The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  In the morning, while the five carpenters put up new doorposts—made of sky-broom wood, they proudly informed Tagetarl—the Masterprinter took the report that he and Rosheen had spent a sleepless night composing to the Runner Station.

  Pursing his lips, Stationmaster Arminet read the text. “Well said, Master Tagetarl. Fairly said. It will go in every pouch to come through here. I may even need more.”

  Tagetarl made a protest, wondering how much more the night’s work would cost him.

  “Keep your marks in your pocket,” Arminet added, pushing away the ones Tagetarl proffered.

  “It’s a Harper Hall announcement …”

  “It’s a community announcement,” Arminet replied, straightening himself to his full dignity though he was not as tall as the well-built Tagetarl. He glared up. “I’m the one who decides what should or should not be spread from my Station. The people of Wide Bay were very much aware of the atrocity committed by persons who would not claim hall or hold, Master Tagetarl, and others must know about the matter so as not to be left in doubt as to the exact details of the matter.” He tapped the bottom paragraph. “As I was one of those witnesses, this is exactly as I recall the incident. Thank you, Master Tagetarl. Let it not be said that the Runners did less than their best, too.”

  Ruatha Hold—late evening—2.9.31

  “You recognized one of them, didn’t you, Jaxom?” Sharra asked softly, having watched his silence all day. She knew he had been called away that night. When he had returned, he had tried to disguise both fatigue and a preoccupied air. He had pushed food around his plate at both lunch and dinner. He had not been able to display any enthusiasm for the hour he usually spent so companionably with his sons.

  She had waited, without appearing to hover close by, in case he might wish to talk about what was depressing him. She’d seen him terribly distracted like this only once before: when he had presided over the exile of those who had been responsible for abducting Master Robinton.

  She waited until they had gone up to their own quarters and he was leaning against the deep window, looking out on nothing. Just as she was sure she’d have to pry, he gave a deep sigh.

  “Ruth and I went to Wide Bay, to assist Tagetarl. There was an attempt to damage the Print Hall.”

  “More Abominators?” Who else could it have been, since the Print Hall had been so enthusiastically received by every Craft.

  He nodded but did not elaborate.

  In the silence that followed, Sharra watched her spouse, absent-mindedly running his hand up and down the heavy brocade curtain that prevented the worst of the winter winds from penetrating into their sleeping room. She waited quietly. She knew when he was fretting over something.

  “Dorse was one of them.”

  Sharra felt something within her lurch at that soft, chilling admission. Jaxom did not have many fond memories of his milk-brother but had kept giving him the benefit of the doubt, long after his foster mother had died. Dorse had left before one more outrageous act would have compelled Jaxom to send him away.

  “I thought he had gone south. Worked for Toric.” She gasped as soon as she finished speaking.

  Jaxom nodded his head slowly. “He did not speak.”

  “But surely, love,” and Sharra went to lay her hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his body, “he had only to—”

  “They were asked to name hall or hold.” Jaxom’s grip tightened on the curtain so that the fabric was stretched from its rail, the upper hem tearing.

  “Are you distressed because he didn’t speak?”

  “I’m not sure.” Sharra could hear the anguish in Jaxom’s voice. “I’m not sure! I—think,” and now Jaxom buried his face in the folds of the curtain, “he was the leader. I think he was challenging me. Defying me and what I stand for. What did he expect me to do? See that they were only sent to the mines?”

  Before he tore the curtain from the wall, she closed her hand around his fingers and gently detached them.

  “I suggest that either way he is getting his own back on you, Jaxom,” she said in a quiet nonjudgmental tone. “By any chance, did anyone else recognize him? Ruth said you did not go alone.” He gave her a fierce look. “No, no, my love. I never asked him. He knows I worry that sometimes the pair of you might get into trouble and not tell me.” She tried to speak lightly, to ease his distress. She didn’t even get a rise out of him for what he usually termed unnecessary anxiety.

  “Pinch has been on his trail, he said. It’s possible N’ton recognized him, though he wouldn’t have seen him in Turns.” He was silent a moment then added, “I should somehow have had a word with him. To see if he would tell me more.”

  “More about what? Isn’t it enough that he was caught destroying what he can very well recognize as a tremendously important asset for all Pern?”

  Jaxom gave her a long closed look. That made her flinch inwardly because they were usually so open with each other about everything in their lives.

  “I thought he had been well placed in the south with Toric,” he said finally.

  “Oh!” Sharra had to sit down quickly as she absorbed the implications of that. Jaxom had been trying to shield her.

  “It’s preferable to think that he was on his own, perhaps just taking an opportunity to be paid for making the kind of trouble he enjoys. It wouldn’t be unlike him,” and Jaxom spun from the window and began pacing the floor, looking everywhere but at his spouse.

  “My brother, Toric,” Sharra said in a voice as taut as Jaxom’s had been, “was greedy as a child and would allow no common sense to dissuade him from what he felt was his, or—” she paused a beat “perceived was his by right. He has since, as you should know, forfeited the loyalty of all his brothers and sisters. Even his sons. I thought when he was brought up short several Turns ago by the Lord Holders and Weyrleaders that he might realize that there are limitations to what one man may hold.”

  Jaxom could not endure her anguish and took her in his arms, his cheek against her cheek.

  “We do not know that this is another scheme of his, Sharra.”

  She clung to him, her fingers tight in his hair, pressing herself into the strength that always emanated from him. “Even if I, too, can see that Toric may be setting himself against the rest of Pern, just to prove he can?”

  Comforted now turned comforter. “We shall know soon enough who has been giving orders for all this wasteful vandalism and unrest.”

  “We will? Did Pinch say anything?” Sharra leaned back, to look deep into his eyes. “We seem to recover from one disaster and another threatens.”

  “Sssh, sssh, love.” He rocked her in his arms, slowly, lovingly.

  Sssh, sssh, Sharra. We are here!

  For just a fraction of a second, though she was accustomed enough to having Ruth speak to her, she thought his reassurance was oddly amplified.

  Core Hold—two days before Council Meeting—2.26.31

  From her seat in the window at Cove Hold, Lessa could watch those coming up the newly graveled path from the beach. It still amazed her that Robinton’s Hold had survived the havoc that had spared few other places. After the Winter Storm, some of his possessions had had to be replaced with lovingly contrived duplicates and these had been removed in case the Kahrain Cape did not protect the Hold. So once again, the Hall looked much as it had before his death. She could still believe that he was only out on the porch, or fussing with his tunic in his room before coming to greet his guests. The essence of Robinton, the MasterHarper of Pern, subtly pervaded the place as if he still lived here with his friends, Lytol, old Master Wansor, and D’ram. What a quartet they had made!

  Now she watched as dragons arrived in pairs, gliding down to waves that lapped quietly—again—up the beach. It was like a Gather dance, she thought, trying to think of something pleasant to quiet the nagging frustration that she had been experiencing ever since the Fireball Flood. From the north and High Reaches came the newest Weyrleaders, G’bear on Winlath and Ne
ldama on Yasith—their mating had turned out felicitously, one of the few things that had gone right lately. Slightly west of them, in from Telgar flew J’fery and Palla on Willerth and Talmanth. A single dragon appeared from the west, with two passengers, Jaxom and Sharra on Ruth. She wanted a word with Jaxom and N’ton about the Printer Hall incident. A second Printer Hall must be established as soon as possible. Printed documents were too important: human memories couldn’t cope with all the details and the tedious act of handwriting was a process rife with opportunities for mistakes.

  The visibly larger Fort dragons, Lioth and Ludeth, with N’ton and Margatta, followed Ruth immediately. Igen’s Gyarmath and Baylith with G’narish and Nadira entered facing north. Lessa could hear dragons bugling over the building announcing the arrival of K’van and Adrea on Heth and Beljeth. Then three from the east, T’gellan, Talina, and Mirrim. Well, Mirrim was to be expected and, while Lessa knew the girl could be domineering and arrogant, she had great sympathy toward a fosterling she had trained.

  The newly made Master Erragon had particularly invited F’lessan and a Monacan green rider, named Tai, who was one of Erragon’s apprentices. Her name was familiar to the Benden Weyrleaders for her part in thwarting the vandals at Landing and being indefatigable during the evacuation of Monaco.

  As the Weyrleaders filed in, Master Wansor, their official host for the night, greeted them. He stood on the threshold, a serene personality in a room that held memories for all of them. He lifted a smiling face to each new arrival as if he saw them as clearly as ever. Erragon stood behind Wansor, wearing the diamond pendant that was the sign of his new rank, and well deserved for the way he had managed information and warnings about the Fireball. He was being introduced to those few Weyrleaders he had not previously met. Lytol and D’ram were fussing with papers at a table in one corner. Nine piles of paper: one for each Weyr and who got the last? She flicked her eyes back to the door, to scrutinize F’lessan as he reached the steps, one hand under the elbow of the tall, dark-haired woman accompanying him. What Lessa noticed most were her wide mouth and curiously slanted green eyes.

  Zaranth’s rider, Ramoth said, almost approvingly. Lessa cleared her face of the beginnings of a scowl. F’lessan was not a child any longer. He had come very close to total exhaustion after the Impact; moving dories among other things, Ramoth had reported with critical asperity. His feat of saving the Seaholder from sure death in the tsunami wave had been notable in a day that the harpers said had been full of incredible feats of courage. F’lessan’s timing had always been exquisite and someday she must ask exactly how he’d achieved such an impossible rescue. He was at Benden only when Wingleader duties required him to be present, for he seemed to prefer living in Honshu now.

  His choice, Ramoth added ambiguously.

  F’lessan caught sight of his mother in the window seat, gave her that engagingly charming smile of his and turned to speak to Wansor. The very casualness of his greeting amused Lessa. She was more surprised when, as Tai held out her hand, the old Smith caught it in his, his smile redoubling, his eyebrows flaring up as if by widening his opaque eyes he might somehow see her more clearly: obviously this green rider was very welcome in Cove Hold. Erragon’s greeting was that of pleased teacher to best student.

  “Attractive but not pretty,” F’lar murmured to his weyrmate after a very brief glance at F’lessan’s companion. “No wonder he’s so often at Honshu now.”

  He likes it there, Ramoth said in that same cryptic tone.

  T’gellan, with Mirrim and Talina, came up the steps now and Lessa thought Monaco’s Weyrleader was much too thin, his eyes haunted. He had been working all the hours of the day to rebuild his Weyr. For that matter, neither Mirrim nor Talina looked much better, but they didn’t look as gaunt as the bronze rider: they didn’t have the full responsibility that a Weyrleader shouldered.

  Lessa realized that all were now assembled and F’lar led her to their places on one end of the long, oval-shaped table.

  “We’re all here, aren’t we?” F’lar said with a weary smile. He waited until the others seated themselves.

  Twenty-two riders, three men who should have been enjoying their last decades in leisure, two Masters, and a Lord Holder: twenty-eight men and women to solve what she felt in her bones was impossible. But then, killing Fax had been—once. And ending Thread. Why should she consider this crisis to be beyond their capabilities? She gave her shoulders a little shake and took her place beside her weyrmate. She heard his sigh. Then he, too, stood straighter, to address the assembled.

  “I’m sure we’ve all heard that dragonriders should do something about anything that falls from the sky.” He let the various angry and resentful reactions to that peculiar assumption fade. “Ridiculous as that notion is, I think we all realize that that’s the first question the Council will put to us in two days’ time. Somehow that Fireball has become our fault.” He altered his voice, affecting a querulous tone. “ ‘Dragons can fly between. Can’t they just push rocks out of the way? Can’t they burn them out of the skies? Can’t they do something?’ ”

  “Didn’t we do enough?” F’lessan said with a brittle edge to his voice that surprised Lessa. Then he shrugged and his expression altered to one of detached indifference as other bronze riders muttered about ingratitude and impossible demands.

  “Dragonriders did more than enough,” said Lytol, the former Lord Warder of Ruatha, his craggy face fierce.

  “Every Weyr performed magnificently,” D’ram added, prideful.

  “In the time allotted,” Jaxom said, his expression very bland, turning his head ever so slightly toward Lessa. That sly remark subtly defused the unspoken resentment. Some even chuckled.

  “I never understood quite how you accomplished as much as you did,” Wansor said in all innocence. But then his expression turned to respectful awe. “The miracles you managed! In the face of what could have been catastrophic. Why the Storm of ’Twenty-nine Present Pass was a shower in comparison!”

  “Fortunately, we’re not considered responsible for the weather,” F’lar said satirically.

  “Not yet,” G’dened added in a sour voice. Though Ista had been spared the full impact of the tsunami waves, the island had suffered badly from the hurricane.

  “You know, there are those who feel we failed them in that storm, too,” G’narish said, shaking his head.

  “This time we had sufficient warning,” K’van remarked, “before the winds made it impossible to fly.”

  “Back to what you said, F’lar, it isn’t as if dragons could flame rocks in space,” N’ton said. “Dragons need oxygen to make fire.”

  “Meteorites are moving too fast to be caught by dragons,” K’van added, “not to mention the fact that they’re so hot, mere dragon fire would have no effect whatsoever and be a total waste of time and effort.”

  F’lar grinned broadly. “Other facts Lord Holders and Craftmasters tend to forget. Still, I’d like to take the initiative. We’ve been on the defensive since that sharding Fireball impacted.”

  “You mean, there is something we can do?” G’dened demanded, sitting up straighter and glaring around the table.

  “Oh, indeed,” Wansor said, smiling beneficently around the table. “My Craft hasn’t been idle a single moment. We have solid recommendations to make to the Council.”

  “Recommendations?” G’dened snapped, scowling. “They want answers!” He thumped the table with one fist. He had been one of the youngest of the bronze riders to come forward to the Ninth Pass and Lessa could see that he was burned out by giving answers to Lord Holders and Craftmasters.

  “They always want answers,” G’narish agreed, shaking his head. He, too, had reason to be as tired as G’dened.

  Lessa wondered if there was any way to suggest that those two older Weyrleaders should step down and let younger, more flexible bronze and gold riders take over. She was grateful enough that M’rand and R’mart had retired. The two new Weyrleaders tried to appear at th
eir ease but it was certainly the first time G’bear and Neldama had attended this sort of tactical meeting.

  “Well, they deserve answers, G’dened,” F’lessan said at his most cynical. “Only this time, they also want us to do something.” His grin was positively challenging.

  “What can we do?” G’dened demanded, eyeing F’lessan as if the younger man were challenging him as Weyrleader.

  As she was about to take exception to G’dened’s manner, Lessa felt F’lar give her thigh a reassuring squeeze. Especially after F’lessan had laid claim on Honshu, it should have been extremely clear that he had absolutely no desire to accept Weyrleadership anywhere.

  “It will, of course, require the cooperation of all the other Crafts and Lord Holders,” Wansor went on, smiling with benign encouragement, “for the marks and craftskills required. We’ve already made the preliminary surveys and preparations and, with the assistance of our newest Master,” and the old Star Master made a respectful bow to Erragon, “Master Idarolan, F’lessan, and Tai,” and his smile included the two riders at the end of the table, “and three dedicated persons who are not included in this meeting, we have these ready.”

  “Preliminary surveys of what?” G’dened demanded.

  “Preparations to do what?” G’narish asked, surprised.

  “Which three dedicated persons?” Mirrim asked, turning to look at Tai in an almost accusing manner.

  “Surveys to locate the most advantageous site for another of the telescopes from the Catherine Caves, to give us a twenty-four-hour coverage for that critically needed sky-watch program!” Master Wansor beamed expansively as if this provided the answer.

  Turns ago now, Lessa recalled Wansor’s triumph at finding a high resolution telescope, a Cassegrain—according to the metal plate on the mirror cell and the thick manuals that had come with it—in the Catherine Caves. Aivas had supervised its installation and lighting up during his first Turn in charge of the Red Star Project. F’lessan had found the one left at Honshu and had just recently, after a lot of hard work and delicate repair, got it functioning again. How a third one would possibly deter more comets, stony or metallic bits from pocking the surface of Pern she did not know. Whether or not the project would appease the nervous or parsimonious among the Council was, of course, in doubt. Was sky-watching what really kept F’lessan down in Honshu and so much in Tai’s company?