I don’t know what they are, either,
Ruth said.
But they’re pretty.
What’s pretty?
Jaxom asked, looking up.
Can you see the other two ships?
No. There are things flowing past us.
Things?
Jaxom craned across his console to see what Ruth was seeing. However, his view was blocked by the bodies of the dragon and fire-lizards, who had their faces pressed against the far right of the bridge viewport.
Suddenly all three creatures flung themselves back, away from the window, the motion sending them careening toward Piemur and Jaxom.
“Hey, watch out!” Jaxom ducked as Ruth zoomed overhead. At the same moment, there was a distinct rattling sound.
“Something’s hitting us!” Piemur cried. Unstrapping quickly, he pushed himself off to the viewscreen.
“What is hitting you?” Aivas demanded.
Piemur bumped against the viewscreen, looking right and left. “Jaxom, ask Ruth what he saw. I can’t see anything.” Pressing his left cheek to the plasglas, he tried to see beyond the thick curve of the window.
Things—like fire-lizard eggs—coming straight at us,
Ruth replied.
“Well, there’s nothing out there now,” Piemur said. He headed back to his station, grabbing the back of his chair just as he was about to overshoot it.
“Aivas?” Jaxom asked.
“The pinging indicated the screens deflecting a small shower of objects,” Aivas replied calmly. “No damage is reported. As you will have learned from your studies, space is not a barren void. Minute particles are in constant motion through space. Doubtless a shower of some sort startled Ruth and the fire-lizards. You would be wise to continue your tasks before you become incapacitated by the severe temperatures.”
Jaxom noticed that Piemur, too, was not completely reassured by that explanation. But it was true that the icy cold was seeping through their layers of clothing and so, as Ruth and the fire-lizards cautiously, with much chirping and twittering, returned to their positions at the window, the men returned their attention to their consoles.
Jaxom worked as fast as he could, but still the cold increasingly penetrated the down-lined gloves that had always kept him warm through hours of Threadfall. Maybe space
was
colder than
between,
he thought, flexing frozen fingers.
“Aivas, didn’t you say there’d be heat on the bridge?” he complained. “My hands are getting numb with cold.”
“Readings indicate that the bridge heating is not working as efficiently as possible. It is probable that the resistive ceramic of the units has crystalized. This can be repaired later.”
“That’s good news,” Jaxom said as he double-checked his entries. Then he straightened up. “Mine’s done—program ready.”
“Activate,” Aivas ordered.
Jaxom punched that key with some trepidation—though the Egg knew how he could have gotten it wrong with the endless drills Aivas had put him through in learning the sequences of attitude, exposure, and sectors. With considerable personal satisfaction, he watched the fast-forward scroll of the display as it confirmed his plotting.
“This board’s much faster than the ones we’ve been using,” he remarked.
“The equipment on the
Yokohama
was state-of-the-art when the ship was commissioned by the Pern Charter Group,” Aivas said. “High-speed computations would have been essential in astronavigation.”
“I told you we were using baby stuff,” Piemur murmured.
“Before the infant walks, it must learn to crawl,” Aivas said.
“Is everyone hearing all this?” the harper demanded with some indignation.
“No.”
“I thank your mercy for that! And my program’s up and running, too, by the way.”
“That is correct. You must now begin phase two of the schedule. You will find the auxiliary oxygen storage behind Bulwark B-8802-A, -B, and -C,” Aivas instructed.
Piemur was shaking the fingers of his gloved hands. “My fingers have never been this cold! I’ll give you Bitran odds this bridge is colder than
between
.”
“In point of fact,” Aivas remarked, “it is not. But you have been in that very cold temperature far longer than you have ever remained
between
.”
“A point,” Jaxom reminded Piemur as they pulled themselves up along stair rail. “Remarkable feeling, this weightlessness,” he said with a comradely grin at the harper.
Piemur gave him a happy grimace of agreement. Just then Farli and Trig came tumbling end over end above their heads, making them duck—which sent them bouncing off the steps.
“Careful!” Jaxom cried, reaching for the railing as smoothly as he could.
“Ohohohohoh!” Piemur continued to float on up to the ceiling.
By the time Jaxom, securely holding on to the rail with one hand, had grabbed the floating Piemur by the ankle and hauled him down, neither was sure whether to laugh or swear at their clumsiness. However, the slight mishap made them all the more circumspect in their motions. They located, opened, and examined the auxiliary oxygen compartment, then carefully removed the one empty tank, maneuvered the four they had brought with them into the space available, and made the necessary connections to bring the replacements into the system.
“Phase three may now be initiated,” Aivas told them once the connections had been checked.
Jaxom caught Piemur’s gaze, and the young harper gave him a wry grin, shrugged, and turned back to the space-suited figure they had both been avoiding.
Ruth, we need you back on the landing, please,
Jaxom said as he and Piemur solemnly converged on Sallah’s body. He swallowed.
As they lifted it from the chair it had occupied for 2,500 Turns, the rigid space-suited body retained the position in which it had originally collapsed across the console. Jaxom tried to feel reverence for the personality that had once inhabited the frozen shell they were handling. Sallah Telgar had given her life to prevent the defector, Avril Bitra, from draining the
Yokohama’s
fuel tanks in her bid to escape the Rukbat system. Sallah had even managed to repair the console Bitra had wrecked in her fury at being thwarted. Odd that a Hold had been named after such a woman, but then, Bitrans had always been an odd lot. Jaxom chided himself for such thoughts. There were some very honest, worthy Bitrans—a few, anyway—who were not given to gambling and the other forms of gaming that fascinated so many of that Hold. Lord Sigomal kept to himself, but that was far preferable to the late Lord Sifer’s well-known unsavory appetites.
With the ropes that had held the tanks in place, Jaxom and Piemur strapped the bent body between Ruth’s wings. Sensing their mood alteration, Farli and Trig had ceased their cavorting, and when Piemur again mounted the white dragon, they quietly settled to his shoulders.
When Jaxom slid astride Ruth, he could no longer control his jaw, and his teeth began to chatter. Had Sallah felt this creeping cold as she died? Was that what had killed her, abandoned so far above the planet? His chilled fingers could barely feel Ruth’s neck ridge.
Let’s get back to Landing before we freeze solid, too, Ruth,
he said.
“Can we go before we freeze solid?” Piemur asked wistfully, unaware that he was echoing Jaxom’s silent request to Ruth.
Now!
Jaxom longingly projected a vivid scene of warm, balmy Landing to his dragon.
As they entered the chill blackness of
between,
he was still not sure which was colder.
Much later in the evening of that momentous day, when Lessa had a chance to sit down and think about it all, she wondered just how Aivas—quite likely with Lytol’s connivance—had contrived such an extraordinary and timely event as the return of Sallah’s body. This would have considerable impact on the entire population, both North and South, both doubters and believers. Sallah Telgar’s heroism and self-sacrifice had, in the past two years, become a favorite harper ballad, repeatedly requested at all Gathers and evening entertainments of any consequence. To be able to bring her back from her lonely crypt should be considered a significant vindication of the Landing effort.
Lord Larad was absolutely dumbfounded when Robinton, conveyed by Mnementh and F’lar to Telgar Hold, apprised him of the retrieval of his ancestress’s remains.
“Yes, yes, indeed, Sallah must be honored. There must, of course, be some ceremony fitting such an occasion.” Larad looked helplessly at Robinton.
Burial services were usually brief, even for the most honored being. The deeds and goodness of unusual persons were perpetuated in song and harper tales, which were considered the most fitting of memorials.
“A performance of the Ballad of Sallah Telgar would certainly be appropriate,” Robinton said. “Full instrumental accompaniment to chorus and solo voices. I’ll speak to Sebell.”
“I never thought to have the chance to honor our brave ancestress,” Larad said, and floundered once again.
Fortunately Lady Jissamy, Larad’s astute and capable wife, stepped to his side. “There is that small cave, just to the north of the main court, the one which that recent rockslide revealed. It is just large enough—” She faltered and then recovered. “And certainly accessible, easy to reseal.”
Larad patted her hand gratefully. “Yes, the very place. Ah . . . when?” he added tentatively.
“The day after tomorrow?” Robinton suggested, resisting an urge to grin in triumph. The day after next would be just the day before the Lord Holders convened about the matter of the late Oterel’s successor.
Larad shot him a quick glance. “You couldn’t possibly have planned it this way, could you, Masterharper?”
“Me?” Years of practice made it possible for Robinton to affect genuine surprise. He waggled his hand in denial.
F’lar came to his assistance with a disgusted snort. “Hardly, Larad. We knew she was there. So did you. Aivas included her sacrifice in his historical narrative. Today was the first chance to actually get to her. And it just doesn’t seem proper to—well, just to leave her remains there.”
“To give her rest after all that long time in cold space,” Jissamy said with a delicate shudder. “It’s time and past it. Should we make it an open ceremony?”
“I think that only proper. Telgar, of course, should have the honor, but many will wish to be respectful,” Robinton said with a properly grave mien, hoping that the occasion would spark considerable interest through Hold and Hall. Even those who were not curious about Sallah could be expected to come, if only to see who else attended.
When Jaxom, Piemur, and Ruth arrived back at Landing, they had gratefully turned their burden over to Masterhealer Oldive and two of his Masters. Now the mortal remains of Sallah Telgar rested in a finely joined coffin of Master Bendarek’s best wooden panels.
Shown the cleansed space suit, Aivas assured all that the heel of the suit and the other small tears could be mended. Aivas remarked to Lytol that since someone would be expected to wear that suit, it was fortunate indeed that superstition was not a facet of Pernese culture. Lytol disagreed. He and Aivas immediately became involved in a discussion of primitive religions and arcane beliefs, so that Robinton was just as glad that he was free to leave for Telgar Weyr with F’lar. The Harper wondered fleetingly if he would have done better to have stayed to listen to what was certain to be a fascinating debate; but he was deriving too much satisfaction in being the bearer of such remarkable tidings.
One of the Older Telgar sons brought in a tray with wineglasses and a fine crystal decanter, which Robinton decided must be one of the new designs Glassmaster Morilton had produced. The next son arrived with a tray of piping-hot little pastries and some good Telgar mountain cheeses. With a glass of white Benden in his hand, Robinton was definitely pleased that he had come.
“You said, did you not,” Larad began, “that someone had actually been on the old ship? Was that judicious?”
“Necessary,” F’lar said. “No danger involved. Piemur’s little fire-lizard did exactly as Aivas taught her. So there’s air on the bridge, and it’s warmed up. Ruth will take Jaxom back again tomorrow to find out why the cargo-bay doors have remained open. Probably a trivial malfunction, according to Aivas. All in all—” F’lar paused to sip his wine. “—a most auspicious beginning. Most auspicious.”
“I’m glad to hear that, F’lar,” Larad said, nodding, his expression solemn. “I’m very glad to hear that.”
“Not half as glad as I am to be able to report it,” the Benden Weyrleader replied.
8
Keep a grip on me, will you, Ruth?
Jaxom said as he carefully swung his right leg over the white dragon’s neck ridge. Maneuvering in free-fall had been easier the previous day, when he and Piemur had had each other to hold on to. He had gotten the hang of slow, controlled movements, then, but today the bulky suit impeded him, and he felt ungainly. The heavy magnetic-soled boots made his feet especially clumsy. He clutched at Ruth’s neck suddenly as he felt his body moving in a direction other than
down.
Ruth caught him by the ankle, and suddenly he was right side up, the boots anchoring him safely to the deck.
Knowing that his fellow students were observing him made him hope devoutly that he didn’t look as ridiculous as he felt. Sharra had told him repeatedly that he had not looked at all foolish coping with weightlessness the day before. He should relax in satisfaction that both he and Piemur had handled themselves most creditably. She only wished that she could somehow have seen the view of Pern that had so transfixed them.
“I’ve never seen that particular look on Piemur’s face before. Jancis was impressed.”
“So how did I look?”
“Dumbstruck, just like Piemur,” she replied, giving him a mischievous grin. “About the same way you looked when you saw Jarrol for the first time.”
At least today, Jaxom knew he had some control over his movements—as long as he kept his feet on the deck. He took the first step forward, wrenching the heavy boot’s grip off the floor and stamping it down in front of him. Ruth had landed in the same spot as before, right by the lift door. Jaxom had only to duck under the dragon’s neck to reach the control panel, which Aivas had assured him was in working order.
I’ll move out of your way
, Ruth said obligingly. Picking up his hind legs, he flipped over and over backward, coasting toward the window.
It’s better than the view from the Star Stones on Benden or the fireheights at Ruatha.
By the time Jaxom had pressed one thick-gloved finger on the pressure panel, Ruth had his nose against the plasglas and was staring out into space.
Jaxom still could not dispel the sense of being an intruder which he had felt keenly the day before, walking where his ancestors had, manipulating switches, toggles, and keyboards just as they had once done. He had told himself that that was partly because of the gruesome errand he and Piemur had been on, retrieving Sallah Telgar. He had hoped the feeling would have altered now that he was here on another errand, but it had not.
Though he and Piemur had, miraculously, been able to log into their respective consoles and complete their tasks, Aivas had not been able to discover why the cargo-bay doors remained open. Today, after a brisk tutorial session from Aivas, Jaxom’s assignment was to descend to the Cargo level and attempt to use the control console or the manual override there.
“It is to be hoped that one of those two systems is operational,” Aivas said.
“Why?”
“Otherwise, you would have to venture outside the ship to discover what was keeping the doors from closing.”
“Oh!” Jaxom had seen enough footage of Aivas’s training tapes to wonder if he would have the nerve to space walk.
The lift opened and he stepped in. The door shut. Once again consulting the diagram in his hand—though he had memorized it—he punched the button marked CB for cargo bay before he noticed how many levels the lift served. Although Aivas had assured him that the solar panels of the
Yokohama
contained sufficient power to operate the bridge lift, he had a nervous moment before the long-unused mechanism rumbled into action.
“The lift is operational,” Jaxom told Aivas in what he hoped was a casual tone. “I’m descending.” He had also been instructed to keep up a running commentary. Jaxom was not by nature garrulous; it seemed inane to keep reporting simple actions, even if they were not taking place under normal conditions. Aivas had merely repeated that this was normal procedure for a single operative in what was to be considered a hostile environment.
“Proceed,” Aivas said.
The descent seemed to take both a long time and no time at all. A warning note sounded, and a red sign—
DANGER: VACUUM
!—appeared on the door of the lift.
“What do I do now, Aivas?”
“Press the
PUMP DOWN
button on the right of the sign and wait for the danger lights to go out.”
Jaxom did as he was instructed. He noticed that his suit puffed out and seemed slightly less wieldy. He was just growing accustomed to that alteration when there was a melodious ding and the door slid silently aside—and Jaxom looked out at a vast blackness that framed an even blacker area that was punctuated by star lights. There was no reassuring sight of sunlit Pern below him. He didn’t move a muscle.
Don’t be nervous. I’d come after you if you fell out,
Ruth said encouragingly.
“I’ve reached the cargo bay,” Jaxom said belatedly. “There’s insufficient light.” And that, Jaxom said to himself, must be the single most stupid understatement he had ever made!
“Feel to the left of the door. There will be a panel.” Aivas’s voice in Jaxom’s ear was steady and reassuring, and he let out his breath, only just realizing that he had been holding it in. “Wave your hand across the panel, and emergency lights will come on.”
We hope, Jaxom said to himself. Moving with extreme care, he obeyed and was unutterably relieved to see a line of lights come up all around the immense cargo bay. The effect did heighten the blackness of space, but he felt better with the partial illumination. “Yes, I now have light.”
It’s bigger even than Fort’s Hatching Ground,
he told Ruth, looking about in awe.
“There is a handrail all around the inside wall of the cargo bay,” Aivas went on conversationally. “To your left you will see a bank of lights, and the console should be visible under them.”
“It is.”
“It will be faster to go hand over hand, Jaxom,” Aivas went on, “and quite safe. Otherwise you would exhaust yourself needlessly.”
Jaxom wondered if Aivas knew just how scared he was. But how could he? So Jaxom took a deep breath and, lifting his left foot, reached out and caught hold of the handrail. It was round and firm in his grip and amazingly reassuring for a mere thin rail of metal. “I’ve got it. I’m proceeding as directed.”
Holding very tightly with both hands, he kicked off his right foot, balanced the reaction against the solid rail, and began to move hand overhand, hauling his weightless body after him.
“How did my ancestors manage to load ships working like this?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say.
“Your ancestors worked in half gravity in this area during loading, but the rest of the ship was on normal gravity.”
“They could do that? Amazing,” Jaxom replied dutifully. He was nearly halfway to the console. The curve of the bay now hid the unnerving sight of star-studded space. He wanted to increase his pace but sternly held himself to a rhythm that would prevent sudden, unexpected reactions. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, and then the little suction fan in his helmet turned on and the moisture was evacuated. That phenomenon occupied his mind until he was actually at the lighted console.
He activated it, and a range of red and orange lights flickered into being. Jaxom experienced a slight shock and then began reading the dials. Some of the red lights were perfectly in order, indicating, as they were meant to, that the cargo-bay doors were open. He sighed in relief and applied his lessons to deciphering the rest. When he was sure of what sequence to use, he entered the appropriate code. The orange light began to flicker. The legend above it said:
RTC
. He reported that to Aivas.
“That explains why the cargo-bay doors remained open. They were on a remote time control, which must have malfunctioned. The simplest method now is to use the manual release, Jaxom,” Aivas told him. “It is found under the terminal. Open the glass lid and pull.”
Grabbing the handle of the manual release, Jaxom gave a yank. When nothing happened, he gave a second, more forceful yank. Fortunately he was still holding on to the handle, for the force of the yank sent him dangling above the deck, hanging on by one outstretched arm. A strange gargling noise echoed in his ears.
“What has happened, Jaxom?” Aivas asked, his voice as calm as ever.
Jaxom’s momentary panic subsided. In chagrin, he explained.
“Pull yourself toward the deck by exerting a downward pressure on the handle, and very slowly tuck your feet forward,” Aivas instructed.
Jaxom obeyed and was relieved to feel his soles restored to a firm contact with the deck. Engrossed in recovering from his hasty action, he did not at first notice the alteration in the light on the deck. The motion caught his peripheral vision to the right; he turned his head, remembering to move slowly, and saw the great cargo-bay doors folding slowly inward, wrapping him in more complete safety.
The door lights on the panel turned from red to green, and suddenly the aggravating orange light winked out.
“Operation completed,” Jaxom said, wanting to shout in relief.
“That is enough for today. Retrace your steps and return to base.”
Later that afternoon, when Robinton, Lytol, and D’ram arrived for a private meeting, Aivas had further interesting disclosures to make.
“Your wandering planet is flagrantly erratic,” he told them. “There has been time to study most of the Records presented to this facility. Even the most illegible ones have been deciphered, using available restoration techniques. The Red Star, as it is inaccurately called, has an aberrant course and does
not
cross Pern’s path every two hundred and fifty years. The orbit varies by almost ten years in four Passes—three were two hundred fifty-eight, and one was two hundred forty. Thread Passes alter from forty-six years in the Second Pass to fifty-two in the Fifth and forty-eight in the Seventh. The two intervals of four hundred years each appear to suggest that the planet did not, in fact, orbit as far as the Oort Cloud, or was, in some inexplicable fashion, diverted from its usual orbit. The former theory is more acceptable than the latter. Another possibility”—and the resonant tone indicated that this was most unlikely—“is that it passed through attenuated portions of this cometary reservoir. Of more importance, and based on calculations from the
Yokohama’s
bridge, this Pass will be short by three years.”
“Now
that
is very good news indeed,” D’ram said. “But I don’t understand how such inaccuracies could have slipped into the Records.”
“That is not at issue,” Aivas replied. “Though the method of dating on this planet promotes error.”
“Then that would account for the need to position the Eye Rocks, wouldn’t it?” Lytol asked. “Because no matter if dating was faulty, the Weyrs would always know exactly when a Pass was imminent.”
“An ingenious method of ascertaining the correct position of a planet, though by no means original,” Aivas replied.
“Yes, yes,” Lytol said hastily. “You told me about Stonehenge and the Triangles of Eridani. Do the inaccuracies have any other importance?”
“That information is still being correlated and updated. Optimistically, it augurs well for the success of the Plan.”
“And we can reassure Holds and Halls on that account?” Robinton asked, his voice buoyant with hope.
“You can indeed.”
“This briefing, then, is to decide what information can be made public.”
“Yes.”
“What else can we tell them?”
“As much as you know.”
Robinton chuckled. “Which is very little.”
“But significant,” Aivas replied. “The two expeditions to the
Yokohama
have been extremely successful. You may also report that the next exercise will extend to the four green riders. It is vital for them to make bridge transfers and continue the research that Jaxom and Piemur initiated. Each will have an objective during his time on board.”
“
Why
did Jaxom have to close the cargo-bay doors today? Especially when you said that that area will not be used for some time,” D’ram asked, curious.
“It is necessary for someone to get practice in working in free-fall and to become accustomed to using the space suit. Jaxom is the most adept computer operator, and Ruth is the most courageous of the dragons.”
Robinton noticed that Lytol perceptibly preened himself on hearing such praise of his ward.
“Does the fact that he is also a Lord Holder and can report on his expedition come into consideration?” Robinton asked, amused.
“That did figure in the choice; but competence, and being a dragonrider, were more important.”
Robinton chuckled. “So who goes next?”
“Now that Ruth has led the way, the green dragons will feel compelled to follow where the littlest one of them has gone before. They will be sent in pairs: Mirrim and Path, G’rannat and Sulath. They have complementary temperaments and skills.”
Robinton chuckled. “You are indeed well versed in manipulating people.”
“It is not manipulation, Master Robinton. It is understanding the basic personalities of those who are being trained.”
“The cargo area is large enough for bronze dragons to transfer,” D’ram suggested.
“Not until there is also sufficient air for them to breathe. They will play a major role in future steps, D’ram,” Aivas said. “But the next step will be to reestablish oxygen-producing algae in the hydroponics area to purify the air of the few usable areas on the
Yokohama
. The telescope will have to be adjusted periodically. There is one probe left that may or may not be operational. It could be useful. Failing that, it would be helpful if perhaps a bronze dragon and his rider could venture to obtain samples from the Oort debris.”
“What?”
The exclamation came in a chorus from all three startled men.
“A sample of pre-Fall Thread was never obtained by the colonists, though several attempts were made. An analysis,” Aivas insisted, raising its voice over renewed protests from the three custodians, “would be carried out in the one remaining operational laboratory on the
Yokohama
in the cold-sleep facility. The rewards of a proper scientific analysis of the Thread material far outweigh any risk. From what I have seen of the abilities and intelligence of the bronze dragons and their riders, the risk would be minimal—once, of course, they have the exact directions for such a flight, and when protective gear is available for the rider.”