All the Weyrs of Pern (51 page)

You always are here for me, dear friend,
Jaxom said, intolerably weary.

You did as you had to, as you ought to. No blame is yours.

But I am left to deal with its aftermath.

You have acted with honor. Others did not. Can you do more than act with honor?

A good question, Ruth, a very good question.
Jaxom stretched out on his bed, hands clasped behind his head.
Could I have avoided this outcome?

How? By not helping Piemur and Jancis to uncover Aivas that day? The machine would have been found by someone. More good has come of that day’s work than any other—except, of course—
and Jaxom, hearing the odd satisfied chirp in Ruth’s tone, smiled faintly—
the day we brought the queen egg back to Ramoth. And yesterday, when we went forward and assured our success . . .

Jaxom’s smile deepened in spite of his disconsolate mood, as he envisioned Ruth’s eyes twirling with blue mischief.

Men think differently than dragons do,
Ruth went on thoughtfully.
Most of the time dragons understand their mates. Sometimes, like now, I cannot quite understand why you are troubled. You allow people to think as they wish so long as they do not impose their thoughts on you. You are good about listening to both sides of a problem. I’ve heard you. You allow people to do as they wish, so long as they do not injure anybody, especially someone you love and admire.

Ah, but when we knew that Sigomal was plotting against Robinton, we should have confronted him then,
Jaxom said.

Were the plans known?

No, not exactly.

And you took measures to protect the Harper.

Which didn’t work, did they?

Not your fault. Who could have thought that they would try something at a Gather, with so many other people about? You must put aside such useless thoughts, Jaxom. You only make yourself miserable. We have much to look forward to . . .

Don’t we!
Jaxom grimaced as he flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow, knowing as he did so that he was merely evading that issue. He made himself think of it: Would he and Ruth tackle the problem Aivas had posed them?

It is not a problem, Jaxom. For it has been solved. Aivas has told you so. He has shown you so.

And you agree with him? You’ll risk it?

We went forward to see if it worked. It had. Therefore we will do it because we have done it. It will be quite a feat.
Ruth sounded eager and elated. Surprised, Jaxom pushed himself up to his elbows.
It will be even more challenging than saving Ramoth’s egg,
Ruth went on.
And even more important for the future of this world. That is what you must think of, not these sad and useless pasts. What has been done, has been done and cannot be undone.

Did Sharra have a word with you before she left?
Jaxom wouldn’t have put it past his wife to enlist the aid of his dragon.

She did not need to. Am I not always close to your heart and your mind?

Always, dear heart. Always!
And Jaxom swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was still a lot to be done at Ruatha before he could return with a clear conscience to Aivas and Landing.

19

A
IVAS HAD EXPLAINED
to Fandarel and Bendarek exactly how to alter and reinforce the HNO
₃
tanks that were to corrode the metal casing of the antimatter engines. Fandarel followed his instructions, though he thought that the tolerance needed on the alloy of the tanks as well as the padding seemed redundant. He did enjoy constructing the gauges and the nozzles that would let the agenothree drop on the engine casing.

“A slow process, to be sure, but the rate of penetration can be measured and monitored,” Aivas told the Smithcraftmaster. “The safety factors built into the great star-crossing engines were immensely sophisticated. The construction data are not available to discover a more efficient way of broaching the antimatter suspension, so this crude method is the only option. Sometimes the simple solutions are best. Therefore, it is prudent to allow a wide window, which has been calculated as two weeks, give or take a few days. By the time the dragonriders transfer the engines to their positions, the corrosion should have penetrated almost to the antimatter capsule.”

“Now, look here, Aivas,” Fandarel began. “I know the rate at which agenothree corrodes metal—”

“Not metal such as the builders of this ship used, Master Fandarel.”

“That’s so.” Fandarel scrubbed at his close-cropped scalp. “What puzzles me is the
amount
of agenothree required to reach the antimatter material.”

“As has been explained”—a diagram appeared on the monitor in the engineering section: a massive block surrounding a ridiculously small cube in a slightly larger sphere—“the antimatter material is not a large mass, approximately two hundred grams. Even the suspension unit masses only about fifteen hundred kilograms.”

“Frankly, Aivas, that’s what perplexes me. How could two hundred grams of
anything
power a ship the size of the
Yokohama
through space?”

“Do you not appreciate efficiency, Master Fandarel?” Aivas asked in reply, in a tone that could have been interpreted as amused. Fandarel often had the feeling that the machine
was
amused. “The matter/antimatter engine is the quintessence of efficiency. Only a small amount is ever required.”

“With two hundred grams of black powder or even nitro, one cannot explode very much,” Fandarel replied.

“Do not equate black powder or nitro, or anything used in mining operations, with antimatter on any count. There is no comparison to the explosive energy released. Despite the distance involved, you will be able to see the flash of the explosion with an ordinary telescope when the antimatter explodes on the Red Star. You would see no trace of an explosion using two hundred grams of black powder, or even nitro. You must be assured that this facility does comprehend the power that is to be discharged.”

Fandarel continued to scratch his pate in wonderment, nodding as he tried to accept what Aivas had said.

“You are an excellent craftsman, Master Fandarel, and have advanced at an astonishing pace in the past four years and nine months. Since antimatter, unlike the atom that you have recently been investigating, cannot be studied in laboratory situations, you must rely on explanations. It cannot be exposed to matter as you know it—ore, earth, gases, water. Antimatter can be contained, as it is in the ship’s engine, and, with control, become the most efficient source of power Mankind has at its disposal. At this point in your study of physics, you cannot understand these concepts. But you can use them to your advantage—with proper guidance, techniques known to this facility, and the safeguards that have already been explained to you. As you pursue your studies, you will come to understand even the anomalies of antimatter. But not now. Time becomes a critical factor. The Red Planet must be jarred out of its current orbit just where it will later approach the fifth planet of your system.

“Do you have the couplings to attach the HNO
₃
tanks to the engine blocks?”

“Yes,” Fandarel said with a sigh, and indicated the metal braces and T-junction that he and his best smiths had built to hold the tanks tightly against the engines in a way that would allow the corrosive material to leak onto the metal in a regulated flow.

“Then you should proceed to install the tanks as indicated.” The screen altered to show a new diagram.

“I could do it in my sleep,” Bendarek muttered.

“It would be unwise to fall asleep in space, Journeyman Bendarek,” Aivas replied immediately.

Bendarek grimaced and shot Fandarel an apologetic glance.

“You will remember to use tether lines while you are EVA,” Aivas continued. “F’lessan and his bronze dragon are in the cargo bay in case of an emergency.”

Gathering up their bundles, Fandarel and Bendarek made their way to Airlock E-7, nearest the engine shaft. The bulky agenothree tanks, the largest that Fandarel had ever manufactured, ringed the wall of the lock where the rest of the work detail awaited them, all suited up except for helmets. When Fandarel and Bendarek were ready, helmets were donned and secured, each member of the six-man team checking his mate’s tank, fastening, and safety lines.

At Fandarel’s nod, Bendarek cycled the airlock closed and then opened the outer door. Evan and Belterac took one tank, while Silton and Fosdak took the second. Bendarek handed out the couplers to the other journeyman, checking that each had the tools that would be required. Fandarel swung himself out onto the catwalk that led from the hatch to the great engine shaft.

Big as the Mastersmith was, he was dwarfed to insignificance by the immensity of the metal mass that contained the so-efficient two hundred grams of antimatter. For once in his life, Fandarel felt inadequate as he made his lumbering way: a grain of sand beside a dune. However, there was work to be done, for which he was quite capable, so he suppressed the comparison and, without looking back, gestured for Evan and Belterac to follow him. Pern was spread out below them, and with an accustomed glance, he located the odd pimples that were the Landing volcanoes. It comforted him in the grandeur of space to be able to identify something he knew. He proceeded, feeling the vibration in the walkway as others set foot upon it.

They all had EVA time, were accustomed to moving in free-fall, and were all aware of yet fascinated by the inherent dangers of the new environment. To Fandarel’s surprise, Terry, who had been his second hand for so long, could not handle the vastness of space, or even the lack of gravity, though he had never minded going a-dragonback. Still, Master Fandarel thought, space was a different medium altogether than
between
and just as hostile as Aivas told them. There had been those one or two—well, actually five—mishaps, Fandarel had to admit. Fortunately there had been dragons about, and the men who had inadvertently loosened their safety lines, had been hauled back to the
Yokohama
. Belterac was the only one who had overcome fear of a repetition and continued that exercise. But Belterac was phlegmatic by nature.

At last Fandarel’s gloved right hand touched the access ladder, which was crafted as a recess into the metal side of the engine shaft, complete with safety-line rail. Beyond his reach, by half a length, were the long, rounded spars to which cargo pods had been attached during the
Yokohama
’s long journey from Earth to Pern. When it came time to move the engines to the Red Star, the dragons, wearing special gloves to protect their flesh from the lacerating cold of the metal, would grip these spars and carry the engine
between
. Aivas, Fandarel knew, still entertained doubts that the dragons, even several hundred of them working together, could move such a mass. He thought that if they must have faith that what Aivas told them was true, Aivas should return the compliment. Fandarel caught a glimpse of Evan and Belterac behind him; then, clipping his line to the safety rail and placing his hands on the rungs, he pulled himself up.

It was a long way up. When he reached the top of the engine block, it was wide enough for five dragons to stand tail to nose. The length of it was four times its width. Fandarel was still not accustomed to thinking in such colossal measurements.

With Aivas’s diagram firmly in mind, he stepped carefully to where the tanks were to be positioned, nozzles end to end and joined by the junction that would permit their contents to drip-drip relentlessly into the metal. The waste of all that incredible metal distressed Fandarel, especially after Aivas insisted that they did not have some of the basic raw materials on Pern to reproduce such an alloy. He contented himself with the knowledge that he had seen it, felt it, and yes, even destroyed it. There was nearly as much destruction in smithing as there was creation.

Bendarek and Fosdak had stayed below to attach the hoist cables to the tanks. When those on top had adjusted their lines, they were secure enough to haul the tanks up without drifting off in the effort. The team had been well drilled, and soon the tanks were up, then pressed down so that the ingenious suction cups would keep the tanks firmly in place until the special glue set. The couplings were attached, and the junction installed. Finally the black solar panels were clipped on, so that the agenothree would not freeze, or boil, during the operation. Then Bendarek ceremoniously handed Master Fandarel the spanner to open the plastic nozzles and release the corrosive agenothree.

“One down, two to go,” Fosdak said in his usual impudent manner.

“And we will all be careful going down that ladder,” Fandarel said, relieved that there had been no mishap. Efficiency was safety, he reminded himself.

He motioned for the others to precede him and checked the gauges that would indicate the amount of agenothree in each tank. There was, of course, no change in the amount yet, but it was second nature for Fandarel to check.

“I know, I know,” Hamian said irritably, using both hands to push sweaty hair off his face. He regarded F’lar levelly. Hamian was stripped to work pants in the heat that was part of his discomfort. The major dissatisfaction was the plastic material that he, Zurg, Jancis, and a half hundred other journeymen and Masters of a variety of Crafts were trying to produce in sufficient quantities—and quality—to protect the dragonriders in their epic endeavor.

While the plastic he had produced, using Aivas’s formula, was pliable and tough as an outside layer, the filling and cotton lining made assembly difficult. Since the plastic outer skin of the space suits had to be airtight, it could not be sewn. Hamian had been experimenting with glues of every sort, trying to find one that would not become brittle in space and that bonded all three layers. He could not recall now how many suits he had sent up to the
Yokohama
to be tested.

The dragon gloves had been relatively easy in comparison, even if dragon feet differed in length and width as much as human feet did. Still the production of over three hundred pairs had taken some of his work force several months.

“Yes, I know that time is catching up with us, F’lar, but we’re working flat out. We’ve got one hundred and seventy-two finished and tested.” He held his hands in a gesture of resignation.

“No one can fault you for trying,” F’lar said.

“Look,” Jaxom said in a placatory manner, “if worse comes to worst, we can send the engines in three sections. There should be enough variety of sizes so that the suits can be swapped over.”

F’lar frowned, not liking that alternative.

“Well, it’s a suggestion,” Jaxom said. “It would take the pressure off Hamian.”

“But this was to be a joint effort . . .”

“You know as well as I do, F’lar, that there’s a wide window available,” Jaxom said, arguing as subtly as he could so that F’lar would not realize that Aivas intended that there be only two hundred suits. Jaxom hated the necessity of manipulating his best friends, but it was essential if he was to bring off Aivas’s plan. He didn’t like it any better than F’lar did, but he had come to realize that Aivas was not all that confident about the dragons’ abilities. The zebedees were a slower way of destroying Thread, but a second option seemed prudent. “It isn’t as if the engines have to be deposited at the same instant.”

“No, that’s true,” F’lar said, absently blotting the sweat off his forehead.

“How long does it take us to shuck space suits now? Half an hour at most, between the two lifts. Hamian needs only to get another twenty—more if at all possible, of course, Hamian, but we’ve almost enough as it is.”

“And time’s running out,” Hamian said, some of the tension easing from his face and body. He had not liked to fail in this project, but so much time had been spent in little details that no one had considered when they had blithely started. “Everything takes longer and costs more. Shells! but I hate to fall down on you.”

“Who said you had?” Jaxom demanded. “You’ve got enough kits to do the job right now.”

F’lar regarded Jaxom with faint surprise. Jaxom knew that he had just usurped some of F’lar’s prerogative, so he smiled as ingratiatingly as he could, giving a slight shrug.

“Yes, as you say, Jaxom, there are enough suits to do the job right now if riders trade off,” F’lar agreed.

“Well, then,” Hamian said, radiating relief, “I can take time for a bite to eat. Join me?” He gestured toward the trestle table set under an awning. Some of his large teams were already serving themselves, for meals were taken whenever there was time. “There’s always enough in the pot for dragonriders.”

Although Jaxom knew that F’lar was scrutinizing him all during the meal he pretended not to notice. He intended to have a few private words with Aivas about easing up on Hamian. The man
was
trying—and could have no idea that Aivas was deliberately rejecting space gear that was probably suitable in all respects. Two hundred finished and acceptable units—and no more—would solve Jaxom’s travel problems.

Although Landing bore the brunt of the preparations for the final assault on Thread, there was excitement throughout the planet as the days of the last month were ticked off.

Oldive and Sharra had drafted as many healers as possible and then, at Master Nicat’s suggestion, some of the gem cutters who were accustomed to the use of magnifying glasses and small tools. Efforts to find the most effective “disimprover” for the Thread spring were redoubled. Many parasites of the Thread ovoids had been found, and many of those had been infected with a variety of “viruses.” While some of the “disimproved” forms had adverse effects on the Thread, none had produced virulent enough reactions, according to Aivas. Massive reproduction had to take place, with the chosen virus—changed to a more parasitic form—able to replicate itself using the material within the ovoid.