The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “You did and you know as much as I do. Let’s get this job done as fast as possible. Rumors of course will spread faster, but if the Runners distribute a written message, people are more likely to believe the printed word.”

  “Considering how scarce they are …” was Rosheen’s whimsical remark as she followed him.

  The results were not bad for a rush job: the new toner dried fast so the copies didn’t smear. He gave Danegga the first packet; he’d be on up the hill to deliver the second one as soon as he saw her off. Over his shoulder, he saw Ptath lift from the ground, but only high enough to safely go between. It didn’t take him long to reach the Wide Bay Runner Station, situated as it was on the wide main road. He paused on the threshold since the entrance was full of men and women, a few dressed as Runners. When the very air buzzed with excitement, Stations were good places to garner news.

  “Stationmaster,” Tagetarl said, effortlessly projecting his voice through the babble. To his right, inside the main room, Arminet stood on tiptoe to see him.

  “Let the MasterPrinter pass. He’s just the man to explain all this,” cried Arminet in his equally loud deep bass voice.

  People stepped on each other to get out of Tagetarl’s way but almost everyone asked “The Fireball? Do you know about the Fireball?” as he passed them.

  Tagetarl held the package over his head, waving it. “It’s all in here.” He almost stumbled when he saw Pinch duck to one side. Trust that one to be in the thick of things. “Stationmaster Arminet, I’ve been asked by the signatories of this message to request Runners to pass these along inland. Sweepriders are warning coastal areas. I’ll pay any charges you think fair.”

  “Ha! You know we carry community messages free, Master Tagetarl,” Arminet said, his bass voice rumbling with sardonic amusement. “What does it say?”

  Tagetarl began to recite the text of the message as he eased through the crowded room to hand the packet to Arminet. The Stationmaster was besieged by those who wanted their own copy. Tagetarl stopped talking, so as not to interrupt the concentration of those who had difficulty reading the smaller print below the banner headline.

  “Then Aivas prevented disaster?” Someone in the crowd said, doubtless Pinch, Tagetarl suspected, though the voice was muffled.

  “And what are the Abominators saying?” Tagetarl demanded, hands on his belt, glaring around.

  “That Aivas caused it, with all its meddling with the Red Star. And dragonriders let it pass. It was seen from Telgar, y’know,” a man shouted.

  “And Benden!” a soprano cried.

  “Benden and Landing acted!” Tagetarl responded sharply. “More than any Abominator did. I expect I’ll have more news later. I’ll publish as I receive. I stopped here first to start spreading truth.”

  “I’ll see these go out with every packet,” Arminet had to raise his voice again above the cries for copies.

  Pinch did not follow Tagetarl out but he would probably be one of the first to spread the news where it would do the most good. Or thwart rumor quickest!

  When Tagetarl got back to the Hall, he was surprised to see a crowd of people, all wanting their own copy of the newssheet. Rosheen and the two apprentices were handing them out as fast as they could. Tagetarl saw some far too curious folk circling by the shelves where he kept galley pages of work waiting for approval.

  “You, there, wait your turn. Come up front,” he called, gesturing authoritatively for them to stop wandering about the print shop. “You’ve no business back there.” He went to supervise their departure and decided maybe he could do a second run of the sheet. Get people to rely on the printed word and he’d get new customers for the books and manuals he kept in stock.

  Later, on an unusually bright evening at Landing, Sunrise Cliff, and Honshu Hold—1.9.31

  F’lessan and Tai had finished eating when the word passed among the dragonriders that the emergency supplies were ready to be collected. Riders had been told to return to those holdings they had visited earlier that day. They were to check on injuries and determine if it was necessary to convey anyone between to Landing’s Healer Hall. Enough healers had been sent by Master Oldive to assist those locally assigned. There were Healer kits of bandages, numbweed, fellis juice, and fortified wine for riders to bring with them. The riders were to make their own judgments about staying overnight at holdings if critical situations had developed.

  “What could be critical after this morning?” F’lessan remarked facetiously.

  Tai gave him a hard stare. “I suppose we can bed down here tonight.” She gave a shrug. “There’s nothing left of our Weyr.”

  He knew that she, and a few other riders, had had the courage to overfly the flood that had drowned Monaco Bay Weyr.

  “You can stay at Honshu,” and before she could refuse, F’lessan extended the invitation to C’reel and St’ven nearby. “Have you been to Honshu?” he asked the brown riders.

  “Hunted nearby once or twice,” C’reel said but his grim expression lightened at the invitation.

  “There’s plenty of space,” F’lessan said expansively. “Though I’m not sure about having enough food. Bring some with you, but there’s a whole cliff of space for dragons.”

  “How many can you accommodate?” Tai asked.

  F’lessan raised his arms. “Well, not all of Monaco Weyr but two, three wings of riders and dragons. And any weyrfolk attached to them.” As Tai turned away to spread his invitation, he added, “And tell ’em to bring blankets. It’s cooler up there.”

  He and C’reel fitted Zaranth’s load to her back before Tai returned.

  “Everyone’s grateful,” she said and he knew that she was, too. “T’gellan and Mirrim may have to remain here at Landing and there’re others promised to help the weyrfolk on the hills. They thank you, F’lessan. Landing’s facilities are overtaxed.”

  “There’re always the Catherine Caves,” F’lessan said, trying for some levity.

  “Too small for our dragons,” C’reel said, with good-natured condescension.

  “Move on there, if you’re loaded up,” someone yelled at them.

  They did. Zaranth following F’lessan, C’reel, and St’ven out of the line.

  “Have you ever been to Honshu?” F’lessan asked Tai.

  “Got taken there once. Oh, Zaranth says Golanth just made sure she knows the landmark. I’ll see you!”

  Zaranth trotted away, sacks bouncing on her back, until she had enough clear space to launch herself.

  Tell her good flying, Golanth. F’lessan experienced an unusual sense of apprehension for the green rider.

  She is strong. Zaranth is strong. The sooner we go, the quicker we get to Honshu. Honshu is quiet, his bronze told him and F’lessan couldn’t agree more.

  St’ven and C’reel mounted over the supplies. He wondered if they were as uncomfortable as he felt, perched on sacks with hard things prodding into his legs. He latched his helmet, made sure his jacket was closed and, raising his arm high, pumped it to direct his companions upward.

  Let’s not make shallow jumps a habit, brown riders, he said, waiting until they were well above the surface. Then he extended his arm southward to their destinations. We all know where we’re going?

  Riders and dragons acknowledged.

  Let’s go.

  Coming out above an almost obscenely quiet sea front where Sunrise Cliff Seahold had been was as much a shock to F’lessan as to the other riders: he could hear their exclamations above the sad noises all three dragons made.

  There might never have been human habitation here. Waves splashed idly against granite cliffs instead of wide white sands in grassy dunes, waters draining muddily back from the break in the cliff face that had been a streambed. From the flotsam deposited, piled in places, they could see how far inland the tsunami had coursed. It had not yet pulled back far enough to show what might be left of the cotholds. Whole tree trunks floated on the waves, idly being pushed in by the high water. It was logical to assume tha
t these had been swept from the islands just off the coast. Most were craggy, with no place for a holding of any sort, except near the summits, but they had supported the same variety of fruit and timber trees that grew on this part of the continent. And the fish would return to an area rich in feed.

  Mealth sees smoke, Golanth told his rider and turned his head.

  F’lessan let out his breath. He hadn’t known he’d been holding it. His throat ached. He hadn’t a doubt that Lady Medda had organized everything to her satisfaction. Odd that there was still light in the sky—a strange sort of luminescence, possibly something to do with that sharding fragment. After today he was going to review his old astronomy lessons and he doubted he’d be the only one.

  Let’s see where the fire is.

  Someone is waving a banner near the forest, Golanth said, and picked up the beat of his wings, angling slightly over the summit.

  Why were his binoculars in Benden when he needed it here? But he could make out quite a few figures, several waving what were probably the shirts from their backs. He hoped they’d saved more clothing when he remembered the full nets that had been conveyed to the cliff top.

  She is there! Golanth said and F’lessan looked about for a green dragon and her rider. The old one. In her chair.

  And so she was, looking dry, her hair carefully plaited, her rocking motion reflective. It stopped at the sight of the incoming trio of dragons. They were cheered as they landed and would have been welcomed, but a barked command from Binness kept all at their chores. A circle of stones accommodated a brisk hot fire over which two huge kettles had been set on tripods. One was already steaming. At the forest edge, two men were skinning a herdbeast, fallen fruit had been gathered and lay in nets to one side, and wood was stacked under an oilskin.

  Binness, his arms bandaged where Golanth had seized him, came to meet them, limping a bit. He was still barefoot, curling his toes up from the coarse ground cover.

  “Didn’t expect you back, dragonrider,” Lady Medda said.

  “You didn’t think we’d check to be sure you’d survived, Lady Medda?” F’lessan asked, grinning.

  Binness shrugged. “Mostly the only time we see dragonriders is Threadfall but you saved us from far worse today. And three boats.” He nodded solemnly to where the dories had been propped up on stout branches to provide shelter for sleeping children.

  “Landing has sent water, bread, klah, glowbaskets, hand lights, medical supplies, and canvas for tenting,” F’lessan said cheerfully.

  “It’s warm enough these nights,” Binness said, tilting his head back.

  “I believe there’re wineskins, too, which we thought you might be in need of,” St’ven added, grinning.

  “Did I hear him say ‘wine,’ Binness?” shouted Lady Medda.

  “Grand dam you have, Binness,” F’lessan said.

  “Bring him and the wine here, Binness. We’ve only herbal leaves to serve but it’s my own recipe. Puts heart in man or beast. Wine’ll increase its medicinal value.”

  “Anyone wounded? Sick?” F’lessan asked Binness when he had dismounted with one wineskin in his free hand.

  “More shocky than hurt. May I have your name, dragonrider?” Binness asked with a respectful bow. “I thought I was dead, between that wave and the cliff.”

  “F’lessan, Golanth’s rider, Benden Wingleader.”

  They had reached her in her chair which, F’lessan could now see, rocked on a square of worn rug, with a footstool to prop her swollen feet. The dragonrider bowed respectfully to the indomitable old woman.

  “Lady Medda!”

  “I’m no lady,” she replied with vigor but she smiled at him coquettishly. “Not but what I haven’t had a dragonrider or two warm my bed at night.”

  “Granddam!” Binness was shocked. “That’s no way to speak to the man who saved us.”

  “Did you thank him for saving you?” Her sharp blue eyes pinned her son before she turned on F’lessan. “He thanked you proper?”

  “He did and Golanth and I were glad to be—in time.”

  “In time?” She gave him a long startled glare. “Closest run thing I ever saw. An’ only a foolish dragonrider would’ve risked his neck and his dragon’s for my son. Though I’m glad you did. He’s my eldest.” Then she flicked her hand, dismissing Binness, and peered shrewdly up at F’lessan. “How’d they fare at Monaco? I remember it’s flattish there. Someone bring a cup for the dragonrider. For the others, too.”

  “Monaco is flooded,” F’lessan said, quickly, sparing C’reel and St’ven the need to answer such a painful query. He waved away the cup that a girl offered. “There is much to do. We can’t stay long. I’m to ask what supplies you’ll need to rebuild.”

  “Ach!” Lady Medda flipped her hand. “We’ll see what’s left us. There’ll be stone enough to rebuild. You saved some of the dories. S’all we need.”

  F’lessan gave her another respectful bow.

  “We’ll be back in a day or so,” C’reel said. St’ven reinforced the promise with a quick nod.

  “And you, young F’lessan?” the old lady asked, pointing her stick at him and rocking her chair forward so that it nearly touched him.

  “Would that I could match you, Lady Medda,” he said with his most charming smile and backed away. As he strode to Golanth and vaulted astride, he could hear her laughter, a genuine rippling laugh, not an auntie’s cackle. He gave a final wave to all before asking Golanth to launch. Properly, not over the cliff edge, he added.

  They reported the particulars of Sunrise Cliff Seahold to a harried archivist who had set up a temporary office in a tent on the edge of Landing’s Gather square. When they were done, the archivist waved them in the direction of the tables on the other side where food was being served and remarked that they would doubtless hear from their Weyr queen when and where they would be needed.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where what’s left of Monaco Weyr is being accommodated?” C’reel asked.

  “No, no, over there. She’ll know.” The man waved his pen vaguely.

  “Well, I could use clean clothes,” C’reel said, noticing that clothing was being stacked at the north side of the square.

  “Me, too,” St’ven said. Although F’lessan kept extra clothing at Honshu, he wouldn’t be able to supply more than a few.

  All at once, the heat of the square, the noise of those thronging about, the day’s exigencies seemed too much to endure a moment longer.

  “You get clothing, C’reel, St’ven,” he said. “Find out where the rest of your Weyr is quartered. I’ll get to Honshu and make ready for you.”

  To F’lessan’s dismay, Mirrim was already there, and had organized the couples who were holding a little north of the Weyrhold. He had thought her safely stuck at Landing. He should have known better. He should also be grateful to her—or try to act as if he were—though she still tended to give orders to him. Very soon after his arrival, he was genuinely glad she had come. She was the one who had organized food and there was succulent meat grilling on the main terrace for the many Monaco Weyr riders who had taken up his invitation. Tai was one of them. He would have liked to be able to show her around Honshu, especially the observatory and the telescope … one of his most treasured possessions.

  He had found it when he and Golanth had been repairing solar panels on the Cliffside and discovered the thin, straight seams on what appeared to be solid rock, but were instead halves of an observatory dome. Getting in had been another problem, but the telescope, covered in that thin film that the Ancients had used—vacuum packing, Aivas had called it—was still on its U-shaped mounting. Wansor and Erragon had been excited about its existence but warned F’lessan that awakening the scope would require a great deal of preparation: it required a computer to direct and focus it, and a screen to show what it observed.

  Tonight he didn’t have the energy to climb that long spiral staircase and he was reasonably certain Tai didn’t either.

  Honshu’s sprawl
ing precipice, its two terraces and ledges, were so covered with dragons that soon others had to find space on the rocky terraces down by the river. Their numbers would be sufficient to keep away both the herdbeasts who often came for shelter in the lower cave as well as the felines who hunted them. Even in the early days of its discovery, Honshu had never had so many human guests.

  Sitting on one of the few chairs on the main terrace, F’lessan airily advised each new arrival to dump his or her flying gear on any unoccupied space and come back for food. T’gellan had brought four wineskins and St’ven and C’reel added two kegs of the light beer Landing brewed. From Honshu’s deep cellars, F’lessan sacrificed some of the good Benden he had put aside for a special occasion; surviving this day could be considered in that category. There was enough for everyone to have at least a cup of beer or wine. That would be sufficient for men and women who had served double the hours a day usually spanned.

  Unaccustomed to having “his” space at Honshu so overly populated, F’lessan took his wine up to the second terrace and was delighted to find Tai there.

  “I suppose we’ll need time to wind down,” he said, coming up behind her. “Sorry,” he added as she whirled around, spilling some of her wine. “Don’t waste it.”

  “You startled me.”

  “So I see. Again, my apologies.”

  She flicked her hand in dismissal and seemed hesitant.

  “So you noticed it, too,” he said, gesturing to the northeast where a silvery glow arched in the general direction of Monaco.

  She sighed and then looked up, where the light from other stars was undiminished.

  “Yes, but Rigel’s still there.” She pointed at the first magnitude star above them.

  “Hard to miss,” he said, laughing softly. “And Betelgeuse,” he said, subtly testing her knowledge of the southern night sky. She looked in the appropriate direction and he chuckled.

  “Also Acrux, and Becrux,” she quickly added, taking up his challenge. “The one forty degrees away is Gacrux. Erragon said there was a fourth star in what the Ancients called the Southern Cross but you can’t find it with the naked eye.”