Dragonseye
Page 1
DRAGONSEYE
Published in Great Britain as
Red Star Rising
Anne McCaffrey
A Del Rey® Book
BALLANTINE BOOKS * NEW YORK
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Acknowledgments
Prologue
1 Early Autumn at Fort’s Gather
2 Gather at Fort
3 Late Fall at Telgar Weyr
4 Telgar Weyr and the College
5 Weyrling Barracks and Bitra Hold
6 Telgar Weyr, Fort Hold
7 Fort Hold
8 Telgar Weyr
9 Fort Hold and Bitran Borders, Early Winter
10 High Reaches, Boll, Ista Weyrs; High Reaches Weyr, Fort, and Telgar Holds
11 The Trials at Telgar and Benden Weyrs
12 High Reaches and Fort Holds
13 Bitra Hold and Telgar Weyr
14 Turn’s End at Fort Hold and Telgar Weyr
15 New Year 258 After Landing; College, Benden Hold, Telgar Weyr
16 Cathay, Telgar Weyr, Bitra Hold, Telgar
17 Threadfall
About the Author
Books by Anne McCaffrey
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Copyright
This book is most respectfully
dedicated to
Dieter Clissmann,
who sorts out my various computers
and never fails to answer my pleas for HELP!
The Finger points
To an Eye blood-red.
Alert the Weyrs
To sear the Thread.
from Dragonflight
Acknowledgments
THE DRAGONRIDERS OF PERN series has become more and more complex so, to keep me on the right path, I have called upon the services of several devoted fans and readers: in this case Marilyn and Harry Aim; Fay Ann Reynolds; Bunny Hagerty in the New Orleans group for continuity, common sense, and critical analysis; and Magi D. Shepley for teacher-speak. Harry, once again, has used his naval engineering background to supply required technical details.
I am, as ever, deeply indebted to these folks, for despite masses of lists and records, I can still put in essentials that a new reader might not understand without a brief explanatory phrase. And for these insights, I acknowledge my long-suffering editor, Shelly Shapiro.
Prologue
RUKBAT, IN THE Sagittarian sector, was a golden G-type star. It had five planets, two asteroid belts, and a stray planet it had attracted and held in recent millennia. When men first settled on Rukbat’s third planet and called it Pern, they had taken little notice of the stranger planet, swinging around its adopted primary in a wildly erratic orbit—until the desperate path of the wanderer brought it close to its stepsister at perihelion.
When such aspects were harmonious, and not distorted by conjunctions with other planets in the system, the wanderer brought in a life form that sought to bridge the space gap to the more temperate and hospitable planet.
The initial losses the colonists suffered from the voracious mycorrhizoid organism that fell on them were staggering. They had divorced themselves from their home planet, Earth, and had already cannibalized the colony ships, the Yokohama, the Bahrain, and the Buenos Aires, so they would have to improvise with what they had. Their first need was an aerial defense against the Thread, as they named this menace. Using highly sophisticated bioengineering techniques, they developed a specialized variant of a Pernese life form which had two unusual, and useful, characteristics: the so-called fire-lizards could digest a phosphine-bearing rock in one of their two stomachs and, belching forth the resultant gas, create a fiery breath which reduced Thread to harmless char; and they were able both to teleport and to share an empathy that allowed limited understanding with humans. The bioengineered “dragons”—so called because they resembled the Earth’s mythical creatures—were paired at hatching with an empathic human, forming a symbiotic relationship of unusual depth and mutual respect.
The colonists moved to the Northern Continent to seek shelter from the insidious Thread in the cave systems, new homes that they called “Holds.” The dragons and their riders came, too, housing themselves in old volcanic craters: Weyrs.
The First Pass of Thread lasted nearly fifty years, and what scientific information the colonists were able to gather indicated that Thread would be a cyclic problem, occurring every 250 years as the path of the wanderer once again approached Pern.
During this interval, the dragons multiplied and each successive generation became a little larger than the last, although optimum level would take many, many more generations to reach. And the humans spread out across the Northern Continent, creating holds to live in, and halls in which to train young people in skills and professions. Sometimes folks even forgot that they lived on a threatened planet.
However, in both Holds and Weyrs, there were masses of reports, journals, maps, and charts to remind the Lords and Weyrleaders of the problem; and much advice to assist their descendants when next the rogue planet approached Pern and how to prepare for the incursion.
This is what happened 257 years later.
CHAPTER I
Early Autumn at Fort’s Gather
DRAGONS IN SQUADRONS wove, and interwove, sky trails, diving and climbing in wings, each precisely separated by the minimum safety distance so that occasionally the watchers thought they saw an uninterrupted line of dragons as the close order drill continued.
The skies above Fort Hold, the oldest of the human settlements on the Northern Continent, were brilliantly clear on this early autumn day: that special sort of clarity and depth of color that their ancestors in the New England sector of the North American continent would have instantly identified. The sun gleamed on healthy dragon hides and intensified the golden queen dragons who flew at the lowest level, sometimes seeming to touch the tops of the nearby mountains as they circled Fort. It was a sight to behold, and always brought a thrill of pride to those who watched the display: with one or two exceptions.
“Well, that’s done for now,” said Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, the first to lower his eyes, though the fly-past was not yet over.
He rotated his neck and smoothed the skin where the decorative embroidered border of his best tunic had scratched the skin. Actually, he had had a few heart-stopping moments during some of the maneuvers, but he would never mention that aloud. The dragonriders were far too full of themselves as it was without pandering to their egos and an inflated sense of importance: constantly appearing at his Hold and handing him lists of what hadn’t been done and must be done before Threadfall. Chalkin snorted. Just how many people were taken in with all this twaddle? The storms last year had been unusually hard, but then that wasn’t in itself unexpectable, so why were hard storms supposed to be a prelude to a Pass? Winter meant storms.
And this preoccupation with the volcanoes going off. They did periodically anyway, sort of a natural phenomenon, if he remembered his science orientation correctly. So what if three or four were active right now? That did not necessarily have to do with the proximity of a spatial neighbor! And he was not going to require guards to freeze themselves keeping an easterly watch for the damned planet. Especially as every other Hold was also on the alert. So what if it orbited near Pern? That didn’t necessarily mean it was close enough to be dangerous, no matter how the ancients had gone on about cyclical incursions.
The dragons were just one more of the settlers’ weird experiments, altering an avian species to take the place of the aircraft they had once had. He’d seen the airsled that the Telgar Foundry treasured as an exhibit: a vehicle much more convenient to fly in than aboard a dragon, where one had to e
ndure the black-cold of teleportation. He shuddered. He had no liking for that sort of ultimate cold, even if it avoided the fatigue of overland travel. Surely in all those records the College was mustering folks to copy, there were other materials that could be substituted for whatever the ancients had used to power the vehicles. Why hadn’t some bright lad found the answer before the last of the airsleds deteriorated completely? Why didn’t the brainy ones develop a new type of airworthy vessel? A vessel that didn’t expect to be thanked for doing its duty!
He glanced down at the wide roadway where the gather tables and stalls were set up. His were empty: even his gamesters were watching the sight. He’d have a word with them later. They should have been able to keep some customers at the various games of chance, even with the dragonrider display. Surely everyone had seen that by now. Still, the races had gone well and, with every one of the wager-takers his operators, he’d’ve made a tidy profit from his percentage of the bets.
As he made his way back to his seat, he saw that wine chillers had been placed at every table. He rubbed his beringed fingers together in anticipation, the black Istan diamonds flashing as they caught sunlight. The wine was the only reason he had been willing to come to this gathering: and he’d half suspected Hegmon of some prevarication in the matter. An effervescent wine, like the champagne one heard about from old Earth, was to have its debut. And, of course, the food would be marvelous, too, even if the wine should not live up to its advance notice. Paulin, Fort Hold’s Lord, had lured one of the best chefs on the continent to his kitchens and the evening meal was sure to be good: if it didn’t turn sour in his stomach while he sat through the obligatory meeting afterward. Chalkin had bid for the man’s services, but Chrislee had spurned Bitra’s offer, and that refusal had long rankled in Chalkin’s mind.
The Bitran Holder mentally ran through possible excuses for leaving right after dinner: one plausible enough to be accepted by the others. This close to putative Thread-fall, he had to be careful of alienating the wrong people. If he left before the dinner . . . but then he wouldn’t have a chance to sample this champagne-style wine, and he was determined to. He’d taken the trouble to go to Hegmon’s Benden vineyard, with the clear intention of buying cases of the vintage. But Hegmon had refused to see him. Oh, his eldest son had been apologetic—something about a critical time in the process requiring Hegmon’s presence in the caverns—but the upshot was that Chalkin couldn’t even get his name put down on the purchase list for the sparkling wine. Since Benden Weyr was likely to get the lion’s share of it, Chalkin had to keep in good with the Benden Weyrleaders so that, at the Hatching which was due to occur in another few weeks, he’d be invited and could drink as much of their allotment of wines as he could. More than one way to skin a wherry!
He paused to twirl one of the bottles in its ice nest. Almost perfectly chilled. Riders must have brought the ice in from the High Reaches for Paulin. Whenever he needed some, he couldn’t find a rider willing to do him, Bitra’s Lord Holder, such a simple service. Humph. But of course, certain Bloodlines always got preferential treatment. Rank didn’t mean as much as it should, that was certain!
He was surreptitiously inspecting the label of a bottle when there was a sudden, startled intake of fearful breaths from the watchers, instantly followed by a wild cheer. Looking up, he saw he just missed some sort of dangerous maneuver . . . Ah, yes, they’d done another midair rescue. He saw a bronze dragon veering from under a blue who was miming a wounded wing: both riders now safely aboard the bronze’s neck. Quite likely that Telgar Weyrleader who was such a daredevil.
Cheers were now punctuated with applause and some banging of drums from the bandsmen on their podium down on the wide courtyard that spread out from the steps to the Hold down to the two right-angled annexes. Once again both the infirmary and the Teachers’ College were being enlarged, if the scaffolding was a reliable indication. Chalkin snorted, for the buildings were being extended outward, wide open to any Thread that was purportedly supposed to start falling again. They really ought to be consistent! Of course, tunneling into the cliff would take more time than building outside. But too many folks preached one thing and practiced another.
Chalkin grunted to himself, wondering acidly if the architects had got Weyrleader approval for the design. Thread! He snorted again and wished that Paulin, chatting so cozily with the two Benden Holders as he and his wife escorted them back to the head table, would hurry up. He was dying to sample the bubbly white.
Rattling his fingers on the table, he awaited the return of his host and the opening of the tempting bottles in the cooler.
K’vin, bronze Charanth’s rider, put his lips close to the ear of the young blue rider sitting in front of him.
“Next time wait for my signal!” he said.
P’tero only grinned, giving him a backward glance, his bright blue eyes merry.
“Knew you’d catch me,” he bellowed back. “Too many people watching to let me swing and give Weyr secrets away!” Then P’tero waved encouragingly at Ormonth, who was now flying anxiously at Charanth’s wing tip. Though unseen from the ground, the safety-tethers still linked the blue rider to his dragon. P’tero unbuckled his end of the straps and they dangled free.
“Lucky you that I was looking up just then!” K’vin said so harshly that the brash lad flushed to his ear tips. “Look at the fright you’ve given Ormonth!” And he gestured toward the blue, his hide flushing in mottled spots from his recent scare.
P’tero yelled something else, which K’vin didn’t catch, so he leaned forward, putting his right ear nearer the blue rider’s mouth.
“I was in no danger,” P’tero repeated. “I used brand-new straps and he watched me braid ’em.”
“Hah!” As every rider knew, dragons had gaps in their ability to correlate cause and effect. So Ormonth would scarcely have connected the new straps with his rider’s perfect safety.
“Oh, thanks,” the rider added as K’vin snapped one of his own straps to P’tero’s belt. Not that they would be doing more than landing, but K’vin wished to make a point of safety to P’tero.
While K’vin approved of courage, he did not appreciate recklessness, especially if it endangered a. dragon this close to the beginning of Threadfall. Careful supervision had kept his Weyr from losing any dragon partners, and he intended to maintain that record.
Spilling off his blue before K’vin had passed the word was taking a totally unnecessary risk. Fortunately, K’vin had seen P’tero dive. His heart had lurched in his chest, even if he knew P’tero was equipped with the especially heavy and long harness as a fail-safe. Even if he and Charanth had not accurately judged the midair rescue, those long straps would have saved the blue rider from falling to his death. Today’s maneuver had been precipitous instead of well-executed. And, if Charanth had not been as adept on the wing, P’tero might be nursing broken ankles or severe bruising as a result of his folly. No matter how broad, those safety straps really jerked a man about midair.
P’tero still showed no remorse. K’vin only hoped that the stunt produced the effect the love-struck P’tero wished. His mate would have been watching, heart in mouth, no doubt, and P’tero would reap the harvest of such fear sometime this evening. K’vin wished that more girls were available to Impress green dragons. Girls tended to be steadier, more dependable. But with parents keenly interested in applying for more land by setting up cotholds for married children—and no dragonriders, male or female, were allowed to own land—fewer and fewer girls were encouraged to stand on the Hatching Grounds.
The dragons who had taken part in the mass fly-by were now landing their riders in the wide road beyond the court. Then they leaped up again to find a spot in which to enjoy the last of the warm autumnal sun. Many made for the adjoining cliffs as space on Fort’s heights filled up on either side of the solar panels. Dragons could be trusted not to tread on what remained of the priceless installations. Fort’s were the oldest, of course, and two banks had been lost l
ast winter to the unseasonably fierce storms. Fort, being the largest as well as the oldest northern installation, needed all its arrays in full working order to supply heat for its warren of corridors, power for air circulation units and what equipment still worked. Fortunately, a huge stockpile of panels had been made during the first big wave of constructing new Weyrs and Holds. There would be enough for generations.
Weyrleaders sought their tables on the upper level with Lord Holders and professionals, while riders joined whatever company they preferred at tables set up on the huge expanse of the outer apron. Not a sprout of vegetation anywhere on that plaza surface, K’vin noticed with approval. S’nan, Fort’s Weyrleader, had always been fussy, and rightly so.
The musicians had struck up sprightly music, and couples were already dancing on the wooden floor set over the cobbles. Beyond the dance square were the stalls, tents, and tables where goods were being sold or exchanged. There’d been brisk business all day, especially for items needed during the winter months when there would be fewer big Gathers. The various Craftsmen would be pleased, and there’d be less for the dragons to haul back.
Charanth was now circling over the annexes, which had been started to increase living space for both Pern’s main infirmary-research facility and teacher training. The dormitories were also going to house volunteers who were assiduously trying to save the records, damaged during last spring when water had leaked down the walls of the vast storage caverns under Fort. Riders had offered to spend as much time as possible from their training schedules to help in the project. Everyone who had a legible script was acceptable, and Lord Paulin had done a bang-up job in making the copyists comfortable. The other Holds had contributed material and workforces.