“My dear F’lar,” Robinton said reassuringly to the Weyrleader, who was patently disappointed at his failure to gain the full backing of the Lord Holders, “Aivas impressed Larad, Asgenar, Groghe, Toronas, Bargen, and Warbret, plus Jaxom. Seven out of sixteen’s not bad for a start. Oterel’s doddering, and Corman always needs time to mull things over. If the various projects for which you will need workers here continue to clear out that beggars’ cave of Laudey’s, he’ll back you.” Robinton put one hand on F’lar’s shoulder and gave it just a little shake. “F’lar, you so desperately
want
to eradicate Thread. That’s your first responsibility. Managing their Holds is theirs, and sometimes, as we both know, they forget the wider view. Yes, K’van?” The Harper had been aware that the young Southern Weyrleader was hovering in the background. “Have I been monopolizing F’lar when you need a word with him?”
“If I might intrude . . .” K’van said.
“My glass is empty.” With a raffish grin, Robinton took himself back to the food-laden table in search of a wineskin.
“Was Lord Toric asked?” K’van said hesitantly.
“Yes, indeed, he was, K’van.” F’lar drew him to one corner of the room, where they were less likely to be drawn into the lively discussions of the other Weyrleaders. “I charged Breide in particular to let him know.”
K’van managed a fleeting grin—they both knew that Breide’s main function at Landing was to report to the Southern Lord Holder everything of interest. Breide’s conscientiousness often served up such quantities of trivia that Toric obviously did not bother to read the reports.
“He’s trying to get enough men over to the island to shift Denol and his kin.” Everyone knew that Toric was furious about the attempt by a band of rebels to take over the island he claimed as part of his Hold.
“I’d’ve thought he’d accomplished that already,” F’lar said in surprise. “Toric can be very determined.”
K’van’s grin was sour. “He’s also determined to have the Weyr’s help.”
F’lar started angrily. “There’s no way he’s to have that, K’van!”
“And so I’ve told him, time and again. The Weyr is not there for his convenience.”
“And?”
“He doesn’t take my no as final, F’lar.” K’van faltered and he gave a helpless shrug to his shoulders. “I know I’m young to be a Weyrleader . . .”
“Your youth is not a relevant factor, K’van. You’re a good Weyrleader, and I’ve had that assurance from the older riders in your Weyr!”
K’van was young enough to flush with pleasure at hearing such praise. “Toric wouldn’t agree,” he replied, twitching his straight-held shoulders.
F’lar could not deny the fact that K’van’s slim, youthful build would put him at a disadvantage in a confrontation with the tall and powerful Southern Lord Holder. At the time K’van’s Heth had flown Adrea’s queen, Toric had been enthusiastic about having a Benden-trained Weyrleader. But he had not had rank rebellion in his Hold at that point.
“At first,” K’van went on, “he wanted the Weyr to take his soldiers to the island. When I refused, he said that he’d be satisfied that I’d done my duty to the Hold if I told him where the rebels had made their camp. His argument was that we overfly the island during a Pass so we’d see where they were, and that information would assist him in suppressing the rebellion. When I refused, he started to harass some of the older bronze riders, suggesting that I’m too young to know my duty to the Lord Holder.”
“I trust he’s had no joy on that score,” F’lar said sharply.
K’van shook his head. “No, they told him that such action was not a Weyr responsibility. Then—” The young Weyrleader hesitated.
“Then?” F’lar prompted grimly.
“He tried to bribe one of my blue riders with the promise of finding him a suitable friend.”
“That is enough!” F’lar’s expression darkened, and he irritably pushed hair back from his forehead. “Lessa!” he called, beckoning urgently to her.
When F’lar explained K’van’s problem, she was equally incensed.
“You’d think he’d know better by this time not to try to bully dragonriders,” she said, her voice crisp with anger. When she saw K’van’s apprehensive expression, she gave him a reassuring touch. “It’s scarcely your fault Toric is as greedy as a Bitran.”
“Desperate, more like,” K’van said with the hint of a smile. “Master Idarolan told me that Toric had offered him a small fortune in gems and a fine harbor if he’d sail a punitive force to the Island. But he wouldn’t. And, furthermore, he’s told all the other Shipmasters that they’re not to help Toric in this matter. They won’t, either.”
“Toric has ships of his own,” Lessa said irritably.
K’van had relaxed enough to grin. “But none large enough to transport a sufficiently large force to be effective. His landing parties have been ambushed and either wounded severely enough to make them useless or imprisoned by the rebels.” His grin grew broader. “I’ve got to hand it to Denol—he’s clever. But I wanted to tell you what’s been happening before lies or rumors got back to you—or other Lord Holders complained about our attitude.”
“Quite correct, K’van,” F’lar said.
“We’ll have to find time to visit Lord Toric,” Lessa said, a steely look in her eyes. Then she smiled, a nasty smile that made K’van relieved that it was not directed against him. “Lord Toric
needs
a full report on Aivas and what’s happening here at Landing. I think we’ll inform him ourselves, F’lar?”
“I’m not sure when,” F’lar said with a sigh. “But we’ll make the time somehow. K’van, just keep your Weyr out of Toric’s squabble.”
“I shall!” And there was no doubt in the Benden Weyrleaders’ minds that he would. K’van had been a determined and responsible youngster, and now that he was grown to manhood, those traits were refined. He would stand against Toric simply because Toric didn’t think he could.
“Now, place this plug,” Aivas told Piemur, illustrating the appropriate one on the monitor, “in this female socket!” When Piemur had complied, Aivas went on. “There should be a green light on the base of the monitor.”
“There isn’t,” Piemur said in a voice that was almost a wail. He sighed gustily, hanging on to his patience.
“Then there is a faulty connection. Remove the cover and check the boards, mother, input-output, and memory,” Aivas said. It didn’t help Piemur’s temper that Aivas seemed totally unruffled by yet another failure. It simply wasn’t normal for an entity to be so bloody methodically insensitive. “Machines must first be properly assembled before they can function as they were designed. That is the first step. Be patient. It is only a matter of discovering which is the faulty connection.”
Piemur found that he was trying to bend the screwdriver in his hand. He took a deep breath and, not daring to look to either side of him, where Benelek and Jancis were concentrating on assembling their own devices, he removed the cover of his. Once more.
They had been at this tedious and exacting task ever since Terry had arranged all the wires and connecting cords to Aivas’s satisfaction. It soothed Piemur only slightly that Benelek, who had always been mechanically inclined and good with his hands, was not faring any better. Nor was Jancis, though her current ineptitude distressed him for her sake. Piemur’s shoulders ached with cramp, his fingers were thick with all the finicky little movements, and he was going sour on the whole project. It had seemed such a simple affair. Find the cartons in the caves with the stored units, dust ’em off, start ’em up, and that’d be that. But it wasn’t. First Aivas had made them learn what each unit was—keyboard, liquid-crystal display, computer box, touch keyboard panel—and the codes for the various “boards” that activated the computer terminal. Fortunately, when it came to soldering broken connections, Jancis and Benelek were adept. Piemur burned his fingers once or twice in practice, but he caught on quickly enough. Fingers made dexterous by playing instruments easily adapted to the new task. But the initial enthusiasm that had motivated Piemur since before dawn had long since drained out of him. Only the fact that neither Jancis nor Benelek faltered kept him going.
“Let us begin again,” the inexorable, calm Aivas voice continued, “by checking each panel to be sure there is no damage or break in the circuits or chips.”
“I’ve done that twice already,” Piemur said, setting his jaw.
“Then it must be done again. Make use of the magnifying glass. That is why our boards were all made to be visible, serviceable. On Earth it was not possible to check them visually like this. There it was done by facilities in factory outlets. Here we must just proceed patiently.”
Holding his temper firmly in check, Piemur went over the chips, circuit by circuit, scrutinizing the resistors and capacitors. The beads and silvery lines that had once fascinated him had become anathema, called by stupid terms that meant nothing to him but trouble. He devoutly wished he had never seen the bloody things. Close scrutiny did not disclose any obvious breaks. So, exercising the greatest control on his fingers, he replaced each component as carefully as he could. They all slotted firmly into place.
“Be sure that each card is seated securely in the grooves,” said the ever-calm Aivas.
“I just did, Aivas!” Piemur knew he sounded petulant, but in the face of Aivas’s imperturbability, he found it even harder to be objective. Then his good humor reasserted itself. Machines, he reminded himself facetiously, did only what they were programmed to do. They did not have emotions to interfere with the smooth performance of their duties—once a smooth performance had been attained.
“Before you replace the cover, Piemur, blow gently across the unit to be sure there are no motes of dust clogging the connections.”
Master Esselin had the reconstruction of the Aivas facility in hand, but the work roused clouds of dust, some of which sifted into the chamber despite all precautions.
Piemur blew carefully. Replaced the cover. Picked up the plug and inserted it. It took him a full moment to realize that a green light indeed shone on the panel just where it was supposed to, and that a letter had appeared on the liquid-crystal display. He let out a whoop, startling Jancis and Benelek.
“Don’t do that, Piemur,” the young journeyman exclaimed, scowling up at him. “I nearly soldered the wrong connection.”
“It’s really working, Piemur?” Jancis looked up hopefully.
“Green and go!” Piemur chortled, rubbing his hands together, ignoring Benelek’s sour looks. “All right, Aivas, now what do I do?”
“Using the letters on the keys in front of you, tap out
README
.”
Hunting out the various letters, Piemur tapped out the phrase. Instantly the screen in front of him blossomed with words, numbers, and letters.
“Hey, look, you two. Words! My own screen full of words!” Benelek spared only an irritated glance, but Jancis rose to stand behind him and admire the result. She gave him an approving pat and then returned to her task.
“Read carefully and absorb the information on the screen,” Aivas said, “and you will learn how to access the programs you need to reach the information you desire. First you must become familiar with the terms. Being comfortable with these terms increases your efficiency as an operator.”
By the time Piemur had read through the instructions several times, he wasn’t much wiser, for it appeared to him that familiar words no longer meant what they should. He sighed and started at the beginning of the page again. Words were a harper’s profession, and he would learn these new interpretations if it took him a full Turn.
“I’ve got it, too!” Jancis cried elatedly. “I’ve got a green light, too!”
“That makes three of us then,” Benelek said smugly. “And I tap out
README
, Aivas?”
“The initial lesson is the same for all, Benelek. You are to be congratulated! Have more students been enlisted in this project? There is much to be done.”
“Patience, Aivas,” Piemur said, imitating the machine’s tone and grinning at Jancis. “They’ll come in their fairs once word has got round.”
“The rider of the white dragon, Lord Jaxom? Will he be one?”
“Jaxom?” Piemur asked, mildly surprised. “I wonder where he got to.”
4
F
OR MOST OF
that day, Jaxom had been as thoroughly thwarted as Piemur could have wished. He and Ruth had transported five loads of cartons from the caves to the Aivas building, then just when the last had been off-loaded, Master Fandarel had urgently requested the two of them to convey Bendarek back to Lemos and his crafthall. The woodsmith couldn’t wait to initiate Aivas’s plans to redesign his paper-making machinery and to improve the quality of the product by adding a rag content to the wood pulp.
When Jaxom and Ruth returned to Landing, Master Terry had needed help in locating cables and wires which, after much scrambling about, were found in an almost-overlooked alcove in the caves. Jaxom and Ruth naturally obliged Master Terry by transporting him and the coils back to the Aivas building. Jaxom tried not to care, reminding himself that he was assisting the overall effort, except that he had had rather different notions of how he and Ruth would spend the day.
The white dragon had looked forward to basking in the hot Southern sun. The winter in the North had been cold and clammy, with little sunshine. And Jaxom had especially wanted to work on Aivas’s contraptions with Piemur, Jancis, and Benelek.
But Jaxom had made a habit of being accessible, amiable, and helpful. People found it much easier to ask him to oblige than they did other dragons and riders. As Ruth never objected, Jaxom felt constrained to assist whenever they could. Sharra thought it was because he was so determined to be the opposite of his despotic sire, Fax. She felt Jaxom carried this second-generation atonement too far sometimes, and she was quick to interfere if she felt his willingness was being abused. But she was back in Ruatha, and this was rapidly becoming one of those times when amiability was a bloody nuisance.
By the time Terry had off-loaded his coils of wires, Jaxom became aware of a rumbling in his stomach—not surprising, since he had had nothing but klah and a meatroll with Menolly and Sebell in the early morning. Sharra always worried about him remembering to take time to eat, and Jaxom tried to remember her injunctions. He wished that her gravid condition had not prevented her from accompanying him here, but she couldn’t risk going
between
right now. So he walked over to the kitchen building, unaware that F’lar was holding the extraordinary meeting, or he would have been there to lend his support. Jaxom had to help himself to food, because the cook and the drudges were busy dealing with an apprentice who had badly burned his hand on a hot spit—which reminded him that he had promised to convey Master Oldive to Landing. Maybe when that chore was done, he and Ruth could do as they wished.
When Jaxom and Ruth came out of
between
above the great courtyard of the combined Harper and Healer Halls in Fort Hold, Ruth was suddenly surrounded by a chittering fair of fire-lizards, their demands shrill with warning.
“What’s the matter with them, Ruth?” Jaxom asked.
Master Oldive doesn’t want you to land in the courtyard
, Ruth replied.
He says the harpers will latch on to you and he’ll never get to Landing.
Ruth sounded puzzled, but Jaxom laughed.
“I should’ve thought of that myself. So what does Master Oldive suggest we do?”
I don’t know. They’ve gone to tell him we’re here.
Ruth glided to the far side of the big Harper Hall complex, where they would not be so easily seen from either the Hall or the adjacent Fort Hold.
He comes
, Ruth said, just as they were once again surrounded by now happily chirping fairs of fire-lizards, doing one of their intricate aerial displays of delight.
They see us from the Hold
, he added, as another full fair of fire-lizards came zooming in on them, shrieking urgently.
No, we have more important things to do than stop at the Hold right now
, Ruth said, and added a warning bugle that sent the newcomers whizzing back, their voices thin with distress at his reprimand.
“Lord Groghe’s at Landing,” Jaxom said, trying not to feel guilty about ignoring the request. “He’ll tell them all he wants them to know when he gets back.”
His queen fire-lizard has been in and out of the Hold with messages. They know all they need to know about this Aivas
, Ruth rumbled in subtle discontent.
Jaxom slapped the white dragon’s neck affectionately. “You wouldn’t fit in the room, dear friend. Piemur said his Farli went to sleep, totally uninterested in Aivas.”
Ruth rumbled again.
Here comes the Masterhealer.
He veered sharply, descending at such an angle that Jaxom reflexively grabbed the riding straps and arched backward against the steep dive.
“You could have warned me,” Jaxom remonstrated mildly. Ruth had a habit of sharpening up his rider’s reflexes with unexpected maneuvers. The white dragon grunted with satisfaction at the success of his trick as he backwinged to land neatly a length from Master Oldive, who shambled up to them at a surprisingly rapid rate for a man with legs of unequal length and a humped back. He had a large satchel thumping behind his normal shoulder, but he waved a greeting, a huge grin on his face.
“Ho, there, Jaxom! I feared that you’d forgotten me in all the furor.” He leaned against Ruth for a moment to recover his breath. “I’m not as fit as I think I am,” he said. They both heard the shouts and saw folk in harper blue charging out of the courtyard archway. “Quickly. If they catch you, we’ll never leave.”
Ruth crouched down on his forequarters, crooking his left foreleg as a step for the Masterhealer. Jaxom leaned down to grasp Oldive’s arm. Winded the man might be, but he exerted a powerful pull as he hauled himself to Ruth’s back and settled behind Jaxom.
Immediately Ruth sprang aloft, his white wings taking the first important downstroke and beating upward so that the disappointed cries were quickly lost.
“When you’re ready, Ruth,” Jaxom said, picturing the Aivas building and being very careful to detail the alteration of the mounds in front of it so as not to have Ruth land out of time. Since the initial excavation, enough space had been cleared there for several dragons to land.
The cold of
between
sucked warmth from their bodies, and then they were suddenly in the bright, hot southern afternoon sun. A good-sized fair of fire-lizards swirled up to welcome Ruth, who was a particular favorite of theirs. As usual in the South, there were as many wild ones as those whose necks were banded in the colors of the people they were beholden to.
“By the first Egg, I don’t recognize the place,” Oldive said in an awed voice as Ruth glided in to land.
“I’m not sure I recognize it either,” Jaxom said, grinning over his shoulder at Oldive. “Master Esselin has already got one annex up.” He pointed to the swarm of men working furiously to erect walls on the right-hand side of the Aivas building.
“Oh, you’re using parts of the old building!” Oldive exclaimed.
“F’lar suggested it! Makes sense, instead of having to haul in building materials when there are all those empty buildings.”
“Oh, true, true.” Oldive’s tone did not indicate complete approval.
“And only from the smaller buildings—the family units, Aivas called them. There are several hundred of them,” Jaxom went on reassuringly. During their rummaging in the Catherine Caves, Terry had given Jaxom an account of the morning’s session with Aivas and the renovations planned.
“Is every Weyrleader here?” Oldive went on, suddenly aware of the long line of sunbathing dragons on the ridge above the settlement.
Jaxom laughed. “Since Aivas promises to help obliterate Thread, they wait on his every word.” He held up a steadying hand as Oldive dismounted from Ruth’s back.
“How?” The old man almost lost his footing in surprise. Jaxom braced him, catching the pack before it could swing around and totally unbalance the healer.
“I don’t exactly know.” Jaxom shrugged, experiencing another surge of annoyance at being out of things so far that day. “I was hoping to find out more this morning, but I’ve been otherwise occupied.”
Oldive put a sympathetic hand on Jaxom’s arm, his expression apologetic. “Conveying the curious to the new wonder?”
“Oh, I don’t mind, Oldive.” He grinned slyly at the healer. “If you will remember to ask Aivas about those two patients Sharra’s so worried about.”
“They are first on my list, I assure you, Jaxom. Marvelous woman, Sharra, always giving of her own energies and as selfless as you are yourself!”
Jaxom looked away, his embarrassment made all the more acute by the awareness that he would have preferred to have spent the morning learning new things from Aivas. But he was here at last, and he eagerly anticipated Master Oldive’s reaction to Aivas.
Inside the building, Esselin’s craftsmen were making an appalling amount of noise with their hammering. There was dust everywhere. Jaxom was amazed at how much had been accomplished. Walls had been washed clean, revealing bright, cheerful colors. He wondered how color had been impregnated into the material, for it didn’t look like any painted surface he had ever seen. He could hear lively conversations off to the left; F’lar’s voice was recognizable, as were T’gellan’s and R’mart’s. He guided Master Oldive to the right and relived the thrill of the previous day’s discovery as they faced the closed door to Aivas’s room.
Jaxom rapped on the door in a courteous warning and then opened it on a scene of great industry, which only served to reinforce his niggling resentment. Seated in front of a table made of a board supported by empty cartons, Piemur, Jancis, and Benelek were crouched over the units that he had helped resurrect from the Catherine Caves. And, adding insult to his sense of injury, the sharding things were working. His three friends were tapping away industriously at the keyboard units in front of them. He inhaled deeply through his nostrils to disperse his pique: a reaction he found unacceptable in himself.
Piemur craned his neck around to see who had entered. “Good day to you, Master Oldive. Welcome to the hallowed Aivas chamber. Where’ve you been all day, Jaxom?”
“I see you’ve made good use of
your
time,” Jaxom replied, trying very hard to neutralize his ill feelings and not quite succeeding. He caught Oldive’s sideways glance and made himself smile. “But I’m here now, and you can teach me what I need to know.”
“No chance of that,” Piemur replied with his usual impudence. “You have to start from the same point we did. Aivas’s orders.”
“I’m quite willing,” Jaxom said, trying to see the writing on Jancis’s screen, the closest to him.
She had stopped whatever she had been doing to smile at her old friend Master Oldive. Now she wrinkled her nose at Piemur. “You are the limit sometimes. The components are all carefully set out in the next room, Jaxom. I’ll help you, even if he won’t.”
Benelek didn’t look up from his work. “He’s to muddle through all by himself, Jancis, or he doesn’t learn.”
She rolled her eyes at Benelek’s uncompromising attitude. “Oh, he’ll have to do it himself, but a wink is as good a nod at times. Besides, I think we’d all better move into the other room. I can’t stand it when Master Oldive goes into gory details. And that’s what he’s here to do with Aivas.” She winked at the healer. “Every Craft has its hazards, I suppose.”
“Oh, yes, we certainly should allow him some privacy,” Piemur agreed, rising from his stool.
“Interruptions, always interruptions,” Benelek muttered sourly. But he got up, too, and carefully began to start the transfer.
“I heard the Weyrleaders back there,” Jaxom began, wanting to effect the introduction protocol for Aivas. “Should I get one in here?”
“Won’t be needed,” Piemur said. “Special dispensation has already been recorded by Aivas. Just go ahead and introduce Master Oldive.”
Which Jaxom did, exceedingly grateful that he would have no further delay in catching up with his friends.
“It is a pleasure to meet a man who is so highly praised by all,” Aivas said.
The rich voice, so humanly inflected, caused Master Oldive to stare about in considerable consternation.
“Aivas is, so to speak, all around you in this room,” Jaxom said encouragingly when he saw how disconcerted the healer was. “He’s a bit much to get used to at first, I agree. Scared the lot of us.”
Busy disassembling the makeshift table, Piemur shot Master Oldive an indulgent grin. “You’ll get used to a disembodied voice real quick, the kind of sense Aivas talks.”
“Go teach yourself to be sensible for me, young Piemur,” Aivas said in a jocular tone that startled everyone.
“Yes, sir, good Master Aivas, yes, sir,” Piemur quipped, bowing humbly as he backed out of the room, carrying the table board and nearly knocking himself down when he forgot to lower the board to get it through the door.
Jancis, following Piemur and Benelek, pulled the door shut behind her as she left.
“Please make yourself comfortable, Master Oldive,” Aivas suggested. “Did you by any chance bring recent Records from your Hall? Those from the Harper, the Mastersmith, and the Woodsmith have already been assimilated, but for a proper assessment of your society’s achievements, Records from every Hall, Hold, and Weyr are gratefully accepted.”
Master Oldive had absently seated himself, and his satchel, heavy with the notes he had brought with him, began to slide from his shoulder. He caught the strap and, with a shake of his head, recalled his wits.
“Lord Groghe said that—” Master Oldive hesitated briefly, not knowing the appropriate form in which to address the entity,
“—you
know, well, everything.”
“The memory banks of this facility contain the most comprehensive data available at the time the colony ships set out for their destination of the Rukbat system. That includes medical information.”
“May I ask how that information is organized?”
“Basic anatomy, microanatomy, physiology, autocrinology, medical biochemistry, and many more categories, such as immunology and neuropathology—which, it is fair to suggest, may no longer be known to you.”
“In that you are correct. For we have lost so much knowledge, so many techniques.” Oldive had never been more keenly aware of the gaps in his Craft.