Moreta

by Anne McCaffrey

  Moreta waved to Leri and received a jaunty salute. Settling her eyepieces, Moreta fastened her helmet, hitched back the cumbersome flamethrower, and mounted Orlith. With a mighty heave, Orlith launched herself toward the Rim.

  “That’s quite an effort, dear heart,” Moreta said. Once I am airborne, there is no effort.

  To allay Moreta’s anxiety, Orlith executed a very deft turn and landed with precision near Kadith. The dragon was a good-size beast, a deep rich shade of bronze with green undertones. He was not the largest bronze in Fort Weyr but, in his mating flights with Orlith, he had proved the most agile, daring, and energetic. Kadith looked up at Orlith and affectionately stroked his head on her neck. Orlith accepted the caress demurely, turning her head to touch muzzles.

  Then Sh’gall signaled the blue, green, brown, and bronze riders to feed their dragons firestone. Considering it was an essential step in the destruction of Thread, Moreta could never take it as seriously as she ought. She kept her face composed and eyes straight ahead but she knew exactly the expression on the dragons’ faces—pensive, eyes half closed as the dragon maneuvered firestone to the grinding surfaces of sturdy teeth, taking the greatest care to set the rock just so before applying pressure. The force that would pulverize firestone could also wreak considerable damage to a dragon’s tongue. Dragons chewed firestone cautiously.

  Once they’d stopped chewing firestone, the twelve wings of dragons—green, blue, brown, and bronze hides glistening with health in the sunlight, the many-faceted eyes taking on the reddish-yellow battle hue, wings restlessly flicking and tails slapping on the rock of the Rim—were a sight that never failed to inspire Moreta.

  Orlith shifted her feet, sat back on her haunches. Moreta thumped her shoulder affectionately and told her to settle.

  They are ready. Their bellies are full of firestone. Why are we not flying? Kadith?

  Moreta was not one of those rare queen riders who could understand any dragon. Kadith turned his molten eyes on Orlith, and she steadied. Orlith was queen of the Weyr, as senior queen, the most powerful dragon in the Weyr, and since Fort was the first and biggest Weyr on the planet, she and her rider were the preeminent partners. But when Thread Fell, the Weyrleader was in command and Orlith had to obey Kadith and Sh’gall. So did Moreta.

  Suddenly the farthest wing launched into the sky, high and straight. They would fly the high first westerly stack of the initial three wings. The second level wing moved out, then the third. Once all had achieved their assigned heights, the three wings went between. The north-south wings launched next for a cross-flight of the probable line of Fall. They went. between. The diagonal wings, who would start in the northwest, went aloft and disappeared. Sh’gall lifted his arm yet again, and this time Kadith bugled, as impatient to be gone as Orlith. The Weyrleader would take his three wings east, to the line along Crom’s plateau where the leading edge of Thread was due. The queens’ wing took the final position, sweeping as close to the ground as they safely could. Their slower glide, their more powerful wings gave them more flight stability in erratic wind currents.

  Now Kadith leaped from the Rim, Orlith following so quickly that Moreta was jerked back against the fighting straps. Then they were gliding into position. Leri on Holth had joined them, by what feat of acrobatics Moreta had not seen. Haura and Kamiana took their positions, and Lidora joined Moreta on the upper level.

  Kadith says we go between.

  You have the visual from him?

  Very clear.

  Take us between, Orlith!

  “Black, blacker, blackest, coldest beyond living things,

  Where is life when there is . . .”

  The rugged mountains of Nabol were in the far distance, the sun warm on their backs in its cold-season arc. Below lay the bony plains of eastern Crom, glistening in patches and streaks that suggested there had been frost or a heavy dew.

  Moreta’s second glance was for Leri and Holth, who were perfectly fine. Haura and Kamiana were aligned behind them to form the V. Above were the fighting wings, the highest stack mere motes on a slow western glide. At the other assigned points of the defense, nine more wings were gliding toward the as-yet-unseen enemy. Now Moreta looked back over her shoulder. Much wind?

  Not enough to matter. Orlith veered slightly to the right and left, testing.

  Then Thread would make its entry on a slight slant, Moreta thought. There’d be more problems as they neared the mountains of Nabol where drafts would complicate Fall by sudden upward surges or drops. Thread fell at a faster rate during the cold season and, although the temperature was colder than it had been for recent Falls that Turn, the air wasn’t frigid.

  It comes!

  Moreta looked back again. She saw that silvery smudging of a sky, a blurring that crept inexorably groundward. The Fall of Thread!

  Leading edge! And Orlith began to pump her great wings, propelling them forward to meet the devastating rain.

  Moreta caught her breath, as always exhilarated and apprehensive. She remembered to exhale as she settled against the fighting straps. Moments would pass before the high wings would close with Thread. It would be minutes before she and the other queens might be needed. She spared another glance for Holth.

  She flies well! Orlith confirmed. The sun is warm on their backs, too.

  Leading edge was visible and the sky ahead on either side was starred with quick bursts of flame. Moreta could see the stacks of dragons at their various altitudes covering the edge well. Then, from the pattern of dragon flame, she saw that the Fall was uneven. There were gaps where no dragon breathed Thread to char.

  Kadith says the Fall is ragged. Widen the formations. Second stack is closing. Southern wings have contact. Orlith would keep up her commentary until the queens’ wing was called to use its flamethrowers. Then her attention would be totally involved in keeping herself and her rider unscathed. High level is dropping down now. No injuries.

  There rarely are, Moreta thought, not in the first few exciting moments of Fall, no matter how badly it drops. The riders are all fresh, their dragons eager. Once they assessed the Fall, thick or thin, racing or languid, then mistakes would occur. The second hour of a Fall was the most dangerous. Riders and dragons lost their initial keenness, they overshot Thread, or they misjudged. Falls don’t always follow the pattern of the leading edge, particularly at the end of a Pass.

  Kadith is checking. Kadith is flaming. Char! Excitement tinged Orlith’s previously calm tone. He’s between. Back again. Flaming. All wings are now engaged. First flight returns for second sweep.

  The wind yanked at Moreta’s body and she tugged briefly to settle the flamethrower strap on her shoulder. Now the wind carried with it tiny flecks of black charred Thread. On a stormy day, sometimes her eyepieces would be covered by a muddy film. They were under the first edge of Fall now.

  Nothing passed the wings, Orlith said.

  Sometimes great gouts of Thread would descend on the leading edge and riders would be hard put to acquit their duty. Some older riders preferred the first drop to be heavy, swearing that the heavier the leading edge, the lighter the die-off. So many Falls, so many leading edges, so many, many variations possible and so many comparisons. No two accounts, even by riders in the same wing, ever seemed to tally.

  Old L’mal had told Moreta that the efficiency of the dragon was only hampered by his rider’s ability to brag. However a rider flew, so long as no Thread reached the ground, the flight was well done!

  The plains of Crom flowed beneath them. Moreta kept her eyes ranging ahead as did Orlith, in a synchrony of alertness long perfected. Moreta now caught the overvision from Orlith as the dragon saw hers. Moreta often experienced the desire to dive on Thread as the fighting dragons did, swooping down on the target, instead of having to wait passively for stray Thread to appear. Sometimes she envied the greens, who could chew firestone. That effectively sterilized them, which was all to the good or green dragons would overpopulate the planet. The danger was in the fig
ht, but so was the excitement, and the golden queens could not indulge.

  Thread!

  “Haura!”

  Werth sees. Werth follows!

  Moreta watched as the younger queen veered, swung, and came up under the tangle of the deadly parasite. The flamethrower spat. The ash dispersed in the air as Werth accomplished the brief mission.

  They are all alert now, Orlith told Moreta.

  Tell them to broaden the interval since we’re past leading edge. Kamiana is to stay with Leri and Holth. We’ll go south. Haura, north!

  Obligingly Orlith turned, gradually picked up air speed and altitude.

  That was the hard part of Fall, coursing back and forth. The rich dark soil of the plateau held sufficient mineral nourishment to sustain Thread long enough to waste fields that had been brought to fertility over hundreds of Turns of careful husbandry.

  They were nearing the initial rank of hills and the first of Crom’s holds. The symmetry of the windows with their metal shutters tightly closed was visible against the protecting hillside. As Moreta and Orlith passed over the burning fire-heights, she wondered if all within the hold were healthy.

  “Ask the watchwher, Orlith.”

  It knows nothing. Orlith’s tone was a shade contemptuous. The queen did not enjoy interchanges with the simpleminded beasts.

  “They have their uses,” Moreta said. “We can check with all of them today. Sh’gall may not wish us to contact people but we can still learn something.”

  Orlith gained more altitude as the second fold of hills loomed. Rider and queen kept the silvery shower in sight, angling from one edge of their appointed line to the other. Over the next plateau they saw Lidora and Ilith swinging along their route.

  Kadith says to converge on Crom Hold, Orlith told her after several long sweeps.

  “Let’s join them.”

  Moreta thought hard of Crom’s fire-heights, chanted her talisman against between, and on “blackest” arrived in the air above Crom’s principal Hold. It was situated near a river, the first cascade of which could be viewed from the Hold windows when unshuttered. The livestock that usually grazed the fields had been gathered in. Moreta remembered the gay and brave decorations on Ruatha’s windows and asked Orlith to speak to Crom’s watchwher.

  It is only worried about Thread. Knows nothing of illness. Orlith sounded disgusted. Kadith says the Fall is heavy now and we should be careful. There have been three minor scorings. All dragons are flaming well and the wings are in order. Cross over!

  Moreta glanced at the spectacular display as all the fighting wings overlapped one another above Crom Hold. Too bad the holders couldn’t see it. Cross-over was a magnificent sight but the concentration of the wings in one aerial position left many openings for Thread.

  Suddenly Orlith veered. Moreta saw the Thread patch. Saw the blue dragon heading for it.

  “We’re in a better position,” she cried, knowing that Orlith would warn off the diving blue. She flicked open the nozzle of the flame-thrower, leaning well left in her fighting straps as Orlith came up under the tangle. She pressed the button. The gout of fire found its mark but Moreta also had a blurred vision of blue wings and belly.

  “Too close, you fool. Who was that?”

  N’men, rider of Jelth, Orlith said. One of the young blues. You didn’t singe him.

  “A singe would teach him discipline.” Moreta fumed, but was relieved that the young rider was unscathed. “Reckless stupidity to fly so low. Didn’t he see us? I’ll have his eyes for polishing.”

  More Thread! Orlith was off at another tangent. Lidora had also seen the Thread and she was nearer. Orlith desisted. Kadith is diverting from cross-over. The others are coming.

  The queens’ wing reformed, flying north, fanning out as gobbets of loose Thread Fell in a curious order caused by the dragon’s distortions of the air currents. That was work indeed for the queens!

  Moreta and Orlith were flying hard after this tangle, that patch, aware that Sh’gall had quickly redeployed sections of several wings to cover the upper levels. Crossovers were hard to avoid, with the different stacks of dragons flying at varying speeds, especially when the prime requirement was that wings maintain the proper altitude and interval. Then Sh’gall sent sweep riders north to make sure there had been no burrowing.

  The Fall continued as the wings reestablished their far-ranging patterns. Riders called for more firestone and set meetings with the weyrlings riding supply. Moreta checked her flamethrower and found half a tank. And Fall continued.

  More casualties were reported by Orlith, none serious—wing tips and tails. Orlith and Moreta flew a watching level over the first of the snow-tipped mountains along the irregular border between Crom and Nabol. Thread would freeze and shrivel on those slopes but the queens ranged while Sh’gall and Kadith ordered the wings between to the far side and Nabol.

  Haura said that she and Leri needed new fuel cylinders for their flamethrowers and were dropping down at the mine hold.

  “Leri, please check with the watchwher!”

  Holth says that the watchwhers are all stupid and know nothing of any use to us. I’ll keep on asking.

  Any landing was a strain for Holth, who was no longer agile. Moreta watched anxiously, but Leri had allowed for Holth’s incapacity and directed the old queen to a wide ledge close to the mine hold. A green weyrling arrived from between, cylinders hanging on both sides of her neck. She landed daintily. Her rider detached one tank and dismounted. He ran toward Holth, up her forearm, clinging to the cylinder straps with one hand and the fighting leather with the other. The exchange of tanks was made as Moreta and Orlith glided over. Holth took several steps forward, leaning into the free air and got in her first downward sweep.

  They pace themselves. All is well, Orlith said.

  “Take us to Kadith!”

  They went between and emerged above a rough valley just as a mass of Thread split across the nearest ridge.

  Tapeth follows!

  The green dragon, her wings flat against her dorsal ridge, fell toward the point of impact, her flaming breath searing the crest. Just when it looked as if the dragon would collide with the ridge, she unfolded her wings and swerved off.

  Take us there! Moreta glanced down at the tank gauge. She’d need more to flood the ridge. No ground crew could get into the blind valley.

  Then they were above the sooted stone. Obedient to her rider’s mental directions, Orlith hovered so that Moreta could flame the far side of the ridge. Tendrils of Thread hissed and writhed into black ash. Methodically she pumped flame into the area, widening the arc to be sure that not a finger-length of the parasite escaped.

  “We’ll land a bit away, Orlith. I’ll need another tank now.”

  It comes! Orlith landed easily.

  “I want to check that ridge. I couldn’t see if it was shelf, sheet, or shale.”

  Moreta released her fighting straps and slid down. Her feet, sore from the long ride and slightly numb despite the thick lining of her boots, were jarred by the impact of her jump. She slowly clambered on insensitive soles toward the blackened area, her finger ready on the flamethrower’s ignition button. She began to sense the residual heat of the two flame attacks on the rock and moved forward more slowly as much to revive her cold feet as to be cautious. She never liked to rush in on a Thread site, not on foot. However, it had to be done and the sooner the better. Thread burrowed into any crevice or cranny.

  The eastern side of the ridge was sheer rock, unmarred by a split or crack to harbor Thread. The western face was also a solid mass. Tapeth’s flame must have caught the stuff on landing.

  Her feet were beginning to warm up as she made her way back to Orlith. Just then a blue weyrling emerged. His claws were no more than a finger-length from the top of the protruding rock thrust. The next instant the blue backfanned his wings to land. Orlith rumbled and the blue shuddered at the queen’s reprimand. The rider’s expression altered abruptly from delight to apprehension.
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  “Don’t be clever T’ragel! Be safe!” Moreta shouted at him. “You could have come out in the ridge, not on it! You’ve never been here before. Hasn’t F’neldril drilled it in your skull to have air space landing as well as taking off?”

  The young rider fumbled with the straps holding the tank to his blue dragon’s side as Moreta stormed over to him, still seething with the fright he had given her. “Caution pleases me much more than agility.”

  She almost wrenched the tank from his hand.

  “Get down. To make up for your error in judgment, stay until the ridge cools. Check for infestation. There’s moss just below. You know how to use a flamethrower? Good. What’s left in my tank should suffice. But have your dragon call if you see anything moving on that ridge. Anything!”

  An hour or so’s cold watch with fear as his companion would cool the young rider’s ardor for fancy landings. No matter how often they were cautioned by the Weyrlingmaster and Weyrleader, weyrlings inexplicably disappeared and the older dragons grieved. The casualties were such a waste of the Weyr’s resources.

  She remounted Orlith, aware that the boy had taken a sentry’s stance, but as close to the comfort of his blue dragon as possible. They looked shaken and forlorn.

  Kadith calls!

  “We must be nearing the end of Fall!” Moreta clipped back her fighting straps, remembering to tug them secure. Her harangue would lose its force if she came adrift on take-off.

  B’lerion rides!

  Moreta smiled as she told Orlith to get them airbound, to take them between to join the wings. She wondered, in the blackest of cold, just how B’lerion had fared with Oklina

  Then they were on the western side of the Nabol Range with Thread falling thick and fast. Moreta had no time to express gratitude for the presence of the fresh dragons and their riders. Moreta and Orlith had just dispatched a low snarl of Thread when Orlith announced abruptly, The Fall is over!

  As the queen slowed her forward motion into a leisurely glide, Moreta leaned wearily into the fighting straps, the nozzle heavy in her tired hand. She felt the dull ache in her head from having to see too much at once, from having to concentrate on drift, and glide, and angle of the flame.