The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  F’lar dropped his head, looking away from Lessa who was being outrageous and sounding so sincere.

  Pilgra caught it first, blinking with astonishment as Lessa found a few more similar adjectives. Then M’rand roared with laughter, which turned into the hacking cough.

  “Go before you die of the cough and get done out of your ease,” Lessa said sternly.

  “But—but—”

  “Four good bronze Wingleaders? Let each one lead in turn during the next Falls until a queen rises,” F’lar said pragmatically. “You’ll be available for any problems. In fact, it’ll take you time to step down even after you have. Now where’s this splendid cove in Cathay? Did you think to get—ah, you did,” he went on as M’rand withdrew a folded paper.

  “Got Master Idarolan to do the map work for me. He’s good at that.” M’rand offered it to F’lar, once again the decisive leader, and a very relieved man. “I don’t know which is better to have, map readings or your dragon knowing where to go.”

  Lessa had had a woodsmith make a cabinet with long, deep drawers where they could store the documents and charts that displayed chosen sites in the southern continent. The fact that the Weyrleaders controlled such dispositions rankled with many but, after heated debate in the Council, that had been agreed. What had also been stipulated was that each new holding had to be self-sufficient and had to have instructions about the dangers, as well as the advantages, of life in the south.

  F’lar found the chart, flipped it to the worktop, angled M’rand’s map, and found the coordinates.

  “You’re not asking for very much.”

  “Don’t need much, and it’s one in the eye for Toric,” M’rand said.

  Pilgra and Lessa came over as F’lar was outlining the new hold with a silver marker, reserved for dragonriders.

  “A hundred square meters?” Lessa exclaimed. “A patch!”

  “The nicest patch you could imagine,” Pilgra assured her stolidly and started to describe the amenities. “There might even have been an Original Settlement there. Stones piled, like they finally fell, and just where you’d get a marvelous view of the sea below. All kinds of trees and it was so warm for First Month.”

  “There really aren’t that many holdings allotted there yet, are there?” M’rand said, surprised.

  “More than there were,” Lessa said, “and far fewer than there will be when certain folk can make up their minds.” She favored her mate with a dour look.

  “More than I expected,” Pilgra said with a sweeping glance of the chart. “That isn’t all of Southern there is.”

  “No, it’s not,” F’lar said, tapping the drawer. “That’s just the Cathay area, eight degrees to ten degrees longitude, fifty to twenty latitude. From the aerial photos on the Aivas scale, so they’re big enough to delineate holds. I’ll send the official register down to Admin.” He opened another drawer and took out the register documents, which he tossed back inside. Opened a third, smaller one and took out a form. “This’ll be your Deed.” He riffled the side to show there were several pages. “I’ll just fill it in, Lessa and I will sign it, and get it witnessed by the Weyr harper and perhaps Manora or G’bol and the holding’s yours.”

  M’rand blinked. “Just like that?”

  F’lar grinned. “You’re Weyrleaders. You’re entitled to your choice and require no further Council authorization.” He leaned over the worktop, filling in the form, printing quickly but legibly, M’rand watching him.

  “But it takes other people so much longer?” Pilgra asked, cocking her head to one side, her expression concerned.

  “Other people take only as long as fulfilling the requirements of emigrating do,” Lessa said. “Proof of being reliable people from hold or hall, with sufficient skills to survive in what can be hazardous terrain—where predators are bigger than the largest tunnel snakes they’d encounter here in the north—and a definite area where they will establish a new hall or hold. It’s no more than was required by the original Charter, and that’s another reason why it’s important that everyone knows what’s in the Charter.”

  “I did remind you of that, Pilgra,” M’rand said, regarding his weyrmate with a jaundiced look. “People can get some ridiculous notions, listening to drunken Gather talk.”

  F’lar accorded that a grumble, checking from map to form to be sure he had the longitude and latitude correct to minutes and seconds. “That’s why the harpers keep—you’ll excuse the pun—harping on the subject of reading and understanding the Charter.”

  M’rand started to chuckle; it turned into a hard coughing spasm. Anxiously Pilgra handed him the rest of his liqueur and Lessa rushed into her room, coming back with a dark brown bottle and a spoon.

  “Here! Take a dose of this. It’s reinforced with something Oldive found in the Aivas files to reduce just the sort of hacking cough you have.” She measured and gave him the dose. “Not that getting into the sun won’t correct it in short order.”

  F’lar finished the official Deed, separated the copies, and shoved one with M’rand’s original little map into a plastic sleeve. While M’rand was recovering his breath, the Benden Weyrleader presented the Deed to Pilgra with a bow. “Take him there today.”

  “Today?” Pilgra was as breathless as M’rand, Deed clutched in her hand.

  “Certainly. What else were you going to do on such a miserable day? Get your weyrfolk to pack up what you need for a few days: plan there, ‘in the warm,’ ” and Lessa pointed southward, “what else you’ll need.”

  “Go? Today?”

  “Think what a pleasant surprise it’ll be to your Wingleaders and the junior queens,” Lessa said, eyes bright and wide and far too innocent. When Pilgra looked unhappy, she added more solicitously, “Oh, they’ll miss you because you’re both good-hearted and fair. But who would fault you?” She shook her as Pilgra took a breath. “And don’t say old leather-face G’dened. Cosira has her work cut out soothing his injured feelings. D’ram’s not likely to gripe. Living in Cove Hold has put Turns on his life. You’re both popular leaders but I cannot imagine anyone faulting you for going, and making the break quick.”

  F’lar says if we go with them, Mnementh told Lessa, it will stifle any complaints G’dened might make. He adds, don’t think you’ll get him to retire so easily.

  Not when he’s twenty Turns younger than M’rand and G’dened. I expect your rider to finish the Pass with me! Lessa replied stoutly.

  And me! Ramoth said.

  “We’ll come with you,” Lessa said out loud, brightly, as if she had just thought of it.

  “That’s a better way to spend a miserable evening than anything you’ve come up with, Lessa,” F’lar remarked, knowing perfectly well he would pay her a forfeit later for such a remark.

  Taking into consideration the difference of time between western High Reaches and eastern Ruatha, the Benden Weyrleaders had plenty of time to assist M’rand and Pilgra in their hurried departure south and get back to Benden for a late supper. In the interval, they had supported M’rand and Pilgra in his explanations to their Wingleaders and queen riders, organized the men and women who were to accompany them south, and allowed M’rand a hurried conference with his Wingleaders, some of whom had trouble concealing relief and anticipation. Pilgra, too, spoke to her queen riders (the youngest one obviously upset and the older three eyeing each other speculatively, since the first one to fly to mate would be the new Weyrwoman). For Lessa, that was great fun and for F’lar a chance to assess the bronze riders.

  M’rand is right. F’lar agrees that there are four well-experienced men who can take over immediately, Mnementh told Lessa.

  Which queen? she asked the bronze.

  Yasith, Ramoth said so firmly that if Mnementh had a different candidate, he did not now mention her.

  Lessa kept her opinion to herself. Yasith’s rider was Neldama, weyrborn in High Reaches twenty-five Turns before, and twelve Turns younger than the oldest of the queenriders. So she was of this Pass, which, in
Lessa’s estimation, meant fewer problems. Not exactly a pretty girl—attractive enough to rate a long look from F’lar—with green eyes that looked right at a speaker and a considerate, sensible manner as she set about collecting the items that Pilgra said she’d want to pack.

  M’rand fretted over how to inform three main Lord Holders and the most prominent minor ones of his sudden departure.

  “It would be courteous, but it’s only a formality. ‘Due to continued ill health, in the best interests of the Weyr and the Holds that look to High Reaches for protection from Threadfall during a Pass.’ ” F’lar rattled off the phrases. “A change of Weyrleadership is our—” he rocked his hand to indicate the four of them, “—business.”

  “It’s not as if the whole Weyr is retiring,” Lessa said just as Neldama and Curella, the oldest queen rider, brought in mulled wine and small hot savories to be served in the Weyrwoman’s quarters. “And it’s not as if you haven’t traveled between both continents before. Be easy, Pilgra, M’rand. This time you’re doing what’s best for you!”

  Of the other two Oldtimer Weyrleaders remaining in control, G’narish of Igen was flexible enough in his mind to accept suggestions while G’dened of Ista was nearly as contrary as R’gul had been. All the Weyrs needed to look ahead to After. G’dened gave her the impression that he didn’t even consider After. He certainly wasn’t suggesting to any of his riders that they would have to look to their own support once this Threadfall was over and the traditional tithing of Hold and Hall no longer appeared on a regular basis.

  Benini Hold—east Monaco and Honshu—1.20.31

  “If one more person asks me ‘what are dragonriders going to do about things that fall out of the sky on us or how we’re going to keep the sky from falling on them,’ ” F’lessan said with a great deal of bitterness to Tai, “I’ll—I’ll tell Golanth to drop him, or her, between.”

  He stood up, stretching to ease his back muscles from bending over to plant saplings around Benini’s cothold. The dwelling, a sprawling extended family site, had lost its roofs from the tsunami winds. Mud, sand, and debris had been dug out of hold and beasthold; the structures had been soundly built twelve Turns before and could be repaired. The large family—by craft, herders, Benini himself a Journeyman—were out early and late, hunting strays that had been scattered inland ahead of the wave. Redfruit trees and the giant fronds, which had amazing vitality and could be trimmed to provide windbreak, had once shaded the hold. Paradise River had offered new starts of both, as well as young fellis saplings.

  Planting was not work most riders would volunteer to do but, when F’lessan saw Tai’s was the only name on that list, he added his. He had done very well getting on work teams with Tai, mostly jobs as backbreaking and thankless as this, waiting until he saw where she was going to spend her spare hours before he signed up. She was willing enough—even eager—to discuss their mutual interest in astronomy. They were sometimes the only dragonriders on such sites. She seemed to know many of the more isolated cotholders and was welcomed warmly. The two dragonriders had been shown where to find tools, where fresh water could now be obtained, and what was available for their lunch. All the Benini holders had ridden out on their runner-beasts for another long hot search.

  When the two dragonriders had collected the plants at sunrise, rootballs wrapped and secured on wooden flats, Jayge had greeted F’lessan with surprise and gravely shook hands with Tai, remarking on what a fine green she rode.

  “Didn’t think to see you again so soon, F’lessan,” the Paradise River Holder said, grinning at the bronze rider.

  “And will do as long as Paradise River is intent on reforesting Monaco,” F’lessan responded. He waggled his finger at Jayge. “You and Aramina have been exceedingly generous. T’gellan told me.”

  “The least we can be,” Jayge said. “We were very lucky here, protected from the tsunami by the Kahrain cape.” He gestured first over his shoulder and then down the river. “We can find as many young trees and bushes as are needed. You two look tired. Have you eaten?”

  F’lessan dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, thank you. We can get untired when things are more or less back in order.” He examined the thick lift knot on the flat, the net that secured the young saplings to it, and the corner ropes. All the dragons were now deft at lifting such carriers. One trick was to keep the ropes taut and lift vertically very slowly to keep the load from swaying; dragons were perfecting the maneuver. The other step was going between very close to the ground, again to prevent swaying. After being root-pruned several days before, the young bushes and saplings were wrapped in balls early on the morning they were to be replanted. Dragon transport meant they could be in the ground, watered, and staked within hours.

  It also meant that the transplanters could finish before the sun started baking gardeners and plants. F’lessan checked the angle of the shadows; his watch was in his jacket. It was just mid-morning and they were nearly finished. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep up this pace, even if they had both stripped down to sleeveless tops and shorts.

  “You’re getting pretty good at this,” Tai said, pushing her hands up to her knees until she was upright, too. She removed the sweatband from her forehead, mopped her brow, and retied the kerchief.

  “I like restoring things,” he said, looking at the zigzag line they had been working on, a windbreak on the eastern edge. The holding was actually on a rise, which had saved it from more damage. Redfruit on the inside, handy to the hold, a curving line of fellis, and then the fronds. Some untagged saplings, which didn’t resemble either redfruit or fellis, they decided to plant in the rich loam here and there. Someone had started a garden patch. Luckily this was midsummer and they’d have fresh vegetables in a few weeks. With just a little husbandry, there’d be good growth in the windbreak plants before winter’s winds.

  “Like Honshu?” she asked, leaning down for the canteen. Benini’s spouse had left cool juice to slake their thirst.

  “Yes, like Honshu.” F’lessan grinned, sweeping sweaty hair back from his forehead. He gave her a quirky grin. “Place fascinates me. There’re still levels of it I haven’t had a chance to show you.”

  They had spent several evenings on the upper terrace, sharing the use of his binoculars, held steady on the stand. He’d let her have more time using them because he liked watching the intent expression on her face as she observed, jotting down time and references. She was quite circumspect, taking down notes—but then she’d been training with Erragon—marking degrees carefully, asking him to verify the objects she viewed. He even teased her—she had to know that he was teasing her or she got quite upset—about minutes and seconds in the degree readings of the fifth planet out from Rukbat, currently visible at right ascension 19 hours, 32 minutes, 53.7 seconds; declination 27 degrees, 16 minutes, 25 seconds, just below Acrux. She said it was a habit she’d got into, sky-watching at Cove Hold, to keep a record. Erragon was collecting such information from other sky-watchers. F’lessan had wanted to take her high on Honshu’s eastern face for a panoramic view of the forest and foothills below where sometimes he’d used the binoculars to spot felines, hunting at dawn, but the long spiral staircase was not a climb he could face with equanimity and she was as tired as he was.

  “I would really like to see this mysterious observatory of yours, F’lessan,” she said shyly as she passed him the canteen.

  “Oh, I’ll take you, never fear—one night when we aren’t dragging tired. It’s a steep climb.”

  “Well, whenever,” she agreed amiably as she reached for the next plant from the nearly empty flat. “We’re about done here. Let’s just put these untagged ones near the garden,” she added with a sigh and glanced over at their dragons, lounging on the ridge behind the hold, in the thick ground cover that not even the tsunami had been able to scrape away.

  F’lessan took note, but did not mention, that the dragons were, unusually for dragons, so close they were touching. He’d had a f
ew ideas of his own but with a personality as reserved as Tai’s, he deliberately kept his manner as casual as possible. The excuse of sky-watching had reduced tensions and given both F’lessan and Tai a respite. Not that he had been able to join her every evening. F’lessan was only too willing to give Tai the chance to replace the notes that had been swept away. He had several reasons for rediscovering an interest in astronomy.

  Most of the weyrfolk had left whatever temporary accommodations they’d been in; riders had cleared space for their dragons and built personal shelters. A new Monaco Center was being constructed on a height, well back from the shoreline. Today, certainly tomorrow, the very last displaced riders would be gone to new quarters. As far as he knew, Tai had not found any. She might have, when he was at Benden; he hadn’t wanted to appear to be keeping a watch on her. And Zaranth.

  He watched now as Tai gravely considered where to dig holes for the unidentifiable plants. He picked up an armload and carried them over to her. Out of the corner of his right eye, he caught movement in the thick grass cover just beyond Zaranth. He looked more closely and muttered in surprise.

  “Trundlebugs,” he said. He deposited the plants within her reach. “I’d thought most of them got swept out to sea.”

  “They can, and have, tread water,” Tai said, grinning at him as she pushed the spade into the ground.

  “Really?” F’lessan regarded their relentless progress. “How long?”

  “I don’t know. But I have watched them cross streams.” She dug deeper.

  “Hmmm.”

  She handed him the spade and knelt to take the wrapping off the balled plant, deftly spreading its roots before she put it in the prepared hole.

  “Big mother,” F’lessan said, commenting on the size of the lead bug. “Four offspring. If she’s not careful, she’ll lose the biggest.”

  Tai shot a glance at the trundlebugs, then quickly knuckled loam around the plant, tamping it down well. For some reason, she was smiling.