The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Oh, no,” Erragon assured her. “The most direct wave will arrive in Macedonia about nine hours after impact, about four in the afternoon local time. Then a direct tsunami will strike Southern Hold about eleven hours after impact—four in the afternoon local time. The second will arrive about fifteen minutes later and the third at about four fifty, local time.”

  “Toric is going to be furious,” Lessa commented, but that caused her none of the heartache that she had felt on hearing about Monaco Bay.

  “On the Northern continent,” Erragon went on as he shifted his all too busy red marker upward, “a tsunami will strike the Foot of Nerat, and all the way up the shore.” Lessa sat straight up as she saw him reddening the entire eastern coastline.

  “But there’s time,” Erragon assured her. “Three to four hours after impacting on the southern shores, the other section of the waves will reach High Shoal in front of Loscar and demolish it—which, I understand from seamen, might reduce the dangerous currents the Shoal produces. Loscar will definitely need to be evacuated but there’s time enough to get people to foothills. Even a good portion of their belongings and herdbeasts. You see, there’s not much to stop the straight line of the tsunami as it radiates due west from the impact site.”

  Lessa stared, disbelieving the extent of a “wave.”

  “Ista,” Erragon continued, producing a tentative smile, “will only get ripples produced by reflection off Nerat’s Toe. They did suffer far more damage during the hurricane.” He paused briefly, and turned to the other side of the Mercator projection. Lessa gasped.

  “The Western Ring of islands will absorb much of the tsunami’s force, though, from the tip of Tillek and south to the end of Southern Boll, they can expect to experience tsunami about sixteen hours after impact, or four-thirty in the morning their local time. It will reach the west coast of Fort, much of which is rocky, about twenty-one hours after impact, seven in the morning their time. Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Lessa echoed.

  “Yes, it takes time even for something as violent as a tsunami to cross that much sea. The farther away from the impact point or the secondary points, the less the expected effect of the incoming wave. It will spread out and reduce amplitude until it encounters an obstacle.”

  “Like Monaco Bay,” Lessa murmured bitterly.

  “For instance,” Erragon said, trying to interject a positive note, “the west coast of Southern, from Ierne Island to the tip on the east side of Great Bay, will feel only a small effect from the eastward wave.” Now he looked closely at the map and, checking longitude and latitude, made a little X. “The two waves, what’s left of them after losing much of their energy, will intersect in the open sea at about Longitude two degrees at Latitude fifteen degrees, but I don’t think that’ll be notable.”

  Lessa regarded him blankly. Erragon continued.

  “The worst of all this should be over in about sixteen to seventeen hours,” he said in an attitude of encouragement.

  “I hope you’ll be able to repeat this, Erragon,” she said wearily. “We are obliged to inform those Lord Holders most affected. Now that we know who they are.”

  He bowed his willingness. She closed her eyes briefly while she contacted Ramoth to bespeak the dragons at the various Holds. It saved some time, at least, that Benden had the right to convene an emergency meeting and expect those invited to respond speedily. Even as speedily as that sharding wave was going to smash along both coasts.

  When she opened her eyes, Erragon’s expression showed deep concern. He was rather a good man, she thought, and not like some who could thoroughly enjoy spreading bad news.

  “Sit down, man, and I’ll get us something more to eat. We’ll need to fortify ourselves.” She left the room, giving him a few moments alone.

  Twenty minutes later, Master Idarolan and Erragon had contrived to red mark the vulnerable portions of coastline along both continents, including some quick estimates of how deep inland the flood would surge. To Lessa’s intense sorrow, they had intricately marked the projected paths of the five different assaults on Monaco. F’lar had returned with F’nor. No sooner had the two Benden riders started to eat a hasty luncheon from the food Lessa had found than Lords Ciparis and Toronas arrived. Close behind them came Haligon, representing Lord Groghe, Jaxom, and Sharra; Lord Ranrel of Tillek with the new Masterfishman Curran; Fortine of Ista; Langrell of Igen; Kashman of Keroon; Janissian from Southern Boll as Lord Sangel was too old to travel anywhere, even a-dragonback, and the other six Weyrleaders.

  “What’s this about some sharding wave going to destroy the coast?” demanded Fortine. “Surely it can’t reach from the Ring Sea all the way to my coast?”

  “Come, come,” Master Idarolan said, gesturing impatiently to the newcomers. “All of you be seated.” He waved at Haligon to distribute chairs from those stacked in one corner.

  “It had better be good,” Toronas of Benden said, “getting us up and down here so precipitously.”

  “Oh, it is, I assure you,” Lessa said in such a caustic tone that no one else spoke as they hurried to get settled around the table.

  “At least it was already morning for you, Toronas,” Jaxom said, seating Sharra, who was blinking to clear her eyes from what little sleep she had had. “Not the middle of the night and yet you see Ranrel, Haligon, and Janissian wide awake and with us.”

  Lord Toronas clearly wanted to object to the presence of Janissian, who looked younger than she was, even if she had been sent to represent her grandfather, Lord Sangel.

  “Sit by me, Toronas,” Lessa said, smiling encouragingly at Janissian who remained close to Sharra and Jaxom. The Southern Boll girl composed herself to listen but her eyes were darting to the red-streaked maps and then back to the other members of this emergency meeting. Ranrel nodded a greeting to her and Kashman stared boldly.

  “If you will begin again, Journeyman Erragon,” Lessa said formally, “then everyone will have a better understanding of why this meeting is so vital. Some of us have less time than others and none of us have time to waste.”

  Just as Erragon was about to explain how the multiple waves would inundate the southern coastline, a rumbling boom made him stagger. Lessa clutched at the arm of her chair as the awesome noise vibrated through the soles of her feet.

  “What was that?” she cried. They could both hear the shouts and screams from the hallway.

  “That,” Erragon said on his way to the door, “was the ground shock wave from the fireball impact.” He glanced at the clock. “Right on time! Excuse me!” He hauled open the door. “It’s all right! That’s the shock wave reaching us!” He shouted to those milling in fright in the hall and closed the door behind him, leaving Lessa to contemplate the multiple disasters of the day.

  Sunrise Cliff Seahold—timed-back

  The three dragons arrived at Sunrise Cliff Seahold circumspectly, above the first rank of dunes that marked high tides. The dunes would no doubt be wiped away, dragged back by the tsunami, F’lessan thought. The dragons glided along the shore to where the granite escarpment had been broken during an earthquake, tumbling boulders, creating the wide shallow bay and a defile along which a stream now found its way to the sea. Beyond the stream, the escarpment began to rise again, ending in another height on the eastern arm. Along the white sand beach, they could see small fishing craft pulled up. Don’t let them talk you into rescuing their boats, T’gellan had said, but maybe they could somehow sling …

  Not before people, Golanth told him sternly. People we save today. It looked like the entire population of the Seahold was out, standing on the dunes, gazing northward. White sands sloped down to the little waves lapping serenely up the wide beach with a picturesqueness that would shortly be devastated. They had barely two hours to evacuate. F’lessan sensed that was not going to be easy. Who would believe his tale of catastrophe in the making? Everyone was so intent on the fiery ball inclining now toward its impact. The air was so crystalline clear!

  Ther
e were twelve holds leaning up against the orange cliffs where the granite began to rise from the sands. These seaholders had done well in the fifteen or so Turns since they’d settled here, F’lessan thought. They wouldn’t abandon their prosperity so easily. Babes were being held up to see the fireball, and a scatter of children, in various states of dress, had followed their parents to behold the wonder! Near to a hundred people in all, F’lessan estimated quickly. Some of the older folk would have a hard time scrambling up the switchback way to the safety of the cliff height.

  Dolphins! Golanth said. Startled, F’lessan switched his gaze to the sea. Scarcely fifty meters offshore, where the shallows sloped into deeper, bluer water, the curving bodies of eight or ten dolphins dove in and out: but not idly. He could hear their highpitched screeing. He was accustomed enough to their graceful movements to realize that their antics today were frantic. Three rose, tail-walking, then splashed heavily back into the water, their dorsal fins cutting the waves they made. Their squeeing was shrill though he couldn’t hear what they might be saying.

  So they know! Relief diminished at least that worry from F’lessan’s mind. Natua and her calf, all the Monaco Bay pod, would be somewhere safe. I can’t hear them but it’s obvious this pod is trying to warn the seaholders!

  If they are, no one’s watching them, Golanth said, gliding in to a landing. We will be more noticeable.

  “Look!” One of the youngsters had noticed the dolphins. “Da, da, the dolphins! They’re squeaking their warning calls. But there’s no storm! What’s wrong with them?” So the boy was the first to see the dragons out of the corner of his eye, heard the grunts as dragon feet made contact and skidded in the soft sand, backwinging adroitly to a halt.

  “They are warning you,” F’lessan shouted, hands cupped about his mouth. “That fireball in the sky. It will land in the sea and cause tidal waves. Worse than the worst storm you’ve ever been in.”

  “We can hear you, dragonrider,” said one of the men, turning slightly toward F’lessan without taking his eyes off the fascinating orange ball that was far more of a spectacle than three dragons.

  “They’ve gone!” cried the youngster with keen disappointment. He whirled at the dragonriders as if their appearance had frightened the dolphins.

  F’lessan was intensely relieved that not a single dorsal fin remained visible. They might be cutting it fine to reach safe depths, but they’d kept their pact with humans once again in giving an alarm.

  “The dolphins … the shipfish,” he continued in a voice loud enough to reach those still mesmerized by the vision, “are warning you. Surely you know they consider that their duty to all sea folk.” He pointed at the man who had challenged him.

  “Yeyah, they let us know where fish schools, when squalls’re coming, but never seen ’em act like that before.” The man preferred to watch the sinking fireball than attend the dragonrider.

  “Look, man, it’s not just Thread that falls from the skies!” F’lessan said. “We’re here to move you to the cliffs, up there, high enough to be away from the wave.”

  “Wave?” Another man walked toward F’lessan, his expression patronizingly amiable. “We’re well above the high tide …”

  “Not this one,” F’lessan said.

  “Ah, now, bronze rider, I can see you ain’t even wearing Monaco’s badge. What call have you to—”

  “We’re Monaco!” C’reel said and St’ven nodded emphatically “Listen to F’lessan, Golanth’s rider!”

  “We’re evacuating you,” St’ven added. “All the coastal holds. Every Weyr is helping!”

  F’lessan swung his leg over and slid down, gesturing for the brown riders to dismount. Maybe face-to-face, not perched on a bronze dragon, he could instill some urgency for the present crisis.

  “Who’s Seaholder?” he asked, striding as fast as he could across the soft sand to the crowd.

  “Me!” The first man jerked a thick, scarred thumb at his tanned chest. He wore the customary sleeveless top and shorts. He had strong hairy legs and was barefoot, toes splayed in the sand. “Binness, Journeyman, FishCraftHall!”

  “Journeyman Binness, we are acting under orders from T’gellan, your Weyrleader and—” F’lessan had a sudden surge of inspiration—“MasterFishman Curran, to evacuate all your people to high ground.” He gestured broadly to the western arm of the cliff, higher by a half dragon-length than the eastern one.

  Binness chortled. “Don’t try that one on me, bronze rider. The Master’s way east at Tillek as he should be.”

  “It makes no difference where he should be, Journeyman,” C’reel said, losing patience. “He is at Landing, meeting with everyone trying to save lives.”

  “Binness, wake up and listen!” F’lessan said. “When that thing hits the ocean,” and he pointed to the bit of the fireball still visible on the horizon, “the biggest wave you ever had nightmares about is going to come straight to this bay. There’s no Ring island in its way to break its crest and this holding is going to be drowned!” He scissored both hands together to indicate the totality of the disaster. He caught sight of his watch, visible as his jacket cuff pulled up. “In one minute, that fireball hits the ocean. You might be able to see the cloud of steam that the impact creates!” Again he pointed northward.

  “It’s gone!” a woman cried, flagging her hand in a pathetic farewell to the novelty the fireball had presented to an isolated community.

  F’lessan closed his eyes at the waste of time. Two hours to move over a hundred people, and whatever possessions they could grab, and he hadn’t even managed to get them to see the gravity of their peril.

  “You’ve a far-seer,” he shouted, abruptly noticing the one slung in a holster at Binness’s side. “Take a good look!”

  Binness did use the glass, more as an accommodation to the dragonrider’s whim than because he expected to see anything. It took him more precious time to focus the instrument. Only because F’lessan knew exactly in which direction to look did he see the top of the rising cloud.

  “Sompin’s there, Binness,” one of the net-bearers said. “He’s right about that. You know my far-sight’s good.”

  “Yeyah,” Binness grudgingly admitted. “Probably a storm.” He collapsed the telescope and returned it to its keeper.

  “Dolphins was warning us then,” another fisherman put in his opinion.

  “Why … will … you … not … believe … me?” F’lessan demanded, spacing his words as he sensed the passage of such valuable time. “Pack your belongings! We’ll convey children, your aunties and uncles first.”

  The reaction of the women was to hug their children to their legs, suddenly frightened of his presence. F’lessan struggled to control his aggravation. Didn’t they trust dragonriders? T’gellan was a good Weyrleader.

  “Look, spread out that fishnet,” he said, pointing to the nearest man with one draped across his shoulder. “That will carry a lot.”

  “Ever had a ride a-dragonback?” C’reel asked, hunkering down by the youngster who had seen the dolphins.

  F’lessan kept checking his watch. Maybe he’d just have to wait for the shock wave to hit to prove that an emergency existed. Being nearer the point of impact, this Seahold would feel it a lot sooner and harder here. It’d be seismic, wouldn’t it, traveling ten times faster than sound along the rock of the seabed. They’d feel it, then hear it!

  Right up through his boots—and the bare feet of most of the seaholders—came the shake! A boom that beat eardrums with its intensity. Several people fell to the sands; even the dragons were unbalanced, raising wings to steady themselves.

  “D’you believe me now, Binness?” F’lessan demanded, brushing sand off his leathers.

  Two of the women began to keen, nearly as unnerving a sound as dragons made when one of their kind died.

  “Believe you, dragonrider!” The Journeyman could also see the disturbed ripple of the waves in the bay. “Go! Go! Pack!” Wide gestures of his arms sent the women scattering.
“Lias, spread that net. Lads, go with your mothers. Collect everything you can carry. Petan, get the other nets. You sure your dragons are strong, bronze rider?”

  “As strong as they need to be, Journeyman,” F’lessan replied, grinning. He gestured for C’reel and St’ven to help spread nets. “We’ll need rope …”

  “Line …” C’reel corrected him when Lias looked puzzled.

  “Line, then, in the corners, to make a knot for the dragons to lift the nets with. Where’s the most sheltered place up on those cliffs, Binness? Are there woods? You’ll need shelter. There will be winds and rain, not to mention the high seas.”

  “Plenty shelter a-top,” Binness said, deftly flipping another net wide on the sands.

  A lad came running up with a rocking chair.

  “No, no, furniture will come last,” F’lessan cried, waving the boy and the chair to one side. “Bring pots, pans, food, necessities,” he called as the scared boy dropped the chair and sprinted back to the largest cothold.

  “That’s my old dam’s chair,” Binness said, pausing to prop his fists challengingly against the wide belt, which had knife sheaths as well as the telescope holster.

  “Where is she?” F’lessan demanded.

  “Coming. Lady Medda’s coming.” Binness pointed to the largest cothold. Two women, their hands making a seat, were hurrying out with an old woman, white braids bouncing. “Joint-ail but she runs us right well!”

  “She can be the first to go.” If the woman managed the hold, then F’lessan would station her where she could do some good.

  “She’ll show you where!” Binness shouted back, grinning maliciously before he grabbed a piece of line and tied it to the back of the rocking chair. “Where?” he asked F’lessan.