Authors: Anne McCaffrey
The night swallowed the voices and all he heard was the gurgle of the river in which the boat moved so silently. Above him were the stars. The old harper who had taught all the youngsters at the Glasscrafthall had told him the names of some of them. Indeed, the old man had mentioned meteorites and the Ghosts that appeared in bright arcs in Turnover skies. Shankolin had never believed that those bright sparks were the ghosts of dead dragons, but some of the younger children had.
The brightest stars never changed. He recognized the sparkle of Vega—or was it Canopus? He couldn’t remember the names of the other stars in the spring sky. In trying to recall those names and when he had learned them, his mind inexorably returned to Aivas and all that … that
thing
… had done to him. He’d only recently heard, in a repetition of very old news, that his father had been exiled to an island in the Eastern Sea with the Lord Holders and other craftsmen who had tried to stop the Abomination.
Now that the source was silenced, they’d be able to talk men and women into returning to their senses. The Red Star brought Thread. The Dragonriders fought Thread in the skies, and people lived comfortably enough between Passes. That had been the order of life for centuries—an order that should be preserved. When he had heard that the Masterharper of Pern, a personage Shankolin had admired, had been abducted, he had been deeply disturbed. But his ears had been blocked for Turns before he gradually recovered some hearing and learned about that part of the incident. He had never clearly heard why the Masterharper had been found dead in the Abomination’s chamber. But it, too, had been dead—“terminated,” one of the miners said. Had Master Robinton come to his senses and turned off the Abomination? Or had the Abomination killed Master Robinton? He felt eager to discover the truth.
Once he got down Crom’s river—perhaps Keogh Hold would be far enough—he could make plans and see just how badly the Abomination had interfered with Pern’s traditions and way of life.
Gathers began in springtime, when the roads dried of winter snow and mud, and he could simply blend into the crowds, and perhaps find more answers. He was hearing more and more these days, even the shrill song of avians. Once he caught up on current news, he would be able to plan his next moves.
Surely not everyone on Pern would want tradition degraded or would believe the lies that the Abomination had spouted. He called to mind those whom he knew had been seriously disturbed by the so-called improvements promulgated by Aivas. By now, eleven Turns since the Abomination had terminated, some right-minded, thinking folk would realize that the Red Star had not changed course simply because three old engines had blown up in a crack on its surface! Especially when Thread continued to fall on the planet—as indeed it
should
, to be sure that all Pern was united against the menace of its return, century after century.
“I don’t know why it had to mess up time,” said the first man, morosely fingering a pattern in the spilled gravy in front of him.
“You’re messing up the table,” the second man said, pointing.
“He had no call to mess up our time,” the first man insisted, rather more vehemently.
“Who?” Second was confused. “He? It?”
“Aivas, that’s who or it.”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Well, he did, didn’t he? Back in ’38—which should be only 2524.” The holder scowled, his thick black brows coming together across the wide bridge of his thick nose. “Made us add some fourteen Turns allasudden.”
“He was
regulating
time,” Second corrected, surprised at his companion’s vehemence. The holder had seemed a pleasant enough companion, knowledgeable about music and knowing all the words to even the latest songs the harpers were playing. With his third wineskin, his temper had deteriorated. And possibly his wits, if time or how folk numbered Turns was bothering him.
“Made me older’n’ I was.”
“Didn’t make you smarter,” Second said with a rude snort. “ ’Sides, Masterharper himself said it was all right on account there were dis- ah- disk—” He paused and used a belch as an excuse while he recalled the exact phrasing. “—there’d been inaccurate timekeeping because of Thread falling only forty Turns once instead of fifty, like it usually did, and people forgetting to account for the disk—”
“Discrepancies,” the third man put in, regarding them superciliously.
Second gave a snap of his fingers and beamed at Third for finding the word he couldn’t recall.
“The problem is not what it did,” First went on. “It’s what it’s continuing to do. To all of us.” He made a flourish that included everyone at the Gather, all laughing and singing, oblivious to the dangers in this continuation.
“Continuing to do?” A woman who had been standing nearby slipped into a seat several places down the long Gather table, on the opposite side from First and Second.
“Pushing things on us whether we want ‘improvements’ or not,” First said slowly, eyeing her in what illumination dimly reached their side table. He saw a thin woman, with an unattractive face, a pinched mouth, a recessive lower jaw, and huge eyes that glowed with an inner anger or resentment.
“Like the lights?” Second asked, gesturing toward the nearest one. “Very useful. Much more convenient than messing with glowbaskets.”
“Glowbaskets are traditional,” the woman said and her petulant tone carried into the shadows beyond the table. “Glows were put here for us to cultivate and protect.”
“Glows are natural, and have lighted our holds and halls for centuries,” said a deep, censorious voice. Startled, the woman gasped and put her hand protectively to her throat.
Certainly First and Second, who had thought they were having a private discussion, were annoyed by the intrusion until the big man stepped out of the shadows. As he slowly walked to the table, the others watched his deliberate advance, noting the size of him. He sat down by Third, bringing the number seated there to five. He wore a strangely shaped leathern
cap that hid most of his forehead but did not cover the scar on the side of his nose and cheek. He was also missing the top joint of the first finger on his left hand. Something about his scarred face and his purposeful manner compelled the others to silence.
“Pern has lost much lately and gained little.” His unmaimed hand lifted to point to the light. “And all because a voice—” He paused contemptuously. “—said to do so.”
“Got rid of the Red Star,” Second said, shifting uneasily.
Fifth turned his head toward Second, regarding him so unblinkingly that his scorn was nearly palpable.
“Thread still falls,” Fifth said in that deep, disturbing voice that seemed to use no inflection.
“Well, yes, but that was explained,” Second said.
“Perhaps to your satisfaction, but not to mine.”
Two men seated at a table opposite the group looked over with interest, and gestured at First to let them join in. First nodded his head at the two, and Sixth and Seventh hastily climbed into vacant spaces among the others.
“The voice is gone,” First said, when the two newcomers were settled and he was guaranteed the group’s full attention once again. “Terminated itself.”
“As it should have been terminated before it was allowed to pollute and corrupt the minds of so many,” Fifth went on.
“And it has left so much behind,” the woman said in a despairing tone, “so much that can be misused.”
“You mean the equipment and new methods for manufacturing all kinds of things, like the electricity that brightens dark places?” Third could not resist teasing such somber and humorless people.
“There was no good reason for that … thing to turn itself off like that, just when it was beginning to be useful,” First said resentfully.
“But it
left
plans!” And Fourth sounded as if that was suspicious.
“Too many plans,” Fifth agreed, deepening his voice to a lugubrious and ominous level.
“What?” Third prompted him. Fourth’s eyes rounded with fear and anxiety.
“Surgery!” In that expressive deep voice the three syllables were dramatically drawn out as if he spoke of something immoral.
“Surgery?” Sixth frowned. “What’s that?”
“Ways of mucking inside a body,” First replied, lowering his own voice to match Fifth’s.
Sixth shuddered. “Mind you, sometimes we gotta cut a foal out of its dam or it strangles.” When the others regarded him suspiciously, he added, “Only a very well-bred foal we can’t afford to lose. And I saw the healer once remove a pendix. Woman would’ve died, he said. She didn’t feel a thing.”
“ ‘She didn’t feel a thing,’ ” Fifth repeated, investing that statement with sinister import.
“The healer could have done anything else he liked,” Fourth said in a shocked whisper.
Second dismissed that with a grunt. “Didn’t do her any harm and she’s still alive and a good worker.”
“I mean,” First went on, “there’s a lot of stuff being tried in the Crafthalls, not just the Healers—and when they make mistakes, it can cost a man’s life. I don’t want them fooling around with me, inside or out.”
“Your choice,” Second said.
“But is it always ‘your’ choice?” Fourth wanted to know, leaning forward across the table and tapping her finger to stress her point.
Third also leaned forward. “And what choices are we being given—to decide what we want and need—out of all those files Aivas is supposed to have left us? How do we know we want all this technology and advanced gadgets? How do we know it’ll do what
they say it will
? Lot of people saying we got to have that; ought to have this. They’re making the decisions. Not us. I don’t like it.” He nodded his head to emphasize his distrust.
“For that matter, how do we know that all that hard work—and I had to work my arse off some days down at Landing—will work?” Seventh asked with some rancor. “I mean, they can
tell
us
that it’s going to work, but none of us will be alive to see if it does, will we?”
“Neither will they,” Third said with black humor. “Then, too,” he went on quickly before Fifth could start in again, “not all of the Masters and Lords and Holders are keen to just latch on to all this new junk. Why I heard Master Menolly herself …” Even Fifth regarded him with interest. “She said that we ought to wait and go carefully. We didn’t need a lot of the things that that Aivas machine talked about.”
“What we
do
have,” Fifth said, raising his deeper, oddly inflectionless voice above Third’s light tenor, “has worked well enough for hundreds of Turns.”
Third held up a cautionary finger. “We gotta be careful what new junk gets made just because it’s new and seems to make things easier.”
“But you have electricity?” Sixth said enviously.
“It’s done naturally—we use sun panels, and they’ve been around forever.”
“Ancients made ’em,” First said.
“Well, as I said,” Third went on, “
some
things will be useful, but we’ve got to be very careful or we’ll fall into the same trap the Ancients did. Too much technology. It’s even in the Charter.”
“It is?” Second asked, surprised.
“It is,” Third said. “And we can do something to keep us traditional and unsullied by stuff we aren’t even sure we need.”
“What?” First asked.
“I’m going to think about it,” Fourth said. “I don’t hold with someone hurting people, but devices—things we neither want nor need—can be broken or spilled or got rid of.” She looked to Fifth to see his reaction.
Third guffawed. “Some folks tried that. Got their ears deafened …”
“The machine’s dead,” First reminded him.
Third snarled at being interrupted. “Got exiled for hurting the Masterharper—”
“I did hear that the MasterHarper died in its chamber. Perhaps the Masterharper had realized how insidious that Abomination was. Could he have terminated it?” asked Fifth.
The woman gasped.
“That’s a very interesting idea,” Third said softly, leaning forward. “Is there
any
proof?”
“How could there be?” First responded in a horrified voice. “The Healers said Master Robinton’s heart gave out. From being bounced around during his abduction.”
“He was never the same after,” agreed Second, who had grieved as sincerely as the rest of the planet for his death. “Heard tell there was a line printed on the screen. Stayed there for a long time and then disappeared.”
“ ‘And a time for every purpose under heaven,’ ” murmured Sixth.
“Couldn’t have been Master Robinton that put up that message. Had to have been Aivas,” Seventh said, scowling at Sixth.
“Something to think about, though, isn’t it?” Third said.
“Indeed it is,” Fourth said, eyes blazing.
“There are other matters to think about: what that … Aivas machine”—though Fifth’s odd voice had no inflection, his scorn for Aivas rippled down the table—“has insinuated into our way of life, corrupting the traditions by which we have survived so long.” Fifth had no trouble dominating the conversation again. “I do not—” He paused. “—approve of harming a living thing.” Again, he left a significant pause before he continued. “But permanently removing items that can have dangerous effects on innocent people is another thing. It would be wise to make certain that such new materials and objects should never see the light of day.”
“Much less glowbaskets or electricity,” Third said in a facetious tone that was not well received even by Second. Fifth and Fourth glowered so repressively that he recoiled.
“I go along with removing some of those gadgets and new junk,” Second murmured, but he didn’t sound entirely convinced. “It’s more that some of us,” he added, glancing from one face to another, “never seem to get our fair share.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. Like dragonriders getting what
they
want first,” Third said. “Get
our
share.”
“There are more folk than you might think,” Fifth said in his compelling voice, “who have genuine doubts about improvements
from all this Aivas stuff. Machine oughtn’t to know more than a human
being
does.”
First gave another emphatic nod of his head and rose. “Be right back with some other right-thinking human
beings
.”