“I’ll be—” F’lar grinned at her, “right back.”
Lessa glanced over at the wall clock: 11:35!
“Is he going to—” D’ram began, stopping in surprise. “But you don’t encourage—”
“No, I don’t, but, as I said, if we prepare for the worst, we can be pleasantly—rather than unpleasantly—surprised. Something about that—.” She regarded the fireball. “When a dragon’s eyes are that color, she’s at her most dangerous.”
D’ram looked at the screen. “Yes, you’re right.”
Seven elapsed minutes later, when the clock registered 11:42, F’lar and Idarolan swung into the conference room. Both of them were laden with bags of chart rolls and looked as if they had been running. Idarolan’s eyes swept those gathered, then were held by the monitor as he swung his burden to the tabletop.
“I see that I am in time,”—his roughened seaman’s voice caressed the word—“to be of use.”
“Oh, yes, Idarolan, yes, I’m glad you’re here,” Wansor said excitedly. “I don’t think the cometary fragment is going to miss us.” He sounded as if this were an achievement to be relished. “What’s the object’s magnitude right now?”
“It’s sending a brightness of minus eight,” Idarolan exclaimed and sat down heavily, ignoring his paraphernalia. “I’m glad I did some calculations before I came.” He swung about. “Where’s Erragon?”
“Interface office,” Lytol said as repressively as he could, trying to concentrate on giving Wansor at least some of the readings.
“It will hit us then, won’t it?” Lessa murmured.
“Yes, I fear so,” Wansor said, all his initial enthusiasm and excitement lost in acceptance of that reality.
They were all silent as the screen depicted the catastrophe that was on its way to them.
Master Idarolan was the first to recover his wits. “I will need the help of your best mathematicians,” he said, hunting through the bundles on the table and selecting a tightly wrapped tube of papers. “Monaco must be evacuated first. I don’t know how long they will have—two, maybe three hours.”
Lessa stood also and clasped the hand holding the papers. “Tell the dragonriders there that I want them to make—” She paused to impress that on him; his eyes twinkled as he took her meaning. “—time to accomplish what needs to be done.”
Monaco Weyr—10:22 in the morning—Timing it
Golanth and Zaranth were hovering at tree level above the wide clearing that surrounded the large long building that was Monaco Bay Weyr. The space was big enough to accommodate many dragons, F’lessan thought. Then he winced. So much time was consumed by doing “safe” landings and takeoffs. They had no time to waste right now. As Golanth sank to the ground in front of the Weyr center, F’lessan caught one glimpse of the sea, tranquil and pale green, and a bright streak slightly north and east of Monaco Bay.
As much as I wanted to see that comet, I may wish I never had, F’lessan remarked ironically.
Zaranth’s rider said that, too.
Well, tell Zaranth to remember the position. We can use it as a handy time-mark today.
Monarth arrived, too, inches above ground. Without waiting for the bronze to touch ground, T’gellan was sliding off and racing up the steps to the wide porch, shouting orders, banging on doors as he went down the wide porch that surrounded the Weyrhold. Path landed even closer to the steps, Mirrim dropping right onto the porch and scrambling to the nearest wide door.
“But you just left!” a woman exclaimed, coming out of the Weyr’s main building.
“Well, we’re back and there’s an emergency, Dilla,” Mirrim said, going to the bell and rigorously pulling its rope. “C’mon, Tai, we can start evacuating the children. You can help, too, F’lessan, while ‘Gell gets the maps.” She raced inside and F’lessan heard her announcing the crisis to all within.
Typical Mirrim, he thought, but at least she was over the panic that had seized her in the Interface office. Immediately there were screams, sobs, shouts, and general confusion. The loudest complaint was “There’s bread to be baked …”
“How far inland is safe?” F’lessan cried, catching Tai before she could follow Mirrim indoors.
“They can get high enough in twenty minutes fast-walking.” Tai pointed toward a well-used path that led around one corner. “Not much time for packing but we’ll need some things.”
She wavered for a moment on the threshold, looking beyond the clearing, then sighed and shrugged her shoulders, hurrying on inside.
Mirrim’s shrill voice was organizing the weyrfolk inside, while others, alarmed by the tolling bell, were racing in on the various paths, to find out what was wrong. Just then a crowd of half-grown boys and girls came swarming to the end of the porch, joining the other worried weyrfolk.
“The Weyr must be evacuated,” he told them.
“I told you that fireball was bad luck,” one of the older boys told the others.
“How could it make the sea burn?” a girl demanded, looking to the bronze rider for an answer.
“It won’t,” F’lessan said authoritatively. “Don’t make guesses. Right now you need to do what you’re told.” He gave them his best reassuring grin. “This is going to be an adventure! You’ve got to get to your own weyrs. Pack as much as you can as quickly as you can. No more than you can carry. Tell everyone to make for the heights.” He pointed the path Tai had indicated. “You need to be at least two hundred meters from the shore, up into the grove of fellis trees.” He gave the bell another clanging to reinforce the urgency and those who had heard what he had to tell them dispersed in seconds, running in all directions.
Mirrim came out, herding little ones in front of her, helped by her sturdy son, Gellim, while other weyrwomen followed her, some carrying sacks and bundles. Tai had one arm burdened with packs and the other around a screaming toddler.
“Tai, get aboard Zaranth and I’ll hand the babies up to you. F’lessan, use the safety straps to tie them to her. Oh, do stop screaming, Vessa,” Mirrim said to the hysterical child behind her. “F’lessan, get her aboard Golanth. She can hold another once she’s on his back. He can follow Zaranth to the heights with this lot. Then come back for another. It’s too far for them to make it on their own.”
Mirrim’s bossy streak was in full operation, F’lessan thought as he hoisted an hysterical mother up to Golanth and started passing up sacks and bundles. Tai placed the screaming toddler on Zaranth’s neck, an action that instantly silenced it. She leaped astride and took the others Mirrim lifted up to her.
“I’m ready,” Tai cried.
Follow Zaranth, Golly!
Of course!
“I know we’re responsible for all of Monaco but I can work better if I know our folk are safe,” Mirrim said, excusing her actions. “While Golanth’s gone, you can help me organize the others inside. We have cradlers to take, too. Will Golanth mind?”
“Not likely,” F’lessan said; even his dragon would not thwart Mirrim in this mood or under these circumstances. Fortunately Mirrim was already on her way back inside the room and did not see how close to the ground both green and bronze had been when they went between. Think of the time they saved, he told himself.
“You, you can go on Path,” he heard her saying and she nearly ran him down on her return with three older women, barely able to move for the things they were clutching. “F’lessan, we’ll need rope to tie the cradles to Golanth. Over in that closet.”
“We have some time to spare, Mirrim,” he told her as he complied. Golanth! Carry cradles? Well, who better?
“I’ll send these off on my Path. She knows where to go. F’lessan, when you’ve got the ropes, put them on the porch. The tanner journeyman needs your help with his materials. And we’ve rolls of fabric in the loft we simply must save.”
“There’s Monarth doing nothing,” F’lessan muttered under his breath, but he got the ropes, put them on the porch, and went to the assistance of the crafter who was trying to car
ry too many hides as well as various tools, and dropping things. And where was T’gellan with his maps?
By the time much of the Weyr’s most urgent household items had been shoved or bundled into packs, brown, blue, and green dragons had arrived to be loaded and sent off. Three other blues took the cradled children. Browns were draped with fabric rolls and sleeping furs, and bulky items were tied to willing backs.
It was as well that dragons had an innate instinct for avoiding each other on the ground as well as in the air for the traffic in and out of the main Weyr clearing was amazing. With Zaranth, Golanth had made three more trips between without his rider, conveying the healer and half a dozen patients.
T’gellan finally came to F’lessan’s end of the porch, lugging one end of a heavy chest as two brown riders held the other. Tucked under his belt were maps. While the brown riders lifted the chest to Monarth’s back, T’gellan beckoned to F’lessan, who was beginning to worry about how much time this was all taking.
The Weyrcook, arms full of bundles, nearly fell down the steps, followed by weyrfolk struggling with sacksful of clicking pots and leaking supplies just as Golanth touched down again. T’gellan rolled his eyes significantly at the younger rider and F’lessan offered Golanth’s services. The cook mounted first, securing as many things as she could to Golanth’s ridges. When no more could fit on his back, he raised just high enough above the ground to go between yet again.
Then T’gellan was at F’lessan’s side, unrolling one of the maps just as three bronze dragons deposited their riders on the recently cleared space. Two riderless brown dragons hovered above the trees, waiting to land.
“I suspect you’re more adept at timing than that trio, my friend,” T’gellan said, admirably cool in manner, “so you get to go the farthest. Take St’ven on Mealth and C’reel and Galuth to help.” The Weyrleader gestured to the browns. He unrolled the map to F’lessan who took one edge as he recognized a copy of the aerial maps that Aivas had supplied to all the Weyrs. “We were out over this area last time you flew with us. You’ll remember this orange cliff!” T’gellan tapped at the recognizable landmark. “Long wide bay, long, sloping sands to the sea.” He grimaced at the thought of the clear path that would give the incoming tsunami. “Granite cliff. White sands stand out against it. Bay looks like the sea took a toothless bite out of the coastline.” He gave the younger rider a reassuring grin. “Don’t let them talk you into conveying their boats. Those are replaceable. Lives are not!”
With that philosophy F’lessan agreed, but he also knew how difficult it was to make holders abandon whatever treasures they might own.
“Holds’re mostly near this stream, but that would provide the tsunami with a channel to flood badly way inland. Be sure everyone is well back on the summit. We can’t estimate how high the tsunami crest will be. Reaching the heights will be a climb for some but there’re switchback steps cut in the lower levels. But among the three of you, you ought to be able to evacuate them all. Somehow or other.” T’gellan’s expression was grim again as he thrust the map at F’lessan. “You’re a good rider.” He gave F’lessan a supportive clout on the shoulder. “Secure that chest on Monarth, will you, C’reel, St’ven? Then F’lessan’s your Wingleader.”
“I’ve called in as many riders as can be spared to clear Monaco Harbor and Cove Hold,” T’gellan said, his forehead furrowed with worry. “Sweep riders are warning inland holders but we can’t take time to figure out how far above sea level they are. They’ll just have to get as high as they can. But all have got to be warned.” In a final aside, before the Weyrleader mounted, he leaned into F’lessan. “Don’t shave time too close! Lessa would kill me if you got time-lost.”
Then he was astride his dragon and Monarth leaped skyward and was gone between before the upper sail of his wings cleared the rooftree on the Weyr building.
“C’reel, St’ven, mount up! Golanth? Golanth?” He felt the sudden air pressure on his body and didn’t need to look to know that his bronze had landed on the ground beside him. He couldn’t resist a proud grin at such accuracy. “We’re going to the Sunrise Cliff Seahold. Take your directions from me,” he added, stuffing the aerial map into a thigh pocket. Remember where the fireball was when we got here first, Golanth?
Of course.
Put it in the same place above Sunrise Cliff Seahold and let’s go then! F’lessan vividly imagined the grass-topped rock face with white sands for contrast.
Golanth sprang upward, once again going between a leg-length above the ground. In the cold between, F’lessan had just time enough to wonder if the dragons were all embarked on something like Moreta’s Ride. What had she used for a time-mark? Or had its absence caused her death?
In the Conference Room at Landing—local time 1:10–1.9.31
After seeing Master Wansor leave with D’ram and Lytol to return to Cove Hold to organize its evacuation, Lessa’s mind raced with all the details that had already been sorted out. She’d need time, of another sort, to organize her thoughts. How F’lessan must be loving this license, she thought sardonically. Erragon or Idarolan would be here soon enough to explain how bad this tsunami-tidal wave-wall of water phenomenon might be. She turned off the monitor. She’d had enough of its depressing show of figures for the time being. She felt the klah pot and decided its contents were still warm enough to be drinkable. Who knew when she might have time to eat or drink in the time-tossed turmoil that had just been set into motion? She sipped as she reviewed the last hectic half hour. She thought they’d done rather well, leaping into action after the initial shock.
F’lar had gone to muster Benden Weyr, sending sweepriders to warn the most obviously vulnerable holdings along the Nerat and Benden coastline. Few on the rest of the planet would have any idea what had just happened in the Eastern Sea. It was Monaco that would suffer the first huge wave. T’gellan had thirty-four experienced older bronze riders to manage evacuations. F’lar would ask J’fery at Telgar and G’dened at Igen to send more bronzes to assist. Manora and Brekke would organize supplies, food, medicines, and healers. She would organize Landing. She had before. Ramoth had called Benden’s junior queens to help with dragons coming and going. Jaxom and Sharra would bring Sebell. They’d have to call a conference with Lord Holders and Craftmasters—that is, as soon as she had enough details.
She finished the last of her klah and turned as she heard the door click open. Erragon stood there, his face expressively conveying that his “details” were not going to be good news. Resolutely, he closed the door and strode over to the Mercator projection, fumbling to extract a red marker from his pocket.
“I’m afraid,” he said, “that while Monaco Bay is in the direct line of only one main wave, it will also be inundated by several waves, diffracted by the inner Ring islands.” He put his red marker on the islands and made a rapid downward stroke, ending at the coastline. “I figure the first wave—”
“First wave?” Lessa exclaimed.
“Um, yes, first wave of five, to be accurate.” While Lessa was speechless, he hurried on. “The first will strike at Monaco Bay at four hours fifteen minutes, local time—three hours and twenty five minutes after impact—and hit the Jordan River mouth an hour and a half later. Rather spectacularly, in fact.” He paused. “I can’t help it, Lady Lessa.”
“That’s just the first wave?” she asked grimly.
“Stinar’s trying to do a diagram so you—so we all—can see how the waves will be spaced and reflect against the shore. One comes in a straight line from the impact site. The others won’t be as strong, of course, as the unimpeded tsunami.” He tapped the headland that jutted out into the sea east of Monaco Bay. “The cape may provide some protection, but the harbor facility …” He shrugged with regret. “I’m confident that the dolphins will warn ships at sea. We know they do. They will surely have felt the impact. They are so tuned in to their medium. Ships may not experience more turbulence or be much the worse for it. It’s when a tsunami meets the shore, or sho
als or shallows, that it crests and runs in. As to Cove Hold, Lady Lessa, it’s shielded by the point east of the coast and the islands between—” He tapped it by way of demonstration. “—from some of the waves that Monaco Bay will experience. Additionally, the underwater extension of the eastern point at the Upwelling will break incoming waves. Spectacular breakers but much less actual wave height until fairly far west along the coast. Most of what the Cove will see is a splash wave as a result of the secondary wave breaks.” He gave her a swift ingratiating smile.
Lessa shifted restlessly in her chair. Devastated by Erragon’s talk of five tsunamis striking Monaco Bay, she felt perversely irritated by the fact that they had only recently restored the Hold to its pre-hurricane elegance.
“I suppose the news about Cove Hold provides a little relief.” Instantly aware of how bitter she sounded, she held up her hand, “Which is none of your fault, to be sure.” She nodded at him to continue. Better to hear the worst and clear her mind to plan how to proceed.
“Now, there will be flooding west of Cove Hold.” His pen crossed the open area to the out-jutting of Southern. “These two coastlines will also be flooded,” his pen moved again, “possibly with less force.”
“The new Dolphin Hall?” she asked, hoping that young Readis’s new project would survive.
“I believe it’s on the west side so this headland,” and he marked the spot to the right of the mouth of the Rubicon river, “will protect it. There might be a very high tide but the dolphins will surely have spread the warning.”
“That’s their bargain with humans,” Lessa said drolly.
“However, to go on west,” Erragon continued, almost as inexorably as that wretched tsunami, Lessa thought to herself, “Macedonia will experience four different waves, but I understand that coastline is not well settled.”
“Then Monaco has not been singled out?” Lessa asked caustically. She had to find some balance in this calamity; her mind roiled with all they would have to do. At least this time they would be able to rescue those most vulnerable, unlike the hurricane that had taken them by surprise. She had to keep that thought foremost in her mind.
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