16

Southern Continent, PP 17

Despite the exertions of the previous day, Piemur was awake at dawn, groaning when he realized how early it was. Muscles along his back cramped, and his efforts to ease them merely brought home the awareness of how very stiff he was. Slowly he elevated himself on one elbow and stretched cautiously, wincing.

“Whooo!” The exclamation escaped him as he experimentally felt the two lumps on his head. The bandage had come off during the night.

“Piemur?” Jancis’s soft voice made him whirl, which proved to be another injudicious movement. She was already dressed, a cup of klah in one hand and a reed basket containing bandage rolls and two salve pots in the other. “Stiff, are you?” Her smile was fondly proud.

“You bet.”

“Here.” She held out the klah. “Wake up a bit more. Healer Jancis urges Harper Piemur to consider a gentle dip in the sea, and then she’ll tend to his honorable wounds. Head ache?”

Piemur grimaced. “A slight improvement on yesterday.” He sipped the klah gratefully. “How come you’re so bright at this wretched hour?”

Jancis gave him an impish grin. “Oh, I slept, but excitement woke me up.”

“Excitement? Yesterday’s?” On top of the fight with Thella’s men, Piemur and Jancis had had the privilege—and thrill—of riding Ramoth and Mnememth back to Cove Hold, where F’lar and Lessa had stopped to confer with Master Robinton.

“No, today’s!” And she seemed altogether too pleased with herself. “But first, I want you able to concentrate your harper wits. Finish the klah, swim, I’ll patch you up, and then I’ll tell you.” She hauled him up from his bed and started dragging him from the small sleeping room.

“You found something in the warehouse?”

“Not until you’ve swum!”

Jancis was adamant, and, annoyed as he was, Piemur had to admit later that the swimming eased the aches, though the salt water stung his cuts. He felt much better after she had slathered numbweed where it was needed. He was both pleased that she had taken no harm from her part in the previous day’s skirmish and chagrined that he had sustained so much. He had kept right by her side during the ambush of Thella’s band, had cheered when her spear throw had wounded her target, and had been exceedingly relieved to see Alemi leading reinforcements into the grove.

When she insisted that he eat, Piemur discovered that he was hungrier than he had realized, and they both ate a hearty breakfast. Then Jancis cleared their dishes, and only after that, with an air of triumph, did she carefully unroll a transparent sheet of the ancients’ peculiar material. She held the corners down with spoons and forks and waited while he examined it.

“Ad … min an … nex,” he read slowly, enunciating each syllable of the caption. “For aivas. Aivas?” He looked inquiringly up at Jancis.

“I don’t know what an aivas is either, but it must be important. See? They went to a lot of trouble to reinforce it. ‘Cer … a … mic tiles’—well, we know ‘tiles.’ Heat resistant, that’s obvious, too. I don’t understand what the figures mean, but ‘tolerance’ would indicate they were determined to protect this aivas thing.” Jancis was excited.

“Admin annex? We haven’t excavated that one yet, have we? It’s up near the edge of the lava flow. And what’re so … lar pan … els?” he asked, tapping the long strips that were apparently attached to the roof of the aivas annex.

“Solar’s an old word for sun. Panels, we know.”

“Sun panels? What would they do?”

“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out.” Jancis’s eyes sparkled vivaciously.

“You were very brave yesterday, fighting right alongside us,” he said irrelevantly because she looked so pretty just then. Her flush deepened. “And if you hadn’t released the canines so that Thella didn’t get her hands on Ara and the children at the start …”

“Well, she didn’t, and that was yesterday. This is today, and I think we’ve got the clue to something very important. No other building on this plateau was especially reinforced against lava. What they couldn’t move, they left to slag.”

“We’ll have to wait until Master Robinton’s awake. After yesterday, I doubt I can coax V’line to convey us anywhere without the Harper’s authority.”

“And just why is that needed?” the Harper asked, yawning as he entered the kitchen.

When applied to later that morning by Master Robinton himself, T’gellan dispatched one of the green weyrlings, who had strict orders, respectfully begging the Master Harper’s pardon, to go only to the Plateau and return immediately to the Eastern Weyr.

“Lessa wasted little time distancing Weyrs from our problems,” the Harper said, more amused than offended. “However, you two go on. Not only is a green beneath my consequence, but I must construct a report on this matter for Sebell. Yesterday may have broken one thorn in the sides of the Lord Holders but—” He sighed deeply. “—only one, and it behooves me to sweeten the inevitable furor. I am thankful that Jayge is confirmed as a holder. I doubt Larad, or even Asgenar, will feel that the lad exceeded his authority, but he’s new to his honors. Some may feel he ought not to have killed Thella. The Telgar Bloodline is an ancient, and generally an honorable one.”

Piemur and Jancis were relieved to be allowed to go, Piemur now infected by Jancis’s curiosity. They had assembled their tools by the mound when Piemur saw the white dragon arrive. So much had happened that he had forgotten his offer to Jaxom until that very moment. He waved vigorously to attract the Ruathan lord’s attention, sending Farli to reinforce his message by way of Ruth. Jaxom and Ruth landed in the aisle in front of the annex, which put Jaxom on a level with the two on the mound top.

“What happened to you?” Jaxom asked with some concern, noting Piemur’s bruised face. “Fall down one of those caves?”

“Something like that,” Piemur said diffidently. “Lord Jaxom of Ruatha, this is Smith Journeywoman Jancis, Master Fandarel’s granddaughter.”

“Don’t I remember you from Telgar Smithcrafthall?” Jaxom smiled winningly as Jancis regarded him frankly.

“Yes,” she replied mischievously. “I used to serve you bread and klah when you came to the Smithcrafthall for lessons with Wansor.”

“You’re not that old,” Piemur protested, and Jancis cocked her head at him.

“What are you doing on this building?” Jaxom asked. “I was looking forward to a prowl through endless caverns and fascinating treasures.”

“We may be onto something a lot more exciting, Jaxom,” Piemur said, placing the rod at the edge of the long narrow band nearest him and tapping the point gently. “We’re following Jancis’s hunch.”

“I’ve had one or two of those myself,” Jaxom said with a rueful grin. “About this building?”

“I—we—” Jancis stammered, breaking off uncertainly and turning helplessly to Piemur.

“Jancis found an old drawing,” the harper said, smoothly taking up the tale and rescuing her from a possible indiscretion. Jaxom would learn about Thella’s raid soon enough. “Gave us a hint that this might be an important site. So we thought we’d take a closer look. It’s her hunch. According to the master map the Harper and I found, that”—he pointed to the mound perpendicular to them—“is marked as ‘ADMIN.’ This section we’re standing on is marked ‘AIVAS.’ The ancients went to considerable trouble to protect this aivas thing from the lava flow with heat-tolerant shielding, so we’re investigating.”

“That’s enough to make me curious, too,” Jaxom said, suddenly stepping from the white dragon’s back to the top of the mound. “I’ll help.”

“Great!” Piemur tapped his rod again and suddenly the point clicked against something. “That’s odd. The click, I mean.”

“Usually it’s a thunk,” Jaxom agreed knowledgeably.

Jancis consulted her sheet, which she had carefully taped to a writing board. “These unusual long protruberances are listed as solar panels,” she said, showing Jaxom the diagram. “None of the other buildings have such features.” She moved her arm in a wide sweep of the nearby mounds. Suddenly she grinned at Jaxom so infectiously that he responded with a broad smile. “D’you think it’s a good hunch?”

“Sounds like it. Got another trowel?” She did, and they carefully began to clear the accumulated dirt from one of the six long solar panels.

“Farli!” Piemur gestured for the little queen to help. They were all a bit startled when Ruth extended one forepaw, offering to assist.

“Not right now, Ruth,” Jaxom said, turning to hold a finger up to his inquisitive friend. “But we’re likely to need you later.”

“Careful, Farli,” Piemur cautioned as the fire-lizard fell to her digging with the boundless, and often misplaced, energy of her kind.

Farli chirped inquiringly. “Yes, right here,” Jancis said absently. “Be careful, will you?” Jaxom winked at Piemur, who felt absurdly proud of the easy way Jancis interacted with his little queen.

Farli obediently moderated her efforts, using a slow claw-over-claw technique, until she stopped, chittering with success, when her talons exposed a dull black surface.

“Careful …” Jancis used her hands to comb the remaining ash aside, revealing a hand-wide square. Farli patted it, her claw tips clicking. “I don’t know what this is. It’s not their usual material. It’s more like dense opaque glass.” She rapped on it experimentally. “Doesn’t sound like glass.”

“Let’s get the whole piece uncovered,” Jaxom suggested.

But revealing a complete panel made them no wiser. So they excavated the other five panels on the south-facing roof and then, with Ruth’s assistance, the entire roof, which proved to be clad in hand-square sections. Once a piece broke loose, slithering to the ground, but fortunately it was not damaged by the fall.

“Look, these tiles cover the original roofing material. Mortared on.” With a sharp cutting tool, Jancis scratched at the surface of a tile. “It could be ceramic, but it’s the hardest I’ve ever seen. However did they get such strength to ceramics?” she wondered aloud.

“Could these possibly be ceramic, too?” Jaxom asked, tapping one of the long panels.

Piemur was lying prone, poking his finger around one panel. “It’s always a possibility. You know, these are attached somehow to, and maybe even penetrate, the original roof. All the tiles were carefully shaped to fit snugly around the panels and on the roof. Very curious. Why wouldn’t the panels be covered against the heat, too? I don’t understand this. D’you think your grandfather should have a look at this?”

“Master Esselin should see it first,” she said, none too happily. “He’s in charge here.”

“Of excavating,” Jaxom said, motioning Ruth to him. “But Fandarel checks new materials.” He grinned as he slipped onto Ruth’s back. “He’ll be at these caves I came to see?”

“Have a look in passing,” Piemur yelled as Ruth launched himself upward.

“You and Lord Jaxom seem to be old friends,” Jancis remarked casually as she reached for her notepad and the transparent measuring stick. She saw his look and flushed. “Well, we did find several boxes of them, you know.”

“Tools are meant to be used,” he replied magnanimously. “There are things to be kept for what they are, and things that should be used because they’re more efficient than anything we have.” He grinned at her discomfort, and she got busy with her measurements.

In a very few minutes, Ruth returned with Jaxom and the Mastersmith, Fandarel’s massive bulk dwarfing even the tall Ruathan and certainly looking conspicuous on the small white dragon. For a man of his size, however, Fandarel was agile and active, lying flat by one of the solar panels to examine it thoroughly, running his fingers over the puzzling new surface.

“This tiling is familiar,” he said, grimacing at another loose piece and rubbing his thumb over it. “It was not meant to lie flat, either. See, there is a slight rounding to it. It might have been bedded in this mortar …” He pinched some of the dusty stuff visible where the section had lain. “But this was not its original purpose.”

Jaxom let out a sudden whoop. “It’s like the coating on the flying ships in the meadow!”

“Why would they coat a building with—” Piemur began.

“Heat tolerance. There’d be heat, or friction—” Jancis said at the same time.

They both broke off, startled by the sight of the smith precariously tilted groundward to examine the exposed corner of the roof and wall. He grunted, waving one hand urgently at the three young people. Jancis held out the trowel; he grabbed it and began chipping away the dirt around the corner, murmuring to himself. He sounded both puzzled and pleased.

“Jaxom, would Ruth be kind enough to dig out this corner section for me?”

That was soon enough accomplished, though Ruth did knock off a few more of the tiles, apologizing through Jaxom for it.

“Tell him not to worry,” the Mastersmith replied. “The mortar that held them in place has accomplished its purpose. Your theory is supported, Jancis. These tiles were added to protect what’s in this curious building against the heat of lava. Now what does it contain?”

“An aivas,” Jancis said, clearing her throat conspicuously and passing the drawing to her grandfather. Piemur noticed how subdued she had become, turning into a very proper and self-effacing young lady.

“And what, Master Fandarel, is an ‘aivas’?” Jaxom asked patiently.

“I don’t know, Jaxom,” the smith replied. “Let us all find out.”

“Jancis had the hunch,” Piemur said, wanting her to assert herself.

“Good girl. Always uses her eyes and her wits,” the smith said, surprised at Piemur’s fervent agreement. Then Fandarel dropped off the roof and went to round up a full team of excavators, unceremoniously excusing them from their other projects. He rudely ignored Master Esselin and Breide when they demanded explanations, telling them absently to go do something they were qualified to do. By evening the annex was completely unearthed to reveal that, unlike all other ancient buildings, it had neither windows nor door, and that the original walls were of a double thickness. Ventilation slats were finally discovered under the eaves, but they allowed no glimpse of the interior. At sunset, the smith called a halt, giving orders that the project was now the highest priority and that Master Esselin should see that there was a full complement of workers to secure access to the ADMIN building and the mysterious aivas as soon after daylight as possible.

“Look, I’ve got to get back to Ruatha,” Jaxom said as the smith concluded his instructions. “Sharra’s going to be disgusted with not being able to travel right now. She’s pregnant again, you see.” His grin was both embarrassed and proud.

For the first time, Piemur discovered that he felt no pain at Jaxom and Sharra’s happiness. “Nuisance, that,” he said, grinning back. “Listen, would Ruth mind dropping Jancis and me off at Cove Hold? Master Robinton will want a full report on this.”

Ruth did not mind at all.

“Another marvel?” Master Robinton asked. His workspace was littered with examples of the cavern artifacts. “It’s going to take us till the end of the Pass to document what we’ve already got.” Almost irritably, he shoved at the mess around him. “Things! The ancients had so many things!”

Piemur chuckled as he automatically refilled the Master’s empty wineglass.

“A building is not a thing, Master Robinton. D’ram, have you or Lord Lytol come across any reference to the ‘aivas’?” he asked.

“It was not listed on the evacuation plan,” Lytol said, reaching over to find the relevant notes.

“Maybe an aivas couldn’t be evacuated,” Jaxom suggested. “They did leave some heavy equipment behind. Not that you could guess its purpose from the slag it is now. But those remains were left in a special room with no doors or windows, only ventilation grills. And thicker walls than usual. We’ll have to go through the ADMIN building.”

“If we can,” Piemur said gloomily.

“That’s a double thickness of the heaviest gauge of their material,” Jancis said thoughtfully. “So far Grandfa cannot find a way of penetrating it, even using the ancients’ drill bits.”

“Aivas, aivas, aivas,” Master Robinton mused. “It doesn’t sound like a real word. An aiva, the aiva, many aivas!” He flicked one hand in a gesture of defeat. “You will stay the night, won’t you, Jancis? Our current cook has a way with fish that’s magical.” His charming smile brought an answering one from Jancis. “Then we can all get up to the Plateau in plenty of time for yet another revelation.”

After dinner, when Piemur went to check on Stupid, he invited Jancis to come along.

“That’s a terrible name to call any creature,” Jancis chided him as he led the way, glowbasket overhead, toward the fenced clearing where the little runnerbeast was accommodated.

“It’s an old joke,” Piemur said lamely, but even Jancis was impressed when Stupid nickered in response to his name and trotted over, thrusting out his nose to nuzzle his master. “You don’t mind, do you, Stupid? If I called you anything else, you wouldn’t answer, would you?”

Stupid waggled his ears and nickered again as Farli joined them, settling, as usual, on the little runner’s rump. He switched his tail, and she scolded him.

“They really like each other,” Jancis exclaimed. “I didn’t think runners liked fire-lizards or dragons.”

Piemur chuckled, leaning against the top rail of the enclosure, idly rubbing Stupid’s soft nose. By the light of Belior moon, Jancis looked slightly mysterious, the planes of her face touched by the white light.

“Well, it’s a fact Stupid shies away from any dragon, even Ruth. You haven’t been dragon food yet, have you, friend?” he teased. “But he and I and Farli make a pretty good team.”

“They say,” Jancis said, scratching just the right spot on Stupid’s neck and causing him to lean into her fingers, tilting his head, eyes half-closed, “that you and Stupid and Farli walked the entire coast of Southern.”

“Only from Southern Hold to Cove Hold. I got excused the rest of it.”

“Even that much took a lot of courage.”

“Courage?” Piemur snorted at the notion. “Courage had little to do with it. I was born naturally inquisitive. And,” he added in a sudden spurt of honesty, “it was one way to keep Toric from exiling me from Southern.”

“Why would Lord Toric do that?”

“He didn’t fancy me as marriage kin.” Piemur had shifted position so that he was closer to her, though still ostensibly leaning indolently on the rail.

“You? And Sharra?”

Piemur grinned. “For that matter, he didn’t fancy Jaxom as marriage kin, but he got talked into it.” Finally Piemur could appreciate the full irony of that confrontation. “He didn’t fancy his sister married to the lord of a table-sized hold.”

“What?” Jancis, appropriately indignant, ceased scratching Stupid’s neck and turned toward Piemur. “Why, Ruatha has one of the oldest Bloodlines on Pern. Everyone with marriageable daughters was hoping to attract Lord Jaxom.”

“Toric had bigger plans for Sharra.” Piemur worked his way a little closer to her as Stupid swung his head back to nip at a nightfly.

“How could he? Jaxom’s the only young Lord Holder. And they say they’re devoted to each other. She nursed him through fire-head right here at Cove Hold.”

“I know,” Piemur murmured. Smiling, he put both hands on the rail, one on either side of Jancis. When she became aware of the maneuver, he grinned down at her, waiting for her reaction. “And what do they say about Journeyman Piemur?”

She dared him, the dimple flashing in her cheek, a dark spot on her moonlit face. “What they say about any harper journeyman, of course. That they’re not to be trusted for a moment.”

Slowly, so she could escape if she really wanted to, and he hoped very much that she did not, he lowered his head and brought his arms up to hold her. “Especially not on moonlit nights like this, huh?” He touched her lips very gently with his, aware that they were parted in a smile and that she had no intention of ducking away at the last moment. Abruptly she was pushed forcefully into his arms. He tightened them to keep her from falling just as her arms went around him to steady herself. “Thank you, Stupid, that’ll do quite nicely.” And Piemur made excellent use of his runner’s headlong assistance.

If Piemur and Jancis were preoccupied with each other the next morning at the dawn breakfast that Master Robinton had ordered, the others were far too intent on arriving on time at the Plateau to notice. D’ram would convey the Harper, Piemur, and Jancis to the ADMIN building. Lytol had declined to go along.

“I think he’s noticeably fading,” Robinton murmured to D’ram as they strode to Tiroth’s clearing. “Jaxom remarked on it to me.”

“He’s fine, Robinton, really he is. It’s just that like all of us, he can’t do as much as he used to,” D’ram replied, his expression sad. “Jaxom’s news about a second child cheered him.”

“It cheered me, too. Ah, Tiroth, you’re very good to haul us to and fro,” the Harper said, giving the elderly bronze an affectionate clout as he climbed up to sit between the neck ridges. “Hand Jancis up to me, Piemur. I’ll see she’s safe. You can hold on to me as tightly as you wish, my dear.”

“You keep your hands to yourself, Master,” Piemur said in a mock growl, ascending first and then assisting Jancis to the position behind him. He ignored the protests from his stiff muscles and tender bruises.

“Where’s your respect for my age, my position?” the Harper demanded, laughing as he mounted just in front of the journeyman.

“Where it always has been, Master,” Piemur assured him heartily. “Where I can keep my eye on you!”

D’ram was chuckling as he mounted, and Tiroth’s powerful upward leap brought Jancis’s arms clutching at Piemur’s. He covered her hands on his chest with his, very pleased to feel her pressing so tightly against him. They all had a good view of the Dawn Sisters shining in the morning sky before Tiroth took them between.

The Sisters were still in sight when they arrived at the Plateau and skimmed up from the landing strip to the dark shadows of the mounds and the spot where the light of many glowbaskets told them the excavation crew was all ready to go. Indeed, they learned shortly, Master Fandarel had already outlined the area to be dug and the first shovelsful had been removed.

“Master Robinton, D’ram, good morning. Jancis, Piemur. We calculate a full span’s encrustation. I also deemed it wise to remove the tiles, so obviously a temporary cover. Last night I compared them with some still in place on the flying ships, and I believe that it is the same material, though none of the ships seem to be missing any significant number. That confirms my theory that originally there were more than three ships.”

“I think that’s likely,” Master Robinton agreed, shivering a bit in the cool dawn air. “The fire-lizards’ images always suggest more than three. Twice that many, and even with six the labor of transporting all those things from the Dawn Sisters to the surface here would have been astounding.”

Someone brought stools and hot klah so that Master Robinton and D’ram could be made comfortable while the digging progressed. Jancis and Piemur stood to one side, sipping at the klah. Piemur tried to suppress the irritation he felt that their private little dig had turned so official. Jancis was rather more subdued than he liked. This was her find, her hunch. She should be directing the work. True, she could not really expect to take precedence over her grandfather, but they all seemed to have forgotten that the whole effort was due to her discovery of the ancient drawing film. It had been one thing to ask Jaxom to help, but not the whole bloody Plateau. The lumps on his head began to throb.

As the sun came up, he realized that someone had worked hard during the night to strip the tiles from the roof. The panels stood completely clear, a long finger-length above the original roof. Some of the cladding remained on the walls, but a trench had been cut through the soil, right down to the tar-based material with which the ancients had paved the walks and roadways between their buildings.

Suddenly a cheer went up. Grabbing Jancis by the hand, Piemur pushed past the crowd clustering in a loose circle about the dig area. Master Fandarel and Master Robinton had been ushered to the newly uncovered door. It was not one of the common sliding doors of the ancients but had instead two equal-sized panels.

“I beg your pardon, Master Fandarel and Master Robinton, but this building was Jancis’s hunch, and she should by rights go first!” Piemur heard Jancis gasp in astonishment and felt her pull against his grip. He ignored the bemused expressions of the two Mastercraftsmen as he hauled Jancis right up to the doors. He heard Master Esselin’s indignant exclamation and Breide’s acid comment about harper arrogance, and the ripple of surprise passing back through the small crowd. Jancis tried to pull him back, tried to free her hand.

“You know, you are right, Piemur,” Robinton said, stepping to one side. “We have usurped Jancis’s prerogative.”

“After you, Jancis,” Fandarel said. He spoke with the utmost courtesy but looked thoughtfully at Piemur.

Seeing that Jancis was too dismayed to act, Piemur stepped beside her, looking for the method of opening the door. He could see none, but there was no way that he would have turned back to the Smith for assistance. He scrutinized the door more carefully. There was an unusual hinge arrangement, but no knob or latch. He put one hand on an obvious doorplate and pressed. There was the resistance of long unmoved parts, then dust and ash showered down from the gap between the doors. He pushed with both hands, and the door began to move inward. Jancis rallied from her embarrassment sufficiently to lend her weight, and suddenly the door swung completely inward, marking its path in the fine dust that had filtered inside over the Turns.

Piemur pulled the other side back, opening the doors wide to the fresh morning breeze blowing softly up the Plateau and swirling the dust in the corridor. Then he turned around, gesturing for one of the glowbaskets. Soon the sun would bring light into the hallway, but he did not want to delay a single moment. A judicious two paces behind Jancis and Piemur, Masters Fandarel and Robinton entered.

“A corridor to the right,” Piemur said, holding the glowbasket up in his left hand while he kept his right one firmly around Jancis’s wrist. She was not resisting him anymore, he thought, grinning to himself. She just needed to assert herself a little more and no one was going to do her out of her rights, not while he was around.

Now that he was making the first footprints the ashy floors had felt in who knew how many Turns, he was beginning to be appalled at his own brashness, but he had gotten away with it—again. He grinned. He turned to his right again, and with the added illumination from the glowbaskets carried by Robinton and Fandarel, he could see more tiling, whitely gleaming at the end of the short hallway. “They sure weren’t taking any chances with aivas.”

“There is an obvious door,” Master Fandarel remarked. He started to move in front of them, then paused and gestured for the two younger people to continue.

Jancis shot Piemur a look of wretched consternation, but he just grinned at her, squeezing her hand. “You found it—you get to see it first!”

The hall was wide enough for all of them to stand abreast at the reinforced wall. The door had a knob, and when Jancis declined to touch it, Piemur had no hesitation. It took all his strength to turn it, for time and dust had clogged the mechanism, but with both hands and a mighty effort, he disengaged the latch. The door did not open inward, as he had half expected, but outward.

“There is little dust on this floor,” the smith remarked, peering over their heads at the scene in front of them.

“There’s a red light on a cupboard,” Piemur observed, feeling his skin crawl with amazement.

“And more light!” Jancis said in a timorous voice.

“In fact, the whole place is lighting up,” Piemur added, feeling his feet rooted in the doorway as strange and unfamiliar sensations coursed through him. This place had not been emptied. He had never seen such cabinets and closets before, but there was no doubt in his mind that they were right for this room. For once, the brash young harper was touched with awe and reverence. This was just the sort of place they had all been hoping to find.

“The red light illuminates letters,” Master Robinton said in a hushed voice as he looked over Jancis’s shoulder.

“Remarkable, truly remarkable!” The Smith’s voice was no less reverent.

The growing light made visible some of the details within the room: the worktables on either side of the door, and the two high stools neatly placed under them. On the wall opposite the door was a large framed surface, tinted slightly green, with little red letters blinking on and off in the lower left-hand side. A chair, on a pedestal with five spokes in its base, stood in front of it and the slanting workspace. It seemed unadorned until Piemur noticed the regular squares—lighter in color than the surrounding surface—set in ranks and odd-looking protruberances in a series of rows to the right. Above them, to the right of the screen, were slots and more dial faces, one of which showed a steady green light and a needle swinging slowly from the left to a central position.

The red lights, which read panels charging, stopped blinking and settled to a firm color that gradually changed to green as the lighting—from whatever mysterious source it emanated—continued to brighten. Suddenly a quiet blip startled all of them, and a new message blazed from the left-hand corner: AIVAS FUNCTION RESUMED.

“That corner says ‘AIVAS,’ ” Piemur said excitedly, pointing to the obvious.

Robinton had turned to view the corridor walls and recognized familiar artifacts. “Charts,” he said.

“Please state ID and access code! Your voiceprints are not on record.”

The voice startled all of them, and Jancis clutched at Piemur.

“Who said that?” Fandarel demanded, his voice booming in the confines of the room.

“State ID and access code, please!” The voice repeated, sounding slightly louder.

“That’s not a human voice,” Master Robinton said. “It has no real resonance, no inflection, no timbre.”

“State the reason for this intrusion.”

“Do you understand what he’s saying, Master Robinton?” Piemur asked. The words sounded familiar, but the accent was too strange for him to comprehend the meaning.

“I have the feeling that I ought to,” the Harper admitted ruefully.

“Unless ID and access codes are given, this facility will close down. Its use is restricted to Admiral Paul Benden …”

“Benden, it said Benden!” Piemur cried excitedly.

“… Governor Emily Boll …”

“Boll, that’s another recognizable word,” Robinton said. “We recognize the words ‘Benden’ and ‘Boll.’ We do not understand what you are trying to tell us.”

“… Captain Ezra Keroon …”

“Keroon. It knows Keroon. Do you know Telgar?” The Smith could not contain himself any longer. “Surely it must know Telgar.”

“Telgar, Sallah, married to Tarvi Andivar, later known as Telgar in memory of his wife’s sacrifice …”

“All I understand is ‘Telgar,’ ” Fandarel said. He raised his voice unthinkingly, in a frustrated attempt to encourage comprehension. “Telgar, we understand. Keroon we understand—that’s another big hold. Boll is a Hold; Benden is a Hold. Do you understand us?”

There was a long pause and they all watched with complete fascination as a range of symbols and, occasionally, letters rippled across the panel in front of them, accompanied by a variety of sounds, mainly blips and beeps and odd whirrings.

“Did I say something wrong, Robinton?” Fandarel asked, his voice an awed whisper again.

“Are you all right down there?” Master Esselin’s plaintive query reached them where they stood bunched together in the doorway.

“Of course we are,” Fandarel bellowed back to the Masterminer. “Clear those windows. Let some light in. Glammie has my diagrams. Work from that and leave us alone!”

“New letters,” Piemur said, digging the Mastersmith in the ribs to attract his attention. “Running … Running? E … M … E … R … G … E … N …”

“Emergency,” the harper guessed before the C and Y appeared. He grinned with pleasure.

“P-R-O-G-R-A-M—program? The words we understand, but what do they mean?” Piemur asked.

“The lights are quite bright now,” Fandarel said cheerfully. “Very curious.” He stepped inside the room, his initial surprise having worn off, and the others followed hastily. “There are buttons on the wall.” He flicked one, and a soft whirring noise began. The fine film of dust on the floor began to shift: the closeness of the air freshened. Fandarel flicked the button again, and both the noise and the stirring of air ceased. He flicked it on again, murmuring happily to himself. “Well, this aivas of yours is an ingenious creature,” he commented, smiling down at Jancis. “And efficient.”

“We still don’t know what an aivas is!” Piemur remarked.

“AIVAS is an acronym for Artificial Intelligence Voice Address System,” the voice intoned. “To be precise, a Mark 47A, programmed to interface the main computer storage banks of the Yokohama and the settlement on Pern.”

“Pern—I understood Pern,” Robinton said. Then, enunciating very clearly and projecting his rich baritone voice, he added, “From where are you speaking, aivas?”

“This system is programmed for voice address. State your name. Please.”

“It sounds testy, but I think I’m getting the hang of its accent. My name is Robinton. I am Masterharper of Pern. This is Fandarel, who is Mastersmith in Telgar Hold. With us are Journeywoman Jancis and Journeyman Piemur. Do you understand me?”

“Lingual shifts have occurred, Robinton. Modification of the language program is now required. Please continue to speak.”

“Continue to speak?”

“Your speech patterns will be the basis for the modification. Please continue to speak.”

“Well, Masterharper, you heard it,” Piemur said, rapidly recovering his composure. “Here, sit down.” He pulled the chair from under the desk, brushed the seat off, and made a flamboyant gesture.

Master Robinton looked aggrieved as he sat. “I always thought the Harper Hall had succeeded very well in keeping the language pure and unadulterated.”

“Oh, aivas just doesn’t understand us!” Piemur murmured reassuringly. “Everyone understands you. That thing,” he said, airily dismissing the aivas, “doesn’t even use words we know.”

“This is all very interesting,” Fandarel said, peering at every surface, poking a finger into the slots, and cautiously touching the various knobs, buttons, and toggles. “Very interesting. Much less dust has filtered into this room. No doubt due to the tile layer.”

“Please do not attempt to use the touch-screen controls. That function is now deactivated.”

Fandarel pulled his hands back like a small boy caught reaching for bubbly pies. The slanting board, which had been glowing amber, went dark again. Jancis had gingerly settled on one of the stools, rolling her eyes around the room and trying not to look at the screen.

“What’s happening down there?” Breide called.

“A modification of the language program has been necessary,” Piemur called back. “Master Fandarel has it all well in hand, Breide.”

“Four persons are observed to occupy this room, but only three voices have been registered. Will the fourth person speak?”

Jancis looked around apprehensively. “Me?”

“You are requested to speak a full sentence.”

“Go on, Jancis,” Piemur urged. “I don’t think it will bite you, and a feminine voice will give it a new perspective on life here.”

“But I haven’t the faintest idea what one says to … a disembodied voice.”

“Any speech will suffice. The difference in resonance and timbre has been noted. To assist the program, question: You are a female person.”

“Yes, she is a female person,” Piemur repeated.

“The female person is asked to answer for a voiceprint reading.”

Jancis burst out laughing at the surprise on Piemur’s face, for the reproof, despite the uninflected tone, was unmistakable.

“You should see your face, Piemur.”

“Well, at least you can laugh about it,” Piemur said. “Thank you … sir, whatever. How should you be addressed?”

“This is an artificial intelligence voice address system. It does not require personification.”

“Does artificial mean man-made?” Robinton asked.

“That is correct.”

“The men who built the Dawn Sisters?”

“Reference to Dawn Sisters is unknown. Please explain.”

“The three metallic objects in the sky overhead are known as the Dawn Sisters.”

“You refer to the spaceships Yokohama, Buenos Aires, and Bahrain.”

“Spaceships?” Fandarel asked, turning to stare at the panel with its green blinking legend.

“Spaceships, life-supported vehicles that travel in the vacuum inaccurately referred to as ‘space.’ ”

“Do the spaceships still support life?” Fandarel’s eyes were wide, his usually expressionless face betraying a passionate avidity that surprised even Robinton.

“Not at the present reading. All systems are on hold. Bridge pressure is .001 standard atmosphere, or 0.1 KP. Interior temperature reads minus twenty-five degrees Celsius.”

“I don’t know what it’s talking about,” Fandarel said, collapsing onto the other stool, his face a study of terrible disappointment.

“Hey!” Jaxom came running down the hall. “No, that’s all right, Breide, I’ll just go right in. I’m expected.” He entered the room, slightly breathless. “I thought you’d wait for me, Piemur. Excuse me, Master Fandarel, Master Robinton. What is this?” He began to assimilate the oddities of the room, the lights, the ventilation, and the expressions of his friends.

“This is an artificial intelligence voice address system …”

“Here we go again,” Piemur said irreverently. “You do realize, Master, that here is the key you’ve been hoping to find. A talking key. I think if you can just ask it the right questions, you’ll find out all the answers. Even some you didn’t know you needed to know.”

“Aivas,” Master Robinton said, straightening his shoulders and directing his next remark to the green light. “Can you answer my questions?”

“That is the function of this apparatus.”

“Let us begin at the beginning then, shall we?” Master Robinton asked.

“That is a correct procedure,” Aivas replied, and what had been a dark panel suddenly became illuminated with a diagram that those in the room identified as similar to one found in the flying ship Jaxom had discovered. Only this diagram had such depth and perspective that it appeared three-dimensional, giving the awed observers the feeling that they were hovering in space, an unthinkable distance away from their sun. “When Mankind first discovered the third planet of the sun Rukbat in the Sagittarian Sector of space …”