The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Now, just a minute,” Bargen said, annoyed, “that isn’t as critical a problem—”

  “I should hope it is,” Toric interrupted at his most obnoxious.

  Bargen gave him a furious glare and, raising his harsh baritone voice, continued, “as choosing a Bloodline successor, Lord,” and he closed his lips for a moment, catching Lady Sharra’s reaction, “or Lady.”

  “There are two males in the Bloodline, aren’t there?” Lytol asked, supporting Bargen in order to keep to the agenda.

  “Vormital, a great nephew of Sangel,” Sebell said, eyeing Toric, “and Warlow, a first cousin. Sangel’s sons died in the plague and there is no other male issue in the direct Bloodline.”

  “Never heard of Vormital or Warlow,” Bargen said. “There has to be more.”

  “Not surviving,” Sebell said. It was the Harper Hall’s duty to check.

  “There was, there was. I knew him when I was in High Reaches Weyr. Hillegel. Big man. Half brother to Sangel,” Bargen insisted.

  “He thought he’d go south,” Toric said, grinning smugly. “I heard he went down one of the rivers and never a word since.”

  N’ton got to his feet. “When approached by the Weyr to help evacuate the vulnerable coast from the Flood, Vormital informed me that this was Sangel’s problem, not his.”

  “Dismiss him from consideration,” Groghe said, bringing his fist down on the table. “In my hearing, on five separate occasions, Sangel said the man was a fool and couldn’t hold a cup without help.”

  “Does anyone know any good of this Vormital?” Sebell asked.

  “If anyone does, it will be the first time,” Groghe said in a voice meant to be heard.

  “Who’s the other one?” Bargen of High Reaches said. He had fought hard to return High Reaches to his Bloodline after Fax’s presumptive holding and he saw nothing wrong with fighting to claim Bloodright—for males, of course.

  “Warlow is the child of Sangel’s youngest sister. He has a small farm and five sons, three of whom have served Lady Marella in minor capacities.”

  “If his sons served, and he hasn’t pushed for himself, he’d be useless,” was Bargen’s immediate answer. “Are we left with the girl?”

  “Lady Janissian has served as steward to her grandfather and grandmother—” Sebell began.

  “More the grandmother’s doing, I’m certain,” Langrell of Igen remarked.

  “It’s more important that she was doing,” Groghe said, scowling at Langrell. “And she is of the Blood.”

  “Oh, confirm her and let’s get on with this meeting,” Toric demanded impatiently.

  “In that case, I will collect your votes,” Sebell said.

  “Isn’t it a good thing,” Lessa murmured to F’lar after they had both written their decisions, “that Janissian happens to be well qualified.”

  “Hold Blood’s getting thin after twenty-five hundred Turns. And, with the end of Threadfall …” F’lar murmured.

  “Holding began with Fort, with Paul Benden. There’s nothing wrong with Fort’s Bloodline. But that form of inheritance is not in the Charter, you know.”

  F’lar regarded her in mild surprise. “No, actually, it isn’t. Holders and all those traditions came later.” He looked at Toric who was impatiently tapping the table while Sebell was sorting through the slips.

  Sebell held up two piles—one thin, one fat. Three slips remained on his lectern.

  “Three abstentions, five nays, and thirty-seven yeas,” Sebell said. “Harper Hall votes yea.”

  Nothing more than murmured sounds of relief were expressed but Sebell strode quickly to the big doors, opened one leaf and gestured.

  “Lady Janissian of Southern Boll, the Council would be pleased if you would take your seat as Boll’s Lady Holder!”

  There was cheering from outside as Janissian, a smiling Menolly giving her a little push, stepped in and the door was closed behind her. She stood there, her head no higher than Sebell’s shoulder, and her dark hair fetchingly arranged around her pale, handsome face; the hem of her red gown matched the white shields and bright chevrons that were Boll’s insignia. She wore the heirloom diamond and ruby chevron pendant that was supposed to have been handed down from Emily Boll and she gave the impression of great dignity. Sebell took her hand, and while everyone stood—even Toric, though he took his time getting to his feet—he walked her to the empty chair beside Lord Groghe. The old Lord Holder was red-faced with pleasure and kissed her on both cheeks as soon as she was seated.

  Lessa approved of her calm in accepting such an accolade and her composed nod to the rest of the Council.

  “Well, then, let’s to real business,” Toric said, remaining on his feet while the rest of the Council resumed their chairs.

  “It’s my autonomy that has been abrogated, Lord Toric,” Kashman cried, standing up, his thin features reddened by agitation. “Those intruders should have been brought to my Hold for my judgment. I want to know why my authority was ignored.”

  Before the Masterprinter could get to his feet, Lord Lytol leaned toward Kashman, his gaunt face serene.

  “Let me point out, Lord Kashman, a fact that you may not be acquainted with yet,” he said, “but MasterCraftHalls enjoy autonomy within their halls and may set punishment or fines, depending on the nature of any offense committed within their confines.”

  “But—but the Printer Hall’s new …” Kashman began.

  “That does not,” Sebell said, “interfere with its autonomy or internal discipline.”

  Tagetarl spoke up. “Let me remind Lord Kashman that the intruders refused—in front of witnesses—to name either hold or hall to which they could be taken to receive a hearing from another authority.”

  “It just happens …” and Kashman waved his arm in a sarcastic manner, “that Lord Jaxom who resides in Ruatha and N’ton whose Weyr is in Fort happened to be present in Wide Bay at such an unlikely hour?”

  “The intruders picked the hour,” Tagetarl said.

  “The dragons responded to a summons for support,” N’ton added.

  “Who summoned them?” Kashman demanded, his nostrils flaring with irritation.

  “Beauty, in my case,” Jaxom said and turned to N’ton.

  “In mine as well.”

  “Beauty?” Kashman echoed, confounded by that identification.

  “Beauty is the queen fire-lizard that often conveys urgent messages from the Harper Hall,” N’ton said.

  “You responded to a message brought by a fire-lizard?” Kashman was incredulous. Toric snorted at his inexperience.

  “When such a message comes from a main CraftHall,” Sebell went on, “it is not wise to disregard its import, especially since other Crafthalls have become targets for vandalism. Twelve people do not simultaneously decide to sample Crafthall wares in the middle of the night, armed with torches, chisels, hammers, and spikes, Lord Kashman. They were discovered inside the main gates, which had not been opened to them, destroying the doors to the Print Hall itself. What conclusion would you have come to?”

  “Yes, Kashman, what conclusion could you have come to?” Lord Groghe demanded.

  “Something’s got to be done about such impertinent men and women,” Bargen said with considerable exasperation. “Wanton destruction—when it takes time and good materials to make anything these days—cannot be permitted. If we have already decided that exile would be a deterrent, then whoever sits in judgment—a proper court, with three judges and witnesses—has the right, indeed the duty of sentencing them to exile. Now, let’s go on to the most important issue before this Council.”

  Beyond him, Kashman was gaping, infuriated that the older Lord Holders were so blithely setting aside his issue.

  “What are you going to do about preventing fireballs dropping from the sky?” Bargen asked, surveying the Weyrleaders with a critical sweep.

  “We have several recommendations …” F’lar said, rising to his feet.

  “Don’t want recommendatio
ns,” Bargen retorted. “I want positive reassurance that such displays won’t be repeated in the near future.”

  “Nothing in the near future has so far been discerned,” F’lar said and found he had everyone’s attention.

  “What do you mean by that?” Groghe demanded.

  “Such surveys of near Pern objects as Master Erragon has been able to complete with a dedicated band of sky-watchers suggest that nothing is close enough to descend on Pern’s surface in the near future.”

  “And?” Bargen prompted, scowling. “In the further future?”

  “We must place more telescopes in strategic positions to watch our skies, mobilize a body of dedicated people to support at least five major observatories—”

  Toric leaped to his feet. “You want the Council to support five? Tithes are already in full use. Where would more marks come from for five observatories?”

  Bargen was on his feet, so were Langrell and Toronas, shouting against such major projects. Deckter asked for details. Even Lord Groghe appeared concerned. F’lar stood still, ignoring the shouts, the arguments as Sebell struck the gavel for silence.

  A burst of thunder—dragons shouting—penetrated the Great Hall and deafened everyone.

  “As I was saying, if you wish to avoid more problems like that Fireball, you have to be prepared,” F’lar went on in a normal tone of voice. “We already have Cove Hold and Honshu,” and he bowed to Lord Lytol and the Star Master, “which is generously maintained by Landing.”

  “A portion of our tithes,” Lord Lytol said, “will be distributed to the other locations as well as to pay teachers.”

  “The SmithCraftHall cannot produce the telescopes required for observatories …” Master Fandarel began.

  “There are four in the Catherine Caves,” Master Erragon said, bowing respectfully to the Mastersmith for his interruption.

  “Ah, well, in that case,” and Fandarel raised a thick swollen hand in agreement.

  “I have undertaken to supply a Star Hold,” Jaxom said, rising briefly, “with appropriate tithes, and the cost of building one at Ice Lake as recommended by Master Erragon.”

  Toric’s frown grew deeper when Lord Larad rose to his feet.

  “Telgar does the same. Weyrwoman Palla completed most of her apprenticeship with Master Wansor.”

  “As a twenty-four-hour coverage of our skies is essential to its overall success,” F’lar said, but Lessa could see how much he relished the shock he was about to give the entire Council, “an observatory must be constructed as soon as possible on a site, approved by Masters Wansor, Erragon, and Idarolan, on the Western Continent.”

  The Council was in an uproar. Even the usually placid Mastercraftsmen were excited, demanding details and plans while the Lord Holders were protesting such a drain on tithe-marks and labor. It took time for Sebell to reestablish order.

  “But it was the Yokohama that saw the Fireball,” Groghe exclaimed as the din abated.

  “Why are so many needed?” Langrell asked plaintively.

  “It’s a big sky,” K’van remarked.

  “You have to find the near object before you can divert it,” F’lar put in almost offhandedly.

  “Divert it?” Groghe exclaimed, the smile that had been growing during F’lar’s opening sentences turning into stunned amazement. “But there are no more engines to divert anything since we blew the Red Star up, are there?”

  “No engines, Lord Groghe, but dragons and their riders!”

  Toric leaped to his feet, face suffused with blood, stabbing his finger at the Benden Weyrleader, and shouted, “So you think you can coerce the Holds to continue to support you forever?”

  “Not at all, Lord Toric,” F’lar replied with calm pride. “You cannot perceive how deeply every Weyr—” He paused and the other dragonriders nodded or murmured emphatic agreement with that statement. “—wishes to be as independent as any other person on this planet. Necessity has required our dependence on the holds we protect, but, by the end of this Pass, we shall all have holdings or crafts with which to support ourselves. We shall be journeymen and -women, attracting apprentices to Star Holds and learning to be Masters of the Star Hall. We will study the stars and watch the skies of Pern until we know exactly what might threaten this planet again.”

  “And what will you do then?” Toric bawled the question.

  F’lar regarded Toric with a smile on his face. “We will divert it.”

  “How? How?” Toric pounded the table. “You weren’t able to divert the Fireball.”

  “Now that,” and F’lar paused significantly, without a trace of apology, “won’t happen again.” His tone was so confident, his manner so assured that the other dragonriders proudly straightened, so obviously in agreement with his statement, that the Southern Holder was perplexed.

  “It is an ability that Aivas perceived in dragonkind,” Jaxom remarked as one chiding his audience to remember something they had not previously considered.

  “Indeed, Lord Jaxom,” F’lar said amiably. “The dragons have always had the ability. We have been busy refining it.”

  “It takes time and practice,” N’ton said.

  “The older the dragon, the more adept, you know,” K’van put in.

  “Combined with observatories and a sound knowledge of the Rukbat system and our skies,” F’lar continued, “we’ll know exactly what’s around us and what else the Oort Cloud spawns.”

  “As you all have reminded us,” Lessa added, “dragonriders are the caretakers of Pern’s skies. So let us continue to undertake that responsibility.”

  “Practicing and preparing for when the need for this potent ability presents itself,” F’lar finished.

  As draconic bellow had silenced argument, now everyone heard the carol that trilled the affirmative response of the dragons gathered on the cliffs of Telgar!

  “Well, I for one,” Groghe said, beaming at F’lar and the other Weyrleaders, “am deeply relieved to hear all this. Though I can’t remember Aivas …”

  “Naturally Aivas only discussed the subject with dragonriders,” Jaxom said in a grave manner.

  “Thank you, Weyrleaders,” Sebell said. “You have relieved our fears considerably and I think I can speak for all the Craftmasters that there will be generous Hall support to match that already guaranteed new observatories by Lord Holders.” He bowed to Jaxom and Larad.

  “Tillek is the nearest port,” Ranrel said to Erragon across the table, “we will donate shipping.”

  “Services in place of tithes?” Toric cried, infuriated.

  “Oh, do sit down, Toric,” Groghe said.

  “There hasn’t been a vote about approving more observatories,” Toric complained.

  “I can take a vote now,” Sebell put in hopefully.

  “The necessity for three new observatories hasn’t been properly discussed,” Toric shouted.

  “I want to know more about the Western Continent,” Master Ballora said in a loud voice. “We don’t know what life-forms are there. What effect contact with new ones would have with our indigenous species.”

  “Not much is mentioned about it in Aivas records,” Deckter remarked. “Will the project need much metal ore?”

  “Of course it will, Deckter,” Fandarel said, rubbing his big hands together in anticipation.

  “Shall we deal with some of the minor petitions now?” Sebell asked, holding up a slim packet.

  “No, no, not now,” Groghe said. “Need to eat now and be refreshed for that sort of thing.”

  “What about the Western Continent?” Master Ballora objected. “I want to know more about that!”

  “We’ll talk,” Erragon said while Sebell used the gavel to end the morning session.

  So many questions were asked about where exactly the observatories would be placed, the form they would take, the personnel to work in them, the training required, that petitions were put aside for the next day. Toric called for a vote about any new observatories, much less three, none of wh
ich were evidently to be placed in Southern. He voted against the whole idea but the majority was in favor of it. Then he had to sit through talk about the Western Continent’s urgently needed observatory and, while he fumed, everyone else seemed so enthusiastic about supplying engineering, construction, transport, labor, materials—without an increase in overall tithing, which he would have vigorously barred—the Star Masters and the sharding Weyrleaders got what they wanted. It never occurred to him that he had only himself to blame. He’d been prepared to argue about petitions and object to some—on principle—but none had been submitted for discussion. If he didn’t stay, the Council might slip something new in, vote it into law and he wouldn’t be able to gauge any new plans. He ought to make Besic accompany him. He’d be good for something then. Bargen had a son with him, so did Groghe. Such representatives were permitted to stand in for their Lord Holders at the petitions session: Fandarel had put Master Jancis in as his agent.

  In the evening, Toric wandered outside, down into the Gather grounds. Dorse was supposed to find him so he had to be available. By morning, when Dorse didn’t appear before the Council convened, Toric asked at the Telgar Runner Station for any messages for him. There were none but he encountered Kashman and had to walk back to the Hold in the man’s company. Kashman was still furious with the trial at the Print Hall. He hadn’t been in Keroon Hold that night but the matter could have waited until morning. He complained bitterly about the presence of N’ton, a Fort Weyrleader, far away from Fort’s traditional authority, not to mention Jaxom. Who was not a subject to be mentioned in Toric’s company under the best of circumstances! Corman had kept this son of his inadequately informed for Lord Holdership, Toric thought.

  Late that evening, Toric wandered aimlessly among the Gather tents and then walked the perimeter, keeping to the shadows to give Dorse a chance to approach him discreetly. There was the other matter: this dragon ability that Aivas had mentioned? As far as Toric knew, dragons could speak to their riders, go between, and chew a rock that produced the flame that destroyed Thread. He must ask Master Esselin to trace any reference to what Aivas had said about the creatures. Everything Aivas said or had done was recorded. Esselin could find it and report.