plainly restless. “No more new business?” He didn’t wait for an answer but used the gavel to end the meeting.

“That’s all for now. Enjoy yourselves, folks.” The speed with which the Hall emptied suggested that that was what all intended to do.

Gather at Fort

“Cliss, what on earth possessed you?” Sheledon demanded, glowering. He was head of the Arts faculty at the College and constantly jealous of what free time he had in which to compose.

“Well,” and Clisser looked away from Sheledon’s direct and accusing glare, “we do have more records and are more familiar with the techniques of accessing them than anyone else. Information and training are what this College was established to provide.”

“Our main function,” and Danja took up the complaint she wanted spare time in which to work with her string quartet, “is to teach youngsters who would rather ride dragons or acquire many klicks of Pernese real estate to use the wits they were born with. And to brainwash enough youngsters to go out and teach whatever they know to our ever widely-spreading population.”

Dance music swirled about them, but Sheledon and Danja were so incensed that they seemed oblivious to the rhythms that were causing the other three at their table to keep time with foot or hand. Danja shot Lozell a peevish look and he stopped rattling fingers callused from harp strings.

“I don’t think it’ll be that hard to find some way to indicate a celestial return,” he said in an attempt to appease the wrath of Sheledon and Danja.

“It isn’t the ‘hard’ that bothers me,” Danja said acidly, “ but when will we have the time?” She stabbed her finger at the as-yet-unfinished extension to the teaching facility.

“Particularly since there is a time limit,” and she shot another dirty look at Clisser. “Winter Solstice.”

“Oh,” and Lozell grimaced. “Good point.”

“We’re all working every hour we can spare from classes on what’s urgent right now,” Danja went on, gesturing dramatically and pacing up and down the length of their table.

While Sheledon closed in on himself when threatened, Danja exploded into action. Now her nervous movements knocked the chair on which she had placed her violin and she reacted, as quickly, to keep the valuable instrument from falling to the cobbles. She gave Lozell a second nasty look, as if he had been responsible.

Sheledon reached across and took violin and bow from her, putting them very carefully on the table which had been cleared of all but wine glasses. Absently he mopped a wine spill near the precious violin, one of the few usable relics from Landing days. He gave it a loving pat while Danja continued.

“Like today,” she said, resuming her pacing, “we taught in the morning, managed to eat something before we spent an afternoon painting so that there will be some finished rooms for the summer term. We had five minutes to change and even then we missed the fly-past which I, for one,” and she paused to jab her thumb into her sternum, “wanted to see.”

“We’ve played two sets,” she went on earnestly, “and will undoubtedly still be playing when the sun rises, and tomorrow will be a repeat of today except no Gather, so we get a good night’s rest to prepare us for more of the above, except maybe get a little work done on next term. Which starts in a week, and then we’ll have no time at all since we now have to prepare the teachers who’ll be graduated to carry The Word to the outer extremities of the continent.” She gestured eastward in a histrionic fashion, then flounced down on the chair the violin had occupied. “So how are we going to find time to do yet more research, Clisser?”

“We always do find the time,” Clisser said, his quiet rejoinder a subtle criticism of her rant.

“Use it as a history class project?” suggested Lozell brightly.

“There you have the answer,” said Bethany who had merely, as was her habit, watched the fireworks Danja was so good at sending up. “My juniors could use an independent project.”

“So long as we have power to run the library,” Danja added sourly.

“We will, we will,” Clisser said, with bright encouragement.

“Kalvi had his engineers up on the heights during the fly-past working on the sun panels. They’ll hook them up to the main banks tomorrow. “

“Other people worked today, you know. “

“Well, that’s a big consolation,” said Danja acidly.

Clisser refilled her glass. “And we’ll need some catchy tunes and good lyrics, too, I should think. Something to teach students from a very early age so that they learn all the signs of a Pass before they learn to ask questions about it.”

“One and one is two, two and two are four?” Danja sang the old multiplying song, then grinned wryly.

“The song remains an effective teaching aid,” Clisser said, filling his glass. “Shel, would you put on your composer’s hat and whip up some simple effective tunes?” Sheledon nodded enthusiastically.

“I’ve been saying for years that we ought to incorporate more basic stuff into a musical format. Jemmy’s good at little popular airs.” Most of his songs were geared to show off the talent of his soprano spouse, Sydra, who taught history and, in her spare time, was chronicling the early years of the colony.

Bethany’s face lit up with a great smile. Jemmy was a favorite pupil of hers, and she was his staunchest champion.

Even Danja looked mollified.

“So,” Clisser went on, having solved one of his immediate problems, what shall we do in the next set?”

“Just like that?” Danja demanded. “What’ll we do in this set? Clisser, will you get real!”

Clisser looked hurt. Bethany leaned over and patted his hand, smiling encouragingly.

“What did you mean by that, Danja?” Clisser asked.

“Don’t you realize what a huge responsibility you just so casually... and Danja lifted wide her arms, flinging her hands skyward in exasperation, laid on us all?”

“Nothing we can’t solve, dear,” Bethany said in her gentle manner. “With a little thought and time.”

“Back to time again. Do we have time?” Lozell was back in the discussion. ”Especially if the winter’s even half as bad as it was last year... and it’s supposed to be, with that damned Red Planet leering down on us... how are we going to cope?”

“We will. We always do,” Sheledon said with a sigh of resignation. ”Paulin will help us out. And certainly the Weyrs do.”

Danja glared at him. ”We’ve changed tunes, haven’t we? I thought you thought we didn’t have time.”

Sheledon shrugged diffidently. ”I think Lozell’s idea of making a survey a class project will solve that problem. And, if Jemmy can whistle up some lyrics, I can certainly churn out some tunes. Or maybe Jemmy can do both in his spare time.”

Sheledon’s face softened into a wry grin. He had had a tussle with himself, not to be jealous of Jemmy whose brilliance was multi-faceted. Though he wasn’t officially graduated from the Hall, he already ran several smaller study groups and seemed able to do a bit of everything - on a high level. The consummate Jack of all Trades, Clisser called him.

“And what if, by leaving it to the student body - who are, as most students, indifferent researchers - the best notion is missed?” Danja asked.

“That’s why we’re teachers, dear,” said Bethany. “To be sure they don’t miss an obvious solution. They can at least save us having to sort through pounds of material and present us with the most viable options. We can put Jemmy in charge; he reads the fastest and his eyes are younger.”

Just then, the instrumentalists on the stage wound up their last number and received an enthusiastic ovation from both the sweating dancers and the onlookers drinking at the tables.

They filed off the stage.

“All right, what set do we do, Clisser?” Sheledon asked, tossing off the last of his wine as he got to his feet.

“Those seniors did a lot of fast dance music,” Clisser said.

“Let’s give everyone a chance to catch their breaths and do some slow stuff... the old traditionals, I think. Start with ‘Long and Winding Road’ - Put everyone in a sentimental mood.”

“Hmmm... then we can get some supper while the juniors do what they so erroneously call ‘music’,” said Danja, who had considerable contempt for the contemporary loud and diatonic musical fad.

“Can’t please everyone all the time,” Clisser said, collecting his guitar. He drew back Bethany’s chair for her and offered her an arm.

Smiling in her gentle way at the courtesy, she picked up the flute in its worn hard-case, her recorders in their leather sleeves and the little reed whistle that had won its maker a prize that year. It had a particularly sweet, clear tone that young Jemmy had been trying to reproduce with other reeds. Then she limped forward, seemingly oblivious to her clubbed foot and awkward gait, her head high, her gaze directed ahead of her.

Jemmy joined them from his table, automatically taking Bethany’s flute case from her. He was drummer for their group, though he had been playing guitar with others. Unprepossessing in physical appearance, with pale hair and skin and oversized features, he was self-effacing, indifferent to his academic achievements. While not in the least athletic, he had won the long-distance races in the Summer Games for the last three years. He did not relate well, however, to his peer group.

“They don’t think the same way I do,” was his diffident self-appraisal.

That was, of course, accurate since he had tested off the scale of the standard aptitude tests given prospective scholars.

His family, fishers at Tillek Hold, didn’t understand him at all and at one point thought him retarded. At fourteen he had followed his siblings into training in the family occupation. He lasted three voyages. Though he had proven himself an able navigator, he had had such constant motion sickness - “never acquiring sea legs” - that he had been useless as a deck-hand: a source of much embarrassment to his family. Captain Kizan had interested himself in the lad and recommended the boy be trained as a teacher, and sent Jemmy to Fort Hold for evaluation. Clisser had joyfully accepted him - finding such an avid learner was a real boost to his morale. And, when Clisser had seen how Jemmy galloped through even the hardest lessons, he had set up an independent study program for him. Although Jemmy had perfect pitch, he couldn’t sing and started playing instruments to make up for that lack in himself. There was nothing he couldn’t play, given a few hours of basic training.

Although his family, and indeed the Lord Holder Bastom, too, had expected him to return to Tillek to teach, Clisser had argued hard that anyone could teach the basics to hold children: he would supply a suitably trained candidate. But Jemmy must be allowed to continue at the College Hall, benefiting the entire continent.

What no-one at the Hall mentioned beyond their most private sessions was that Jemmy seemed intuitively to know how to fill in the gaps left by improper copying or damaged records. His notations, short and concise, were models of lucidity. The College could not afford to do without his skills and intelligence. He wasn’t a good teacher, being frustrated by mental processes slower than his own, but he could, and did, produce manuals and guides that enhanced the basic texts the settlers had brought with them. Jemmy translated ‘Earth’ into ‘Pern’ If his peer group did not enjoy his company, he enjoyed that of his mentors and was fast outstripping all of them in knowledge and practical applications. It was also well known if tacitly ignored, that he idolized Bethany. She was consistently kind and encouraging to everyone, but refused to accept any partner. She had long since decided never to inflict her deformity on offspring and refused any intimacy, even a childless one.

Clisser wondered, though, as he and Bethany made their sedate way to the stage, if Jemmy might not breach the wall of her virginity. He was certain that Bethany cared more for the Tillek lad than anyone else in the thirty years he had known her - student and teacher. She was a lovely, gentle woman; she deserved to be loved and love in return.

Since there were ways of preventing conception, her prime concern could be taken care of. Clisser thought the age difference was immaterial.

And Jemmy desperately needed the balance that a fully rounded life experience would give him.

Clisser and Jemmy provided support for Bethany to ascend the un railed steps to the stage and then, with a swirl of the long skirts that covered the built-up shoe she wore, she settled herself in her chair. She placed her flute case and the recorders where she wanted them, and the little reed flute in the music stand. Not that this group of musicians required printed sheets to read from, but the other groups did.

Danja lifted her fiddle to her chin, bow poised, and looked at Jemmy who hummed an A with his perfect pitch for her to tune her strings. Sheledon softly strummed his guitar to check its tuning and Lozell ran an arpeggio on his standing harp. The continent’s one remaining piano - his preferred instrument - was undergoing repairs to the hammers: they had not yet managed to reproduce quite the same sort of felt that had been used originally.

Clisser nodded at Jemmy, who did a roll on his hand drum to attract attention and then, on Clisser’s downbeat, they began their set.

It was several days before Clisser had a chance to discuss the project with Jemmy.

“I’ve wondered why we didn’t use the balladic medium to teach history,” Jemmy replied.

“It isn’t history we’ll be setting to music.”

“Oh yes, it is,” Jemmy had contradicted him in the flat and tactless way he had. It had taken Clisser time to get used to it.

“Well, it will be when the next generation gets it - and the next one after that.”

“That’s a point, of course.”

Jemmy hummed something, but broke off and sprang across to the table where he grabbed a sheet of paper, turning it to the unused side.

He slashed five lines across it, added a clef and immediately began to set notes down. Clisser was fascinated.

“Oh,” Jemmy said offhandedly as his fingers flew up and down the lines, “I’ve had this tune bugging me for months now. It’s almost a relief to put it down on paper now that I’ve a use for it.”

He marked off another measure, the pen hovering above the paper only briefly before he was off again. “It can be a show piece anyhow. Start off with a soprano - boy, of course, setting the scene. Then the tenors come in - they’ll be the dragon riders of course, and the baritones Lord Holders, with a few basses to be the Professionals... each describing his duty to the... then a final chorus, s.a.t.b., a reprise of the first verse, all Pern confirming what they owe the dragons. Yes, that’ll do nicely for one.”

Clisser knew when he wasn’t needed and left the room, smiling to himself. Now, if Bethany was right and this term’s students could perform the research satisfactorily, he could make good on his blithe promise to the Council. He did hope that the computers would last long enough for a comprehensive search. They had got so erratic lately that their performance was suspect at most times. Some material was definitely scrambled and lost among files. And no-one knew how to solve the problem of replacement parts. Of course, the pcs were so old and decrepit, it was truly a wonder that they had lasted as long as they had. Was there any point these days in holding a course on computer electronics?

Which thought reminded him that he had interviews with two sets of parents who were insisting that their offspring be put in the computer course since that was the most prestigious of those offered. And the one involving the least work, since there were so few computers left.

Where would they practice the skills they learned? Clisser wondered.

Furthermore, neither of the two students concerned had the aptitude to work with mechanical objects; they just thought it was what they wanted. There were always a few cases like that in an academic year.

“And one set of Holder parents who did not like their daughter associating with lesser breeds without the law” as Sheledon put it.

“As if there was room, or facilities, for more than one teachers’ school. Or the private tutors some Holders felt should be supplied them because of their positions. Ha! As it was, the peripatetic teachers were going all year long, trying to cover the basics with children in the far-flung settlements.

Well, maybe one day they could site a second campus - was that the word? - on the eastern coast. Of course, with Threadfall coming, he’d have to revise all the schedules as well as instruct his travelers on how to avoid getting killed by the stuff. He had seen footage - when the projector still worked - of actual Threadfall. He shuddered.

Accustomed as he had been all his life to the prospect of the menace, he still didn’t like the inevitability. The reality was nearly on them.

The Weyrleaders could waffle on about how well prepared Hold and Weyr were, with dragon strength at max, and ground crews and equipment organized, but did anyone really know what it would be like? He swore under his breath as he made his way to the rooms that still needed to be completed to receive occupants in five days. He’d work on the syllabus on his lunch break.

A sudden thought struck him so that he halted, foot poised briefly above the next step. What they really needed was a totally new approach to education on Pern!

What was the point of teaching students subjects now rendered useless here on Pern? Like computer programming and electronic maintenance? What good did it do the Pernese boys and girls to know the old geographic and political subdivisions of Terra? Useless information. They’d never go there! Such matters did not impinge on their daily lives. What was needed was a complete revision of learning priorities, suitable to those who were firmly and irrevocably based on this planet. Why did anyone NOW need to know the underlying causes of the Nathi Space War?

No-one here was going to get in space - even the dragons were limited to distance which they could travel before they were in oxygen debt.

Why not study the spatial maps of Pern and forget those of Earth and its colonies? Study the Charter and its provisions as applicable to the Pernese citizenry, rather than prehistoric governments and societies? Well, some of the more relevant facts could be covered in the course to show how the current governmental system, such as it was, had been developed. But there was so much trivia - no wonder his teachers couldn’t get through the lessons. Small wonder the students got bored.

So little of what they were presently required to learn had any relevance to the life they lived and the planet they inhabited.

History should really begin with Landing on Pern well, some nodding acquaintance with the emergence of homo sapiens, but why deal with the aliens which Earth’s exploratory branch had discovered when there was little chance of them arriving in the Rukbat system?

And further, Clisser decided, taken up with the notion, we should encourage specialized training - raising agriculture and veterinary care to the prestige of computer sciences. Breeding to Pernese conditions and coping with Pernese parasites was far more important than knowing what had once bothered animals back on Earth. Teach the miners and metal workers where the spatial maps showed deposits of ores and what they were good for; teach not the history of art - especially since many of the slides of Masterpieces had now deteriorated to muddy blurs - but how to use Pernese pigments, materials, design and tailoring; teach the Great Currents, oceanography, fish-conservation, seamanship, naval engineering and meteorology to those who fished the waters... As to that, why not separate the various disciplines so that each student would learn what he needed to know, not a lot of basically useless facts, figures and theories?

For instance, get Kalvi to take in... what was the old term, ah, apprentices... take in apprentices to learn fabrication and metal-work?

And there’d have to be a discipline for mining, as well as metal-working. One for weaving; farming; fishing. And one for teaching, too. Of course, education in itself was designed to teach you how to solve the problems that cropped up in daily living, but for specialties you could really slim down to the essential skills required by each. As it was, that sort of apprentice system was almost in place anyhow with parents either instructing their kids in the family’s profession or getting a knowledgeable neighbor to do it.

Kalvi had both sons now in supervisory capacities in his Telgar Works.

And there should be provisions to save other kids, like Jemmy, and see that they were able to develop a potential not in keeping with their native hold’s main business.

Administer a basic aptitude test to every child at six, and the more specific one at eleven or twelve, and be able to identify special abilities and place him or her where she could learn best from the people qualified to maximize the innate potential.

Even in medicine, a new curriculum should be established, based on what was now available on Pern rather than what the First Settlers had had. Mind you, Corey was constantly regretting the lack of this or that medicine, or equipment and procedures that would have saved lives but were no longer available. Clisser snorted; too much time was spent bitching about ‘what had been’ and ‘if only we still had’ instead of making the best of what was available in the here and now.

What was that old saying?

“Ours not to wonder what were fair in life, but finding what may he, make it fair up to our means?” Well, he couldn’t remember who had said it or to what it had applied. But the meaning definitely applied!

Pern had great riches which were being ignored in the regret of the what had been. Even Corey had to admit that the indigenous pharmacopoeia was proving to be sufficient for most common ailments, and even better in some cases now that the last of the carefully hoarded Earth chemicals were depleted.

Basic concepts of maths, history, responsibility, duty, could indeed be translated into music, easier to transmit and memorize. Why, anyone who could strum an instrument could give initial instruction in holds, teach kids to read, write and do some figuring, and then let them apply themselves to the nitty-gritty of their life’s occupation.

And music had always been important here.

He put his foot down on the step, pleased with this moment’s revelation. A whole new way of looking at the education and training of the young, and entirely suitable to the planet and its needs. He must really sit down and think it all through... when he found the time.

His laugh mocked his grandiose ideas and yet, they’d had to revise and reform so many old concepts here on Pern: why not the method in which education was administered? Was that the word he wanted: administered? Like a medicine? He sighed He did wish that learning was not considered an unavoidable dose. Certainly someone like Jemmy proved that learning was enjoyable. But then, insatiable appetites like his for knowledge, for its own sake, were rare.

Clisser trotted up the last of that flight of steps in considerably better humor. He’d find the time, by all that’s still holy, he would.

Late Autumn at Telgar Weyr

Zulaya beamed at Paulin. “Yes, she rather outdid herself, didn’t she?” She turned to regard her queen fondly as the golden dragon hovered proprietarily over the fifty-one eggs which would, by all the signs, hatch some time this day.

All morning dragons had conveyed in guests and candidates.

“Aren’t the Weyrs over-producing a trifle?” Paulin asked.

Benden and Ista Weyrs had also had Hatchings in the past month.

He had lost two very promising holder lads to the Weyrs; a felt loss, as the boys could no longer journey easily between Hold and Weyr as riders were freer to travel, and to learn and practice other professions during an Interval.

“Frequent clutches are one of the sure-fire signs that there will be a Pass,” Zulaya said, “obviously looking forward to the days when the dragons of Pern started the work for which they were engineered. Have you heard that song the College sent out?”

“Hmmm, yes, I have,” and Paulin grinned. In fact, I can’t get it out of my mind.

“Clisser says they have several more to play for us tonight.”

“Just music?” Paulin asked, scowling.

“It’s a device we asked them for something permanent so that no-one can deny the imminence of a Pass.” Zulaya patted his hand encouragingly.

“You can ask what progress he’s made on that project.” K’vin, coming up behind them, casually laid a hand on his Weyrwoman’s shoulder, acting as proprietarily of her as her dragon was of her clutch. Amused, Paulin coughed into his hand and hurriedly excused himself.

“He’s worried about that fail-safe,” Zulaya said, also amused by K’vin’s show of jealousy but not about to remark on it.

“You’re looking very beautiful in that new dress,” he said, eyeing it.

“Am I? Why, thank you, Kev,” she said, twisting her hips to make the skirt whirl. Which reminds me...” and she held out a fold of the rich crimson patterned brocade which she had had made for this Hatching. “Fredig suggested tapestries, hanging in every Weyr and Hold, depicting the return of the Red Star - with the formulae in the borders. Make an interesting design, certainly.”

“Colors fade and fabrics certainly deteriorate.”

“We’ve some that graced houses in Landing. That Earth Moon scene which was made, as I’ve been told, out of synthetic yarns which are more durable than what we have now cotton, linen and wool. And even they are looking worn and losing color.”

“I’ll have them washed You’ll have them thread-worn. - ooops,” and K’vin grinned at the pun.

“Which is not what is wanted but there’s no reason, Kev, not to have a hundred different reminders. Something set in stone.” the Weyrleader said in a more sober tone.

“Even stones move - - Only prior to a Pass.

“Only how to perpetuate the critical information?”

“I think everyone’s worrying too much. I mean, here we are,” and Zulaya gestured broadly to include the Hatching Ground and the Weyr around them.

“Why else have dragons? And Weyrs set apart to preserve them, if not for a very, very good reason? They’re the planet’s only sure defense.” A sound - subliminal more than a real noise - alerted them.

It issued from Meranath who reared to her hindquarters, spreading her broad wings; her eyes glowing brightly green and beginning to whirl with excitement.

“Ah, it starts,” Zulaya said, smiling in anticipation. -Oh, I love Hatchings!” Hand in hand, the two Weyrleaders raced to the entrance and called out the news, scarcely needed, for the Telgar dragons were already reacting to the queen’s maternal croon with their deep masculine humming.

The Weyr Bowl became active with dragons a-wing in excitement, flipping here and there on seemingly unavoidable collision courses: with the Weyrlingmaster herding the candidates forward: with parents and friends of the lucky boys and girls rushing across the hot sands to take their places in the amphitheatre: hustling to get the best seating for the Impression about to happen.

K’vin sent Zulaya back to keep Meranath company as he urged people inside, checked the nervous white-clad candidates who had been halted in a clump near the entrance until the spectators were all seated.

“You’ve long enough to wait on the hot sands as it is,” T’dam, the Weyrlingmaster, told them. “Singe your feet, you could, out there.”

All this time the humming was rising in volume: Meranath joined by all the other dragons in a chorus of tones that Sheledon - and others had tried to imitate but never quite succeeded. Meranath’s throat was swollen with her sound, which continued unabated and seemingly without her needing to draw breath. Soon, as the volume increased, her chest and belly would begin to vibrate too, with the intensity of her humming. K’vin was aware of the usual response in himself, a jumble of emotions; a joy that threatened to burst his heart through his chest, pride, hope, fear, yearning - oddly enough, hunger was part of it - and a sadness that, on some occasions, could make him weep.

Zulaya always wept at Hatchings - at least, until Impressions began.

Then she was jubilant, picking up on her queen’s acceptance of her clutch’s partnering.

In Fort Hold’s storage, there were file boxes full of early psychological profiles about the effect of Hatching on riders, dragons and the new weyrlings. The bonding that occurred was of such complexity and depth that no other union could be compared with it: almost overwhelming in the initial moment of recognition, and certainly the most intense emotion the young candidates had ever experienced.

Some youngsters had no trouble at all adapting to the intense and intrusive link: some suffered feelings of inadequacy and doubt. Every Weyr had its own compendium of information about what to do in such-and-such a situation. And every weyrling was assiduously trained and supported through the early months of the relationship until the Weyrleaders and Weyrlingmaster deemed he/she was stable enough to take responsibility for her/himself and her/his dragon.

But then, a rider was the dragon, and the dragon the rider, in a partnership that was so unwavering, its cessation resulted in suicide for the dragon who lost his mate. The unfortunate rider was as apt to take his life as not. If he lived, he was only half a man, totally bereft by his loss. Female riders were less apt to suicide; they at least had the option of sublimating their loss by having children.

When the little fire-lizards, who had supplied the genetic material to bio-engineer the larger dragons, had still been available, a former male rider found some solace in such a companionship. Only three fire-lizard clutches had been found in Ista in the last five decades, though it was thought more might be found in the Southern Continent, but that quest had so far been futile. The vets had decided that some sort of odd disease had infected the creatures on northern warm beaches, reducing their numbers and/or their clutches. Whatever the reason, no-one had fire-lizard companions any more.

As soon as most of the guests had crossed the hot sands, T’dam allowed the candidates to make a loose circle around the eggs. There was no golden egg in this clutch - a circumstance which had both relieved and worried the Weyrleaders.

They had five junior queens, which was quite enough for Telgar’s low flight wing. In fact, there was no dearth of queens in any of the Weyrs, but there was safety in having enough breeders.

Only five girls stood on the Hatching Ground vying to attract the attention of the greens. There should have been six, but one girl’s family had refused to give her up on Search since they claimed a union had been arranged and they could not go back on that pledge. As K’vin thought that a good third or even half of this clutch might be greens, he hoped there’d be enough suitable lads’ to impress the green hatchlings. His study of Thread fighting tactics also indicated that greens with male riders tended to be more volatile, apt to ignore their Weyrleaders’ orders in the excitement of a Fall: in short, they tended to unnecessarily show off their bravery to the rest of the Weyr. On the other hand, the green dragons were valuable to a Weyr for their speed and agility even if they didn’t have the stamina of the larger dragons. A careful wing leader alternated his green riders, resting each at least an hour during a Fall.

There had been a monograph on the advantages of female over male green riders in Threadfall. Although the text allowed the reader to make his own decision, K’vin had fallen on the side of preferring females when Search provided them.

Certainly their personalities were more stable and they posed fewer problems to the Weyrleaders. Young male green riders could go into emotional declines if they lost their weyrmates and be useless in Fall, sometimes even suiciding in their distress. On the other hand, since the greens were sexually very active, there was more danger of female riders becoming pregnant, unless they were extremely careful.

Even spontaneous abortions due to the extreme cold of between required sensible convalescence.

“Taking a short dragon-ride” was now a euphemism for ending an unwanted pregnancy. Another good reason to have a few female green riders in the Weyr: less embarrassment.

According to Zulaya, though, there had been few such terminations since she had become Weyrwoman. Probably due to the fact that too many holds had lost relatives to the last bad winter fever. Or possibly because everyone wanted to have enough children to extend their legitimate holdings or establish new ones.

The draconic humming - what Clisser called a pre-birth lullaby was reaching an almost unendurable level, climaxing when the first egg cracked open. The spectators were exhibiting the usual excitability, jumping about, weeping, singing along with the dragons. They’d calm down, too, once the Hatching had begun.

And it did. Three shells burst outwards simultaneously, fragments raining down on nearby eggs and causing them to crack as well. K’vin counted nine dragons, six of them wetly green, and revised his third of greens closer to half.

The hatchlings were so dangerous at this stage, ravenous from their encapsulation, and some of the nearer candidates hastily avoided the bumbling progress of the new-born. Two greens seemed headed for Weyrbred girls but the blonde from Ista, already noted in the Weyr for her quick wits, stepped beside one and Impression was made for both.

Three of the other greens made for lads who had demonstrated homosexual preferences in their holds. The remaining green, after lunging out of her shell, stood, weaving her head back and forth, crying piteously.

T’dam called out to the remaining girls to converge on her.

The brunette girl from Ista made for her and instantly the little green covered the intervening distance, squeaking with relief.

K’vin swallowed against the emotional lump in his throat: that instant of recognition always brought back the moment when he had experienced the shock of Impression with Charanth. And the glory of that incredibly loving mind linking with his: the knowledge that they were indissolubly one, heart, mind and soul.

We are, are we not? Charanth said, his tone rough with the memory of that rapture. Despite the fact that Charanth, like the rest of the Weyr’s dragons, was perched up along the ceiling, K’vin could hear the dragon’s sigh.

Zulaya grinned up at K’vin, aware of what was taking place within him, tears flowing down her face as the high emotional level of the Hatching affected her.

Absently K’vin thought that the glowing bulk of Meranath behind Zulaya made a great background for her beautiful new gown, red against gold.

Then another dozen or so eggs split wide open and the raucous screeching of starving little dragonets reverberated back and forth on the Ground. There was a piercing quality to these screams like lost souls. As each hatchling met its rider, the scream broke off and a mellow croon began. That quickly segued into a piteous hungry appeal which was almost more devastating than the earliest screech the weyrlings made. K’vin’s stomach invariably went into empathetic hunger cramps.

The noise of a Hatching, K’vin thought, was unique.

Fortunately, because human eardrums were not designed to deal with such decibels and cacophony, it didn’t last too long.

He always felt slightly deafened - certainly ear sore - by the end of a Hatching.

He was suddenly aware of another sort of babble and fuss going on just outside the Hatching Ground. He tried to see what was happening, but he saw T’dam striding over to investigate so K’vin turned his attention back to the pairing of the last few hatchlings, two browns and the last green. Two lads were homing on the green, desperate expressions on their faces. Abruptly the green turned from them and resolutely charged across the sands to the girl who had just entered.

K’vin gave a double-take. There were only five girls, weren’t they? Not that he wasn’t glad to see another. And she was the one the green wanted, for the hatchling pushed aside the boy who tried to divert her.

Then three men strode into the Ground, furious expressions on their faces, with T’dam trying to intercept their angry progress towards the lately Impressed green pair.

“DEBERA!” yelled the first man, reaching out and snatching her away from the green dragonet.

That was his first mistake, K’vin thought, running across the sands to avert catastrophe. Damn it all. Why did this marvelous moment have to be interrupted so abruptly?

Hatchings should be sacrosanct.

Before K’vin could get there, the green reacted to the man’s attempt to separate her from her chosen one. She reared, despite being not altogether sure of her balance on wobbly hindquarters. Extending her short forearms with claws unsheathed, she lunged at the man.

K’vin had one look at the shock on his face, the fear on the girl’s before the dragon had the man down and was trying to open her jaws wide enough to fit around his head.

T’dam, being nearer, plunged to the rescue. The girl, Debera, was also trying to detach her dragonet from her father, for that’s what she was calling him.

“Father! Father! Leave him alone, Morath. He can’t touch me now I’m a dragon rider Morath, do you hear me?” Except that K’vin was very anxious that Morath might have already injured the man, he was close to laughing at this Debera’s tone of authority. The girl had instinctively adopted the right attitude with her newly hatched charge.

No wonder she’d been Searched and at some hold evidently not too far away.

K’vin assisted Debera while T’dam pulled the fallen man out of the dragon’s reach. Then his companions hauled him even further away while Morath continued to squeal and writhed to resume her attack.

He would hurt you. He would own you. You are mine and I am yours and no-one comes between us, Morath was saying so ferociously that every rider heard her.

Zulaya joined the group and, bending to check the father’s injuries, called for the medics who were dealing with the minor lacerations that generally occurred at this time. Fortunately, Morath had no fangs yet and, although there were raw weals on the man’s face and his chest had been badly scratched by unsheathed claws - despite their newness - he had been somewhat protected by the leather jerkin he wore.

By now, most of the newly-hatched were out of the Grounds, being fed their first meal by their new life companions. The spectators, beginning to dismount from the ampitheatre’s levels, managed to get a peek at the injured man. Undoubtedly they would recount the incident at every opportunity. K’vin hoped the embellishments would stay within reason. Now he had to deal with the facts.

“So, perhaps you would tell us what this is all about?” he asked Debera who, confronted by the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman, was suddenly overcome with remorse and doubt.

“I was Searched,” she said, urgently stroking Morath who was trying to burrow her head into the girl’s body. “I had the right to come. I wanted to come,” and then she waved an indignant hand at her prostrate father, “and they didn’t even show me the letter telling me to come. He wants me for a union because he had a deal with Boris for a mining site and with Ganmar for taking me on. I don’t want Ganmar, and I don’t know anything about mining. I was Searched and I have the right to decide.” The indignant words rushed out, accompanied by expressions of distaste, resentment and anger!

“Yes, I remember seeing your name on the Search list, Debera,” said Zulaya ranging herself beside the girl in a subtle position of support. The alignment was not lost on the older of the two men attending their fallen friend.

“You are Boris?” she asked him. “So you must be Ganmar,” she went on, addressing the younger one. “Did you not realize that Debera had been Searched?”

Ganmar looked very uncomfortable and dropped his eyes, while the scowl on Boris’s face deepened and he jutted out his jaw obstinately. “Lavel told me she’d refused.”

At that point, Maranis, the Weyr’s medic, arrived to have a look at the wounded man. When he had examined him, he sent a helper for litter-bearers. Then he began to deal with the injuries, pulling back the tattered jerkin, provoking a groan from the dazed man.

“Well, Boris,” Zulaya said, at her sternest. “As you seem to be aware, Debera does have the right...”

“That’s what you weyrfolk always say. But it’s us who suffer from what you call ‘right’ Making more trouble, Boris?” asked Tashvi, arriving just then with Salda.

“You agreed, Tashvi,” Boris said, with little courtesy for his Lord Holder. “You said we could dig that new mine. You were glad to have me and my son here start. And Lavel was willing for Ganmar to have his daughter.”

“Ah, but the daughter seems not to have been so willing,” Lady Salda remarked.

“She was willing all right, wasn’t you, Deb?” Boris said, staring with angry accusation at the girl who returned his look by lifting her chin proudly.

“Til they came from the Weyr on Search.”

“Search has the priority,” said Tashvi. “You know that, Boris.”

“We had it all arranged,” the father spoke up, now his pain had been alleviated by the numb weed Maranis had slathered on his wounds.

“We had it arranged!” And the look he gave his daughter was trenchant with angry, bitter reproach.

“You had it all arranged,” Debera said, equally bitter, between yourselves, but not with me, even before the Search.

A wistful moan from Morath interrupted her angry rebuttal.

“She’s hungry. I have to feed her. Come along now,” she added in a far more loving tone. Without a backward glance, she led her green dragonet out of the Hatching Ground.

“I’d say that the matter was certainly not well arranged, then,” Tashvi said.

“But it was,” said Lavel, jabbing one fist at the dragon riders until they came round, “putting ideas in her head when she was a good, hard-working girl who always did as she was told.

“Then you riders tell her she’s fit for dragons. Fit! I know what you riders get up to, and Debera’s a good girl. She’s not like you lot.”

“That’s quite enough of such talk,” said Zulaya, drawing herself up, insulted.

“Indeed it is,” Tashvi agreed, scowling angrily. “The Weyrwoman will realize that you’re not yourself, wounded as you are.”

“Wounds got nothing to do with my righteous anger, Lord Holder. I know what I know, and I know we had it all arranged, and you should stick up for your holders, not these weyrfolk and all their queer customs and doings, and I dunno what’ll happen to my daughter.” At that point, he began to weep, more in frustrated anger than from the pain of the now well-anaesthetized injuries. “She was a good girl until they come. A good biddable girl!”

Tashvi gestured peremptorily to the two litter-men to take the man out. Then he turned back to the Weyrleaders.

“I did approve the new mine, and Boris and Ganmar as owners, but I’d no idea that Lavel was in any way involved.”

“He’s a troublemaker from way back,” Tashvi said, absently shifting his feet on the hot sands.

Zulaya gestured for them all to leave the Hatching Ground.

Despite the extra lining she’d put in her boots this morning, she was uncomfortable standing there, and Tashvi was wearing light pull-ons.

“And it’s not that he doesn’t have other daughters,” said Salda, taking her husband’s arm to speed up his progress.

“He’s got upwards of a dozen children and had two wives already. At the rate he’s been making these arrangements of his, he’ll have himself sufficient land among his relatives to start his own Hold. Not that anyone in their right mind would want him as a Lord Holder.”

They paused outside the Ground now. Adroitly, Zulaya and K’vin chose a position so that they could also keep a weather eye on the newly-hatched, who, with the help of their riders, were rapidly devouring the piles of cut meat prepared for their initial feeding.

Debera’s situation was unusual. Most families were glad enough to have a child chosen on Search, because of the advantages of having a dragon rider in the family: the combination of the prestige accrued to the Bloodline as well as the availability of transport.

Listening to the vitriol in Lavel’s criticism of Weyr life upset both Weyrleaders and Lord Holders. It was true that certain customs and habits had been developed in the Weyrs to suit dragon needs, but promiscuity was certainly not encouraged.

In fact, there was a very strictly observed code of conduct within the Weyr. There might not be formal union contracts but no rider reneged on his word to a woman, nor failed to make provision for any children of the pairing. And few Weyrbred children, reaching puberty, left the Weyr for the grand parental holds even if they failed to Impress.

Right now, the festivities had already started in the Main Cavern, with the instrumentalists playing a happy tune, one that reflected the triumph of a successful Hatching. Although the new riders were still feeding their dragons or settling them into the weyrling barracks, once the sated dragonets fell asleep the new dragon men and women would join their relatives.

Zulaya wondered if she should remind Lavel that the female riders were housed separately from the males. He obviously had no idea at all how much care a new dragonet required from its human. Most days the weyrlings fell into bed too exhausted to do anything BUT sleep. And had to be rousted out of their bunks by the Weyrlingmaster when they failed to respond to their hungry dragons’ summons.

The young lad, Ganmar, sulked, looking decidedly uncomfortable in his present situation. Zulaya doubted that his heart was the least bit broken by this turn of events. Of course, if he had to work with that father of his building a new hold, maybe a pretty girl to bed at night would have been a major compensation.

“What I should like to know,” Salda was saying, “is why Debera arrived here so late, on her own and with you evidently in hot pursuit.”

“You realize, of course,” and the stern expression in Salda’s eyes was one Zulaya knew well, “that we - Lord Tashvi and I - would not be at all pleased to find that Debera has been denied her holder rights.”

“Holder?” Lavel snorted and then moaned as the injudicious movement caused him pain. “She’ll not be a holder now, will she? She’ll be lost to us for ever, she will.”

“And any chance of bagging her legal land allotment,” Salda said with mock remorse. Lavel growled and tried to turn away from the Lady Holder.

“You’ve claimed more than most as it is. I trust Gisa is in good health? Or have you got yet another child on her? You’ll wear her out the same as you did Milla, you know. But I suppose there are women stupid enough to fall for your ever-increasing land masses. Ssshish,” and Salda turned from him in disgust. “Get him out of my sight. He offends me. And sullies the spirit of this occasion.”

“He’s not so wounded he can’t travel,” the medic said helpfully.

“Travel?” Boris exclaimed, pretending dismay as he had glanced in the direction of the Lower Cavern where the roasts were being served.

“I could find him a place overnight,” Maranis began hesitantly.

Just then four young weyrfolk led up the visitors’ horses which they had recaptured.

“Ah, here are your mounts, Boris,” Zulaya said. Let us not keep you from a safe journey home. You should easily make it back before dark. Maranis, give Lavel enough fell juice to see him to his hold.

“Lads, help him mount. Come, K’vin, we’re overlong congratulating the happy parents.”

She linked her right arm in K’vin’s and her left with Lady Salda and hauled them along across the Bowl.

“A very good Hatching, I’d say,” she began, without a backward look at the three dismissed holders. Nineteen greens, fifteen blues, ten browns and seven bronzes. Good distribution, too. Good size to the bronzes as well. I do believe every clutch produces dragons just slightly larger than the last.”

“Dragons haven’t yet reached their design size,” K’vin said, answering her lead. “I doubt we’ll see that in our lifetime.”

“Surely they’re big enough already?” asked Salda, her eyes wide.

Zulaya laughed. “Larger by several hands than the first ones who fought Thread, which will make it all that much easier for us this time round.”

“You know what to expect, too,” Tashvi said, nodding approval.

Zulaya and K’vin exchanged brief glances. Hopefully, what they could expect did not include unwelcome surprises.

“Indeed we have the advantage of our ancestors in that,” K’vin said stoutly.

Zulaya gave his arm a little squeeze before she released him and strode to the first table where the families of two new brown riders were sitting. K’vin continued in with Salda and saw her and Tashvi settled at the head table, where he and Zulaya would join them after they’d done their obligatory rounds of the tables. Then, making a private bet with himself, he started at the opposite end of the wide Cavern.

By the fourth stop, he had won his bet: news of the unusual Impression of the last green dragon was already circulating.

“Is it true,” the holder mother of a bronze rider asked, “that that girl had to run away from her hold?” She, and the others at this table, were clearly appalled at such a circumstance.

“She got here in time, that’s what’s important,” K’vin said, glossing over that query.

“What if she hadn’t come?” asked one of the adolescents, her expression avid. “Would the dragon have...”

She stopped abruptly - as if she’d been kicked under the table, K’vin thought, suppressing a grin.

“Ah,” he said, bridging the brief pause, “but I’m sure you saw that other lads crowded round, ready and willing. The dragonet would have chosen one of them.”

That was not exactly true. Which was why every Weyr had more than sufficient candidates on the Ground during a Hatching. Early on, the records mentioned five occasions when a dragonet had not found a compatible personality. Its subsequent death had upset the Weyr to the point where every effort was then made to eliminate a second occurrence, including accepting the dragonet’s choice from among spectators.

There were also cases where an egg did not hatch. In the early days, when the technology had still been available, necropsies had been performed to establish cause. In most of the recorded instances, there had been obvious yolk problems, or the creature had been misformed and would not have survived Hatching. Three times, however, the cause of death could not be established as the foetus had been perfect, with no apparent deficiency or disability. The message was handed down to dispose of such unhatched eggs between immediately: a duty performed on such rare occasions by the Weyrleader and his bronze.

“I saw her ride up,” said the girl, delighted to recount this fact. “And then the men who tried to stop her.”

“You must have had the best seat in the house,” K’vin told her, grinning.

The girl shot a vindictive glance around the table. “Yes, I did, didn’t I? I saw it all! Even when the dragonet tried to eat someone.”

“Was that her father?”

“Suze, now, that’s enough of that,” said her own father, and the older boy beside her must have pinched her for she shot straight up on the bench and glared at him.

“Yes, it was her father,” K’vin said.

“Didn’t he know any better than to strike a dragon’s rider?” asked Suze’s father, shocked by such behaviour.

“I think he has perceived his error,” K’vin said dryly and caught Suze’s startled reaction. “What has your son (and Charanth, as he always did, supplied the boy’s name from his dragon’s mind so quickly that the pause was almost unnoticeable), Thomas, decided on for a rider name?”

“Well, I don’t think Thomas dared to hope,” his mother replied, but her expression expressed both her pride in his modesty and her delight in his success.

“He never liked being a Thomas,” Suze said, irrepressible.

“He’ll pick a new name,” and she gave a snide sideways glance at her parent.

“And here he is, if I don’t miss my guess,” K’vin said, gesturing towards the lad making his way across the Cavern floor. K’vin had lectured the candidates on their responsibilities to their dragonets so he was familiar with many of them. This Thomas, or whatever, bore a strong enough resemblance to both sister and brother to make him easily identifiable. He hoped that a facial resemblance was all Thomas shared with his sister. She was a spiteful one.

“Well done, young man,” K’vin said, holding out his hand.

“And how shall we style you now?”

“S’mon, Weyrleader,” the new bronze rider said, still flushed with elation. He had a good firm handshake. “I considered T’om, but I never liked the nickname.”

“You said you’d...” Suze got yet another kick under the table, for she yipped this time and tears started in her eyes.

“It’s easier to say,” S’mon said. “Tiabeth likes it.” Now he showed the delightful confusion of pride and proprietariness so many brand-new weyrlings exhibited while accustoming themselves to their new condition and duties. As K’vin remembered so vividly, that took time.

And there was a T’mas in the first group at Benden.

“He’s long dead,” his father said, not altogether pleased with his son’s choice. “Thomas is a family name,” he admitted to K’vin. “I’m Thomas, ninth of my line.”

The boy looked at his father with that curious aloofness of independence that came with being a newly paired dragon rider sort of “you can’t tell me what to do any more” and “this is my business, Dad, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Tiabeth and S’mon,” K’vin said, lifting the glass he’d been carrying from table to table and drinking a toast to the partners. The others made haste to repeat it.

“Eat, S’mon.

“You’ll need every meal you get a chance to eat,” he added and left the boy to follow that very good advice.

At each subsequent table, he heard more speculation about the late arrival of Debera. There had been embellishments: one had her father bleeding to death. Another variation suggested that Debera had been the reluctant one and her family had insisted that she try to Impress, having been Searched. Young Suze had had the best seat in the Hatching Ground after all, despite being so far from the center that she hadn’t had a good view of Impression, but a perfect one for what was happening outside. So he edited the facts to keep the incident from getting out of hand. Fortunately, the music the band was playing, and the lyrics, provided a happy distraction. Most of the music was new. Clisser’s musicians had done their job very well indeed.

K’vin avoided having his glass filled too often and used slices of the roast wherry and beef to sop up what was required by the obligatory toasting of the new riders.

He had almost completed his circuit when he saw the Telgar Holders and T’dam leading Debera in, all moving towards the head table. Salda and Tashvi rose and went to meet her half-way. She still had a dazed look on her face and glanced, almost wildly, around the crowded Cavern.

Someone had given her a green gown which showed off a most womanly body, and the style of it as well as the color suited Debera.

The deep, clear green set off her fine complexion and a head of curling bronze-coloured hair which was now attractively dressed, not straggling unkempt around a sweaty distraught face. No doubt Tisha, the head woman had had a hand in the transformation. Zulaya had once said Tisha treated all the weyrgirls like live dolls, dressing them up and fussing with their hair. Nor was Tisha herself childless, but her excess of maternal instinct was an asset in the Weyr.

Salda put an arm about Debera, her head inclined to the shorter girl as she chatted; evidently determined to make up for the lack of family members on what was generally a very happy occasion for holder or crafter. Had Debera seen the last of her relatives? No matter, she was in the larger, extended family of the Weyr and could find more amiable and sympathetic replacements.

Zulaya was introducing Debera to Sarra, the sun-bleached blonde from Ista who was chatting away with such animation that Debera smiled - tentatively, K’vin thought, but with growing self-confidence.

“You got Morath to sleep all right?” he asked, joining the women.

I thought she’d never stop eating,” Debera said, a slightly anxious frown on her face. Her green eyes, K’vin saw, were also emphasized by the color of the gown. Tisha had done her proud.

“They’re voracious,” said Zulaya, with a kind laugh. “And so am I. Come, let’s all be seated before there’s nothing left for us.” Salda gave a good-natured snort, grinning down at Debera.

“Not likely. We’ve been sending you the fatted calves for the past week in anticipation.” She turned to the girl as she passed her over to K’vin. “One thing sure, girl, you’ll eat higher on the hog here in Telgar than you ever did at home. And not have to cook it!” Debera was so clearly startled by such jocularity that K’vin took her hand, guiding her to the steps up to the platform on which the head table was placed.

“I think you’ll be very happy here, Debera,” he said gently, “with Morath as your friend.”

Immediately the girl’s face softened with joy and her eyes watered. Her look of vulnerable wonder struck such a responsive chord in him that he stumbled in following her.

“Oh, and she is more than a friend,” she said, more like a prayer than a statement of fact.

“Come, sit beside me,” said Zulaya, pulling out the chair, and signaling K’vin to take the one beyond. They were not in their usual center table position, but quick eye contact with Salda and Tashvi had the Holders pulling out those chairs as if such placement was normal.

“Listen to that melody. How lovely” she added, tilting her head as the music, not quite martial but firm, was stopping conversation throughout the Cavern.

“So are the words,” Salda said, eyes widening in surprise, as well as delight, at what she heard. When her husband started to say something, she hushed him.

K’vin was happy to listen, too.

Sheledon, who had insisted on using the Telgar Impression as the debut of some new music, was very pleased that conversation had trailed off and everyone was hearing what was being sung. Now was the time to spring the big one on them. As soon as the coda on what Jemmy called ‘Dragonlove’ had finished, he held up the music to the ‘Duty Ballad’ and then pointed it at Sydra who would sing the boy soprano part.

They hadn’t found a lad with a suitable voice yet, but she could whiten her voice to approximate the tone. At Sheledon’s signal, Bethany piped the haunting notes of the intro and Sydra rose to sing the opening verse.

All right, they didn’t have enough trained voices to really sock the Ballad to this audience - in his mind, Sheledon heard what a full chorus would sound like - but the excellent acoustics in the Cavern were a big help. And the music captivated. Sydra managed to sound very young and awed..

Gollagee came in with his fine tenor as the dragon rider. Sheledon was right on cue with his baritone part and then, with Bethany singing alto and the Weyr’s own musicians adding their voices, they wound it all up.

There was just one split second’s total silence - the sort that makes performers rejoice - and then everyone was standing, wildly cheering, clapping, stamping their approval.

Even the dragons joined in from outside, caught up in their riders’ enthusiasms. Sydra kept bowing and urging the rest of the musicians to stand and accept the accolades. Even Bethany stood, a few tears trickling down her cheeks at such a unanimous reception.

They gave five encores of the Ballad - with people adding their voices to the chorus as they quickly picked up on the words. When Sheledon ruefully waved off a sixth repeat, there were calls for the Dragonlove song which was so appropriate for this evening.

All in all, Sheledon decided as he caught Sydra’s smiling face, a very successful debut! Jemmy had outdone himself and Clisser would be delighted. Perhaps there was something to Clisser’s notion of redesigning the educational system so less time would be wasted on unessentials and the Real Meaning of Life could be addressed sooner.

Prologue

Early Autumn at Fort’s Gather

Gather at Fort

Late Autumn at Telgar Weyr