The Chronicles Of Pern First Fall by: Anne McCaffrey Copyright 1993

CONTENTS

The Survey: P.E.R.N.c The Dolphins’ Bell The Ford of Red Hanrahan The Second Weyr Rescue Run

Timeline for The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall

Year 1 Landing 6 Torene Ostrovksy b. 8.6 First Fall 10 First Hatching Michael Connell b. Fort Hold established Evacuation of Landing--The Dolphins’ Bell

16 The Fever Year Emily Boll dies 17 Pierre de Courcis starts Boll Hold 19 Red Hanrahan’s yarn--The Ford of Red Hanrahan 22 Michael Impresses Brianth at twelve Ongola moves his people to found hold 25 Jim Tillek dies Torene Ostrovsky Impresses Alaranth 26 Paul Benden dies 27 Queens’ battle-Porth, Evenath, Siglath 20FF 28 Sean announces three new Weyrs-- The Second Weyr

20FF = Twenty Years: First Fall

THE SURVEY: P.E.R.N.c

It’s the third planet we want in this pernicious system,” Castor said in a totally jaundiced tone, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen. “How’s the hairpin calc going, Shavva?” Looking up from her terminal, Shavva screwed up her face for a moment before she spoke. “I’m happy to report that that’ll work out fine. Pity we can’t have a look at the edge of the system,” she added. “I’d love to have a look at those heavy-weight planets and the Oort cloud, but that can’t be done when we’ve got to do an entry normal to the ecliptic. As it is, the slingshot will only give us ten days on the surface.” She cast him an expectant, wry look. He groaned. “We’ll have to double up again.” At her half-stern, half-sardonic glare, he added, “Fardles, Shavva, after so long together we all know enough of each other’s specialties to do a fair report.” “Fair?” Ben Turnien repeated, his quirky eyebrows raised in amazement. “Fair to whom?” “Damn it, Ben, fair enough to know when a planet’s habitable by humanoids. None of us needs a zoologist anymore to tell us which beasties are apt to be predatory. And each of us has certainly seen enough strange life-forms and inimical atmospheres and surface conditions to know when to slap an interdict on a planet.” There was a taut silence as the four remaining team members each vividly recalled the all-too-recent deaths: Sevvie Asturias, the paleontologist-medic, and Flora Neveshan, the zoologist-botanist, both lost on the last planet the Exploration and Evaluation team had visited. Castor had inscribed, in bold letters on the top of that report, D.E. Dead end. Terbo, the zoologist-chemist, had been felled in a landslide on the first planet of their present survey tour, but as that world had clearly supported some intelligent life, the initials I.L.F. ended that report. They’d lost Beldona, the second pilot and archeologist, on the third world in the same accident that had injured Castor: a planet initialed G.O.L.D.I.--good only for large diversified interests. And they’d orbited one that probes had given them all the information they needed to label it L.A.--lethal, avoid! To a team that had been together for five missions, the casualties were deeply felt. And this mission had yet to be completed. The system they had just reached, five planets orbiting the primary Rukbat, was the fifth of the seven to be investigated on their latest swing through this sector of space. “We can handle the geology, the biology, and the chemistry,” Castor went on, frowning at the gelicast on his leg. The compound fractures had not quite healed. “Well, I can do the analysis when you’ve brought appropriate samples back. We might not be able to do the usual in-depth analysis of all the biota, but we can find the requisite five possible landing sites, regular or serious meteoric impacts, any gross geological changes, and if there’s a dominant major life-form.” “Hospitable planets are few enough, but Numero Tres does look very interesting,” Mo Tan Liu remarked in his gentle voice. “I get good readings on atmosphere and gravity. I think probes are in order.” “Send ‘em,” Castor said. “Probes we got to spare.” “We’re in a good trajectory to send off a homer, too, Liu added. “Federated Sentient Planets ought to know about the D.E. condition of Flora Asturias.” Following the bizarre and perhaps macabre practice of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps, they had named the last planet after the team personnel lost during that surface survey. “We are obliged to report those and that L.A. immediately.” “All right, all right,” Castor said irritably. “Shall I do the report?” Shawa asked. “I did it,” Castor replied in a tone that ended discussion. He called up the program, and when the copy was ready, he rolled it up into a tube to be inserted in the homing capsule. It would reach their mother ship some weeks before their projected return. “They will want to know we’ve discovered another Oort cloud, too. Is it five or six?” “Six, with this one. I still don’t buy that space-virus theory,” Ben remarked, relieved to switch to a less depressing topic. “Number Four System was dead,” Shavva said unequivocally. “Can’t prove the Oort cloud affected it in any way. Besides,” Ben went on, “the planet was bombarded by meteors and meteorites, to judge by the craters and the craterites. Shattered the surface and boiled off a good deal of the major oceans. Just like Shaula Three. That system had an Oort cloud, too.” “But it had once supported life. We all saw the fossil remains in the cliff faces,” Castor said. “Like a road sign: Life was here, it has gone hence.” Shavva had been depressed by the landing. Ten days on a dead world had been nine and a half too many. The atmosphere was barely adequate; to be on the safe side they’d used support systems. A rough estimate suggested that the damage had been done close to a millennium earlier. “At the beginning of Earth’s Dark Age, this planet had found the final one.” “Pity, too. It must have once been a nice world. Great balance of land and water masses,” Castor said. “I don’t know what could have stripped it so completely,” Ben said. “You never did like the Hoyle Wickramansingh theory, did you?” “Has anyone ever found those space-formed viruses? Even a trace in any Oort cloud?” Ben stuck his chin out with a touch of belligerence. “I won’t buy that space-virus theory, not when a planet is covered with city-sized craters. To have both would be overkill, and the universe is conservative. One gets you just as dead as the other.” “I searched the library for data on other stripped planets. Asturias matches up on every particular,” Liu said, his eyes on the screen. “What particulars there can be, that is!” He rose, stretched, and yawned broadly. “What we really need is one in the process of being stripped.” Shavva gave a bark of laughter. “Fat chance of that.” Liu shrugged. “Something does it. Anyway, I feel that the virus theory would be the rarest probability, while meteors are common, common, common. Look at what happened in our Earth’s Cretaceous and Tertiary periods. We were just lucky! Probes away, Captain,” he said formally to Castor. “Now, I’m for something to eat, then I’ll pack the shuttle for the shot.” “I’ll give you a hand,” Shawa said. “I want to be sure we got what we need this time,” she added in a low, angry voice, bitterly aware that it had been Flora’s own negligence that had cost those two lives. Shavva was now the default leader of this understaffed team, and she was determined not to repeat previous mistakes. As a young biologist with latent qualities as a nexialist, she had joined the Exploration and Evaluation Corps for the diversity of duty and the thrill of being the first human to walk on unexplored planets and catalog new life-forms, but she hadn’t counted on losing friends in the process. EEC teams developed very close bonds, having to rely on each other’s strengths and weaknesses in dangerous, stimulating, and testing circumstances no textbook, indeed often no other team reports, could imagine. This was her fourth tour of duty but the first one punctuated by disasters. Now all the fieldwork would have to be accomplished by three people--herself, Liu, and Ben--while Castor, still handicapped by his leg injuries, remained on board as the exploratory vessel did its hairpin turn about the third planet. Shavva would have to double as botanist on this trip. Fortunately she had learned enough from Flora to be able to determine a fair amount about the ecology of the plant life--if there were sufficient pollinators, what sort of competition there was for the food crops, as well as the nutritional possibilities of the native forms, and quite likely what disease agents and possible vectors existed within the ecology. Ben, as a geologist with some secondary background in chemistry, could cope with the planet’s basic pulse--its air and landmasses, magnetic fields, mass-cons, continental plate structure, tidal patterns, temperatures, the general topography, and, especially, any seismic activity--and evaluate the history of the planetary surface for at least the past million years. If the survey proceeded without glitches, he’d have a go at the longer-term history, attempting to detect signs of magnetic reversals and to determine if--and when--there had been any large extinctions. Liu, as nexialist, would investigate whatever remaining aspects of this planet they had time to consider. That is, if the probes brought back reports that would make a visit worthwhile. Numero Tres did look promising, but Shavva had discovered that looks could be very deceiving in this business. The probe sent back reports that were skeptically regarded as being too good to be true. “Good balance of land and water masses,” Liu said. “Usual ice caps, mountains, good plains areas Parallels Earth in many respects. Initial P.E. for starters, Castor.” “Atmosphere is breathable, slightly above normal in oxygen content: gravity slightly lower at zero-point-nine on the scale,” Ben contributed. “Considerable volcanism in that chain of islands extending from the southern hemisphere, nothing major at the moment. Rather a nice little planet, actually.” “Plenty of green stuff down there,” Shavva said. “What the hell?” she added in puzzlement as the computer began decoding topography. “Have a gawk at these crazy circles!” The probe was now on a low-altitude vector, sending back more-detailed sections of the terrain of the southern continent. Clearly visible were groups of circular patches, like ripples overlapping each other but held frozen on the planet’s surface. “Ever see anything like this before, Ben?” she asked, fervently regretting the missing Flora Neveshan, with her years of experience as a xenobotanist. “Can’t say as I have. Looks like some sort of local fungus on a huge scale. Seems to hit all vegetated areas, not just what appear to be grasslands.” “Fairy rings?” Shawa suggested very brightly. “Ha! What esoteric stuff you been reading recently?” Ben gave her a jaundiced stare. “Whatever it is, be bloody careful, will you?” Castor demanded bitterly. “We’ve got two more systems to work, and I’m running out of initials.” “Thin red line of ‘eroes?” Ben asked, trying to inject some lightness into Castor’s mood. He knew that Castor would forever fault himself for the deaths of Asturias and Neveshan. He was the most experienced climber of the group and would very likely have prevented the disaster if he’d been downside. The fact that no one blamed Castor did not assuage his feelings of guilt.

Shavva set the shuttle down on the great plain of the eastern part of the southern hemisphere, several hundred meters from one cluster of the rippling circles they had observed. She, Ben, and Liu went through the routine landing procedures, confirming atmosphere, temperature, and wind velocity before exiting, garbed in their cumbersome protective suits. At least they needn’t resort to face masks and the back-wrenching burden of oxygen canisters. They all drew in deep lungfuls of the fresh air that a stiff breeze flung at them. “Good stuff,” Shawa said with a pleased grin. “No L.A., this one.” Suddenly, she felt an obsession for this planet to check out as habitable. From outer space it had had the look of the old Earth pictured in historical tapes. Such reassurance could be bloody, and bloodily, deceptive, she reminded herself, but that didn’t keep her from wishing! The grassy plain was springy underfoot, and their heavy boots released sweet, pungent odors from the bruised vegetation. Silently they walked over to the first of the ripples, and Ben and Liu hunkered down to eyeball it. Shavva took out a sampling probe and inserted it deftly into the soil closing the lid as soon as she had retracted it. Liu poked a plasgloved finger into the hole, fiddled with the dirt that adhered, and dropped the grains carefully back into the hole. “Funny. Feels like dirt. Common everyday dirt. Grainy. Rough, uneven.” “The empirical test!” Ben chuckled. “Let’s get started, guys,” Shawa said. “We’ve only got ten days to do eight people’s work and clear a planet.” “A snap!” Ben replied, grinning impudently. “I’ll start by switching on my geologist’s brain.” He moved off to the next arc of the ripple and collected more samples of the discolored ground. “Hey, we’ve got ecological succession here,” he added suddenly, pointing to portions now speckled with new growth. Shavva and Liu came to his side to see the promising green tufts. “Great wind systems on this planet. They’d be strong enough to carry seed as well as dirt,” Shawa remarked, facing into the stiff breeze. “’Nother few decades and this’ll all be grass, or whatever, again. Well, we’ll see what the samples say. Take some right by that new growth, will you, Ben? See what, if anything, is aiding the regeneration.” That first day they concentrated on dirt and vegetation samplings from the plain, moving on to other sites throughout the day, working from east to west to utilize as much daylight as possible. They took several deep cores in the rich soils of the southern plains and grasslands and, with more effort, drove rock-sampling cores. Inland and south they went, to points that had shown possible ore sites, though the initial metallurgy probe readings did not suggest that the planet had any easily accessible ore or mineral wealth. They made their first nightfall on a vast headland, on the sands of a great cove. Marine life seemed to be diverse, with enough interesting variations of exoskeletons and sea vegetation alone to give a marine biologist a lifetime employment. Liu scooped up samples of the red and green algae and found some interesting fungi on the shoreline, some with visible movement. Larger marine forms were occasionally visible in the deeper waters of the cove at dusk, a common feeding time. The explorers spent a pleasant evening taking samples and specimens along the seashore Liu had found enough dead fronds and branches to build a fire on the sands. Shedding their protective suits, they ate their evening rations around the fire--occasionally managing to capture various types of insectoids drawn to the bright flames. “Possibly the pollinators we need,” Liu mused as he peered into the tube of captured insectoids. One had paused in its frantic flight so that its double wings were visible. “Little buggers. I’d feel a lot better, though, if there were bigger things than these to contend with. The probe pictures should have shown us some sort of ruminants or grazers on these grasslands.” “What about those large flying things we saw awhile back?” Ben asked, and then snorted. “They looked like airborne barges, squat and fat, and full.” “Yeah, but what do they eat? And what eats them?” Liu asked morosely. “Maybe we’re between ice ages?” Shawa offered hopefully. She really didn’t want to find fault with the planet, though she knew that was a totally unprofessional attitude to take-and dangerous, as well. But she couldn’t suppress the feeling of “coming home” that was beginning to color all her perceptions of this world. Liu snorted, unconvinced. “Ecology is right for ‘em. They should be here.” “If they are, we’ll find ‘em. If we don’t. . .” Shavva shrugged philosophically. The next day they ventured as far as the ice cap in the southern hemisphere, taking samples of the frozen crust and as many layers of soil as the deep corer could manage to reach. Then they turned to the winter-held north. By then, Liu had become a bit paranoid about the lack of larger life-forms. So far, all they had seen were some reptiloids, scaled and basking. “Quite large enough, thank you,” Shavva had remarked, narrowly escaping the attentions of a ten-centimeter-thick, seven-meter-long example. They also saw a great many more of Liu’s flying barges. “Wherries, that’s what they were called,” he said suddenly that afternoon. “Vessels that were used to ferry stuff between the English isle and the European continent. Wherries, and call ‘em the biggest life-forms seen in the report. Maybe the term’ll stick.” Liu rarely exercised that EEC team prerogative. There were two identifiable types of the large avians, with raucous calls and the aggressive manners of predators; brilliantly plumed smaller fliers, a thousand types of what Shawa called “creepy-crawlies,” both inland and littoral. They had also found eggshells on southern beaches, shards littering what were apparently sand-buried nests. Of the egg layers, or the previous occupants, there were no signs. They did discover interesting fossil remains, a good fifty thousand years dead and gone, in an extensive tar pit; one specimen was intact enough to expose the ground-down dental machinery for grazing, suggesting that these fossils could have been the ruminants Liu wished to see. While the short, greenish spiky vegetation looked somewhat like grass, it wasn’t, for it had no silicates, was visibly triangular in form, and was more blue than green. “I want to see those grazers now, too,” Liu said firmly. But he was somewhat relieved to find the necessary variety of life-forms at a different epoch on the planet. They also located a diamond pipe just below the surface in the major rift valley fault. Rough stones, one as large as Shavva’s fist, were pried out of the soil. The team kept several as souvenirs; they were not particularly valuable otherwise, for the galaxy had produced many gemstones more exotic than these, though diamonds remained useful in technology for their durability and strength. “I find it rather a relief not to have to be constantly on guard,” Ben said on their third night, when Liu began again on the disappearance theme. “Remember Closto, the L.A. in our last tour? I kept holding my breath, waiting for something else to latch on to me.” Liu snorted. “Absence is as ominous as presence, in my tapes.” “Could have been an axial tilt, you know, and what’s now the ice caps were their homegrounds,” Shawa suggested. “They got caught in the blizzards and froze. We do have ice cores, which could very well produce tissue and bone fragments.” “Well, this P.E. has only a fifteen-degree axial tilt; the probes set the magnetic poles very near the ecliptic north and south, maybe fifteen degrees away from tilt.” “We’ll know when we get back to the ship and have a chance to study things. Are today’s samples ready to go back to Castor?” “Yeah, but I wish the fardles he’d sent us back his conclusions. He’s had time.” Liu scowled as he handed his latest containers to Ben to pack in the case to be launched back to the spacecraft. “Maybe they all moved north,” Ben said in a spirit of helpfulness. “To winter?” “This continent’s not in full summer yet.” “Well, it’d never get hot enough to fry things, not with the prevailing winds this continent’s got.” Liu refused to be mollified. On their way north they paused on the largest of a group of islands: basaltic, riddled with caves, bearing the profusion and lush growth common to tropical climes. They noted several unusual reptilian forms, more properly large herpetoids of truly revolting appearance. “I’ve seen uglier ones,” Ben remarked, examining at a safe distance one horny monster, seven centimeters broad and five high, which waved tentacles and claws in an aggressive manner. They could discern neither mouth nor eyes. The olfactor gave a stench reading; and the creature’s back was covered with insectoid forms. “External digestive system?” Shawa suggested, peering at the thing. “And--wow!” The creature had sped forward suddenly, its nether end now covered with tiny barbs. At the same time, the olfactor reading went off the scale, and a repellent stench filled the little clearing. “Look, it backed into that spiny plant,” Ben said, pointing to the little bush. “And got shot in the ass.” Standing well back and using a long stick, Shavva nudged one of the remaining spines and was rewarded with a second launching. “Well, a clever plant. Didn’t just let loose in all directions. I wonder what would deactivate it?” “Cold?” Liu suggested. “There’s a small one here,” Shavva observed. She sprayed it with the cryo and gave it an exploratory prod. When it did not respond she packed it in a specimen box. That evening, as they were readying the day’s tube for Castor, Liu let out a whoop, holding up a glowing specimen tube for the others to see. “That growth I found in the big cave. Some sort of luminous variety of mycelium.” He covered it with his hand. “Indeed. Now you see it--” He opened his hand to let the tube glow again. “Now you don’t.” He closed his hand again, peering through thin cracks he permitted between two fingers. “Does oxygen trigger the luminosity?” “You are not going back into the cave tonight, Liu,” Shavva said sternly. “We don’t have the spelunking equipment necessary to keep you from breaking your damned fool neck.” He shrugged. “Luminous lichens or organisms are not my forte.” He carefully wrapped the tube in opaque plasfilm. “Don’t want it to wear itself out before Castor sees it.” Later that night they were all enticed from their camp by the sound of cheeping and chittering. Parting the lush foliage that surrounded them, they peered out at an astonishing scene. Graceful creatures, totally different from the awkward avians seen in the southern hemisphere, were performing aerial acrobatics of astonishing complexity. The setting sun sparkled off green, blue, brown, bronze, and golden backs, and translucent wings glistened like airborne jewels. “The seaside egg layers?” Shawa asked Liu in a whisper. “Quite possibly,” Liu replied softly. “Gorgeous. Look, they’re playing a discernible game. Catch-me-if-you-can!” For a long time, the three explorers watched the spectacle with delight until the creatures broke off their play as the swift tropical night darkened the skies. “Sentient?” Shawa asked, wanting and yet not wanting those beautiful creatures to be the dominant sentient life form of this planet. “Marginally,” Liu murmured approvingly. “If they’re leaving eggs on a shoreline where storm waters could wash them away, they’re not possessed of very great intelligence.” “Just beauty,” Ben said. “Perhaps we’ll find large and related types of the same evolutionary ancestors for you, Liu.” Liu shrugged diffidently as he turned back to their campfire. “If we do, we do.” They made notes of what they had witnessed and then turned in for the night. The next day had them examining the reef systems jutting out from the island, and its smaller companions. A trip to the more tropical eastern peninsula showed them a complicated system, similar to coral, with fossils of the same thing going right back, Ben estimated, some five hundred million years. At least this was a viable ecology, not a stalemated tropical-rain-forest dense ecology, with the various elements, so to speak, taking in each other’s washing. Such transitory ecologies did reinforce Ben’s theory of a recent meteorite storm rather than an ice-age hiatus in evolution. The bare circles were planetwide, except at the caps and one small band of the southern hemisphere, and though the survey team had thoroughly investigated, they could not find the meteorites that might have been the cause. Nor, Ben fretted, were any of the circles either deep enough or overlapping in the pattern caused by a multiple meteorite impact. The northern hemisphere, though in part blanketed by thick snows, was duly cored for soil and rock samplings. Mud flats, emitting the usual dense sulfurous fumes all over the central plain’s vast river delta, produced more regularities than differences, and certainly a plethora of promising bacteria over which Shavva crowed. Farther inland, up the broad navigable riverway, they found adequate lodes, of iron, copper, nickel, tin, vanadium, bauxite, and even some germanium, but none of the generous quantities of metals and minerals that would interest a mining consortium. On the next-to-last morning of their survey, Ben found gold nuggets in a brash mountain stream. “A real old-fashioned world,” he remarked, tossing and catching the heavy nuggets in his hand. “Old Earth once had free gold in streams, too. Another parallel.” Shavva leaned over and took one that was an almost perfect drop, holding it between thumb and forefinger. “My loot,” she said, dropping it into her belt pouch. She found one extremely interesting plant on the upper section of the eastern peninsula: a vigorous tree whose bark when bruised in the fingers, gave off a pungent smell. That evening, she made an infusion of the bark, sniffing appreciatively of its aroma. Empiric tests showed that it was not toxic, and her judicious sip of the infusion made her sigh with pleasure. “Try it, Liu, tastes great!” Liu regarded the thin dark liquid with suspicion, but he, too, found the odor stimulating to his salivary glands and wet his lips, smacking to spread the taste. “Hmmm, not bad. Bit watery. Infuse it a bit longer, or reduce the liquid. You might have something here.” Ben joined in the sampling, and when Shavva experimented with grinding the bark and filtering hot water through it, he approved the result. “A sort of combination of coffee and chocolate, I think, with a spicy aftertaste. Not bad.” So Shawa harvested a quantity of the bark, and they used it as a beverage for the remaining two days. She even saved enough to bring back to Castor as a treat. Though none of the three made mention of the fact, they were all sorry to leave the planet and yet relieved that there had been no further accidents or untoward circumstances. Barring some unforeseen factor, discovered in the analyses of soil, vegetation, and biological samples, they were all three quite willing to let Castor initial it P.E.R.N.--parallel Earth, resources negligible. He added a C in the top corner of the report, indicating that the planet was suitable for colonization. That is, if any colonial group wanted to settle on a pastoral planet, far off the established trade routes, and about as far from the center of the Federated Sentient headquarters as one could go in the known galaxy.

THE DOLPHINS’ BELL

When Jim Tillek activated the red-alert recall sequence on the Big Bell at Monaco Bay, Teresa’s pod, with Kibby and Amadeus leaping and diving right along with her, was there within minutes, Within the hour, the ones led by Aphro, China, and Captiva arrived--a total of seventy, counting the three youngest calved only that year. Young males and solitaries surged in from all directions, squee-eeing, clicking, chuffing loudly, and performing incredible aquabatics as they came. Few dolphins had ever heard that particular sequence on the Big Bell, so they were eager to learn why it had been rung. “Why ring the red?” Teresa demanded, bobbing her head up in front of Jim, who stood, legs spread for balance, on the rocking float anchored at the end of Monaco Wharf. Her nose bore the many scratches and scars of age, as well as of an aggressive personality. She tended to assume the role of Speaker for Dolphins. The float was broad and wide, nearly the length of the end of the wharf, and was traditionally where the dolphineers held conferences with pods or individuals. This was also where the dolphins came to report unusual occurrences to the Bay Watch, or for rare instances when they required medical attention. The end timbers were smoother than the others, due to the dolphins’ habit of rubbing against them. Above the float hung the Big Bell, its belfry sturdily attached to a massive six-by-six molded-plastic pylon well footed on the seafloor below. The chain the dolphins yanked to summon humans now idly slapped against the pylon with the action of the light sea. “We landfolk have trouble and need dolphin help,” Jim said. He pointed inland, where clouds of white and gray smoke curled ominously into the sky from two of the three previously dormant volcanoes. “We must leave this place and take from here all that can be moved. Do the other pods come?” “Big trouble?” Teresa asked, leisurely swimming beyond the bulk of the wharf to check the direction in which Jim had pointed. She raised herself high above the water, turning first one, then the other, eye to assess the situation. Her sides showed the rakings of many years’ contact with both amorous and angry males. “Big smoke. Worse than Young Mountain.” “Biggest ever,” Jim said, for a moment wishing that the eternal cheerful expression on dolphin faces did not seem so out of place right now. Not when the colony’s main settlement, with its labs, homes, vital stores, and the work of nearly nine years, was going to be covered in ash, at the very least, or blown completely to bits if they were very unlucky. “Where you go?” Teresa reversed her direction and stopped in front of Jim, giving him her complete and seriously cheerful attention. “Back to sick ocean world?” “No.” Jim shook his head vigorously. Since the dolphins had passed the fifteen-year journey on the colony ships in cold sleep, they had had no sense of the passage of time. From an installation in the Atlantic Ocean, they had entered their water-filled travel accommodations and had not been awakened until they arrived at the waters of Monaco Bay. “We go north.” Teresa ducked her bottlenose, flinging a spray of water at him as if agreeing. Then, dropping her head in the water, she gave forth to the members of her pod a rapid series of word noises too fast for Jim to follow, though over the past eight years on Pern, he’d learned a good deal of dolphin vocabulary. Kibby glided to one side of Teresa, and Captiva bobbed up on the other; all three regarded Jim earnestly. “Sandman, Oregon,” Captiva said distinctly, “are in West Flow. They turn, return as fast as the ftux allows.’ Then Aleta and Maximillian abruptly arrived, adroitly avoiding a collision with the others. Pha pushed neatly in, too, as he was never one to be left out on the periphery. “Echo from Cass. They speed back. New sun see them here,” Pha said, and blew from his hole to emphasize the importance of his report. “Yes, they do have the farthest to come,” Jim said. That pod was based in the waters around Young Mountain, helping the seismic team. But dolphins could swim all night, and Cass was one of the oldest and most reliable of the females. The waters around the sea end of the Monaco Wharf facility were now so packed with dolphins that, when some of the dolphineers arrived, Theo Force remarked dryly that they could probably have walked on dolphins across the wide mouth of Monaco Bay and never got their feet wet. Some of the nine dolphineers and seven apprentices actually took longer to arrive than their marine friends, since the humans had to sled in from their stakeholds. Luckily, both Jim Tillek’s forty-foot sloop, Southern Cross, and Per Pagnesjo’s Perseus yawl were in port. Anders Sejby had radioed that the Mayflower was under full sail and would be there by dusk, while Pete Veranera thought he’d have the Maid in on the late-night tide. The Pernese Venturer and Captain Kaarvan had not yet reported in. She was the largest, a two-masted schooner with a deep draft, and slower than the other four. Once all the humans reported in, Jim tersely explained that, with one of the volcanoes about to erupt, Landing had to be evacuated and everyone must help to get as many supplies as possible to safety around Kahrain Head. The larger ships would be taking their loads as far as Paradise River Hold; although that would be too far for the smaller craft, everything that floated was to be used to shift matériel as far as Kahrain. “We’ve got to transport all that?” Ben Byrne cried in aggrieved tone as he flung an arm toward the wharfside, where enormous piles of matériel were being deposited by sleds of all sizes. He was a small, compact man with crisp blond hair nearly white from sun bleach. His wife, Claire, who worked with him at Paradise River, stood at his side. “There aren’t that many ships of any decent size and if you think the dolphins can--” “We’ve only to get it to Kahrain, Ben,” Jim said, laying a steadying hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Click! Click!” Teresa managed an ear-piercing shout for attention. “We do that, we do that!” Amadeus, Pha, and Kibby agreed, nodding vigorously. “Ye daft finnies, you’d burst yerselves,” Ben cried, incensed, wagging his arms at the dolphins facing him to be quiet. “We can, we can, we can,” and half the dolphins crowding the end of the wharf heaved themselves up out of the water to tailwalk in their enthusiasm. Somehow they managed not to crash into the seething mass of podmates who ducked out of the way underwater with split-second timing. Such antics were repeated by many, all across the waters of the bay. “Look what you started, Cap’n!” Ben cried in an extravagant show of despair. “Damned fool fin-faces! You wanna burst your guts?” Sometimes, Jim Tillek thought, Ben was as uninhibited as any of the whimsically impetuous dolphins he was supposed to “manage.” The difference between their enthusiasm and the reality of their assistance lay in the fact that all adult dolphins had spent a period training with human partners, learning to come to the aid of stranded swimmers and sailors and, occasionally, damaged sailing craft. They were delighted to have a chance to practice on such a scale. Harnesses from the training sessions were available--and more could be cobbled together--to hitch dolphin teams to any of the smaller sailing craft. A big yoke already existed, contrived for the ore barge that the dolphins had several times hauled from Drake’s Lake. But never had the settlers had to call on all the dolphins. “We’ve known something big was up,” Jan Regan said, her manner much calmer as befit the senior dolphineer. She gave a snort that was half-laugh. “They’ve been squee-eeing like nutters about underwater changes around here,” she added, flicking her hand at the crowded bay. “But you know how some of them exaggerate!” “Hah! With Picchu blowing smoke rings, of course the’d know something’s going to happen,” Ben said, having recovered his equilibrium. “Question is, how much time do we have before Picchu blows?” “It isn’t Picchu that’s going to blow,” Jim began as gently as possible. He allowed the startled reaction to subside before he continued. “It’s Garben.” “Knew we shouldn’t have named a mountain for that old fart,” Ben muttered. Jim continued. “More important, Patrice can’t give us a time frame.” That stunned even the solid and unflappable Bernard Shattuck. “All he can do is warn us when the eruption is imminent.” “Like how imminent?” Bernard asked soberly. “An hour or two. The increasing sulfur-to-chlorine ratio means the magma is rising. We’ve two, maybe three days with just sulfur and ash--” “The ash I don’t mind. It’s the sulfur that’s so appalling.” Helga Duff said, coughing. “The real problem is--” Jim paused again. “Monaco is also within range of pyroclastic missile danger.” “Range of what?” Jan screwed her face up at the technical term. She knew as much as any human could about dolphins, but she tended to ignore technical jargon. “Range of what heavy stuff the volcano can throw out at us,” Jim said, almost apologetically. “Worse than the ash and smoke already coming down?” Efram asked. Although they hadn’t been standing on the wharf that long, their wet suits were already gray with volcanic ash. “The big stuff, boulders, all kinds of molten debris. . .” “But we have Threadfall at Maori Lake this afternoon,” young Gunnar Schultz said, looking totally confused by the conflict of imperatives. “We have to get all the materiel we can to Kahrain as soon as possible, and that is the immediate priority, folks. Thread’ll have to wait its turn,” Jim said with his usual wry humor. “All available craft are to be used, and the call’s gone out to owners to either get here or appoint a surrogate. So all we have to do is explain to pod leaders what has to be done and the kind of cooperation we need from them.” He began passing out copies of the evacuation plans that Emily Boll, the colony’s co-leader with Admiral Paul Benden, had given him forty minutes before. He glanced anxiously overhead, where three heavy sleds seemed about to collide. “Damn ‘em. Look, read the overall plans while I go organize some air-traffic control.” The dolphineers dutifully read the evacuation plan, though Jan skimmed ahead to their responsibilities: the stuff building up on the beach. Loads were all color-coded Red and orange were priority, and red was fragile, for immediate transfer to Kahrain. Yellow would have to go in a hull of some kind; green and blue were waterproofed and could be towed. Jim stuck his head out of the control-room window. “Lilienkamp’s sending us drums, wood, lines, and whatever men he can spare from his Supply Depot to lash rafts together. At least the weather report’s good. Decide which of the dolphins can be trusted to pull--” “Any one of ‘em you ask,” Ben said indignantly. “And we’ll need some sensible dolphs to swim escort on the smaller sail craft. Keeerist, what’s that driver doing?” Leaning his long frame as far out of the window as he could, Jim began waving both long arms shoreward to ward a heavy sled away from colliding with two smaller ones that were trying to slide into the tight landing spaces on the strand. “Do the best you can!” he shouted at his team, and pulled his head back in to restore some order to the traffic heading toward the bay. “Jan, you, Ef, and me explain,” Ben said. “Bernard, start organizing those red and orange loads for the Cross and the Perseus already tied up. Let’s get some of the larger small craft in to load. By then the pod leaders’ll know what’s expected and can make assignments of escorts. You others, start checking with the sail craft, find out their load limits. Try to keep track of what went with whom--” He broke off, realizing the monumental task ahead of them. “We’ll need some hand recorders . . . You guys get started. I’ll see if I can liberate us a few ‘corders. There have to be some. . .” His voice trailed off as he climbed up the ladder to the wharf office. “Right after we tell the fins what they’re to do, we organize some sea police, huh?” Bernard said. “Right, man! Right!” Efram said with heartfelt agreement. “Now then, let’s brief the pods. . .” As they were all suited up, they moved along the length of the float, spotting their individual pod leaders. Then, gesturing to the dolphins to give them some space, they jumped in. It was the easiest way to impress on individual dolphins their particular tasks. There was a sudden swirling of water around the dolphineers as the dolphins chose their favorite swimming partners. Despite the crush, Teresa emerged right by Jan Regan, Kibby by Efram; Ben got splashed by a well-aimed sweep of Amadeus’s right flipper. “Cut that out, Ammie. This is serious,” Ben said. “No rough stuff?” Amadeus asked, and clicked in surprise. “Not today,” Ben said, and gave Ammie an affectionate scratch between the pectorals to take the sting out of the reprimand. Then he put his whistle in his mouth and blew three sharp notes. Heads, human and dolphin, turned in his direction. Letting his legs dangle beside Amadeus and resting one hand lightly on the dolphin’s nose, Ben outlined the problem and what assistance was required. “Kahrain near,” Teresa said, chuffing energetically from her blowhole. “You have to make many trips,” Jan said, indicating the growing pile of crates, boxes, and nets of every size and color. “So?” Kibby responded. “We start.” Efram grabbed Kibby by the closest pectoral. “We need aisles”--he demonstrated parallels with his arms--“incoming, outgoing. We need escorts for the smaller ships. We need teams for the bigger rafts and barges.” “Two, three teams to change to keep speed,” Dart said, nudging Theo Force. “I know who thinks who is strongest. I go get them. You get harness.” With one of those incredible flips a dolphin body was capable of performing, Dart lived up to her name, arcing over several bodies and neatly reentering the water. Her disappearing dorsal fin showed the speed at which she was traveling. “I get harness,” Theo echoed, making a foolish grimace at the others. “I get harness,” she said again, as she swam with confident strokes to the nearest of the pier ladders. “Why is she always one step ahead of me?” “ ‘Cause she swims faster,” Toby Duff yelled. “We, Kibby me, police lanes,” Oregon informed Toby. “Use flag bobbers?” Jan started to giggle. “Why do we bother telling them anything?” she said. “Flag buoys coming up,” Toby said, swimming for the ladder nearest the storage sheds where the racing buoys were kept. “Green for incoming, red for outgoing.” “There should be enough,” Efram said, following him, “from the winter regattas.” “These all the ships?” Teresa asked, swishing herself high enough on her tail to look up and down the wharf. “There should be a dozen or more luggers and sloops coming in from the coastal and downriver stakeholds,” Jan told her. “The bigger ones can sail right on down to Paradise River, but whatever we get around Kahrain Head’ll be safe enough.” “Busy, busy,” Teresa said and looked happier than usual. “New thing to do. Good fun.” Jan grabbed her left fin. “Not fun, Tessa. Not fun!” And she shook her finger in front of Teresa’s left eye. “Dangerous. Hard. Long hours.” Teresa’s expression was as close to a diffident shrug as a dolphin could come. “My fun not your fun. This my fun. You keep afloat. Hear me?”

By the time Jim Tillek had managed to organize air traffic and get some beach wardens into position, the two lanes had been established with red and green buoys; three teams of the biggest males had been harnessed to the big barge, which had been filled with fragile red loads and was already under way. The first flotilla of smaller sail craft followed, dolphin-towed out of the congested harbor area to the point where they could safely hoist canvas on their way to Kahrain. Escort dolphins had been assigned. “We’re never going to keep track of this stuff,” Ben muttered to Claire. She had organized something to eat for the dolphineers while her dolphin friend, Tory, was busy with his team, hauling blue and green cargo out to dinghies and other less seaworthy craft. Even the smaller craft, kayaks, and the big ceremonial canoe were being pressed into service. These would have to be very closely watched, as they were manned by relatively inexperienced sailors, many of them preteens. Jim Tillek had seen that they all had emergency jackets and gear, and knew exactly how to call a dolphin to their aid. The supply of whistles had run out, which worried some of the less competent kids, but Theo Force had Dart demonstrate how fast she could come to their aid if they merely slapped the water hard with both hands. “Those clodheaded landlubbers are more trouble than anyone else,” Jim said, striding landward on the wharf, raising his bullhorn to chew out some Landing residents who were adding household goods to the stack of red priority cargo. Some of the colonists who had remained at the Landing site as administrators felt they should have certain perks. Well, not in this crisis, they didn’t. His patience worn out, he strode to the nearest sled, hauled the driver out, and ordered him to put back in what he had just unloaded. When that was done, Jim flew the sled to be unloaded with the other “space available” cargo at the far end of the strand. Then Jim took the sled, despite its owner’s voluble complaints, and used it for the rest of the day to be sure goods carted down from Landing went into the appropriate areas. The sled also gave him sufficient altitude to keep an eye on what was happening everywhere on the Bay. With a leeward breeze keeping most of the volcanic fumes wafting away from Monaco, Jim was sometimes startled to look inland and see how steadily the fumaroles on Garben and Picchu emitted clouds of white and gray, and probably noxious gases. He also felt a pang of near terror as he saw the mass of things to be removed from pyroclastic activity. They’d need a ruddy armada. . . Why couldn’t they send more stuff by air? Yet he couldn’t deny that a steady flow of sleds of all sizes gave proof that immense quantities were being flown out. Even the young dragons had panniers of some kind strapped behind their riders. Wiping his sooted brow with a kerchief nearly messier than his face, Jim watched the graceful creatures reach a high thermal and start the long glide down to the Kahrain cove. If they’d only more dragons, more power packs, more ships, more. . . Someone tugged his arm: Toby Duff directed his attention to a raft that was foundering. “Damn fool didn’t balance the load,” he began, even as dolphins pushed against sagging barrels and pallets to keep them from floating off. “I can’t be everywhere. . .” He groaned. “You’re giving a good impression of it,” Toby remarked at his driest. “Look, under control.” “But they aren’t bringing it back in to be repacked,” Jim began. “Use the binocs, Jim. Gunnar’s there. Seems like he has it under control. What I need your advice on is can we cocoon in plastic some of the red and orange and entrust small loads to younger dolphins who can’t help with the heavier stuff?” Jim thought, glancing at the barely lowered stack of priority goods. “Better give it a try. Better than having the stuff fried pyroclastically.” Toby gave him an uncertain grin, then a genuine laugh, and trotted off to wharfside, jumping into the water to make the necessary assignments. All too quickly, the swift tropical dusk descended and there was a scurry to determine how many of the ill-assorted carriers had made it safely to Kahrain, how many in transit would need lighting or other help, and what, if any, casualties or losses there had been. To Jim’s amazement, there were only minor casualties human and dolphin: scrapes, bruises, cuts, and the occasional wrenched muscle; even after Ben continually excused his record taking, they discovered very little loss of common cargo and none of the red or orange priorities. Each pod leader reported to Monaco Wharf that they were off to eat and would return at dawn. Not for the first time did Jim and the dolphineers envy the creatures who could put half their brains to sleep and continue to function perfectly. Some thoughtful person had put a kettle of stew, loaves of bread, and a pile of biscuits on the long table in the wharf office and, with little discussion, the hungry served themselves. Then, finding sufficient floor space, they curled up in blankets, old heavy-weather gear, and whatever else sufficed to keep tired bodies warm. Some of those sleepers were among those settlers lucky enough to have bonded with one or more fire-lizards, the beautiful creatures mentioned in the EEC Survey report. Now, while their humans slept, those fire-lizards arranged themselves on the pier their sparkling eyes rivaling the emergency lights up and down the long installation.

The Big Bell roused all the sleepers and brought Jim and Efram stumbling out of the office to see what the problem was. Kibby and Dart were fighting over who was to pull the chain next. “Morning, morning, morning” was the chant from several hundred dolphins, as fresh and eager as they had been the day before for the great new fun their landfriends had discovered to please them. Jim and Efram groaned, leaning into each other in sleepy incoherence. A seaward breeze made the coming day’s work arduous: sulfur- and chlorine-tainted air caused eyes to water and irritated throats and nasal passages. The dolphins seemed less affected, which was a blessing; halfway through that day, most of the human swimmers were forced to use masks and oxygen tanks in the water and out. Also, there were more emergencies, caused by tired people, stiff-muscled from unaccustomed labors, valiantly trying to exceed the previous day’s quota. Skippering the Southern Cross, laden to the scuppers with a cargo of precious medical supplies, Jim spent more time on the comunit, issuing suggestions and orders, and trying to keep his temper over asinine errors that would never have been so dangerous at any other time. The sea path between Monaco and Kahrain was a mass--and a mess--of ill-assorted craft, struggling to transport beyond their capacities. Twice the Cross passed dinghies afloat only by virtue the pairs of dolphins keeping them up on the surface of the water. The third morning, Jim summarily ordered all small craft under seven meters out of the water at Kahrain. Most, of their crews he left behind to help unload the larger ships and the dolphins, who he decided made better, and faster, transporters of small to medium-sized packets. “Smart of you, Jim,” Theo Force said that evening when they gathered on board the Cross for the eastward leg. “Kids got a big kick out of how often ‘their’ dolphins made the trip. They even started snatching tidbits for ‘em as treats. Not that they could catch much fish with the waters so churned.” “And my heart wasn’t in my mouth so much,” Claire Byrne said, “thinking of all that could go wrong with those cockleshells.” “Weather’s disimproving,” Bernard Shattuck remarked. “Too heavy for the seven-meter hulls?” Jim asked, perusing the lists of cargo still piled on the Monaco strand. The day’s hard work had shown a definite lowering of the mass. “With the more experienced crews,” Shattuck said after a thoughtful pause, “but I’d feel happier if they had dolphin escorts. How’re the dolphs holding up?” Jim snorted, while Theo managed a weary chuckle. “Them?” Efram said with utter disgust. “They’re enjoying this game we thought up for their amusement!” Ben was grinning as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands cradling a hot drink. “Didja hear that the pods seem to have some sort of competition going between them?” “Based on what?” “Weight hauled,” Ben said with a wry grin. “You’ll have noticed’em humping the single packs about? Weighin’ in.” “No damage, I hope,” Jim said, trying to sound severe, although the whole notion of the competition tickled him. Leave it to the dolphins! Nature’s born humorists. He wished there’d been otters still alive on Earth when the Pern colony was being organized. They, too, had been creatures who knew how to amuse themselves with the strangest objects! He sighed. “We can’t afford to lose anything we’ve been entrusted to get to Kahrain safely.” “Once we get it all to Kahrain, what happens then, Captain?” Gunnar asked wearily. “Why then, my hearties, we have time to decide what has to be brought on the fleetest winds and vessels to the north.” There were sufficient groans to cause him to smile reassuringly. “But with more leisure available to make choices.” “It’s a fair ol’ haul to the place they’ve chosen in the north,” Anders Sejby said in a neutral tone. He was a big man, phlegmatic in temperament, but astonishingly agile physically. He had big hands, big feet, broad shoulders, and solid legs that threatened to burst the seams of his waterproofed trousers. He tended to go bare-chested, and barefooted, but there wasn’t a mariner on the planet that wouldn’t sail anywhere with him, Jim Tillek included. “Any sort of a pier there? Or do we have to lighter stuff in from the bigger ships?” Jim gave him a blank stare. “I dunno. I’ll find out.” “You mean,” asked Ben, who fired up easily, “we’re busting our nuts doing all this and we’ve got to--” Jim held up his hand to stem Ben’s indignant protest. “All will be prepared for us there.” “Bet it wasn’t until you mentioned it,” Ben said sourly. “Be not of faint heart, Ben,” Jim said, laying his hand in a benedictory fashion on the dolphineer’s salt-encrusted curls. “By the time we get there, we’ll have wharf facilities. The good Admiral Benden solemnly promised me.” Ben snorted, unrepentant. “Now,” Jim went on, “let’s sort out what we’ve got to move tomorrow.”

Garben moved first. The warning they received gave them a scant two hours and the advice that everything that could leave Monaco should be gone well before that time limit. Later, no one had any coherent memories of that period. The wharf was a frenzy of activity; still, neither of the bigger ships, the Cross or the Perseus, was fully loaded when the alarm came. They were sailed far enough out of the projected danger area. If the wharf--and the cargo--was left when the eruption was over, they would go back in and finish loading. Everyone did have memories of Garben’s spectacular eruption, seen at a safe enough distance to be clear of the pyroclastic debris. It was truly awe-inspiring, and immensely heartbreaking, to see the community that they had achieved in such a short time showered with ash and burning missiles, then disappearing behind dense gray cloud “Did everyone get out?” Theo called from the waters on the starboard side of the Cross. “So we were told,” Jim said. “D’you want to come aboard?” Theo raised her eyebrows at the already overcrowded sloop. “Lord, no, Jim. I’m safer with Dart.” On cue, the dolphin surfaced and pushed her fin against the hand Theo idly circled as she trod water. “See what I mean. . .” Her voice dwindled as the sleek little dolphin propelled her farther from the ship and Monaco Bay. At last all but a few damaged loads and other debris had been burned or buried by the beach wardens, and Jim allowed the Cross, as the last ship, to leave Monaco Bay. “What about the bell?” Ben asked just as the gangplank was being pulled up. Jim paused, squinting up at the bell. “Leave it. The dolphins get such a kick out of ringing it.” “Even with no one to hear?” Jim heaved a sigh. “Frankly, Ben, I don’t have the energy right now to dismantle it.” He looked around at the decks crammed with lashed-down pallets. “Hell, where would we put a thing as big as that?” Then he shook his head. “We can come back for it. Ezra’ll be wanting to check the Aivas interface once the volcanoes have settled.” Then he gave the orders to release the lines forward and aft. “Yeah, we’ll get it next trip.” He did note the sadness on Ben’s face as the bell, and the wharf, receded from sight. Not even the gay escort of two pods of dolphins seemed to cheer the man. Paradise River had become Ben’s real home, and now it would have to be abandoned. A lot more than a bell had been left behind at Landing--and yet the bell seemed to symbolize it all. They sailed on, through the murky, reeking atmosphere that Garben and Picchu had made of the once-clear air of Monaco Bay.

Kahrain was scarcely better organized than the Bay had been, but there were hot baths and decent food available, and a chance to let tired bodies sleep until they were truly rested. The evacuation had gone smoothly enough, thanks to Emily Boll’s foresight. The only casualties had been, unfortunately, one young dragonrider and his bronze dragon who had collided with a sled--or, as Emily put it in an expressionless voice, attempted to avoid a collision by going between, as the fire-lizards did. The young dragon’s instinct had not been sufficient to bring them back from wherever between was, and the other young dragonriders were suffering from trauma. “I told them to take the day off,” she said, clearing her throat authoritatively, ignoring the fact that Sean, de facto leader of the dragonriders, had told her in no uncertain terms that he and his group would not be available for work until the next day. “But the dragon actually went between?” Jim asked amazed. Emily nodded briskly, blinking against a sudden moisture in her eyes. “I saw. . . Duluth do it. He and Marco were there, midair, one moment, the sled descending on top of them, and then. . . gone!” She cleared her throat again. “So, if we have to find some good out of the tragedy, there it is. The dragons can do what the fire-lizards can. Now, if their riders can now figure out how to do it on a. . . safe, return basis, we may yet have our aerial force.” “Right now, though, it’s the naval forces we must organize,” Paul said, standing up and lighting the screen of his work terminal. “Fortunately, there’s a good warehouse at Paradise River where we can stash nonvital supplies for later runs.” “So we do use the small craft again?” Per Pagnesjo, captain of the Perseus, asked. Paul nodded. “For one thing, those sailers are intrinsically valuable in themselves and not just for what we can load on them.” He turned to the dolphineers. “How are your friends standing up to this?” Theo gave a bark just as Ben snorted. “It’s a nice new game we’ve figured out for them,” Theo answered. “Glad someone’s finding some enjoyment out of all this,” Paul said with a grim smile. “Trust dolphins for that,” Theo said. Her genuine grin turned Paul’s into one less strained. “Well, we don’t need to rush so much to get to Paradise, do we? That’ll make it easier and safer.” “We’ll have to use personnel who are not slated for the next Threadfall, though,” Paul added, switching his terminal to another setting. “We had to let Maori Lake take its chances, but we’ve got to keep Thread burrows to a minimum.” “Even if we’re abandoning the southern continent?” Theo asked. “We’re not abandoning the continent, nor entirely removing everyone,” Paul said. “Drake wants to continue; so do the Gallianis, the Logorides; and the Seminole, Key Largo, and Ierne Island groups. Tarvi’s keeping the mines and the smelters going. Since they work underground or in the cement block sheds, they’re reasonably safe from Thread, though food resources may have to be augmented from our supplies.” “They may have to come north in the end, if we can’t supply them from our stores,” Emily said sadly. “So. . .” Paul said, briskly bringing the meeting back to the matter at hand. “Joel’s got some imperative supplies that ought to be shifted immediately north. Kaarvan, your ship has the biggest capacity: Can you undertake that voyage while the other ships redistribute loads and follow when laden? Desi, can you give him a hand with the manifests?” “If I get my crew to it now, we can shift and reload cargo and be ready to sail by the evening tide,” Kaarvan replied with a nod, and left without further comment. “Desi, I want manifests of every crate and carton you take, red and orange,” Joel Lilienkamp shouted after his assistant, and received a backhanded wave. “How”--Joel turned to the others, hands upraised in helpless resignation-- “are we going to keep track of what is where and. . . everything.” For the first time since Jim Tillek had known the able commissary chief, he saw the energetic man at a loss, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the task. Joel had had everything so neatly cataloged and organized at Landing: he had always known exactly on what shelf in what building any particular item was stored. But even his legendary eidetic memory would be unable to cope with the present confusion. Jim felt a deep sympathy for Joel. “Joel,” Emily said firmly but somehow soothingly, “no one but you could have pulled off such a comprehensive evacuation of goods and people.” Perhaps only Jim noticed the order of importance implied in her compliment, and he rubbed his face to hide an appreciative grin. In Joel’s lexicon, people could take care of themselves, but goods had to be taken care of, and their location should be known at any time of day or night. Joel shrugged. “It’s what’ll happen now that deeply concerns me. There’re materials we have got to have immediate access to, and unless I have the records of all the loads that went out of Landing by sled, as well as those taken by boat from Monaco. . .” At that point, Johnny Greene came in, looking jaded but also gloating. “Don’t anyone ever say ‘it can’t be done’ in my presence,” he announced to all. Joel perked up expectantly as Johnny went on. “Got generators up and runnin’, and ten terminals. Programmed to take visual, audio, recorder inputs and then correlate. Will that do you for now, Joel?” “It most certainly will.” Joel bounced to his feet as if he hadn’t just been in the depths of despondency. “Where’ve you got them set up? Lead me.” He got as far as the shelter door before he turned back. “I’ll need personnel.” “Whoever isn’t doing something else I hereby authorize you to draft until those records are transferred,” Paul said with a chuckle. But his amusement died as he turned back to his own screens, pursing his lips with two fingers. “We still have some pretty hairy problems. Ezra, can you also put back on your captain’s hat? We’ll have to take the smaller craft along the shoreline all the way to Key Largo before we make a final dash across to the northern continent. I can’t see any other way of getting all the people and materiel there. One vast convoy, with dolphin support, keeping one of the bigger ships as guardian, while the others make straight journeys from Kahrain or Paradise to the Fort?” “Let’s also count on shifting the convoy guard ship now and again,” Jim said after exchanging a quick glance with Ezra. “Even with decent weather--and that eruption’s going to mess weather patterns past the predictable point--it’s going to be some safari.” “But can it be done?” Paul asked. Jim twisted one shoulder. “We got here. We’ll get there. Sooner or later.” “It’s the later that worries me,” Paul responded. Jim hauled his recorder out of his pocket and tapped out a query. “Well, let’s just see what we can do, Paul.” He peered down at Benden quizzically. “You and Em will go north”--he grinned in lazy irony--”to prepare a place for us. . . so d’you want to be admiral of the Pernese Navy, Ez, or do I get the short straw this time?” “Let’s stick to being captains and working as a team as we usually do,” Ezra replied in his dry fashion, but he clamped an affectionate hand on Jim’s shoulder as he peered over at the recorder’s data. “Not all the stuff’s been lifted out of Landing yet,” Joel said, poking his head in through the door. “I’m organizing all available sleds to bring up the last. Can I get the dra--” Emily held up her hand. “They’ll be back on line tomorrow, Joel!” Joel scrunched his eyes shut and grimaced. “Sorry. Tomorrow’ll be good enough.” And he was gone again.

* * * * *

“There was a fleet like this once before,” Jim said to Theo Force, who was the dolphineer on duty at the time the Southern Cross was leading the way out of Kahrain Cove. “Like that?” Theo jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the strung-out line of ill-assorted vessels. Dressed in her body wet suit, breather flung over one shoulder to be ready for use instantly, she had stretched out her strong tanned legs on her side of the cockpit. Jim had an eye for a shapely leg, even one generally showing scars from many brushes with underwater obstacles. He was also becoming accustomed to Theo’s subtly attractive face. Well into her third decade, she was not a conventionally pretty woman, but her rather plain features nevertheless indicated her strong character and purposefulness. “Yup, something like the odd-bods fleet we have here,” Jim said, squinting at the way the mainsail was filling with a wind that was more capricious than he liked for the beginning of this bizarre escort duty. “Long time back now, but one of those bright moments in human history when people rise to an almost impossible challenge.” “Oh?” Theo never found Jim Tillek boring, especially when he started yarning. She knew that he had sailed every sea on old Earth and some on the newer colony planets, as well, in between his interstellar voyages as the captain of a drone freighter. Over the past few days she’d had a chance to admire the qualities of a man she’d barely chatted with before. Now, keeping as watchful an eye on their convoy as he did, she listened with pleasure as he warmed to his tale. “Half an army was pinned down on a beach, strafed by enemy aircraft, and likely all would have been killed there if the small-craft skippers of that era hadn’t saved ‘em. Dunkirk, that was the name of the beach they were trapped on, with safety across a channel a mere thirty-four kilometers away.” “Thirty-four klicks?” Theo repeated in surprise, the dark thick arcs of her eyebrows rising. “Anyone could swim that.” Jim grinned at her. “Some athletes did, sort of a rite of passage trial or for the helluvit, but not three hundred thousand troops in full battle gear. And--” He waggled his finger at her. “--no dolphins.” “But dolphins have been around for yonks!” “Not as we know them, Theo. Let’s see, where was I?” Theo scrunched down on the cockpit seat, grinning at the subtle reprimand. His face had a lot of sun wrinkles, which made him look older, but his body in the tank top and shorts was lean, fit, and tanned. As usual on board, his feet were bare, showing long, prehensile toes. Once or twice she’d seen him hold a line tight with just his toes. “Ah, yes, the Germanics had three hundred thousand British troops pinned down on the sands of Dunkirk, which was on the European continent, and since the Brits had no wish to spend the rest of their lives in a prisoner-of-war camp, they needed to be evacuated across the channel to their homeland, England.” “How’d they get across the channel in the first place?” Jim shrugged. He had broad, bony shoulders, and only a sprinkling of hair on his chest, which she preferred to the full pelt she’d seen on so many other men. “Troopships convoyed ‘em over when the hostilities broke out, but those ports were already in the hands of the Germanics. One crucial problem with Dunkirk was that the beach was very shallow for a good distance before it shelved off into deep water. No proper docking or wharves for the big-draft ships to tie up at. Only a long wooden pier, which the Germanics strafed with their warplanes. Men were so desperate that they waded out, swimming the last part to climb up nets put down the sides of the ships to help ‘em board. Then someone had the bright idea of getting all available craft from the island, especially pleasure craft with low drafts, so they could sail further in to the beach to pick up troops. Records have it that even sailing dinghies, no more than three meters long, made the passage successfully. And not just once but time and again until the crews succumbed to exhaustion. But the three hundred thousand men were evacuated. Quite a feat of seamanship and courage.” “It’s no thirty-four klicks of a channel we have to navigate, Jim Tillek, but the coastline of half a world,” Theo said with some acerbity. “Yes, but we don’t have a war going on around us,” Jim said cheerfully. “We don’t?” Theo asked and gestured over her shoulder to the east, signifying the menace of Thread. “You’ve got a point there,” Jim admitted. “Though it’s not a people-shooting war. But I believe in starting every journey with a high heart and in good spirits--and would you send Dart after that fool sloop with the spotted sail? Where do they think they’re going? They’re to tack right back into position.” He finished his remarks to empty air, for Theo had dived as neatly as her dolphin could over the safety rail and into the water, to be towed swiftly toward the miscreant vessel by Dart. It was amazing what heights the human spirit could rise to, Jim thought as he did a visual check through his binoculars. Theo and Dart reached their destination, and he could almost hear the blistering reprimand she was issuing. She had her arms over the rim of the craft, gesticulating to leave no doubt in the young skipper’s mind as to where he had erred. He watched as she trod water, one hand lightly on the dolphin’s melon, while the little craft tacked back in line. When he saw her begin to swim back toward the Cross, Dart skipping alongside her, he put the binoculars down. Squinting to the fore of the flotilla, he could see the pennon on the mast of the five-meter yawl that had been put at Ezra Keroon’s disposal as convoy leader. Ezra hadn’t much actual sea experience, but he was a superb navigator through any medium. Jim had himself done the sea charts on this coastline and knew the waters intimately. There were no reefs or unexpected dangers to cause problems for the inexperienced. As long as no ships ventured too far out where the Great Eastern Current could catch them, sea hazards were minimal. Once they got to Key Largo, every one of them would be seasoned enough for the open-water run across both the Great Currents to the safety of Fort. The coast beyond Sadrid to Boca was not that well known to him, but he was counting on the fishermen at Malay and Sadrid, and on Ju Adjai Benden at Boca, to be familiar with local problems. The sailors at Key Largo Hold had also done a fair bit of charting in their coastal waters. Barring the weather, they should make it, no matter how slowly. And the weather, he thought, leaning forward to tap the barometer, could be an acute problem. Volcanic eruptions played havoc with weather conditions. There had already been some freak winds, squalls, and higher-than-normal tides, but Kahrain Cove had sheltered them from the worst. They would probably arrive in the North just in time for the ash fallout that was already beginning to filter into the upper air currents to be pushed around the planet. He wondered if the volcanic activity would have any effect on Threadfall. If one had to find some good out of bad, that would be the option he’d pick--if he had one. Two hours later he had to give the orders for the small craft to land and the bigger ships to hove to and anchor in a cove. Winds were picking up, erratic in direction, and therefore especially dangerous to novice sailors, and so full of ash and grit as to make visibility poor. If he and Ezra were disappointed by the progress they had made that first day out of Kahrain Cove, they sloughed off queries with any number of logical explanations. No reason to deflate the good morale of the expedition. The early day did give them a chance to check all the cargoes and work on the problem of protecting the ships from Thread. Most of the forty pleasure boats were constructed of fiiberglass, with plastic masts and booms, so decks and hulls were Threadproof. But canvas sails and some varieties of sheets and line were not. Two of the colony’s plastics experts had spent their first day afloat designing rigid plastic sail covers that were Threadproof, but they still had to solve the problem of how to protect the people on the smaller craft, some of which did not have enclosed cabin space in which to take shelter. There was also not a sufficient number of breathers to allow passengers to dive under their hulls and remain there during Threadfall. So that evening, Ezra and Jim had more conferences on that problem, while all around them, the ill-assorted sailors of their convoy gathered around campfires to cook the fish they had caught during the day. But it had been a very busy day, and by nightfall, there were very few who hadn’t rolled up early in their sleeping bags. An oily, ashy drizzle and light winds made the next day’s sailing longer and certainly dirtier. But they managed to pull in to Paradise River’s wide mouth to anchor before darkness fell. Jim and Ezra called a meeting to discuss the possibility of splitting the flotilla into several sections to make better progress. The larger ships were constantly having to reef canvas, even to drag sea anchors, to keep from outdistancing the smaller ones. Of course, the cargoes that were destined to be stored here at Paradise River would be off-loaded and the remainder more evenly distributed. The more precarious rafts would be abandoned, having served their purpose. The dolphineers were grateful: their teams had bravely tried to keep their assigned positions in the convoy and the strain was showing in galls and swollen flesh. The decision was made that, as soon as the unloading was done, Ezra would lead the larger craft forward at whatever speed they and two pods of escort dolphins could maintain, while Jim followed with the slower, smaller vessels and the larger number of dolphin escorts. The smallest of the sailing dinghies would be dismantled or towed. The bad weather persisted and the seas became too rough for all but the most experienced sailors, so the Paradise River Hold continued to host them. On the plus side, the plastics experts, Andi Gomez and Ika Kashima, used the layover to complete manufacture of the sail covers, and doors that could cover open cabin fronts. And Ika came up with an ethnic solution to the problem of protecting the nearly five hundred passengers and crew from Threadfall: plastic headgear, in a wide conical shape, made with wide weals and outward sloping sides--wide enough to cover most shoulders--with a high crown, to fit on the head, tied under the chin. Once the people were in the water, buoyed by the compulsory life vests everyone wore, these conical “coolie hats” would, deflect Thread into the water, where it would drown or be consumed by the fish that invariably arrived wherever Thread fell into the seas. Even the dolphins were known to partake of what they considered an unusual food. The Paradise River contingent thought Ika’s cone hat a definite improvement over the sheets of metal they were used to using for protection if they were caught out in Fall. Overcome by all the praise, the slender Eurasian insisted that she could not take credit for the design. “Well, it’s a bloody good adaptation of a--what did you call it?--coolie hat,” Andi said stoutly, “and it’ll work. Won’t be too hard to turn out once we set the matrix for the design.” And she turned back to that task. “We’re lucky we have people of such differing backgrounds,” Jim told the embarrassed Ika kindly. “You never can tell when something as simple as straw hats from paddies on Earth can turn out to be life-saving on Pern. Good thinking, Ika! Cheer up, child. You’ve just saved our lives!” She managed to send him a shy smile before she retreated once again, but her husband, Ebon Kashima, strutted about the camp as if he had thought of the gear. “The next problem will be getting our brave sailors to overcome fear of being out in Threadfall, and having it bang down on their heads,” Ezra said a little grimly, “no matter how clever the hat they’re wearing.” “Look, Cap’n,” said one of the Sadrid fishermen. “Push comes to shove and Thread starts falling on you and water’s the only safe place, they’ll jump in. I sure as hell did that time we got caught out in one of the first Falls. ‘Sides, there’re an awful lot of fire-lizards flitting about. Between them and the wild ones that congregate whenever there’s Fall, I doubt much Thread’ll hit any hat.” “A little practical psychology,” Jim said, “and us as good examples, and they’ll take to it. They’ll have little alternative.” “There’s that, too,” Ezra said bleakly. “We’ll start some proper chatter where it seems needed,” Ben said, nodding to the other dolphineers. They wandered off to start their brainwashing. By the time coolie hats were extruded and ready to be passed around, most of the flotilla was willing to accept the measure. “I’d rather be in a sled with a flamethrower,” one of the barge mates confided to a friend within Jim’s hearing. “Yeah, but the barge has that slant fore and aft. All we gotta do is hide under that and we’ll be safe enough.” Jim and Ezra issued an order that anyone caught without life vest and coolie would be subjected to severe discipline and, if they held any rank, demotion. They also ordered everyone to work a two-hour shift helping produce the protective gear. As it happened, all the stores were housed and accounted for, and nearly two-thirds of the necessary Thread shields completed before the weather cleared, so the two sections were able, after all, to set off again together. But the bigger ships, with more sail, made the most of the following wind and soon outdistanced the slower craft. “More like the boat people,” Jim remarked to Theo as he tacked back down the strung-out line of his charges. “Boat people?” “Hmmm, yes. War victims in the twentieth century. They tried to leave their country--Asians, they were--in the most incredibly unseaworthy craft. Junks and sampans, they were called.” He shook his head. “Totally unsuitable. Many died trying to escape. Many arrived at their destinations only to be turned back.” “Turned back?” Theo was outraged. “I don’t remember the historical-political situation at the time. It was before Earth was really united by outwardbound goals. I don’t think a one of their craft was as good as the worst of these.” Theo let out a sigh, pointed to starboard where one of the four-meter sloops was flying a distress flag, and dove overboard. When she surfaced, Dart was right beside her, ready to tow her to the crippled ship. Jim entered the matter in his recorder. Broken sheet, he thought, noting the way the boom swung. Lordee, would they have enough line to see them through the constant breakages? He’d better hold another splicing lesson tonight. “Ah, it was the Heyerdahl expeditions I was trying to remember,” he told himself, “only he was doing it deliberately in primitive craft he’d built himself. Not the same thing as this at all.” He must remember to tell Theo. He grinned. He enjoyed yarning at her, because she really listened. Occasionally, she responded with stories of her days as a pilot. He rather thought she preferred being a dolphineer, or maybe she was just the sort of person who would make the most of what she had. Too bad this feat will only be known to us Pernese, he thought. Our Second Crossing: in many ways far more remarkable than the spatial crossing of fifteen light-years in three elderly but suitable spaceships to reach this deserted corner of the Sagittarian sector. They had two more emergencies that day. The first was a slight brush with the following edge of Threadfall. Ezra spotted the now-familiar grayness ahead, and they were faced with a choice of hoving to or giving their emergency gear a trial run. Jim and Ezra conferred with those ships that were on the comlink, and it was unanimously decided to continue, and see just how effective the safety gear was. Better now, when they knew they’d only have to endur a half hour or more of Fall, rather than a longer period. So the dolphins and dolphineers spread the command to all the craft not on comlink. Sails were furled and shields put in place; fire-lizards were sent off to collect enough wild ones to help, and the light sea suddenly blossomed with plastic cones. Jim, his crew of five, and the four dolphineers, though they could have weathered the Edge in the cabin, decided to provide a good example to the timorous. Donning their head protectors and grabbing plastic safety lines, they jumped into the water. That helped a few of the fearful to follow suit. The four dolphins stayed underwater as long as possible, then made mad rushes out to blow and squee-ee. “Much good eating soon,” Dart commented at one point. “Don’t overeat, you glutton,” Theo told her warningly. “She likes ‘em when they’re bloated with water,” she explained to the others. Jim’s shudder went unseen, since his coolie hat touched the water and obscured his face. Once he tipped the hat up so he could see, but Theo tugged it back down. “You’d lose your looks with a Threadscore across that prominent nose of yours,” she said, her words muffled under her own hat. Jim felt his nose, which he had never considered as particularly prominent. “All there is to see are coolie hats and Thread,” Theo told him. “How d’you know?” “I’ve already had a look. Thread bores me on the ground. It was much more fun flying sleds through it.” Waves rippled out from her as if she had shrugged. “Which do you prefer? I mean, profession--pilot or dolphineer?” “I’ve done enough flying, though Threadfall was more exciting than the routine stuff I did,” she told him in a thoughtful voice as her body drifted toward his in the water. Their legs touched; his were much longer than hers, he noted absently in the clear water around them. They had drifted slightly away from the others, having let their safety lines play out to the full length. “Dolphineering’s something else again. Dart’s super,” she said, and Jim could hear the pride and the depth of her friendship for her sea partner. “Sure beats the hell out of the one-sided arrangement you could have with domestic animals. Though I used to be right fond of an old moggie I had once on ol’ Earth. But teaming with Dart’s totally superior to that sort of thing.” “Did you try for a dragon?” “No. You got asked to stand in that circle.” Theo snorted. “They wanted younger riders. Like I said, I’ve done enough flying.” “You’re not old. . .” Theo’s laugh was genuine amusement. “Maybe not from where you swim, Granddad,” she said, but he took no offense from her teasing. He was, after all, in his sixth decade, twice her age, and should have been a grandfather. . . if he hadn’t chosen a profession that would have denied him most of the pleasures of marriage and children. A month’s home leave after sixteen or seventeen months in space wasn’t enough time for a wife or kids. He’d never tried for any more than casual relationships. He felt Thread plunk on the crown of his coolie and inadvertently flinched, but the stuff slid off the slick plastic and hissed into the sea. He swung his legs out of danger as the Thread continued down into the water deep enough to be swallowed by Dart or one of the other dolphins, or some of the schools of fish that flitted about to feast on the manna. Hunger made them fearless, and Jim felt the caress of scales now and then on his bare skin: startling the first time, and producing a knowing laugh from Theo, who was completely accustomed to such contact. The result was that he felt as protected by the sea as by the man-made artifacts. And the fire-lizards. At Theo’s direction, he looked up through the semi-transparency of the cone’s flange to see the first of the fire-lizards flaming around and above them, deflecting Thread from the deck of the Cross. Since the deck was made of teakwood he had imported as part of his allowable weight as Buenos Aires captain, he was particularly happy to see it protected from Threadscore. Then, almost too soon, the loud chuffings, squee-eeings, and ecstatic breachings of dolphins told him the danger had passed. “We’ll do a quick tour,” Theo told him, holding her hand out in the water for Dart to supply a dorsal fin and the tow. “Peri,” she said to the other dolphineer nearby, “you go to port, I’ll go starboard.” “Lemme know if there’s been any scoring, especially any damage to the ships,” Jim called after them. Thinking on how well they had survived this recurrent menace, Jim hauled himself back on board, stowed his hat within easy reach, dried off, and ordered sail hoisted again. “The enemy has been met and. . . consumed,” he muttered, grinning to himself at his paraphrase as he unlashed the helm that had been set on a course diagonally away from the main Thread rain. But, oddly, he felt the better for that short brush--and for Theo’s company. She was a sort of. . . comfortable person. He grinned again. That was not the sort of compliment a woman would appreciate. The second emergency was more life-threatening: a burst plank below the waterline nearly sank a six-meter ketch, save for the quick action of the dolphins, who all but swam it into shore on their own backs. As the cargo of the ketch was mainly irreplaceable orange-coded supplies, its timely rescue was a double blessing. They anchored early that day so that they could not only find a replacement plank from those that had been extruded during the layover at Paradise River but also check sails and lines for Threadscore. No human had received injury, and even those who had doubted the efficacy of coolies against Thread had been reassured by the experience. Though the ketch crew worked all night with the plastics experts, the flotilla did not make sail until noontime the next day. A good wind helped make up lost time and certainly relieved Jim’s frustrations. He missed Theo’s company in the cockpit, but she had this first watch off and was sleeping. It was a shame she was missing the best part of this fine day. Nothing, but nothing, on any world could be a more stimulating and satisfying occupation than sailing a good ship in a brisk wind down sparkling clear blue-green coastal waters. He wondered if Theo could appreciate that, too.

The tropical storm, brewing up suddenly as they neared Boca, drove them back toward Sadrid. Jim’s nautical instinct had been warning him since early morning as they sailed westward on the gentle swells. One of the Sadrid fishermen had reminded him only the night before of the suddenness of squalls on this stretch of coast. So he was watching for those little signs the experienced sailor knows: a smudge on the horizon that wasn’t Thread, the sudden drop of the barometer, a change in the color of the water, a sultry feeling of pressure in the air around him. Then he noticed the alteration from blue-green to grayish green and the rippling change of the wave patterns He turned to Theo, who was back in the cockpit with him. “Theo, I think--” The storm struck with a ferocity and abruptness he had rarely encountered on any previous sea. He had the impression of black suit and bare legs going over the side into the suddenly heavy sea as he tightened his hold on the helm. He didn’t even have time to get the bow turned into the huge comber bearing down on them, but he did manage to avoid meeting the four-and five-meter waves broadside. His crew struggled to get the sails down and reefed, fighting the waves that tried to wash them off the deck--in some cases only the life rails prevented them from going overboard. Young Steve Duff, struggling to tie down the boom, was barely missed by the lightning that flashed across the ship, slicing through the mast two-thirds of the way up its length, snapping the mainstays into lethal lashes until they fell over the life rail. Jim barely managed to keep the bow turned into the towering seas as once again the Cross thudded into a trough left by the latest monumental wave. Worry about the more vulnerable small craft of his fleet drove terror into Jim’s heart--until the more immediate threat to the lives of himself and his crew banished all thought but that of survival. Now and then, during the brief but thoroughly devastating squall, he caught sight of dolphins, hurtling in midair across a seething watery surface, purpose evident in every line of the sleek bodies. Sometimes their partners clung to the dorsal fins; other times the dolphins seemed to be acting independently, but always in accordance with their training. Twice the Cross’s crew threw lines and hauled people rescued by the dolphins out of the water to the dubious safety of the plunging deck. Once they overran the upturned hull of a capsized ship, feeling the grind as their keel sliced across the plastic hull. As abruptly as it began, the storm vanished in the distance, a roiling dark vortex pierced by bolts of lightning. Exhausted and somewhat amazed to be alive, Jim was suddenly aware that his right arm was broken and he was bleeding from a variety of cuts on both arms, chest, and bare legs. None of his crew was totally unscathed. One rescued girl had a broken leg, and a boy was concussed, his face badly contused, and a long wound giving his hair a new parting. In the sea, which was still heavy from the agitation of the squall, survivors clung to spars, half-sunk hulks, or pallets in an expanse of destruction that nearly reduced Jim to tears. Ignoring his own wounds and his crew’s urgings to attend to them, Jim scrabbled for the bullhorn in the cockpit and released it from its brackets. He gave the order to start up engines that, to conserve fuel, were rarely used. Ranging up and down wherever flotsam could be seen, he shouted encouragements and orders, directing dolphineer rescues even as he wondered if all under his command could still be alive. And what cargo could be salvaged. “It came up out of nowhere,” Jim reported in an almost lifeless voice when Fort com, manned by Zi Ongola, answered his Mayday. By then they had managed to get a lot of the shipwrecked to the sandy beach. The dolphin teams were still searching the wreckage, but he needed assistance as soon as possible. He gazed with eyes that dared not focus too long on the human jetsam and the wreckage flung up on the long narrow strand that was the nearest landfall. His Southern Cross, five of the larger yawls and ketches, and two small sloops had ridden out the storm. “I was warned about the way squalls brew up in this area, so I was on guard. Not that it did me any good. It hit out of nowhere. A change of the wave color and pattern and then--bang! We’d no time to do anything except hope we’d survive. Some never had enough time to lower sail and steer into the wind. If it hadn’t been for the dolphins, we’d’ve lost people, too.” “Casualties?” “Yeah, too many,” Jim said, absently smoothing the gelicast that bound the broken arm he had no recollection of breaking. Only one of his cuts had needed stapling, and Theo had done that, as well as apply the gelicast. Then he’d applied sealant to the scratches on Theo’s bare legs and arms, earned while she tried to squeeze into wrecked cabins to aid survivors. They’d separated, first-aid kits in hand, to attend the needs of others to the best of their abilities. . . The medic who had accompanied this section diagnosed twelve with internal injuries and multiple fractures that the limited medical supplies she had couldn’t handle. She had two coronary patients on the only life-support units that could be found in the Cross’s cargo. “Can you send a sled for the worst injuries?” “Of course. One’s already being loaded with medics and supplies and will fly out to you in the next sixty seconds. Give me your approximate location again.” “Somewhat east of Boca but west of Sadrid,” Jim said wearily. “You can’t miss us. The sea’s filled with flotsam and overturned hulls. Has Kaarvan made port?” “Yesterday.” “The Venturer would be mighty useful to carry salvaged cargo back to Fort, as well as the extra folk who no longer have a ship to sail.” “What’s Ezra’s condition?” “I haven’t tried reaching him yet. He’s a few days ahead of us and probably missed the storm, or you’d’ve heard from him by now. There’s really no point in sending him back: every one of his ships was loaded to the plimsoll line. His group’ll do better finishing their journey.” Someone stopped beside him and handed him a mug of hot klah and a twig-pierced fried fish. “And the Cross, Jim?” Ongola asked in genuine concern “Battered but afloat,” Jim said. The mast would have to be replaced, and the mainstays, but he still had all his canvas. Andi had already vowed that his new mast would be the first she’d make: she’d be making many, if they were to sail any ships out of here. “Which reminds me: We got some lightning-burn cases, too. Three of the barges sunk completely, but the dolphins are busy resurrecting cargo. Right now, the injured are my first priority.” “As they should be. Ah, yes--” Ongola broke off for a moment. “Joel urgently needs to know if you can estimate how much and what cargo is irretrievable?” Jim caught an indefinable note of regret in Ongola’s voice that indicated he felt such a question was importunate. It was, however totally in character for Lilienkamp, and Jim was too weary to summon much rancor. “Hell, Zi, I haven’t completed a head count! Desi Arthied’s got broken ribs, had to be resuscitated, and Corrie says he probably had a coronary. But do reassure Joel that Desi’s manifest recorder was tucked inside his life vest next to his heart. That ought to cheer him up.” Jim couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I gotta go.” “Help is on its way, Jim. My sympathies. I’ll report immediately to Paul. Is there someone you can keep on the com?” Bleary-eyed, Jim looked about him. The able-bodied were tending the injured, but he spotted Eba Dar propped up against a fallen tree, his splinted leg sticking out in front of him. He was chewing the last of a fish from its twig. “Eba? You well enough to keep the line open to Fort?” Jim asked, peering into the man’s lacerated face and eyes for signs of concussion. Eba’s naturally sallow skin did not show pallor, and the cuts on his shoulders and chest were already sealed. “Sure. Nothing wrong with my mouth and my wits,” Eba said with a droll grin and, tossing the empty twig, reached for the unit. “Who’s on the other end?” “At the moment, Zi Ongola. They’re sending a big sled for the serious casualties, and Kaarvan’ll sail the Venturer down to pick up whatever cargo we can save.” Eb looked out at a sea once again calm; oddments could be seen bobbing to the surface or floating in on the tide. Soon enough, Jim knew, the shallow beach would be littered, and he would have to find enough people to haul the jetsam safely above the high-water mark. Shielding his eyes with his good hand, he peered seaward where dolphin fins cut from one upturned hull to another, their human partners hanging on to the dorsals, still searching for survivors. “Damn her,” he said under his breath as he recognized Dart’s smaller, distinctively marked body and Theo towed alongside. The sealant on those scrapes of hers was probably stinging like hell. Was she mad, driving herself in that condition? “Dolphins’re doing great, aren’t they?” Eba remarked. “Wonder if we’d’ve all been safer in the water with them. “The dolphins were okay, but not all their partners,” Jim replied. “Besides, you farmer types couldn’t hold your breath long enough, the way dolphins can.” He gave Eba’s shoulder a squeeze and limped off to see if, this time, he could come up with a more accurate body count. Five people were still unaccounted for, three of them kids. He told himself that everyone had been wearing life vests: there was some hope to be found in that. Eba had not been far from wrong about being safer with the dolphins. Equipped with breathers and able to dive with their aquatic partners beneath the towering waves to escape the pummeling, the dolphineers had been lucky--at least during the squall. Now they risked themselves time and again to rescue unconscious or injured folk. Even before the storm ended, teams had followed sinking ships down to save those trapped on board. Many people owed their lives to the quick action of the dolphin swimmers who had, in some instances, torn off their breathers to give the drowning life-saving oxygen. It was during those first few hectic hours after the storm had passed that the dolphineers had received more serious injuries. A distraught Pha had gone so far as to beach himself to get Gunnar Schultz to medical attention for a deep wound in his thigh, sustained when he’d pushed his way into a cabin to free a trapped child. Efram, Ben, and Bernard had been called in to haul Pha by the tail back into the sea, the dolphin squee-eeing and complaining that they’d do him masculine damage. By the time the big sled from Fort arrived, Jim knew that, by some incredible miracle, there had been no loss of life. The five missing folk walked in from farther down the beach where their ketch had been stranded: one of the teenage girls had a broken arm, the other a dislocated shoulder, which the newly arrived medics instantly attended. They made the walking wounded sit and sip at restorative “cocktails” that had been mixed and brought along. Some injuries were still life-threatening--two heart attacks and three strokes from exposure and exhaustion--but none that wouldn’t respond to treatment and therapy. The dolphins had been able to locate all of the sunken ships, and buoys now marked their positions. Most could be raised, but the three small ships thrown up on the beach by the heavy seas were too badly damaged to be worth repairing. The barges, unwieldy craft at best, had sunk so quickly that they hadn’t been battered by the high waves. Efram with Kibby, Jan with Teresa, and Ben with Amadeus reported that the cargoes were still lashed in place; the barges had been full of low-priority freight, safe enough where it was for now. As to cargo, no one paid much attention to what he or she grabbed and hauled into piles well above the high-tide mark: it was enough to keep the jetsam on the beach. Leaning wearily against a waterlogged and battered crate, Jim was on the comunit, calling for more people to help with salvage, when he noticed three of the medics walking toward him. “Look, Paul, I’m damned sorry to add this to your problems,” Jim said wearily. “It’s not one I expected, certainly,” Paul replied in an odd voice. Jim heard the defeated tone and responded by couching his report in the most optimistic manner he could muster. He rubbed at his face, which was stiff from brine. “Actually, Paul, the way the stuff is floating in on the tide, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we’ll salvage most of it. Some’s too waterlogged to estimate any damage, but generally the packaging held. As to the ships, Andi’s already figuring out repair lists--” “No jury rigs, damn it, Jim. You’ve leagues to go yet to reach Key Largo, and Kaarvan told me it’s no picnic crossing the two Currents.” “I have no intention of setting sail again until all craft are seaworthy, shipshape, and Bristol fashion, as they used to say.” Jim spoke with all the conviction he could manage, adding that old seaman’s tag to show he was in good spirits. He was aware of shadows of the approaching medics lengthening, covering the light from the westering sun. He turned slightly away from them, not wanting his conversation overheard. “Hell, by that time, all the cargo will have dried out, too. Only a few of the cocooned stuff got torn open. Tomorrow we’ll have dolphin teams start hauling up what was too heavy to surface on its own. You wouldn’t believe what those critters can manage. I’ll report in again later, Paul. Don’t worry about us. Sled brought us all the help we needed.” As he closed the comunit, someone cleared a throat. Jim looked up to see Corazon Cervantes, Beth Eagles, and Basil Tomlinson regarding him with amusement. “He’s still on his feet,” Corazon remarked to the others. Seeing how tired she looked made Jim aware of his own weariness. “Only because he’s leaning on that crate,” Beth said in her pragmatic way. She looked tired, too. “Old sailors never die, they just fade away,” Basil said in a pontificating voice. “No matter, Theo was right,” he added, pointing. “He’s ricked the gelicast around and split the staples. What’s your opinion, Doctors?” “Repair, then bed rest,” Beth said, and before Jim could protest, she pressed a hypo-spray against his arm. As his legs folded and his vision darkened, he heard her add, “You know, I don’t think he realizes when it’s time to take a break.

The smell of roasting food roused him, but his body was unwilling to respond to the initial commands he gave it to leave the horizontal position. He was on his back, under a canopy of woven fronds, which was certainly rustically unusual. Under him, however, was an air mattress, and a light cover kept the cool of the shade from chilling him. He made a slight error in judgment by rolling onto his right side, preparatory to rising. The sudden weight on a heavy and awkwardly covered right arm was painful enough to force a groan from his lips. “Ah, you’re awake, too, are you?” a voice said from his left. He twisted about to see Theo lying beside him. She gave him a cocky grin. “You sicced that unholy trio on me,” he accused, not appreciating that justice had similarly immobilized her. “Dart informed on me,” she said with a shrug. “So I figured I’d at least see I had decent company in my ward.” In gesturing to their surroundings, she displayed a right arm, marred by four heavily stapled and sealed spiral gashes. He reached over and took her hand, gently lowering her arm to her side. “How’d you get those?” She glanced in thoughtful surprise at her arm. “I don’t rightly remember. I think we were checking out that five-meter ketch Bruce Olivine sailed. Dart was trying to poke her nose into the for’ard hatch when the whole ship shifted and something snagged me by the arm.” “How’re your legs?” She kicked one free of the light cover. It, too, glistened with sealant. Dispassionately, she regarded the raw scratched flesh that ran from the top of her thigh to her ankle. The inside of her leg was only bruised. “I used to be better able to squeeze through tight places. Should’ve been okay if I’d had on a full wet suit. It’s only to regrow the skin I lost. But I gather we will spend some time here at our pleasant seaside resort.” “Who’s taking charge then?” “The medics,” she said with a rude laugh. “Hey, someone!” she called. “We’re hungry in here.” “Coming!” a cheerful voice answered. Jim groaned again as he levered himself up. “Hey, they are coming,” Theo said in alarm. She sat up as he headed toward the thick shrubbery behind their temporary accommodation. “Oh! Always did think you guys had the best of the deal in circumstances like this.” That short but critically necessary excursion proved to Jim Tillek that he had less strength than the fronds bowing to the light wind. It was going to take more time than he had to spare to recover from yesterday’s excursions. “Yesterday’s?” Theo laughed lustily, making him aware that he had spoken aloud. “Jim, m’lad, you’ve been out for the full thirty-six. Today’s the day after yesterday.” “My God, then who’s. . .” She grabbed his hand and gave one pull: sufficient to make his weak knees buckle. The air mattress cushioned his sudden descent, but the jolt reminded him that he had other injuries as well as the broken arm. “Paul sent another sled, with plenty of people to muscle the salvage and a team of Joel’s apprentices to run bar codes through their recorders. Where there are bar-code patches left, that is.” Jim groaned just as the obscuring foliage was pushed aside and Betty Musgrave arrived with a laden tray, which she set in the space between them. “Hi, feel better, Jim? Theo?” she said with none of the forced cheerfulness that Jim would have found egregious. “He’s had a nice long sleep and a nice long--” Theo chuckled as Jim’s half growl cut off the rest of her sentence. “Good, everyone’ll be glad to hear that,” Betty said with genuine relief. “And I won’t have to ditch some of the urgent stuff Joel begged me to take to make room for his body. Eat. You’re lucky to get room service today.” She settled back then on her heels, and Jim got the impression that she wasn’t going to move until they finished what she’d brought: klah, of course, slices of fresh fruit, and rolls that were still warm from the oven. That was enough to make him attack the meal ravenously, and he mumbled gratitude. “Yes, we’ve civilized your camp since you’re likely to be here long enough to appreciate a few--” She paused, making a funny grimace. “comforts.” “What’s happening at Fort?” Jim asked, pinning Betty with a stern eye. She raised her eyebrows and lifted her hands in a gesture that told him she didn’t care to go into any great detail. “There’s good--we’re safe in Fort. There’s bad--we haven’t enough power packs left for sleds to mount any sort of defense against Fall.” She shrugged. “So we’ll sit tight. Safe enough in a cliff Thread can’t penetrate.” “Emily?” Betty pulled mouth and head to one side and rocked a hand. Though the medics had done all that their not-inconsiderable skill could do to repair Emily Boll’s broken body after the crash landing of the shuttle ferrying people from Landing to the new settlement at Fort, she was making a very slow recovery from the trauma. No wonder Paul had sounded so defeated: he and Emily made a superb team, each supporting the other. Without her active participation, Paul Benden would have a great deal to cope with even with Ongola’s help. “She’s some better,” the pilot said, “but it’ll be a long convalescence. Pierre’s taking real good care of her. Ongola’s a rock, as always, and if Joel would only stop yapping about losing so much cargo. . .” “We haven’t lost it. . .” Jim and Theo said in chorus. Betty chuckled. “If you two won’t give up, I don’t see that Paul should. And so I’ll tell him.” She looked down at the wide digital on her arm and rose. “I gotta go. Good to see you’ve got your appetites back.” And with a nod to each, she pushed back the foliage again. Jim caught a reassuring glimpse of the beach and the people moving about. “Leave it open, can you, Betty?” “I suppose so.” She found a string that had been left for such a purpose and tied back the branch. “Keep an eye on him, Theo.” “Glad to,” the dolphineer said with a deep chuckle. “Oh, one last bit of news, Jim,” Betty said. “Kaarvan sailed the Venturer out of Fort last night on the tide. He’ll come straight down. Be here in a couple of days.” Not long after, they both heard the swish of a powered sled rising and craned their necks out their impromptu door to see the rear of the big airborne sled as it flew northwest toward Fort. Jim was just gathering himself to rise when Beth Eagles appeared. “You both should have been on that sled,” she said without preamble, staring down at them with an expressionless face. “Unfortunately, Dart refuses to work with Anna Schultz”--Theo looked almost happy about that non-compliance as Beth turned to Jim--”and Paul said that you’d probably crucify anyone else who tried to sail your precious Cross, so we’d better get you well enough to captain her. Kaarvan’s bringing more supplies and enough technicians so you can get this ridiculous fleet floating again.” “It isn’t ridiculous,” Jim said, leaning back and sighing with relief. “However,” Beth continued, kneeling to run an instrument over his body, “I think the sooner you’re out on that boat--” “Ship,” Jim corrected automatically. “Ship, then, the more likely you are to rest.” “But I have to. . .” He waved at the activity he could plainly see. “You have to rest, same as Theo here, or you won’t be any good to any of us, and Paul doesn’t need anything else to worry him--like the recuperation of Captain James Tillek!” She turned her back on him to check Theo. “And you’re going out to the Cross with him so that little mammal of yours can see you. But Teresa, Kibby, Max, and Pha have been told to make sure she won’t let you in the water until you’ve got skin again. Hear me, Theo Force?” “How could I avoid it?” There was a ripple of laughter in the dolphineer’s husky voice.

That evening they were carefully escorted--they refused to be carried, though Theo walked stiff-legged and had turned very white under her tanned skin--to a dinghy and towed by Dart and Pha out to the Southern Cross. After being hoisted aboard by Efram and one of the crew, Jim managed a dignified descent to his own cabin, which he noticed had been set to rights after the storm had thrown his few possessions around. Theo had to be carried to her bunk, unable to bend her abraded knees to get down the short companionway. “We’re sleeping aboard,” Efram said, handing Jim a handunit, “but if you’ve any problems, just give a shout. “Or call that Dart,” Anna Schultz said, poking her head around the door. She made a grimace, but it wasn’t ill-natured. “She’s on patrol around the ship. I just hope she doesn’t keep Theo awake, banging her nose into the hull by her bunk.” Both dolphineers had scrapes and bruises where their bodysuits hadn’t adequately protected them, but neither had sustained the serious injuries Theo had. “I’m cook,” Anna went on, “but I’ve orders not to wake you for breakfast, so it’ll be laid out in the wardroom whenever you do get up.” When the Venturer arrived, she dropped anchor near the Southern Cross and Kaarvan rowed over to pay his respects to Jim Tillek, who was trying to schedule repairs and set the next day’s duty roster. Kaarvan stood in the doorway for a long look, then grunted when he saw what Jim was doing. “As I heard it, you’re supposed to be convalescing. You don’t look even that fit.” Jim laughed. “Old sailors never die. . .” “But they fade away, my friend.” Deftly, without offense, Kaarvan removed the notepad from the desk. “This is my job for now.” Since even the minor decisions he’d had to make to get halfway through the schedule had tired him, Jim threw up his hands and grinned cheerfully up at the swarthy skipper. It was only sensible to let Kaarvan take over. But each evening, the unsmiling Kaarvan came on board the Cross to report the day’s achievements and how much the dolphin teams had retrieved from the seabed, and to discuss the next day’s schedule of repair. Jim appreciated that: he felt less a supernumerary and somewhat involved in the restoration of his command. During the day, he went topside to watch the antics of the working dolphins and to peer through binoculars at the temporary shipyard. Since Theo said the sun and fresh sea air promoted healing, she somehow managed to get herself on deck and stretched out on the cockpit, trailing a hand over the side for Dart, whom Theo had talked into “cooperating temporarily” with Anna, to nudge from time time. The dolphins were tireless, finding netted materiel and pallets that had been rolled considerable distances away on the ocean floor by the tide, and coming back to ask for harnesses to haul their finds back to the beach. “They’re wearing us out,” Efram told Jim one evening, so tired that raising his fork to his face was an effort. “You all need some time off,” Anna said severely. “Give us apprentices a chance to see how the dolphins do underwater salvage. They know. We should.” Jim raised that point with Kaarvan that evening, and immediately all the regular dolphineers were given three days’ shore leave. Not being affected by that order, since she was a substitute swimmer, Anna continued to berth on the Cross when the others went ashore, but Jim took over the cooking and prided himself on being able to make a decent meal out of their limited supplies. “How come you know how to cook so well?” Theo asked, having complimented him once again on the stuffed fish roll-ups he had served her. “You were married?” “Me? No, that’s why I know how to cook.” He grinned at her. He enjoyed those days, fishing for their dinner to supplement the provisions and the fresh fruit that Dart brought them in her net. He also enjoyed Theo’s undemanding company, especially after she asked him for the loan of his reader and the historical tape that mentioned the Dunkirk Evacuation. “I think we’ve sort of turned it all around, the flotilla being rescued by men and dolphins,” she said, “but those troops must have experienced the same sense of amazed wonder that they survived!” Jim grinned down at her, knowing exactly what she meant. In fact, he was beginning to half wish that their convalescence could last a long time. But he was getting stronger, able to do several laps around the Cross even though the gelicast arm was awkward. Beth remarked that he was putting a little flesh on his old bones and the break was knitting nicely. At Theo’s insistence, the medic reinforced the sealants on her wounds and let her join Jim in their laps, Dart now squee-eeing joyfully to accompany her partner. “Dart’s better than the Cross,” Theo remarked one day after she had carefully and slowly climbed the rope ladder. The rake wounds made her movements stiff on land; in the sea she regained some of her usual grace. “How so?” Jim replied, surprised. “Dart talks back,” Theo said with a grin as she gingerly arranged herself on the cockpit cushion. “And you think my ship doesn’t communicate with me?” “Does she?” “In her own fashion. Like right now,” he said, feeling the alteration of the waves under her. He leaned across and tapped the barometer. Just then the comunit buzzed. “Squall’s on its way, Jim,” Kaarvan said when Jim checked in. “Estimate it’ll arrive in an hour, give or take five minutes. Need any help?” Suddenly Dart breached the water, walking on her tail and talking so agitatedly that Jim didn’t understand her. Theo did. “She said”--Theo grinned--”sea is changing and will get rough. Storm coming.” “Now we know it’s true.” Jim grinned back. “I’ll just close the for’ard hatches. We are anchored properly to ride out a squall, so that doesn’t need to be altered.” “Need any help?” “No, you get below before we get any choppy water.” Theo grimaced but swung her legs around and pushed herself up. As he battened down the hatches and checked other gear on the deck, Jim saw that the beach dwellers were also taking precautions. Fins zipped about the area, as the dolphins set about landing partners. An unaccompanied group--and Jim thought it was Kibby leaping at the head of the pod--headed toward the storm to bring a report back to Kaarvan. “I’d feel safer out there with Dart,” Theo said, scowling at him when he joined her in the wardroom. She had fixed some klah and laid out some food. “You know, Eba Dar remarked on that.” Jim slid in to his usual seat at the end of the table. “We were safer because we could just go deeper, to calmer water. I’d plenty of oxygen in my breather.” Theo sipped her klah. Her right arm was regaining flexibility, but she still couldn’t raise it all the way to her mouth. “I knew you lot were having a helluva time topside, but we kept watch below.” Jim covered her right hand, soothing fingers that twitched impatiently. “I know you did. The reason we’d no loss of life was you dolphineers!” “That’s our job,” she said with a cocky grin and a jerk of her head. She let her fingers lie still in his grasp. Under them, the Cross responded to the sea’s agitation. The comunit buzzed. “Kaarvan here. Dolphins report it’ll be short and sweet but a bit heavy. You ready for it?” “As we’ll ever be.” Jim switched off and turned to Theo, absently catching his cup of klah as it slid toward the raised edge of the table. “Would you be more comfortable in a bunk? It might be rough on that healing skin of yours.” She gave him an odd look and an odder smile. “It might at that.” She eased her way across the cushions to the end of the table. He joined her, slipping one hand under her elbow as the ship gave a convulsive rock. They could hear the wind rising, and the slap of lines against the mast, and feel waves slamming into the starboard side of the Cross. Her good hand balancing her against the increased pitching, Theo made her way to the forward cabin where the double bunk in the space under the bow allowed her just that much more space than the narrower singles. Jim followed, anxious that she not get thrown against the walls. He had his own right arm tucked against his body, his left held up in case he needed to balance himself. Just as she reached the cabin, the Cross pitched again and Theo fell against him. Instinctively he grabbed and held her close, a lifetime of experience helping him to balance them both against the erratic movement. She wrapped her left arm about his waist, hugging herself to him. He could feel her trembling and the smoothness of her skin against his, and he tightened his arm, surprised by a number of conflicting and long-forgotten emotions. “It won’t be as bad a blow as the other one,” he said to reassure her. Though why Theo would need reassurance. “I’m not scared, you iggerant old fool,” she said in a taut voice. Switching her left arm to around his neck, she hauled his head down to hers and kissed him so thoroughly that he lost his balance and they both tumbled into the cabin as the Cross pitched them forward. Nor would Theo let go of him even after they had fallen across one of the smaller bunks. “Your legs? Your arm,” Jim began without lessening the pressure of his arm around her. “I’ll hurt you. . .” “There are ways, damn it, Jim Tillek, there are ways!” Dispite the rolling and pitching of the Cross, which sometimes worked to their advantage, he discovered that indeed there were ways and very little hurting. In fact, Jim decided that the next hour could be termed therapeutic--among other adjectives that he had had no occasion to employ for too long a time. “We’re neither of us young,” Theo said when the Southern Cross lay calmly at anchor again, “but you’re definitely not beyond it, my friend.” “No,” Jim said in drawl, allowing surprise and pride to color his reply, “and glad to prove it. Especially with you!” And he kissed her tenderly. The comunit began to buzz, and with a sigh of resignation, Jim rose to answer it. “Dart approves of you, you know,” Theo called after him He let a chuckle answer that sally, but he felt a little taller all the same. Dolphins were extraordinarily good readers of human character and defects.

Beth Eagles gave Jim the go-ahead to undertake light employment. “And I mean ‘light,’ Jim Tillek, though you look rested.” “I am,” he said with no inflection, and sought Kaarvan to see how he could lightly employ himself to advantage. He knew enough of ship design and chandlery so that Kaarvan shared with him the supervision of the repairs. The squall had done little damage to the makeshift boatyard, and it had released a few more errant bundles, which the dolphins brought in close enough to be collected by Joel’s apprentices. Theo also complained that inactivity was driving her nuts, so Beth allowed her to come ashore every day and help decipher waterlogged bar codes on the pile of “mystery” cargo. If Jim and Theo preferred to row back out to the Cross for their evenings, no one seemed to regard that as odd, especially when Dart followed. “Do they think Dart plays the duenna?” Jim asked slyly. When Theo looked puzzled, he explained the term and she laughed. “Not her. You’ll notice she doesn’t swim between us,” she said with a sly grin. Jim laughed because he hadn’t. “That’s good, because it’d be awful if she came between us,” he said, masking the apprehension he felt at even such a subtle mention of their relationship. He wanted the association to continue but wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. “You got the Southern Cross, I got Dart.” “We also have each other?” Jim made the sentence not quite a query, certainly not a statement. He was suddenly rather more anxious than he felt a man his age should be to hear her reply. “So we do,” she said in the most equable of tones, calmly gazing at the Southern Cross as they neared her. Grinning with relief, Jim put his back into the last few pulls on his oars.

A happy event--the birthing of Carolina’s calf-helped raise the morale of the fleet survivors, tediously repairing storm damage. Malawi and Italia had been her midwives, and the three of them brought the new female close enough into shore to be admired. The dolphin nurses and mother were shouting some name between their chuffs and other excited noises. Theo had to stay on shore, but Carolina’s swimmer got far enough out to be able to identify what the dolphins were trying to communicate. “Atlanta! Atlanta!” Bethann called, between strokes back to the shore. “People don’t believe me when I tell them my dolphin knows as much as they do about old Earth.” Everyone on the beach then began waving at the dolphins and chanting the name to show their approval. “Most appropriate. I’m sort of surprised we haven’t had one named that before now,” Jim said as a grinning Bethann joined him and Theo. “Did you help Carolina pick the name?” The girl grinned, wringing out her long hair. “Sort of. Carrie wanted to name her calf after something big and wet.” Jim let out a guffaw, and she smiled again. “Well, it’s close enough to ‘Atlantic.’ I tried to tempt her with a-ending states and countries and stuff because I couldn’t think of any big lakes with a endings. Even the colonies don’t have feminine lakes or oceans.” “You made a good compromise,” Jim said with warm approval.

The next day, a team of dolphins and dolphineers swam the new mast out to the Cross. With much ceremony and a lot of hard work, it was properly stepped, new mainstays put in place, the boom rehung, and the patched canvas threaded onto the sheet and dutifully raised to flap in the light breeze. In Jim’s experience, events had a habit of occurring in threes. The third one came from Paul Benden and his almost incoherent account of the reappearance of the seventeen dragons and their riders. After helping in the evacuation of Landing, Sean, Sorka, and the other dragonriders had been asked to fly some supplies across the southern continent to Key Largo, even as Jim’s flotilla was sailing offshore. Contact had broken down somehow, and what had happened to the young riders and their priceless dragons had caused everyone understandable anxiety. Jim took the call at his makeshift beach office, where he was figuring out how and what to load on the ships that would soon be ready to continue their westward journey. “They just appeared in the skies above Fort, Jim,” Paul said, the astonishment and elation in his voice such a tonic that Jim changed the setting to wide range so that everyone nearby could hear the account. “The dragons were spouting flame, charring Thread, diving into tangles, disappearing, and reappearing. The riders of the queens were carrying flamethrowers. The males chewed firestone and belched flame until they ran out of stone--just about the time Thread got up into the Range, where it can’t hurt rock much. “And then,” Paul went on with a ring in his voice, “those devious young rogues landed and demanded numb-weed and medical supplies for their dragons before they paid any attention to my orders to report to me on the double.” Jim grinned, as did many of the other listeners. The seaman thought of his ship first, his own safety second: the dolphineer of his mammalian partner, the rider his dragon. He exchanged a significant glance with Theo. “That done, damned if young Sean Connell didn’t march ‘em smartly right up the entrance to the Hold. Then he had the impudence to introduce me to what he called ‘the dragonriders of Pern’!” Jim laughed as he leaned toward the speaker unit. “Well that’s, what they are, aren’t they, Paul?” “Indeed! Now I’m sure we’ll make it, Jim. I’m sure!” “So are we all.” Jim circled his hand to raise three cheers from the audience. “Give them our compliments, too. Such news gives us new heart, as well.” He was surprised to see Theo wiping tears from her eyes and, later, when they lay beside each other in the double bunk, asked her why. “Look, swimming with Dart is the best thing--well, almost the best thing,” she modified, grinning at him, “that ever happened to me. But I think flying a fighting dragon would be a notch--well, maybe several notches above that, given the fact they’re our equivalent of the battle of Dunkirk. So few against so much.”

All the work seemed to finish up at the same time, which Kaarvan said was the result of good planning and Jim was equally certain was due to the boost in morale. So they loaded the Pernese Venturer with the last of the more important items and distributed the remainder, unreadable bar codes notwithstanding, among the ships that were to sail west again. The Venturer could make a swift trip north and be ready to sail back to escort Jim across both Great Currents. When he finally reached Key Largo, Jim conferred with Paul, who was taking no chances and had sent all four of the large ships, Pernese Venturer, Mayflower, Maid, and Perseus, to await their arrival at the jump-off point. It had become a matter of honor to the now well-seasoned skippers of the small craft in his flotilla to bring their ships into the new port. But few of them were capable of sailing across the two Great Currents without some assistance, and for that, the four ships with more powerful auxiliary engines would escort them. Jim had thought long and hard on how to maneuver the flotilla past this hazard and was pleased when the other captains agreed with him. The plan was to sail in the quieter coastal water from Key Largo, beyond the point where the Eastern Current was at its closest to the Western one. Then they’d turn bravely in to the Eastern Current and let it carry the vessels a good day’s sail away from their final destination, where they’d slip across the current into the calm dividing waters. Then, using outboard engines and the big ships towing the ones that didn’t have the speed or bulk to cross the Western Current, they’d maneuver that hazard until they reached the safe waters at the end of the Boll peninsula. The coastal sail up to the Fort harbor ought then to be routine.

They sent dolphins ahead to check on incoming weather. Then, assured of fair weather and decent wind, they set out on the dangerous Crossing. This time luck was with them: they experienced no heart-stopping moments on the Crossing and made the quieter northern coastal waters. Some powered ships even had a little fuel left. Dolphin teams had swum in constant escort in case of engine failure. Then it was plain sailing. Almost anticlimactic, Jim thought, as the Southern Cross slid majestically into the darker northern waters bound for her last port of call. Not quite her last, he amended. While stopping at Key Largo, he and the other skippers had had a long talk about plans for the future and how to protect their ships during Threadfall. “They built us a sort of boat shed under the wharf,” Kaal an said, sketching the facility as he spoke. “Masts have to be unstepped, of course, but that’s neither here nor there. Venturer just fits, with two other big ships or four of the smaller ones.” “Those’d be enough to supply Fort with fresh fish when there’re clear days,” Sejby said, scrubbing at the bristle on his chin and gazing thoughtfully at Jim. Jim caught the unspoken words. Lifting his gelicast arm, he managed a grin. “Well, this’ll keep me out of action for a while.” “There’s good news, too, Jim,” Veranera said quickly. “Ozzie mentioned a big sea cavern on the eastern end of the Big Island. He said it was large enough to sail into. Deep water even at low tide, and the roof tall enough so the masts needn’t be unstepped. We sort of figured we could take it turn and turn about. Keep at least one or two of the big ships on duty, and store the others in the cavern.” Jim hauled the chart of that area to him. The site of the cavern had been marked. “I’ve no objections. In fact, for me and the Southern Cross, it makes a lot of sense. Be a nice easy sail.” “After what you just did, it would indeed,” Per Pagnesjo remarked with unusual levity. “I take some shore time, or the missus get annoyed with me.” They decided then that the Cross, the Maid, and the Perseus would spend the first year in the cavern. The Venturer would come, too, to bring the other crews back. Kaarvan wanted to establish whether or not the cavern was big enough to accommodate his ship, which was the largest. If it was, he’d rest her the following year. “Then we can keep more seamen working, because the wharf will shield the smaller ships,” Kaarvan said. “That keeps more people happy.”

“You’re putting the Southern Cross in--what did they used to call it?” Theo asked when he told her the plan. “Mothballs.” “What’re they?” “Basically cocoons. Moths came from cocoons. Flying insects that were attracted by flames.” Jim wasn’t really paying much attention to what he was saying, distracted by her proximity in the nighttime quiet of his cabin. “You’ll miss sailing, Jim.” He knew he would, but they both knew that his decision was sensible. He tired so easily these days, even doing what he loved most. “I will, but I’ll enjoy it even more when we get back to it.” “We?” “Well, Dart has no problem with becoming official escort ,to the Cross, does she?” “Noooo.” Theo smoothed his hair back from his ears. “You need a haircut.” “Possibly.” Her totally irrelevant observations only endeared her more to him. “Two, with Dart, can handle the Cross on the way to Big Island,” he went on, still resisting in his inner heart the necessity of mothballing his beloved ship. “A honeymoon?” And Theo giggled. He gave her a quick hug. “Then next year. . .” “There’ll be three of us, Jim. . .” He pushed himself up to look down at her. “You don’t mean. . . She laughed in great delight at his surprise. “Told you you weren’t beyond it, man. Thought I might be, but seems I got in under the wire.” At that point, he forgot what other plans he had intended to discuss with her and knew that his decision to harbor the Cross was for the best possible reason.

It was a cloudy day, mist whisking in and out of the little bays to port as the Southern Cross made her way toward the wharf Kaarvan had just announced on the comunit was not far ahead now. The jib sail was barely full of wind, but a gentle current was helping the forward motion. Suddenly the pealing of a bell sounded through the mist. Abruptly every dolphin of the escort broke the surface in ecstatic leaps of unusual height, a couple walking on their tails in their joy. Even Jim could distinctly hear them shouting “Bell, bell, bell!” Theo looked at Jim in perplexed astonishment. “But you didn’t take the Monaco Bell! How. . .” “The Buenos Aires carried more than one bell in her hold, “ Jim said, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Damn,” Theo said, sniffing, and he saw tears sliding down her cheeks. “That was damned thoughtful of someone. Look how glad they are that there’s a bell for them here, too. Just listen to the noise they’re making.” Jim was beginning to know when the dolphins were “singing.” He knew too, that, somehow, they had come across the seas of Pern to. . . home!

THE FORD OF RED HANRAHAN

“Look, I know that, Paul,” Red Hanrahan said; irritably brushing his shaggy mop of silver-shot red hair back from his forehead. “We waste less keeping it all central. And my having supplies doesn’t mean I won’t share ‘em whenever necessary.” It occurred to Paul Benden that most of the male residents of the vast Fort Hold were in need of haircuts--except, of course, the young dragonriders, now over five hundred strong in their Weyr. They cropped theirs to a stubble: easier to wear under the hide helmets they’d adopted. But there couldn’t be that much of a shortage of scissors, could there? Then, annoyed at the increasing tendency of his mind to go wandering off on tangents, he jerked his attention back to what Red was saying. “But the fact remains that most of the horses are infected with thrush from having to stand on soggy wet bedding that we don’t have the resources to change, and they are acutely in need of regular exercise, which they can’t get here. The cave structure at the place I’ve found is sandy-floored, much easier to keep clean, and big enough so I can have an indoor exercise area for those days when Thread keeps us immured.” “And. . .” Paul tried again, for he hadn’t been able to complete a sentence since Red had desperately launched into his rationale for moving out of the Fort Hold. “I’ve checked with Sean. We won’t be a burden on him and the Weyr. Thread has never--yet--” Red gave a rueful smile, which made him look slightly less haggard. “--come right over the place I’ve found. And,” he added, waggling a finger as Paul opened his mouth, “Cobber and Ozzie have thoroughly explored the tunnel system shown on the echo survey with Wind Blossom’s little photosensitive uglies, so the dangerous tunnels are blocked off. We’ve got a small hydroelectric system using one of the nearby streams, and Boris Pahlevi has plotted out the most efficient way to use the rock cutters and the borers. Cecilia Rado’s given us plans to enlarge and improve the main chamber and give us a lot of apartments in the facade. We’ll use the cut stone for housing along the base of the cliff, just as you’ve done here, so we’ll have workshops as well as separate quarters”--and Red emphasized that aspect by enunciating each syllable--”to accommodate the families coming with us. That’s the biggest incentive in moving out, Paul.” He gave a convulsive shudder. “I know we’ve all had to cram in together for mutual support and safety. But enough is enough. Especially in my profession. I’m losing the best breeding years of my mares’ lives. And, now that we’ve got the dried seaweed to add protein and fiber, we can get by with just the one feed-maker.” Paul held up both hands. “Let me get a word in edge-wise, will you, Red?” He grinned. “I have no objections to you moving out.” “You don’t?” Red was genuinely surprised. “But I thought. . . .” Paul Benden indulged in a rare laugh, which made the big vet realize how much Paul had altered in the past nine years. Unsurprising, when one thought how many burdens he had assumed since Emily Boll’s death from fever three years earlier. Paul rose and went to the wall in his office that was covered with survey maps taken by the probes as the colony ships had moved into their parking orbit. The areas explored by various teams showed the symbols of metals and minerals discovered; red marked the cave sites with rough sketches of the tunnel systems made from the probe echo system. Three enlargements depicted the immense, sprawling Fort Hold; the old crater, Fort Weyr, which the dragonriders inhabited; and the newest human habitation at Boll, founded the summer before. “I won’t let anyone make an ill-advised move, Red, just to get away from here, but decentralization is essential.” Red knew that Benden feared another of the lightning-swift fevers that had decimated the Hold three years before. “We must begin to establish autonomous and self-sufficient units. That’s part of the Charter I’m determined we must implement. On the other hand, with Threadfall a constant menace, I must limit new settlements to those that won’t overtax the dragons during a Fall. We can’t even consider expanding unless they can give aerial protection. I won’t risk any more precious lives--not after the most recent plague.” Paul’s expression turned grim. There were few family groups in the Fort Hold that had not suffered losses in the debilitating fever that had hit the already distressed colonists. The old, the very young, and pregnant women had been the most vulnerable, and before the frantic medical team could develop a vaccine, the disease had run its course, leaving nearly four thousand dead. Nevertheless, the living had been immunized against a resurgence. Though all possible vectors--food, ventilation, allergies, inadvertent toxic substances from the hydroponics unit--had been examined, the trigger for its onset remained a mystery. The fever had caused another problem: a large number of orphaned children between eight and twelve years. These had to be fostered, and although there had been no shortage of volunteers, a certain amount of reshuffling had had to occur to find psychologically suitable matches of adult and child. “Those who leave here must go to properly surveyed and explored. . . premises.” Paul gave a mirthless laugh, and Red grinned wryly back at him: “premises” seemed an overstatement to describe the primitive cave dwellings. “Pierre and his crowd were lucky to find such a network at--” Paul dropped his eyelids briefly, still finding it hard to make casual mention of his longtime colleague. “Boll.” “We’re lucky Tarvi and Sallah explored so much of the region when they did,” Red added ingenuously, giving Paul time to recover from the tension that had suddenly contracted the muscles in his face. “You also don’t need to lose too many of the valuable skills from a central facility. Fort should remain the primary teaching headquarters.” Red was referring to the warren of caves adjacent to the main Fort, where the medics had originally set up isolation wards for the fever victims. Three years on, the wards had become classrooms, workshops, and dormitories, some-what relieving the crowding in the Hold. “So,” Paul said with more vigor, “who’s going with you? Those grandchildren of yours?” He managed a small smile: Red and Mairi had more of their second generation underfoot than their first. Sorka seemed to have a baby most every year, despite arduous riding in the queens’ wing. Red and Mairi fostered the five of them, leaving the dragonriders with less to worry about while coping with the insidious Fall and training the young dragons. Michael, nine years old and the eldest, spent every moment he could up at the Weyr, often illegally borrowing a mount from his grandfather’s remuda to make the uphill trip. His red hair matched his temperament and tenacity. “No,” Red replied, slightly rueful but more relieved. Mairi had enough on her hands, supervising their own fosterlings, as well as looking after their son Brian’s four, to allow his wife, Jair, to continue her mechanical-engineer training under Fulmar Stone. “Not when our going to the new place meant Michael would have too far to go to visit whenever he can sneak away.” Red chuckled. The boy was dragon-mad, and his father wouldn’t let him stand as a candidate until he reached his twelfth birthday. “There’s supervision for them now at the Weyr if Sorka’s busy. And schooling.” The Weyr, now housing five hundred and twenty dragons after nine years of enthusiastic breeding by the eleven queens of the first two hatchings and, more lately, Faranth’s first daughter, had asked for additional personnel to help with the domestic tasks the riders had little time to manage. Some of the older fosterlings had moved up the mountain, along with enough families and single adults to perform necessary tasks. Though it was not common knowledge, the Weyr supplied its needs by judicious hunting in the southern continent. Sorka often sent Michael back to Fort with a sack of fresh fruit and a haunch or two of beef tied to the back of his saddle. “We’ve singles, fosterlings, and enough mature couples with full training.” Red handed over his list. He’d carefully screened those picked to accompany him and Mairi for compatibility, as well as for useful skills. “I’d like your permission to draft more of the trainees when they’ve passed their tests. I would, of course, in the future be willing to take in any who show a knack for animal husbandry or agriculture.” “You and Mairi have been splendid in sharing the caring.” Indeed, Mairi would have taken in as many fosterlings as she could, but common sense dictated a limit to the time she could spare for each grieving preadolescent. “So you are taking the entire regiment?” Red grinned at the nickname his expanded family had been given. “Mairi’s always had a touch with young folk, and she’d feel she was abandoning them just when they’ve got over their bereavement. I can certainly use them all.” Paul ran one finger down the list, which had been written on a thin width of gray paper that had already been recycled several times. The precious remaining plassheets were now used only for special documents. Some personal computers were still in use, thanks to the production of generators from the junked shuttles and other spares, but people had lost the habit of using them as short-term record processors. Red’s list included four veterinary students, but there were more than enough experienced practitioners and apprentices in the Hold to leave it amply staffed. Red himself would complete their training and quality them. Mar Dook’s second son, Kes, had been well trained in agronomy by his father, and he was bringing his young family; young Akis Andriadus had just qualified as a general practitioner, and his wife, Kolya Logorides, had studied gynecology and midwifery, so that would provide the new Hold with the medical support it would need, though Mairi could certainly manage most minor medical emergencies. Ilsa Langsam had just qualified as a primary teacher: she would have more than enough pupils. Max and Emily Schultz were two of the oldest fostered, plus two Wangs and two Brennans; in the fosterings, siblings had been kept together wherever possible, so there were also three very young Coatls and two Cervanteses. Among the fosterlings, there seemed to be at least one representative from every ethnic group, and Paul wondered if Red had done that on purpose. But all the general skills that would be needed seemed covered in those choices: metalworking and engineering, as well as teaching, agronomy, and medical. “Hundred and forty-one all totaled, huh?” Paul said. “And a good cross section. What are you springing loose from Joel, since you’ve the foresight to bring one of his kids?” “Turn the sheet over,” Red said, amused. The “foresight” of attaching young Buck was not moving his father an inch in terms of what he’d allocate a new settlement. “Stingy, ain’t he?” Paul said with a snort. “Cautious with community property and ever aware of the charge of nepotism.” Paul continued reading, then looked up in surprise. “An airlock door? What’re you going to use that for?” he demanded. “Well, it isn’t being used for anything else, and it’ll make an impressive entrance: also impregnable,” Red said. “I took the dimensions last time I was down in the storage cellars. Ivan and Peter Chernoff dissected the frame panel, too, which fits in the opening as if meant to be there. Seated it in some of that hull-patching compound Joel couldn’t find another use for. Peter even rescued the floor and ceiling bar holders. A spin of the airlock wheel, and we can drive home the lock bars top and bottom so that nothing can get past that door once it’s closed. Cos Melvinah called it a neat bit of psychological reinforcement.” Paul nodded in appreciation. “Good job of recycling materials, too. I will miss you, Red,” he said, then paused. “But you won’t miss having to arbitrate the disputes in the beast hold,” Red finished for him with a grin. There were constant quarrels over who had what space in the low caverns that housed the colonists’ animals, and who got what fodder. Red had been waging a clever and diplomatic war with the Gallianis and the Logorides, the other major breeders. During the frequent breakdowns of the overworked grass incubators, the Hanrahan family had fed their animals their own bread rations and scrounged the shoreline-some distance from the safety of the Hold--for the seaweed that could be dried and shredded into a fodder the horses would eat. “They can’t complain when your exodus leaves them with a lot more space.” “No, but they’ll agitate to try and bring up more of the stock they had to leave behind,” Red said with some acerbity. Paul shook his head. “No transport. There’s no one will get Jim Tillek to bring his precious Cross out of that watery cavern he’s stored it in. And, with Per and Kaarvan gone fishing most weeks. . .” Paul shrugged. “I see you’re requisitioning the use of five sled-wagons? How long will you need them?” With almost no power packs left to run the airsleds, many had been stripped to hulls and fitted with wheels as ground vehicles. The smaller ones were useful for hauling stone from excavations within the Hold. The bigger ones were too wide for more than the well-traveled road down to the sea, but they were capacious and had even survived--better than the goods they’d been carrying--unexpected long drops down mountainsides. “Who else is moving out, Paul?” Red asked. Rumors were rampant, but so far his party was the only one he knew of that was actually asking for a final clearance. “Zi Ongola’d like to try that western peninsula.” Paul went to the map and tapped the marker on the tip of the landmass. “Good on him. No wonder I couldn’t get any more of the Duffs to come with me. We’ll bring the wagons back as soon as we’ve finished using them. And I’ll loan out the oxen teams I’ve trained, if that’ll help Zi.” “It certainly would, and I know he’ll thank you when I pass the information on.” “He’s got the longer haul.” “He’s also got to find a passable way through the High Ranges,” Paul said with a sigh. “The cave system’s satisfactory where he wishes to settle. The way there is not. We might be able to bore a tunnel, if necessary. Plenty of hydroelectric sites.” Red knew that Paul would miss Zi Ongola, who had been his second officer and close friend since the two had served together in the Cygnus Campaign. Red was a little surprised that Zi would leave, but he’d be a good leader, and pressures in the Fort had to be reduced. Many dissident voices were quieted only because the admiral was universally admired and the justice of his regime respected as fair and equable. Most of the problems afflicting the Hold were due to the cramped conditions. The “good” years when the colony was starting up had allowed people freedom and scope, which they treasured all the more now that it had been denied them by the terrible fall of Thread. During the first few years when Fort Hold had protected them, gratitude for that haven had overcome the discomforts and inconveniences, but as the birthrate soared and the stony corridors resounded with the cries of fretful babies, tempers had begun to rise. The establishment of South Boll had been the first major attempt to relieve the congestion, and so far it was successful--for those who had resettled at the new holding under Pierre de Courcis’s leadership. But exploring appropriate premises was time-consuming, and with Thread continuing to fall, any outbound journeys had to be carefully timed and safe layover shelters built along the way. Then some caves were found to be either waterless or too small to shelter enough people to be worth development. “Yes, Zi’s got a big job ahead of him, yet we must make the attempts if this colony is to succeed. Threadfall won’t last forever!” Paul brought one hand down with a hard slap on his armrest. “By all that’s holy, Hanrahan, we’ll still make Pern ours, with everyone owning his or her own place, no matter what rains down on us!” “Of course we will, Paul. And we Hanrahans will hold our place! And multiply. You can be sure of that!” Red said, grinning smugly. Mairi had just weaned their latest and, he hoped, last child. She’d told Red she wanted to have a dozen offspring, but the repeated pregnancies were beginning to take their toll on her. “For Mairi’s sake, I hope you have too much to do for any more of that.” There was a twinkle in Paul’s eye as he regarded the veterinarian. “How many have you fathered now?” Red waved his hand, his grin broader. “Nine’s enough to insure our genes will continue. Ryan’s the last I’ll permit her, and I made sure of no more to come.” Benden gave a snort. “Especially when your sons and daughters are like to pass you out in production figures in a year or two.” “Well, Mairi’s good with children. She genuinely likes them in all stages of their development. More than I do,” Red added with some acerbity. “Got a name for this Hold of yours?” Red made a disclaiming sound. “Hell, Paul, I’ve been so busy with plans, lists, and contingencies, naming’s a detail I haven’t given much thought to. We’ll think of something appropriate, Mairi and the rest of us.” Paul Benden rose then, made an effort to straighten the slump of his shoulders, and held out his hand. “Good luck Red. We’ll miss you here. . .” “Ha! You’ll be glad to see the backsides of us. And so will the Logorides and the Gallianis.” Benden gave a genuine laugh. Despite the fact that breeding had clearly had to be kept to an absolute minimum, the Logorides and Gallianis had felt themselves constantly deprived by the restrictions. Pierre de Courcis had taken nine of the scions of the two large families, and a substantial number of their cattle, when he went south to settle Boll, but the two senior men continued to grieve for the “marvelous fine bloodlines and stock” they’d had to leave behind at their southern stakeholds. “They enjoyed freedom far longer than most of us. It was harder to give it all up,” Benden said in oblique apology. Red cocked his head briefly to one side. “Who hasn’t given up a lot--to stay alive!” Paul wrapped Red’s hand in both of his and gave it one final hard shake. “When do you plan to go?” “Sean says we’ve got three full clear days come Tuesday. We’ll be organized and ready by then.” “So soon?” Benden’s tone was almost wistful. “On a good horse, Admiral,” Red said, unable to resist teasing the former naval man, “you could ride the distance in two days. Be good for you to get away now and again.” “I’ve never even got as far south as Boll, and that’s nearer.” “ ‘Tisn’t, with those hills to climb,” Red protested. “I’ll send you a special hand-engraved invitation, Paul Benden, and you’ll come for the good of your sanity! I’ll sic Sean and Sorka on you. A-dragonback’s the shortest way to come,” he added as he paused at the door. Benden laughed. “You talk Sean into letting someone else ride his precious Carenath and I’ll come!” “Good!” Red gave a brief sharp nod and grinned. “Then we’ll show you what we’ve done with the new Hold when we’ve done it!”

Nearly a third of the Hold’s population managed to be on hand when the Hanrahans’ expedition moved off. Every passenger-carrying animal was laden as well with some bundle or other. The sleds were carefully packed; the largest, with the Hold door, was drawn by six teams of oxen, beasts Red had carefully picked for their docility and trained for such work. He’d bred them himself from a genetic pattern Kitti Ping had produced for him: slightly adjusting weight, strengthening bone, thickening hide, and enlarging both heart and lungs to encourage a disease- and fatigue-resistant hardy animal, much stronger and more adaptable than the Terran beasts that had been brought in vitro. Safely stored in an insulated crate were the special fertilized eggs with which Red Hanrahan hoped to develop varieties of equines more suitable to Pern’s needs: a heavy-weight animal of Percheron proportions for the plow; a swift, lean racing type that could carry messengers long distances on little fodder; and a comfortable riding animal, a pacer like the ancient Paso Fino, which had been a mountain breed of great agility and endurance, and, more important, possessing the easiest possible long-distance riding gait. He would make his Hold the place where all others would come to buy their burden beasts and racers. His most private dream was of founding a racehorse line to rival that which Earth had once possessed. There was no reason, once Thread had passed, that they couldn’t revive the sport of kings. The practical could coexist with the exotic. Let Caesar Galliani develop meat animals if that was his passion, but Red would go for horses. Now, astride his bay stallion, King, the best of the fine animals he had bred from the fertilized ova he had brought with him, Red ranged up and down the line, encouraging his people and rectifying small errors in the order. He had positioned one of the heavier sleds to break trail, with teams of his strongest youths to widen the way whenever necessary. The way north through the main Fort valley was easy enough, but soon they would come to the less-traveled ground. Not that he didn’t know the track like the back of his hand, he’d been up and down it so often, but a lot of it wasn’t geared for wide traffic. There were people waiting for them, too, at the new premises: the four fostered youngsters who were old enough to help; Egend Raghir and David Jacobsen, who were supervising the mechanical apparatus in the Hold; Madeleine Messurier, in charge of the domestic arrangements; and Maurice de Broglie, who, along with Ozzie and Cobber on loan from the specialists’ work pool, was still checking rock formations and the tunnels. Soon they would move on to investigate other possible sites for holdings. As soon as the wagon train was around the bend and Fort was out of sight, Red sent his fire-lizard, Snapper, to Maddie to announce that they were on their way. Useful creatures, the fire-lizards, though there seemed to be fewer of them about these days. Sorka said it was because they were going back to their native sands in the South to lay their eggs. The little golden queens, being more responsible, remained to see them safely hatched before coming back to their humans. The green females laid their eggs and then forgot about the matter and, being shatter-witted, probably forgot that they had once had human friends. Sorka’s Duke remained faithful, as did Sean’s two browns and Snapper, another brown. Slowly, though, there were fewer and fewer of the winsome creatures in and out of Fort Hold. “They may mind the cold and dreary winters more than we do,” Sorka suggested. “We could go back to Landing and see if there’re any clutches about to hatch.” Red had caught Sean’s frown. The lad--and Red corrected himself with a private grin, because “lad” no longer applied to this confident adult--Sean, rider of bronze Carenath, was known as the Weyrleader. And, if he had certain traits of the martinet, they were needed to shape up his growing dragonrider contingent. In any case, his orders were strictly obeyed and, to Red’s thinking, were sensibly formulated. There would be little spare time for the dragon-riders to go looking for fire-lizard nests. In fact, they had made only one return journey. When Ezra Keroon had been fretful with the fever that racked him, Sean had very willingly gone back to Landing on Carenath. Sean had returned--almost as soon as he’d left, Sorka had remarked--to reassure the old captain that the Aivas building, which Ezra had so carefully shielded with shuttle tiles against Garben’s eruption, remained intact and unscathed. Later Sean had reported more fully to Paul that the old settlement was just so many mounds under a thick carpet of gray volcanic ash. However, the knowledge that the interface with the Yokohama was still intact had soothed the querulous Ezra, and he’d gratefully subsided into a sleep from which he never woke: another victim of the undiagnosed fever. The new place could quite easily be named after Ezra Keroon, Red thought. Certainly the man had been one of the heroes of the Evacuation--in fact, the last man to leave Landing, bar the admiral and Joel Lilienkamp. And even before the trip to Pern, he’d been a hero of the Nathi War, too. Yes, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to name his Hold “Keroon.” Or “Kerry.” That was a good way to keep long-lost but well-loved places, or people, alive. A request for his presence at the head of the caravan interrupted his ruminations. His mind back to the journey at hand, Red cantered King to see what the problem was.

They made camp the first night where Red had often done so, in a rocky clearing by one of the streams that fed into the bigger Fort River. All the stock was hungry enough to munch happily on the dried shredded seaweed that some of the fussier eaters tended to refuse. A campfire is a cheerful affair, even when made of dried animal dung. Someone had contrived a solution that, when used to immerse the dung, replaced any lingering unpleasant odors with that of apple wood. The nutritious dinner stew was even seasoned appealingly so that, if you didn’t think about the fact that it had been processed from offal, seaweed, and wild herbs and grains, you could relish the meal. Red was too hungry to be the least bit finicky, and let the hard travel bread soften in the leftover juices. Snapper returned with a note from Maddie attached his leg.

The welkin will ring when we sight you. River’s high with last week’s rain. Don’t let the sleds bog down. M.

Mairi had made their bed under one of the sleds. She had insisted that her bones required a certain amount of padding. Red wouldn’t admit that his own did, too, and was grateful to lie down with only her and Snapper near him. He was thinking of the absolute wealth of three good-sized rooms at. . . Keroon Hold--naw, that didn’t sound right--just for Mairi and himself.

The morning brought an unexpected delay. Some of the beasts, mainly those hauling sleds, had to be treated for harness galls. The harness had been new, but Red had thought it had been softened enough not to rub. Mairi dug about in their household belongings and brought out some well-cured sheep fleeces and some of the cotton that she had saved from the last crop at Landing. Red first applied the numbweed salve that was now in everyone’s first-aid kit, then padded the abraded spots to prevent further friction. They also redistributed the lighter items from the sleds of the galled teams to ease their burden, and Red himself made certain that all harnesses were flexible enough and fitted perfectly. One thing sure, Red announced: He’d personally inspect every strap of harness that evening after it had been cleaned. The delay cost them several hours, but when they finally moved out, it was in good heart, with smiles on faces that had grown unused to smiling. Almost, Red thought, as if the sheer joy of being out on their own, away from the burden of so much imprivacy--was that a word? he wondered, but it sounded exactly right--outweighed any minor snag. He was relieved and glad for many reasons to see this attitude adjustment. Considerable hard work would still be needed to complete the new place and make it livable, not to mention comfortable. For a while, there’d be other inconveniences and makeshifts. While they carved out their new habitation from the basic cavern system, everything would be covered with stone dust. He had brought as many masks as Joel would allow him, but there weren’t enough for more than the people right at the work site. And rock dust had an insidious habit of permeating and clinging to objects well away from the actual excavation. Mairi had complained about the state of Red’s clothing after his first long stay at the Hold cave. He hoped that Max Schultz had managed to get his gang to finish the stud fencing. Red had paid his next-to-last credits to have the plastic extruded for enough posts and rails to provide paddocks. He wanted barn-sour animals to spend as much time as possible out-of-doors, even if it would be awhile before any grass could get started. There wouldn’t be that much time to exercise horses at first, but they did have stables and byres inside the immense low cavern that would hold all the beasts. Turn-out paddocks were essential. He’d get Deccie Foley, who had a knack for teaching animals, to train the dogs with a certain call or whistle to round up the animals so that just one person would be needed to help the dogs get them all in under cover when Thread fell. Toward afternoon a drizzle began--proper rain, not Thread, though for a moment the grayness of the sky over the western range almost caused a few hearts to stop. But Thread always moved from east to west. Red had prudently built into the eastern face of his precipice, so that every window would give a view of the direction that danger came from. To make up lost time, they ate a quick lunch while they watered the animals at one of the many streams they had to cross. Maybe he should put something about streams in the name of the place. His land had almost as many as Fort did, since this eastern side of the High Ranges drained well into the sea. A wet nighttime camp meant cold food again, though Mairi contrived enough of a fire under the high sled to boil water for hot drinks all around. She also managed to heat enough warm water to soap and soften the harnesses, which Red personally checked. He also inspected every one of the burden beasts, just to be sure no new wounds had developed. Despite the wet chill damp of the early-spring rain, Red was asleep beside Mairi almost as soon as he got himself comfortable. Snapper coiled between their warm bodies, as protected from the cold and wet as he could get, and Red wondered how much longer the little fire-lizard would remain faithful in this inclement land. The rain was heavier the next day. Mairi insisted they have a hot porridge in their bellies to keep out the chill, and quantities of hot klah were made for the thermoses. The availability of the warming beverage did make the difference during that very long cold day. The trace, for it certainly couldn’t be called a trail, was more mud than dirt now and further slowed them down. Despite that, by the time light was fading from the sky, Red knew they were not that far from the river he had chosen as the border for his stake--the river that Maddie had warned him had risen. The ford they were to cross was a wide basin where the river spread out over a shale rocky bottom. He ordered lanterns lit. The mycelium luminescence with which Ju Adjai Benden had been experimenting cast sufficient light in an enclosed space, but suitable shielding to make it useful outside hadn’t yet been developed. “We’ve reached the river, Dad,” Brian yowled from the darkness ahead. “And it’s in spate.” Red groaned. He’d wanted to make the crossing as much because the land on the other side was his as because the farther bank was a better site for an overnight camp. He briefly considered waiting for daylight, but discarded the idea almost immediately. The flatter land on this side of the river was already under an inch or so of water. If the river was this high now, then by morning the water would be too high for the wheels of the smaller sleds. They might float away downstream if they got loose. And this was the best ford within klicks--if he could find it in the murky darkness. Now, so close to his own private place, he was loath to let high water bar his way. He borrowed a lantern from one of the smaller carts and trotted through the mud to the front of the caravan. Reining King in beside Brian, he looked glumly at the swiftly moving surface of the swollen river. Rising up in his stirrups and holding the lantern high over his head, he peered to his left, trying to find the cairn of stones he had placed to mark the upper edge of the ford. “Under water, too, damn it,” he muttered. “Would we have to worry about an undercurrent here, Dad?” Brian asked, pointing to a large branch floating serenely--and quickly--past them. “If it gets too high, that’s a possibility. By tomorrow, it will definitely be high enough to cause us problems with those lower-loadbed sleds. Damn it, we’ve got to try tonight or we might spend days here, just in sight of our destination!” “Let’s give it a go then, Dad,” Brian said firmly. “I’ll try to the right. After all, I have been across this ford a couple of times. And Cloudy’s a good swimmer.” He kneed his gray into the water, but the animal, head down, snorting at the rushing flow, was not as eager to go forward as his rider had boasted. “Don’t push him, Bri, “ Red shouted. “Horse’s got sense. I’ll look to the left. If I could see the rocks. . . Ah!” His high-held lantern showed the bulge of water surging over an obstacle just below the surface, and he kneed King forward. A brave horse under any circumstances, the stallion stepped in and moved smartly out, Red legging him to the left as the ford took a diagonal slant across the river. The bank on the far side was too dark to make out, and since the water was high on this side, the incline there might be submerged, as well. As King waded confidently forward, the water not up to his knees yet, Red pondered the wisdom of crossing now, tonight, in the dark. Yet, if they found the ford, they could make a safe passage--and be on their own land! But floating sleds might haul the burden beasts off their feet. Rope the sleds, then, and have riders alongside to keep the sleds within the ford. King walked on, and through his horse’s body, Red knew that the stallion had stepped onto the rocky shale base of the ford. “Thataboy, King, that’s a good lad!” Red encouraged his mount, trying to peer ahead in the feeble light of the lantern. Oh, for a power torch! The ones allotted to his operation were naturally all up at the cliff premises, their clear beams penetrating the stygian darkness of the tunnel complex. “Brian! Follow me!” Red called, swinging his arm in a wide circle so that the light color of his waterproof gear would be visible in the darkness. In moments, Cloudy’s light head and body came out of the night, splashing as he cantered forward. “We need the power beams that are up at the Hold to get us across tonight,” Red said. “As soon as we reach the other side, I want you to go hell fer leather and bring ‘em back. Bring anyone still awake, too. We’ll need all the help we can get. And ropes, and those great horses Kes has been using to break ground.” “Whoa, Dad. I get the drift,” Brian replied, laughing. The water was over King’s knees suddenly, and the horse tossed his head in surprise. Red looked over his shoulder, trying to gauge their angle from the bank, but they were about halfway across and neither bank was clearly visible now. “I’ll put a lantern where we entered,” Red told himself, “and another where we emerge. The beams will give a broad enough swath to light the ford itself adequately. At least we’ll see where we should be going.” King pulled to the right; Red corrected him and was instantly in water to his own knees. King gave two plunges leftward and, snorting mightily, was back on the shale footing. The horse gave an offended snort as if criticizing his rider’s directions. “All right, boy, you know which way to go, so go! I didn’t do so well, did I?” Affectionately he slapped the stallion’s muscled crest, letting the reins slip through his fingers. God, that river was cold! Ice melt, as well as the rain. Behind him, Brian avoided a similar mishap. One more time, just where the shale bank ended, the water surged up to caress Red’s stirruped feet, but then they were obviously ascending the slope out of the river, splashing through fetlock-high water. Standing in his stirrups, Red swung the lantern, ki-yiing their success. Brian added his own yodels of triumph. “D’you know the way to the Hold from here, son?” Red asked, slightly anxious. Brian had not made the trip all that often, and in the dark, most landmarks would be obscured. “Here, better take my lantern.” He leaned over toward Brian. “Look, Dad, you’ll need that as a beacon.” “I’d rather you had it and got safely to the Hold. Off with you, and trust Cloudy.” “Don’t I always!” Brian said, bringing Cloudy up beside King to take the lantern. “Whoops! Got it!” And with that he trotted off to the left, up the gentle incline. Red watched him for a long moment before he set King back into the water, heading directly for the lanterns on the other side. With those lights to guide him, the going was much easier this time. Mairi again had foreseen the need for small fires, more cheerful than effective as light sources but certainly beacons in the dismal night. Red oversaw the dividing up of the available lanterns, then had a steel pole pounded into the water’s edge by his marker cairn. One lantern was securely fastened at its top, a second one hooked at man height, and a heavy rope tied at waist height for those on foot to grab. That preparation completed, Red fastened the other end of the rope around the saddle horn and coiled it carefully to play out across the river. Mounting King once more, he took up three more lanterns and two more poles, and led other lantern-carrying riders back into the river. He positioned the riders at intervals; they would hold up the lanterns to guide the others, and would also be available to give assistance as required. When he reached the far bank, he hammered in another pole, hooked on the lantern, and tied the end of the rope in one of those clever hitches mariner Jim Tillek had once shown him. Then he walked King to where he thought the right-hand edge of the ford should be and kneed him into the water--right up to his own waist. King lurched mightily out of that hole and back onto the shale, shaking himself as if annoyed at his immersion. Red clamped his teeth against the cold of that dunking. Fortunately he’d managed to keep the lantern from being doused. He walked King back up the shale footing to the bank, where he stabbed the last pole into the ground and settled the final lantern. That would give them beacons enough--if no one panicked. The ford was just wide enough to accommodate the largest sled. Even one of the team putting a foot wrong could result in disaster. He cantered King back across the ford, more an act of bravado than common sense, for he knew King was tiring. Mairi was right there as he emerged from the water. “Not another step do you go, Red Peter Hanrahan, until you’ve something warm in your stomach to take away the chill of that water! I heard you splashing about.” She handed him a cup, and he was glad enough of it as the klah spread through him and down into his belly. He managed to suppress a shudder as the cool rain-laden breeze blew across his sodden breeches. He handed her the cup with thanks and then, rising in his stirrups, addressed the group waiting to hear his decision. “Listen up, folks. We’d best make the crossing tonight. The river’s rising fast with what I bloody well know is ice melt as well as today’s rain. Right now the ford’s no higher than King’s knees, if you keep to it and head on the left diagonal to the far shore and the left-hand lantern. The ford itself is shale, so the minute you feel your mount moving into something softer, get back on the hard stuff. Now, let’s get moving. Those of you leading packhorses move out first. Tie them on the far bank and then bring your mounts to form a very careful line on the right-hand side of the ford. Watch that hole I fell into. It’s a cold one!” He trotted King down the line to the various carts and gave them their travel orders, leaving the heavy sleds till last, for they’d need the most help. Shouts from the river told him there were minor troubles, but each time he turned King to go investigate, he heard reassurances that the crisis was over. Once the lead horses, the other pack animals, and four of the carts had gotten safely across, and there were sufficient riders marking the ford’s boundaries, he sent the loose animals across. The dogs nearly caused a commotion, and several had to be roped to safety when they were in danger of being caught by the current. The goats were the worst. They seemed to want to go for a long swim. So Red asked everyone with fire-lizards to keep the goats in line. Snapper dove at the bell nanny, clipping her on her right ear to turn her to the left. That got her back on line, and the others followed, urged on by attendant fire-lizards. Suddenly, without any warning, and before the goats had started climbing out on the far side, Snapper and the other fire-lizards let out a racket of dreadful sounds and disappeared. “What the hell?” Red said, totally surprised and vastly irritated by the abrupt abandonment. Snapper had always been reliable. . . He pushed King forward to deflect the lead nanny from yet another wayward plunge and was relieved to get the little herd safely out of the river. By then, help had arrived from the Hold and he was distracted from the fire-lizard desertions by the need to organize the final stages of the crossing. Madeleine Messurier had sent along hot soup and some sort of hot bread filled with one of her spicy concoctions. It didn’t take much persuasion from Brian and the Hold reinforcements to convince Red to pause long enough to eat. Especially as once the powerful beacons were in place they shone the clear path across the now perceptibly higher water, foaming in its hurry to reach the sea, many long klicks to the east. Red knew that he’d miss the sight and sound of the sea near him, but feasible “premises” had not presented themselves nearer the coast. He’d always lived in sight of an ocean, but that was a small price to pay for what he’d have here. But first he’d have to get everyone across that churning river. A shiver ran up his spine, despite the warm food in his guts: he was wet through and through, and he had already begun to feel the stallion’s tiredness in his occasional stumble and slide in the mire. He counted on the great heart, of the horse and his own determination to last as long as they still had people and stock to get past this ford. The first yoke of the three pairs harnessed to the largest sled balked at being asked to enter dark waters, though the beams lit their way as clearly as the sun. The drivers energetically cracked their whips overhead; two men used prods; and a few hauled at the nose rings of the stubborn oxen. Aggravated by the stupidity and aware that the river was deepening by the minute, Red ordered the animals blindfolded, but that old trick wasn’t having any effect with the water swirling about their knees and reinforcing their sense of danger. He was trying to think what else might motivate them, damning Snapper’s disappearance when the fire-lizard might have repeated his successful motivation of the goats, when there was a commotion on the far bank horses whinnying and bucking while their startled rider tried to calm them. The cattle lowed in such panic that there could be only one cause of such widespread reaction. Peering above, into the drizzling night sky while King cavorted wildly, Red just barely made out the shape of a dragon overhead, the bronze hide faintly illuminated by the dying campfires. “Sean!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, reining King into as small a circle as he could to keep him from bolting. “Sorry, Red,” Sean’s voice replied from somewhere overhead. Still circling King, though it took a lot of strength to hold the frightened stallion with one hand, Red made a megaphone of the other. “Don’t be sorry. Be useful! Get behind this stubborn team and get them moving across the ford. We haven’t got all night and the river’s rising.” “Get out of my way, then,” Sean’s voice drifted down to him. “At the count of ten. . .” The instruction dwindled away into the night. “Okay, fellows,” Red yelled to the men in front of the team. “Sean’s going to dragonize them. Be prepared for a rough ride. And somehow keep ‘em left. At all costs, keep ‘em left!” Keeping a tight hold on the reins, he eased the pressure on King’s bit and kneed him toward the cairn, facing the horse toward the river, away from the sight of an incoming dragon. He was just in time, for out of the darkness of the drizzle came a huge shape, low and headed right for the reluctant team. The smell of dragon was almost sufficient in itself--the yoke bawled in fright and plunged forward, away from the skyborne terror. Sean must have the eyes of a cat, Red thought, for he’d sent Carenath over at just the angle that made the oxen head straight across the ford. Despite the load the beasts hauled, they didn’t stop when they reached the other side, stampeding through those on the far bank until Red wondered if this had been such a clever maneuver after all. “We’ll land upwind of you, Red, so I can talk,” Sean’s voice said faintly out of the murk. King began to buck and rear, though not as earnestly as before. Maybe it was the distance, the murkiness of the night, but Sean’s tone sounded odd. Red dismissed the thought as he concentrated on finishing up the work at hand. Maybe he was a grandfather. . . again. Now only the smaller of the two big sleds was left to make the crossing. Fortunately the animals were still keyed up by the recent appearance of a dragon overhead and were eager to get as far away from it as possible. But once they got in the water, what Red had feared occurred. The river level was now above the wheels and the sled, for all the weight in it, began to float. The yoked beasts were pulled off balance and only the quickness of the left-hand guide-liners kept the sled from drifting downriver. As it was, the ropes had to be kept taut all the long way across the ford until the wheels once more took the weight and the sled was hauled above the river’s current. At last Red urged a tired and reluctant King back across the ford to meet with Sean and to help Mairi put out the fires. Sean was already giving her a hand. Mairi’s piebald mare, tied to a rock, stood as placid as always, unconcerned by the proximity to a dragon. “Thanks, Sean,” Red said, holding out his hand to his son-in-law. A sandy hand gripped his, and Sean’s face was briefly visible before he scuffed wet sand over the fire. “Had about run out of options to get those stupid damn-fool oxen across.” “Well, fear’s a mighty mover.” Sean’s voice definitely sounded odd, choked, but with no more light to illuminate his face, Red had no inkling as to what might be wrong. Just then, Mairi joined them. “How come you arrived so fortuitously?” she asked. “There’s nothing wrong with Sorka, is there?” Although Sorka, queen Faranth’s rider, was pregnant again, she generally had no more trouble with parturition than her mother did. “Oh, no no,” Sean said quickly, raising his hand to dispel her anxiety. “We came to welcome you to the new Hold, but you hadn’t arrived yet. Maddie said you’d sent for help at the ford. I sort of figured Carenath might be some help.” Red laughed wearily, blotting his wet face on an already soaking kerchief. “Where’d you stash him? A dragon’s hard to hide even on a rainy night.” “Carenath?” Sean called. There was a vague hint of amusement in his voice, which only partially reassured Red. “Show Red and Mairi where you are.” Barely fifty meters away a sudden blue-green light appeared in the darkness, glistening and slightly whirling: the faceted eyes of a dragon. Red tightened his hand on King’s reins, but the tired horse’s head hung down too low for him to see the gleaming eyes. “Thanks, Car!” And the jewel-clear light disappeared. “Is he standing there with his eyes closed?” Mairi asked “No, he’s raised a wing to shield,” Sean said, again using that almost lifeless tone. “You should be just able to make ‘em out behind the wing membrane.” “Oh, yes, so I can,” Mairi said, sounding delighted. “Look, Red, one of the reasons I came was to be sure you had gotten there safely. We expect Threadfall over this area tomorrow morning fairly early, and I didn’t want you caught out in it.” Red sighed. With all the problems of fording the river, he had just been considering staying here the rest of the night and starting out fresh in the morning. “You’re not that far,” Sean said encouragingly. “I know, son, I know.” Red paused, to give Sean a chance to speak whatever was clearly on his mind and bothering him. He had a very good relationship with his son-in-law, and he wanted nothing to jeopardize it. “Is your Snapper back yet?” Sean asked. “What’s happened at the Weyr?” Mairi said, immediately clasping Sean’s arm and peering up into his face. “Don’t lie to me. . .” Sean ducked his head, lifting his free arm to rub his face. “No reason to lie.” Now both could hear the roughness in his voice. Mairi embraced the bronze rider. “Tell us, Sean,” she said in her gentlest voice, lifting an edge of her kerchief to dry his cheeks. Red altered his stance, moving nearer the Weyrleader. “Alianne died in childbirth,” Sean said, tears now making runnels down his cheeks. “We couldn’t stop the bleeding. I went for Basil.” “Ooooh,” Mairi said in the soft expression of true empathy. “That’s not all of it.” Sean sniffed, rubbing his nose and eyes, giving way to the misery he had bottled up. “Chereth. . . went. . . between. Like Duluth and Marco. “Oh, Sean love. . .” Mairi brought his head down to her shoulder. Red put his arm across the rider’s bowed shoulders. There had been many injuries, some serious enough to end the fighting abilities of six dragons, but only four deaths: actually an astounding record, of which Sean as Weyrleader had every right to be proud. But the loss of a queen magnified the tragedy. No wonder Snapper and the others had disappeared. They had gone to the Weyr to mourn. Red and Mairi were quietly comforting, allowing Sean to express a grief he had probably suppressed until now. “I’ll come if I can be of any help, “Mairi said with a quick query at Red, who nodded approval. Sean raised his head, sniffed, and then blew his nose on a handkerchief he hauled out of a jacket pocket. “Thanks, Marri, but we’ll come through. It was just such a shock. It’s one thing to lose a fighting dragon, but. . . .” His voice trailed off. “We understand, dear.” “So nothing would do Sorka but that I checked to be sure you were all right, too. I admit to getting a fright when I didn’t see you at the Hold. . .” Sean managed a wry smile. Red put a hand on Sean’s shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze, which he hoped expressed both his sympathy and appreciation. “And you’ve Thread to fly tomorrow,” he said with deep regret. People needed time to mourn. “Best thing that could happen, actually,” Sean said, mopping his eyes once more before he put away the handkerchief. “Yes, I suspect you’re right about that,” Mairi said slowly. “Off with you now, son,” Red said, giving Sean a gentle shove toward Carenath. “You were more than good to check up on us and give those oxen the inducement they needed. Soon’s Mairi and I get across, we’ll push on. We’ll be under cover tomorrow, so don’t worry about us.” Then another thought struck Red. “You’ve enough ground crew for Fall tomorrow?” Sean gave his father-in-law a wry smile. “As I understand it, Red, this river marks the boundary between Fort Hold and your place. You’re not obliged to ground-crew. . . if any of you were up to it. Just push on and get under cover tonight. That’s the best way to help Sorka and me!” “We’ll do just that,” Mairi said, handing over a well-wrapped sleeping Ryan to Sean while she mounted Pie. “So this is my son’s youngest uncle,” he said, pushing back the blanket to peer at the little face. “Definitely his youngest,” Red said. “Hand him up to me,” he added as he swung up on the stallion. “King’s that bit higher above the water, Mair. You’ll get a soaking as it is.” Mairi gave a little laugh. “Not if I hike my knees up,” she said. “Give my dearest love to Sorka, will you, Sean? And our deepest sympathy to all at the Weyr.” “I will indeed, Mairi. And. . . my thanks!” The Weyrleader stepped aside then as she kicked her mare forward. The piebald was one of those rare placid beasts and stepped from land to cold water with neither hesitation nor so much as a twitch of her well-shaped ears when water swirled around her fetlocks and then up to her knees. “We all grieve with the Weyr, Sean,” Red said, raising his hand in farewell. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Carenath uncover his brilliant eyes as Sean returned to him, sorrow displayed by the droop im his broad shoulders. Red sighed. Then he couldn’t help but notice how closely King was following the mare, needing no urging at all to wade into the river once more. The stallion stretched his neck out to sniff at her tail, which she clamped tightly to her rump as she picked up her legs into a splashing trot. Red grinned as he felt the sprightly lift in the tired stallion’s step, pursuing a mare who was apparently about to come into season. And this year, Red thought, he could breed every mare he had! As the swifter current of the still-rising river tugged avidly at the stallion’s legs, Red held his son more tightly in the crook of his arm. He could see that Mairi had brought her knees up nearly to her chin as the water rose up the mare’s side, but Pie kept her footing and trotted sturdily forward. Red heaved a sigh of relief in unison with King when they climbed the far bank for the last time. “Let’s leave Sean’s news until tomorrow, Mairi, “ he said before they reached the others. “Yes, of course. Hearts are weary enough without being sorrowful, too. And I don’t want anything to spoil our arrival.” Then, after a brief pause, she said, “Is that selfish of me, Peter?” She only used his Christian name when she was uncertain. “No, kind. We’ve had sadness in full measure. We can wait to add this one.”

With those from the Hold to share the tasks of the weary travelers, Red let himself be persuaded to sit on one of the carts and lead King from the back of it. In the darkness, he even permitted himself to lie back. But the cart seemed full of crates and parcels of hard edges, pointed corners, and non-yielding surfaces. He twisted and pushed and finally formed a backrest that wouldn’t dislocate a rib or poke his kidneys too hard. He regretted that he hadn’t paused long enough to find some dry clothes, but he wrapped himself in the blanket Mairi had thrust at him, and that kept the chill off. Snapper reappeared and burrowed into his shoulder, wrapping his tail around Red’s neck, and Red stroked the little beast, sensing its sorrow and need to be comforted. But soon enough, Red hadn’t the energy for more caresses and, instead, propped his head against the lithe warm body, a substitute pillow so soothing that, despite every good intention, Red Hanrahan was fast asleep when the cart pulled into the brightly lit circle in front of his Hold. “Mairi was all for leaving you asleep in the cart,” Brian told him when the wail of a tired child roused him, “but it’s only got two wheels and we’d nothing to prop it with.” Futilely Red roared at everyone for depriving him of the sight of a triumphal entry, but he resisted every effort to get him inside and to his bed until he had seen all his livestock safely ensconced in “a proper-style barn.” “Sean said there’s Thread across the river tomorrow morning early,” he told those who tried to get him to go to bed, “and he’s usually right about where it’ll fall, but I want everything under cover. Just in case for once he’d be wrong!” And he stormed down to the animal hold. Half of the beasts were already down on the sandy flooring, fast asleep, while others dozed as they stood. Red made straight for King’s stallion box at one end of the equine stabling. The horse, dark eyes glittering in the soft light, whufffled slightly and then closed his eyes. “Even the horse has more sense. . .” Mairi began in as close to a scolding tone as she had ever used on him. “I had to see ‘em, Mair,” Red muttered wearily. “I had to see ‘em safe where I’ve seen them in my mind ever since I knew this place was right for us. “And righter for them,” she said, steering him out of the cavern and toward the Hold proper. She half pulled him up the ramp to the as yet wide-open entrance--but only after he had made sure that the big sled-wagon carrying the door had been parked nearby-and into their Hold. “And if you think you’re going to prowl about and see if we’ve made any progress during your absence,” Maddie said, fists planted on her belt, “you’ve another think coming. Furthermore, Ozzie has offered his rubber mallet to knock you out if you don’t get straight to your quarters and sleep!” His quarters, for now, were currently the office to the left of the main entrance, and he reeled slightly in that direction. Candlelight showed him that the room had been altered--and he grabbed at the doorframe to steady himself, his tired mind trying to cope with the difference. “Well, a bed big enough for both you and Mairi wouldn’t fit in here with all your clutter,” Maddie said, “so we moved that next door. Now, that there is a next door.” She gave him a push and Mairi, still holding his hand, got him into the room. The door was closed firmly and then Mairi was opening jacket and shirt, deftly pulling the sleeves off him before she pushed him backward to the bed. Out of a marriage-long habit, he lifted one leg so she could remove first one, then the other boot as he managed with fumbling fingers to undo his belt and trousers. A long time later, he woke.