Dragons Dawn

by Anne McCaffrey

  “No, it didn’t,” Sorka said thoughtfully. She looked around the circle of fire-lit faces. “Think of how many times we told the dragonets to get us fish for the hatchlings.”

  “Fish are fish,” Peter Semling remarked, absently prodding the sand with a branch.

  “Yes, but the dragonets knew which ones the dragons like best,” Kathy Duff said. “And it takes them no time at all from the moment we issue the command. They just wink out and a couple of breaths later they’re back with a packtail.”

  “A couple of breaths,” Sean repeated, looking out to the darkness, his stare fixed. “It took more than a couple of breaths for any of our dragons to realize that . . . Marco and Duluth were not coming back. Can we infer from that that it also only takes a couple of breaths for dragons to teleport?”

  “Cautiously . . .” Otto held up his finger again.

  “Right,” Sean went on briskly, “this is what we do tomorrow morning at first light.” He reached over and took Peter’s stick, and drew the ragged coastline in the sand. “The governor wants us to ferry stuff out of Landing. Dave, Kathy, Tarrie, you’ve all got gold fire-lizards. You make the first run. When you get to the tower, send your fire-lizards back here to me and Sorka. Bay, do you and Pol have to be anywhere else tomorrow?”

  Bay gave a derisory sniff. “The pair of us are useless until we get our systems going again at Fort Hold. And we have to wait for transport. We’d be delighted to help you, any way we can!”

  “We’ll time the fire-lizards. Only, we’ve got to have handsets to do it on the mark.”

  “Let me scrounge those,” Pol offered.

  Sean grinned with real humor. “I was hoping you’d volunteer. Lilienkamp wouldn’t deny you, would he?”

  Pol shook his head emphatically, feeling much better than he had all afternoon, vainly searching for mislaid documentation during the nadir of his grieving.

  “Well then, Bay and I will leave you now,” Pol said, rising and giving her a helpful hand to her feet. “To scrounge handsets. How many? Ten? We’ll meet you here at dawn, then, with handsets.” He made a bow to the others, noting that only Bay understood his whimsy. “Yes, at dawn, we’ll begin our scientific observations.”

  “Let’s all get some sleep, riders,” Sean said. He began to scoop sand over the dying flames.

  With a handset to his ear, Pol dropped his finger as Bay, Sean, and Sorka set the mark on their wrist timers. Keeping index fingers hovering over the stop pin, they all looked up toward the eastern sky, Bay squinting against the sunglare from the smooth sea.

  “Now!” Four voices spoke and four fingers moved as a fire-dragonet erupted into the air over their heads, chirping ecstatically.

  “Eight seconds again,” Pol exclaimed happily.

  “Come, Kundi,” Sorka said, holding up her arm as a landing spot. Dave Catarel’s bronze cheeped, cocking his head as if considering her invitation, but he veered away as Duke, Sorka’s bronze, warned him off. “Don’t be ugly, Duke.”

  “Eight seconds,” Sean said admiringly. “That’s all it takes them to travel fifty-odd klicks.”

  “I wonder,” Pol mused, tapping his stylus on the clipboard with its encouraging column of figures. “The figure doesn’t vary no matter who we send which direction. How long would it take them to go to say, Seminole or the Fort Hold in the north?” He looked with bright inquiry at the others.

  Sean began to shake his head dubiously, but Sorka was more enthusiastic.

  “My brother, Brian, is working at the fort. Duke knows him as well as he knows me. And I’ve seen plenty of fax of the place. He’d go to Brian.” As if understanding that he was being discussed, Duke circled in to land on Sorka’s shoulder. She laughed. “See, he’s game!”

  “He may come when he’s called,” Sean said, “but will he go where he’s sent? Landing’s one thing – they all know it well.”

  We can only try and see,” Pol remarked firmly. “And this is a good hour to reach Brian at the Fort Hold.” He punched the comm unit. “What a boon that the tower’s functional. Ah, yes, Pol Nietro speaking. I need an urgent word with Brian Hanrahan . . . I said urgent! This is Pol Nietro. Get him for me! Idiots,” he murmured in an aside.

  “Is this call important?”

  Brian was found and was surprised to hear from his sister. “Look what’s this all about? You don’t just scream priority around here. I can assure you that Mother’s taking good care of Mick. She dotes on him.”

  His slightly aggrieved voice was clear to the others, and Sorka was taken aback by his uncooperative response. Sean took the handset from her.

  “Brian, Sean here. Marco Galliani and his dragon Duluth died yesterday in an unfortunate accident. We’re trying to prevent a recurrence. We’re only asking for a few minutes of your time. And this is a priority.”

  “Marco and Duluth?” Brian’s tone was chastened. “Jays, we hadn’t heard anything. I’m sorry. What can I do?”

  “Are you outside? Someplace where you can be easily spotted from the air?”

  “Yes, I am. Why?”

  “Then tell Sorka exactly where you are. I’m handing you over to her.”

  “Hell and damnation, Sorka, I’m sorry I dumped on you. So I’m outside. Have you seen the recent fax? Well, I’m approximately twenty meters from the new ramp. At the vet caves. They finally carved us some more headroom, and there’s a huge pile of rock about a meter from me and nearly as high. What do I do now?”

  “Just stand there. I’m sending Duke to you. When I say ‘mark,’ set your timer.

  “Come on, now, sis,” he began in patent disbelief, “you’re in Kahrain Cove, aren’t you?”

  “Brian! For once in your life, don’t argue with me.”

  “All right. I’m ready to mark the time.” He still sounded aggrieved.

  Sorka held her arm high, ready to pitch Duke into the air. “Go to Brian, Duke. He’s at the new place! Here!” She screwed her eyes shut and concentrated on an image of Brian standing on the site he had described. “Go, Duke.”

  With a startled squawk, Duke launched himself into the air and vanished.

  “Mark!” Sorka cried.

  “Hey, I can hear you loud and clear, sister. You don’t need to roar. I don’t know what good this is going to do. You can’t imagine for a minute that a fire-dragonet could possibly – Jays!” Brian’s voice in her ear faded into astonishment. “I don’t bloody believe it. Shit I forgot to mark time.”

  “That’s all right,” Sorka said, nodding her head with delight, “we used your ‘jays’ to mark!”

  Pol was jumping up and down, holding his wrist chrono and shouting, “Eight seconds! Eight seconds!”

  He grabbed Bay by the waist and danced around her Sean lifted Sorka from her feet and kissed her soundly while Mariah and Blazer led an augmented fair of fluting fire-dragonets in a dizzy aerial display.

  “Eight seconds to the fort, only eight seconds,” Pol gasped, reeling to a standstill, Bay clinging to him.

  “That doesn’t make much sense, does it?” Bay said, panting, one hand on her heaving chest. “The same time to go fifty klicks or nearly three thousand.”

  “Hey, Sorka,” came Brian’s plaintive voice. She put the handset to her ear again, mopping the sweat off her forehead against her sleeve. “I really gotta go, only what am I supposed to do with Duke now you’ve got him here?”

  “Tell him to come back to me. And give us the mark when he disappears.

  “Sure, right. On the mark, now . . . Duke, find Sorka! Sorka! Find – he’s gone. Shit! Mark!”

  On the beach at Kahrain Cove, four fingers pressed sweep hands, four pairs of eyes turned westward to the hot afternoon skies, and four voices counted the seconds.

  “Six . . . seven . . . eight . . . He did it!”

  Their elation had new confidence as Duke, cheeping happily settled back to Sorka’s shoulder and rubbed a cold muzzle against her cheek.

  “Well, this has been most satisfying and productive,” Ba
y said, beaming broadly.

  “Report it to Emily, will you, Bay?” Sean asked, tucking his hand under Sorka’s elbows. “We’d better go do our share of the donk work today.”

  “So the Galliani boy’s death proved to be a catalyst?” Paul Benden asked Emily as they conferred that evening by comm unit.

  “Pol and Bay are much encouraged,” Emily replied, still unaccountably saddened by the tragedy. She was tired, she knew, and while she spoke to Paul, hoping for the consolation of any sort of good news from the northern continent, half her mind was still on things that had to be organized.

  “Telgar’s group has made a tremendous effort, Em. The quarters are magnificent. You wouldn’t know you were twenty or thirty feet in solid rock. Cobber and Ozzie have penetrated several hundred feet down on seven tunnels. There’s even an eyrie for Ongola’s communications equipment, cut high up in the cliff face. This place is big enough to house the entire population of Landing.”

  “Not everyone wants to live in a hole in the ground, Paul.” Emily spoke for herself.

  “There are quite a few ground-level caverns, immediate access,” he replied soothingly. “You wait. You’ll see. And when are you coming over? I’ve got to put in an appearance at the next Fall or they’ll fire me.

  “Don’t you wish it!”

  “Emily.” Paul’s flippant tone turned serious. “Let Ezra take over from you. He and Jim can liaise on shipments. Others can handle transportation and sled and skimmer maintenance. Pierre should be here to supervise the catering arrangements. He’s got the biggest kitchen unit on Pern.”

  “That would be a welcome change from the largest single barbecue pit! It’s the dragons that I worry about, Paul.”

  “I think they have to sort it out themselves, Emily. From what you reported, I believe they will.”

  “Thank you, Paul,” she replied fervently, heartened by the absolute confidence in his voice. “I’ll reserve a seat on the evening sled tomorrow.”

  After the excitement of sending Duke north, directing fire-dragonets back and forth between Kahrain and Landing was anticlimactic, but it helped to pass the tedium of the long journey. On the way back Sean had the dragonriders practice flying in both close and loose formations and, more importantly, learning how to identify and benefit from the helpful airstreams.

  Their campfire that night was bigger, and Pol and Bay slipped into its light to discuss observations about the fire-dragonets and how to apply them to the dragons. There had been no real need for Sean to promote caution as a byword: Marco and Duluth were still very much in everyone’s mind. To counter any morbidity, Sean suggested that they get more formation practice the next day, practice that would stand them in good stead during Threadfall.

  “If you know where you are in relation to other wing riders, you always know where to come back to,” he said, stressing the last word.

  “Your dragons are so young,” Pol went on, seeing the favorable reaction, “in terms of their species. The fire-dragonets do not appear to suffer from degeneration. In other words, they don’t age as we do physiologically.”

  “You mean, they could go on living after we die?” Tarrie asked, amazed. She glanced around toward Porth, a darker bulk against the shadowy vegetation.

  “From what we’ve discerned, yes, Tarrie,” Pol replied.

  “Our major organs degenerate,” Bay went on, “although modern technology can effect either repair or replacement permitting us long, and useful, life spans.”

  So they’re not likely to get sick or to ail?” Tarrie brightened at that prospect.

  “That’s what we think, “ Pol answered, but he held up a warning finger. “But then we haven’t seen any elderly dragonets.”

  Sean gave a snort, which Sorka softened with a laugh. “We’ve really only our generation to judge by,” she said. “At that, we only get to treat our own, who trust us, and that’s usually for scoring or scorching, or an occasional hide lesion. I find it comforting to know that dragons should be as long-lived.”

  “So long as we don’t make mistakes,” Otto Hegelman said gloomily.”

  “So, we don’t make mistakes!” Sean’s tone was decisive. “And so that we don’t make mistakes, tomorrow let’s split up into three sections. Six, six . . . and five. We need three leaders.”

  Although Sean had left the choice open, he was nominated at once. Dave and Sorka were selected after a minimum of discussion.

  Later, when Sean and Sorka had made themselves comfortable on the sand between Faranth and Carenath, she gave him a long hug and kissed his cheek.

  “What’s that for?”

  “Giving us all hope. But Sean, I’m worried.”

  “Oh?” Sean stroked her hair away from his mouth and inched his left shoulder into a new hollow.

  “I think we oughtn’t to wait too long before we try to teleport.”

  “My thoughts entirely, and I’m grateful to Pol and Bay for their comments on dragon longevity. Cheered me up, too.”

  “So, as long as we keep our wits, we’ll keep our dragons.” She snuggled against him.

  “I wish you’d kept your hair long, Sorka,” he muttered, pushing another curl out of his mouth. “I didn’t eat so much of it then.”

  “Short hair’s easier under a riding helmet,” she replied in a sleepy sort of mumble. Then they both slept.

  Although they could see the diminution of the parcels and plastic cocooned equipment at Landing, cargo did not move out of Kahrain Cove as quickly. That second evening, when Sean was helping his wing riders unload, he caught sight of one of the cargo supervisors seated at a make shift desk peering at the small screen of a portable unit.

  “We’ll finish off transferring from Landing by tomorrow, Desi,” Sean assured the man.

  “That’s great, Sean, great,” Desi said curtly, with a dismissive wave.

  “What the hell’s the matter, Desi?” Sean asked.

  The edge in his voice caused Desi to look up in surprise. “What’s the matter? I’ve got a beach full of stuff to shift and no transport.” Desi’s face was so contorted with anxiety that Sean’s rancor dissolved.

  “I thought the big sleds were coming back.”

  Only when they’re recharged and serviced. I wish they’d mentioned that earlier.” Desi’s voice rose in a quaver of frustration. “All my schedules . . . gone. What’m I to do, Sean? We’ll be under Threadfall again here soon and all that stuff – ” He flourished a sweat-grimed rag at the bulk of orange cartons. “ – is irreplaceable. If only – ” He broke off, but Sean had a good idea what the man had almost said. “You’ve done great, Sean, great. I really appreciate it. How much did you say is still to be shipped forward?”

  “We’ll have cleared it tomorrow.”

  “Look, then, the day after . . .” Desi rubbed at his face again, trying to hide his flush of embarrassment. “Well, I heard from Paul. He wants you riders to start making your way to Seminole, and cross to the north from there. And . . .” Desi screwed up his face again.

  “You’d like us to take some of the orange out of danger?” Sean felt resentment welling up again. “Well, I suppose that’s better than being good for nothing at all.” He strode off before his temper got the better of him.

  Faranth and Sorka come, Carenath said in a subdued tone. Sean altered his course to their point of arrival. He could not fool Sorka, but he could work off some of his fury during the unloading.

  “All right, what happened?” Sorka said, pulling him to the seaward side of her golden queen, where they were shielded from the other riders, who were still sorting packages into the color-coded areas.

  Sean set his fist violently into the palm of his other hand several times before he could put words to the humiliation.

  “We’re considered nothing but bloody pack animals, donks with wings!” he said finally. He did remember to keep his voice down, though he was seething.

  Faranth turned her head around her shoulder, regarding the two riders, hints of red beginni
ng to gleam through the blue of her eyes. Carenath shoved his head over her back. Beyond them, Sean heard the other dragons muttering. The next thing he knew, he and Sorka were surrounded by dragons, and their riders were weaving into the central point.

  “Now, see what you’ve done,” Sorka said with a sigh.

  “What’s the matter, Sean?” Dave asked, squeezing past Polenth.

  Sean took a deep breath, burying anger and resentment. If he could not control himself, he could not control others. There were flares of the yellow of alarm in the dragons who looked down at him. He had to quiet them, himself, and the other riders. Sorka was right. He had done something he had better quickly undo.

  “We seem to be the only available aerial transportation unit,” he said, managing a sort of a smile. “Desi says all the big sleds are grounded until they’ve been serviced.”

  “Hey, Sean,” Peter Semling protested, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the masses of material on the beach. “We can’t shift all that!”

  “No way.” Sean made a decisive cut with his hands. “That’s not been laid on us. When we’ve cleared Landing, Paul wants us to cross to Seminole and make the final crossing north from there. That’s okay.” He gave a genuinely rueful smile. “But Desi would like us to take some of the irreplaceable stuff with us.”

  “So long as everyone understands we’re not in the freight business,” Peter said in an aggrieved tone that echoed Sean’s sentiments.

  “That’s not at issue, Pete,” Sean said firmly. “We’re coming along as dragonriders, coming along fine. But Desi’s caught between a rock and a hard place and he needs us.”

  “I just wish we were needed for what we’re supposed to do,” Tarrie remarked.