The Skies of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Except Thread,” F’lessan murmured, his sense of mischief suddenly dominant.

  Lytol gave him a long, almost amused look. “That organism is not indigenous.”

  “No more than the felines,” D’ram put in, “since they were developed by the Ancients.” He shuddered.

  “I shouldn’t like to think that there were any lurking near,” Wansor added, his face furrowed.

  “Not with Tiroth on duty,” D’ram said stoutly, patting Wansor on the hand.

  Erragon cleared his throat, taking charge of conversation. “Quite true. Quite true. Now I want to thank you, F’lessan and Tai, for the work you’ve already completed, analyzing the images I sent. What I’d like to know is—” and the Star Master hesitated.

  “If we’d be willing to undertake regular reviews of the southern starscape,” F’lessan finished. “I think from T’gellan’s presence here today,” he said, glancing at Tai, “that Tai must gradually return to her duties with Monaco Weyr. With their agility, speed, and control, greens are the most useful dragon in any Fall.”

  Lytol bowed his scarred face in acknowledgment of F’lessan’s tacit allusion to the fact that he would never again fly a fighting wing.

  “Perhaps you should consider spending the Nine Fall here at Cove Hold with us, bronze rider,” Lytol said.

  “I shall hope to be able to land more gracefully by then,” F’lessan replied with a self-deprecating grin.

  “Practice, I believe,” Lytol murmured, his eyes alive with understanding and compassion, “always improves performance.”

  “I will, however,” and F’lessan paused, “need to pursue another future for myself and my dragon.”

  “Well, you’ve already proved that you can be useful as a star-watcher,” Master Wansor blurted out. “You don’t need a dragon for that.” His plump hand covered his mouth as he realized what he had said. “I mean, you still have Golanth, even if he …”

  “Even if he is battered,” F’lessan finished for him. “So, I entreat you, Master Wansor, Master Erragon, to allow me to study astronomy so that Honshu can become fully operational as the second Pern observatory.”

  “Oh, dear, there never has been a dragonrider astronomer,” Wansor said, and then beamed in F’lessan’s direction. “But then there wasn’t even a StarSmith until very recently.”

  “Tai’s already trained to near journeywoman status,” F’lessan said, laying his hand on hers. “Isn’t she, Erragon?”

  “She is, indeed,” Erragon agreed with hearty approval.

  “We work well as a team,” F’lessan hurried on, “and she’ll need a profession, too, when Threadfall stops.”

  “True, very true,” Erragon said enthusiastically, slapping his hands on his knees in emphasis. “Hope you’ll be the first of many.” Then, in an abrupt change of mood, he said, “Do tell us, F’lessan, how did you and Golanth get here today?”

  “I was wondering when someone would ask,” F’lessan replied.

  “This new ability that the Weyrleaders mentioned in Council? Something …” Erragon clicked his fingers, impatient with his memory lapse. “… about the ability Aivas perceived in dragons that has some bearing on averting future dangers?”

  “Given that dragonriders are apparently responsible for what falls out of the sky,” F’lessan said with a touch of irony, “yes, it bears directly on that, and on my very keen interest in astronomy.”

  “What? What is it?” Erragon prompted.

  “Actually you all witnessed a demonstration of that ability on my arrival.”

  Erragon, Wansor, and D’ram regarded him without comprehension, but a smile eased across Lytol’s seamed face and he nodded.

  “I thought so.” When the grinning F’lessan gestured for him to continue, he did. “Consider, my friends, that Golanth sustained terrible injuries to eye and wing. I do not think Golanth could have launched himself from even the topmost terrace of Honshu to gain sufficient height to go between. Also, he arrives in the company of five other dragons. He falters in landing and is righted—without any use of that damaged wing. The other dragons assisted him. Correct?”

  F’lessan nodded. “While it doesn’t require five dragons to lift Golanth, it does require a good deal of control to lift and land. From what the Monaco riders told us, it appears that female and male dragons work best as partners in such telekinesis.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Erragon murmured, shaking his head. “How did a wing-injured dragon fly?”

  Beside him, D’ram was gaping open-mouthed at F’lessan and Lytol.

  “Master Wansor, I know that you,” and F’lessan nodded toward him, “remember that Aivas was fascinated by dragons, by a species that communicates mentally and moves freely between one place and another. He called these abilities telepathy and teleportation. He thought they should have a third: telekinesis. He very much wanted dragons to have that facet. They’ve evidently had it all along but—” F’lessan paused to grin at a speechless D’ram. “—until the feline attack on Golanth and Zaranth, had never needed to use it.”

  Turning to Erragon then, he went on. “What you saw today is a refinement of telekinesis. Controlled!” He paused to stress that. “Golanth can’t—yet—use the damaged wing effectively. So the dragons lifted him vertically, high enough above Honshu to go safely between, which he can still do for himself.” F’lessan leaned back in his chair, watching the reactions to his explanation: Lytol nodding, Wansor agape, Erragon frowning, and D’ram smiling in approval. “Today was the first attempt at a controlled lift of another dragon. It’ll take more practice to perfect the skill. Especially landing. I’m sure, Lord Lytol, that we’ll improve with practice.”

  Today was my first try, after all, Golanth remarked, somewhat irked.

  Of course it was, Golly, Tai assured him, pinching F’lessan’s bare arm.

  “Just as he did with trundlebugs.” F’lessan shot Tai a sly glance.

  “Why can’t Golanth ‘lift’ himself?” Erragon asked.

  F’lessan shrugged. “Perhaps because he’s too accustomed to doing it the usual way. It is, as Lord Lytol knows, very dangerous to go between at ground level. Golly may just have to change the way he thinks.” He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “There’s going to be a lot of that soon—a lot of traditional thinking altered to deal with our imminent future as aerial defenders of a planet no longer requiring protection against Thread.”

  “Hmm, yes.” Lytol rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but his gaze gleamed with anticipation as he regarded the bronze rider. “So, today, to get Golanth aloft, the others supplied the initial lift and controlled the descent.”

  “To some degree,” F’lessan said with a grin.

  “Have you any idea, bronze rider, what use Aivas would have made of draconic telekinesis?” Lytol asked. Had the shrewd man already jumped to the same conclusion F’lessan had?

  “Surely you don’t mean he expected the dragons to alter the Red Star’s orbit?” Erragon demanded, astounded.

  F’lessan chuckled. “I don’t know what he had in mind. Dragonriders did get the antimatter engines onto the planet. And the blast achieved an orbital shift. I have another, not completely dissimilar idea.”

  Erragon slapped both hands onto the table, his face mirroring complete skepticism. “And you are suggesting … that dragons will be able to deflect cometary fragments or asteroids?”

  F’lessan gave the Star Master a long speculative look, amusement sparkling in his gray eyes. He caught a similar twinkle in Lytol’s hooded gaze. If he had Lytol on his side, his preposterous notion might just have a chance.

  “Yoko’s records showed the Fireball on an approach orbit months ago. If it had been moved then, by just a slight tap, if I can put it that way,” and F’lessan could no longer suppress a broad grin, “the Fireball would not have impacted. Maybe it might not even have grazed the surface but trundled—” He chuckled as he rotated his hand, index finger circling expressively. “—back out into sp
ace.”

  D’ram, Erragon, and Wansor gawked at him. Lytol’s lips formed a smile of approval, and Tai stifled laughter at his description.

  F’lessan went on. “I’m not saying that we can perfect this ability to have a significant effect on what’s in our skies. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”

  He looked around, satisfied by the thoughtful expressions. Lytol was nodding with comprehension. F’lessan leaned urgently forward across the table, the look in his eyes challenging them all.

  “We already know that dragons can go into space without harm. They can manage a journey of fifteen minutes’ duration before they incur oxygen debt. We lifted massive engines from three spaceships. We planted them on a dead world. The Red Star was much farther away from Pern than anything in the asteroid belt, or among the minor planets. What’s to say we can’t do more in our own space? We still have the helmets, suits, and the oxygen equipment. I think we should keep them in good condition. I think dragons should practice telekinesis and control their use of it.

  “And another thing,” he said, still noting that both D’ram and Erragon were having some difficulty in absorbing his remarks, “the Ancients may have had sleds. We have dragons. We don’t have to waste time, or reinvent a fuel, to lift dragons from the surface of this planet. If a dragon knows where he’s to go …” He waved his hand to let imagination finish the sentence.

  “Just a minute, F’lessan,” Erragon began, his eyes wide with confusion, “we can’t afford to risk dragons …”

  “They’re risked every time they go into a Fall,” Lytol said, having no difficulty with F’lessan’s suggestion.

  F’lessan nodded, his smile still in place. “We have the Yoko in its permanent orbit. It has the southern array of weather stations reporting to it. I often wondered why there wasn’t a northern one.”

  “Perhaps because the southern continent was chosen, having the larger landmass and more temperate weather,” Lytol suggested.

  Erragon held up one hand. “Now don’t tell me there are plans in Aivas records for weather satellites.”

  “There are,” Lytol said.

  “I was thinking of them more as links between the observatories,” F’lessan put in, “which you know we’ll need if we’re to do a proper job of sky-watching.”

  With an exclamation of confused aggravation, Erragon rocked back on his chair, looking from Lytol to F’lessan to Tai, hoping for more explanation.

  “Doesn’t young Jaxom boast that his Ruth always knows where and when he is?” Wansor asked, twiddling his fingers as the tension in the room increased.

  “Even in space?” Erragon’s baritone voice rose to tenor levels in surprise.

  “Well, not today, or even by the time the Western Telescope is lit,” F’lessan said, “but we evidently have a way of putting objects up!” He pointed skyward. “Of course, it will take practice. Maybe,” and he threw this out with a gleam of mischief in his eyes, “there is a prosaic use for this draconic ability—apart from defending themselves against felines.”

  “May we never have to do that again!” Tai said fervently. Outside, in the cove, three dragons echoed the sentiment.

  “Meanwhile,” F’lessan said briskly, gathering up the reports and prints that Erragon wanted them to study, “we have much to occupy us. Studying for our Mastery,” and he gave Tai a sly glance, “and altering our ways. We must do as much as we can to make Pern fair up to our means, to make it the world our Ancestors hoped to create.”

  He felt his chest fill with determination to succeed in his new tasks. He could feel tears coming to his eyes as he held out his hand to Tai. She rose, inclining her body toward him, her eyes shining, too. He saw Lytol’s face light up so that he seemed younger and more vital than ever. D’ram and Erragon got to their feet, while Master Wansor beamed benignly around the table.

  The dragons continued to bugle and, in his head, F’lessan was certain that their call reverberated through every Weyr on the planet. He had the dragons’ support.

  “Whatever we have to do, we shall,” he said in a choked voice. “There will always be dragons in the skies of Pern!”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ANNE MCCAFFREY was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts. She graduated cum laude from Radcliffe College, majoring in Slavonic Languages and Literatures. Before her success as a writer, she was involved in theater. She directed the American premiere of Carl Orff’s Ludus de Nato Infante Mirificus, in which she also played a witch. Her first novel, Restoree, was written as a protest against the absurd and unrealistic portrayals of women in science fiction novels in the ’50s and early ’60s. McCaffrey is best known, however, for her handling of broader themes and the worlds of her imagination, particularly in her tales of the Talents and the fifteen novels about the Dragonriders of Pern.

  McCaffrey lives in a house of her own design, Dragonhold-Underhill, in County Wicklow, Ireland.