All the Weyrs of Pern (54 page)

“What’s holding up N’ton’s wings?” Fandarel asked, relieved to see Jaxom. “That was a splendid sight, Jaxom, watching all those dragons lifting the engines like they were so many firestone sacks. Aivas has informed us that all went well.” Fandarel looked concerned. “Why isn’t N’ton here?”

“Because no one thought to keep helmet and body suit together,” Jaxom said. Then he realized that he should also appear concerned and managed a frown. “I don’t think it’s going to matter in the long run,” he added thoughtfully as he made his way to the nearest console. “Aivas, there is going to be a delay. Helmets weren’t kept with suits, and they’ve got to match.”

“That could be inconvenient if the delay is prolonged,” Aivas said.

“It’s three-quarters of an hour since we went off. How long before N’ton has to have different star-pattern references? It would be disastrous if he arrived at the wrong time and his engine went off either prematurely or too late.” If Aivas expected Jaxom to use his wits, he hoped he would see what he was aiming at.

“A consideration to be sure. Reprogramming contingency.” The screen altered from the current view of the
Buenos Aires
engine to rapid shifts of star configurations. “With any lengthy delay, the star picture will be slightly different.”

“Is there going to be a problem?” Fandarel asked.

Jaxom smiled reassuringly at the Mastersmith and the others on the bridge, Masterminer Nicat, Master Idarolan, Jancis, and Piemur. Jaxom wished Piemur were not there: they knew each other far too well. “I don’t think it’s insurmountable. As you heard, Aivas is already programming contingency plans. I’d better inform Lessa and F’lar of the delay.”

When he had done that, a call came through from Evan in engineering, patiently waiting to complete the separation. Jaxom was glad it was he, rather than Fosdak, in charge of that task. Fosdak had no patience.

Of all on the three bridges, Jaxom was the only one delighted that it took N’ton and his wings nearly four hours to get suited up. N’ton was usually a calm, easygoing, and relaxed Weyrleader; his patience had been sorely tried by the delays.

Monarth says they’re ready. Ramoth says they must get the new configurations from you. Aivas is giving you the new star patterns to memorize and give Monarth.
Ruth delivered the various messages just as the new configurations came up on the monitor. They were, as Jaxom knew, those for the five-hundred-Turn jump with the Red Star in the same relation to Rukbat at the Eighth Pass. Aivas had made a slight time alteration on those original coordinates, judging by the position of the Wheel and the Plow constellations on the horizon.

“Lessa,” Jaxom said, toggling the ship-to-ship link, “I’ve got the visuals here. I’ll give them to N’ton. Can Ramoth tell them to transfer in five more minutes? I have to get Ruth from the cargo bay.”

“Just give N’ton the coordinates, Jaxom,” Lessa said.

“That’s what I intend doing,” Jaxom replied mendaciously. “Fandarel, five-minute warning for Evan?”

The smith nodded enthusiastically, for the waiting had made everyone edgy. Waiting, in the smith’s lexicon, was inefficient. As Jaxom took the lift to the cargo bay, he wondered if Fandarel ever rested. Here he had completed the most complex and exhausting work of a lifetime and he still fretted over inactivity.

We go?
Ruth asked Jaxom, his eyes whirling with excitement.
We don’t really have to go, you know, Ruth,
Jaxom said.
Lessa said we only have to give N’ton the new coordinates
. . . Jaxom chuckled as he saw the disappointment in Ruth’s eyes. He mounted and, crowning his head with the helmet, twisted it shut.
That will get them there safely enough but
. . .
I think you’ll make an error and go, too. You feel all right about that?

I have rested, and this is the shorter trip, isn’t it?

I hope so.
Between the first jump, fretting over how to join N’ton’s wings, and the long wait, Jaxom was feeling slightly frayed. He took care not to let Ruth sense that.

Monarth comes!
Excitement colored Ruth’s tone.

“Fandarel, do you see them?” Jaxom asked through his helmet link.

“Yes, magnificent. I have given Evan the order to separate.”

Let’s get to the stern, Ruth.

Jaxom took a deep breath, but they flashed
between
so fast that he had not quite completed the inhalation when Ruth reappeared gripping the stern. Monarth and N’ton were beside them, and below, the bronze dragons of Fort, High Reaches, Telgar, and Ista ranged along the top spars.

Jaxom held the image of where they were going vivid in his mind.
Give Monarth and N’ton my compliments and ask Monarth to take our destination from you.

N’ton threw Jaxom a salute, but Jaxom couldn’t see the Fort Weyrleader’s expression, obscured as it was by his faceplate. He gave N’ton a deferential salute.

Monarth says we go!

They went. The cold of
between
seemed to penetrate Jaxom’s space suit, and he could hear his breath coming raggedly. He forced himself to slow down.

I’m here,
Ruth said in encouragement.

As always,
Jaxom replied, and continued to count his inhalations. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.

And then they were hovering inches above the southern tip of the Rift.

Monarth says where’s the crater?

Tell him that Aivas picked this spot, so here’s where we’d better deposit the engine. We don’t have time to find that bloody crater!

Jaxom turned toward N’ton, who was looking at him, arms raised in query. Jaxom gave him an exasperated shrug in reply.

Monarth says N’ton understands. They proceed.

N’ton was signaling to the auxiliary dragons to begin their task of sowing the zebedees. Then he turned all his attention to the lowering of the massive engine into the Rift. The maneuver went well, even better than Jaxom’s, taking just ten minutes.

N’ton waited another few moments, allowing the dragons a chance to rest. Then he called in the auxiliaries.

I have told Monarth that everyone must return to their own Weyrs. But to keep the right helmets with the right suits this time,
Ruth told Jaxom.

We’re not likely to need two hundred slightly used space suits again,
Jaxom said, trying to contain his elation until they were safely back.
We must go back to the
Yokohama.

I have told Monarth. N’ton says he is grateful and apologizes for the delay.

Tell him that it all worked out well in the end.

It did, didn’t it?
Ruth added.
Shall we return now?

Please yes!

Once again, the return seemed longer than the outgoing journey, but it wasn’t. Finally the comforting dimness of the big cargo bay of the
Yokohama
surrounded them. And they were immediately attacked by Ramoth and Mnementh.

Where have I been?
Ruth exclaimed, rearing back away from Ramoth’s savage expression and dodging Mnementh’s massive wings.
I’m fine. I’m fine. So is Jaxom. He didn’t tell me not to go!

“Jaxom!”
F’lar was bellowing the moment he stepped out of the lift, with Lessa on his heels.

Jaxom loosened his helmet. “So we went, too,” he said, raising his voice to top the angry ones of the Benden Weyrleaders. “Ruth’s not even a trifle off color. Not his fault. I forgot to tell him not to follow Monarth. But the job is now completely done!” He glared back at F’lar and Lessa and slid down Ruth’s side, patting his foreleg. “I could certainly use another pull at that wineskin, Lessa, if you wouldn’t mind . . .”

He spoke with no trace of regret or apology, and he felt rather too battered to bother with the deference the Weyrleaders deserved from him. He undid the first of the suit’s fastenings, knowing that they were still angry with him and hoping they would give it up.

“Here, I’ll help,” F’lar said unexpectedly. “Lessa, this Lord Holder deserves another swallow of that ‘sixteen!”

Jaxom gave F’lar a sharp look and then grinned back. By the first Egg, so he had finally come into his own in the cargo bay of the
Yokohama
.

20

A
FEW RIDERS
in the third group suffered some physical attrition. M’rand, one of the older bronze riders of High Reaches, returned long after the rest of the Weyr and in terrible condition. He was tormented by bad dreams, insisting that he had returned to his Weyr but it had not been
his
Weyr. Tileth had been frantic, recognizing none of the other dragons there and finding a strange bronze asleep on the ledge of his Weyr. M’rand couldn’t understand at first, but he had heard that bronzes could slip through time. He kept his wits and had tried to get home again, giving Tileth the most vivid images of their favorite view of High Reaches, with the blue M’rand knew was that day’s watchdragon. That time they had emerged in the right place and the right time.

“Sloppy visualization,” Lessa said when she and F’lar had also spoken with M’rand and the others: two in Fort Weyr and another in Igen. “And they’re all older riders, leaving more up to their dragons than they ought.”

Jaxom noticed that N’ton was regarding him with a quizzical expression, and he responded with a perplexed grin. He himself had felt woefully tired after the exertions of that momentous day, pausing only long enough to let Ruth feed on a juicy buck before returning home, and no one thought it odd that he slept nearly a day. Sharra was equally exhausted by her last few days in the laboratory, churning out zebedees.

Despite the fact that Aivas had repeatedly told everyone that the explosion would not take place for several more days and then would not be immediately visible due to light speed—which he had to explain again to some—a twenty-four-hour vigil was kept on the
Yokohama
. Every screen in the various areas on the ships where air was available was adjusted to the ships’ main screens and the big telescope, aimed at the Red Star.

“Jaxom, aren’t you going to watch?” Sharra asked. “You of all people ought to have the right!” She was baffled by his apparent indifference to the event.

“Frankly,” he said, “I have a lot of more important things to do here in Ruatha than floating about on the bridge, waiting for the thing to blow. Unless, of course,” he added considerately, “you really want to see it.”

“Well . . .” Sharra paused, then smiled at him. “I’ve got those cultures going right now and . . .”

Jaxom grinned at her. “If there’s enough warning, Ruth’ll get us there in time.”

Sharra gave him a startled sideways glance.

“All in a good cause,” he said, trying for nonchalance, “and a minute or two isn’t going to disrupt the universe. I’ll ask Ruth to keep an ear open, if you like. There’s always some fire-lizards or a dragon or two up at the
Yokohama
these days. Easy enough.”

“If he can stay awake long enough to listen,” Sharra replied, having noticed that Ruth seemed to be taking an unusual amount of sleep.

“He can sleep with one ear open,” Jaxom said, and then they each went about the concerns of the day.

Brand had also observed Ruth’s somnolence, and while he and Jaxom were checking the brood mares, he mentioned it.

“I don’t think it’s so very unusual, Brand,” Jaxom said easily. “N’ton said that all the bronzes who went with us are also sleeping a good deal. I suspect none of the dragons care to admit that they had to work pretty hard to transfer those engines.” Then Jaxom noticed his Steward’s hesitation. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that there have been some complaints about Fort Weyr.”

“What do you mean, Brand?” Jaxom and Ruth had not flown the most recent Fall with the Fort wings. “Have I missed something?”

Brand had shrugged expressively. “Well, because the bronzes are a big logy, they haven’t been as, well, diligent in chasing airborne Thread. There have been a lot of unhappy groundcrews. And that’s the other problem.”

“Tell me.”

“Somehow—” Brand paused to frame his explanation. “A lot of people thought that there’d be no more Thread
now
. That once the dragonriders had done this explosion thing, Thread wouldn’t fall again.”

“Oh!” Jaxom made a face. “Bloody shards, Brand. Don’t they ever listen? Harpers have been explaining for the last four Turns that we can’t stem
this
Fall, but there won’t be any more!”

“They don’t see it that way, I’m afraid, from the accounts I’ve heard. And Holder Grevil isn’t a stupid man, as you know, but
he
hadn’t understood and feels aggrieved, especially when a clump of Thread came down on his best field.”

“I can appreciate his annoyance. Did you manage to soothe him?”

“I did, but he’s sure to approach you on the matter the next time he can. I thought I’d warn you. And you should know that he blames the Aivas.”

Jaxom compressed his lips against rash words, momentarily defeated by this news: especially coming from Grevil, who was usually a moderate man. “I thought we’d straightened all that out at the trial.”

Brand shrugged, holding his hands up in an impotent gesture. “People will hear what they wish to hear, and believe what they want to. If they put the blame on Aivas, however, that absolves you, Jaxom, and even the Weyrs to a certain extent.”

“I can’t really count that as an advantage,” Jaxom replied. “Why should Aivas bear any blame after all he’s done to help Pern?”

“Ah, but the help is not so visible to some,” Brand said. “It’ll all sort itself out, Jaxom. But I did feel you should know current opinion.”

“Hmmmm, yes, I should. How many has that new stallion covered of this lot?” he asked, welcoming the chance to change to matters less complicated.

The more he thought about it, the more he felt obliged to let the Harper Hall know, and those at Cove Hold. He hated to disrupt the mood of euphoria and triumph they would be feeling. He sent Meer, who had been shadowing him constantly while Ruth slept, with a message to Lytol, who could mention the report at an appropriate moment.

“What I don’t understand,” Sharra said when he mentioned the matter to her over their midday meal, “is that with all that has been explained so carefully to everyone who would listen, how they can possibly misconstrue what you and the Weyrs were doing, and its immediate consequences.”

Jaxom grinned. “They probably stopped listening after the words ‘Thread will be forever destroyed.’ ” He sipped his klah pensively.

F’lar and Lessa are upon the
Yokohama, Ruth said in a sleepy voice.
Ramoth says Aivas thinks the explosion will be any time now.

Sharra politely cocked her head at Jaxom, knowing that Ruth had spoken to him. “What woke him up?”

“It should be any moment now. The explosion. Want to go?”

“Do
you
want to?”

“Let’s not play the you-first, no-you-first game. Do you want to go?”

She blinked rapidly, considering, and looking so like Jarrol that he grinned. “No,” she said with a sigh. “I think I’ve seen quite enough of the insides of the
Yokohama
to last me the rest of my life. And everyone will be crowding about up there. But you want to go . . .”

He laughed, reaching for her hand and bringing it to his lips. “I think I won’t. This moment should be F’lar’s.”

Sharra eyed him long and thoughtfully, her eyes beginning to sparkle. “You’re a good man, but I do not concede that it is
all
F’lar’s triumph.”

“Don’t be silly,” he replied. “It took all the Weyrs of Pern to do it.”

“And a white dragon!”

As she turned back to her soup, Jaxom wondered exactly what she meant by that. Could Sharra have guessed Ruth’s unusual role?

After so many long days of watching the round ball that was the Red Star, the explosion, when it became visible, was an anticlimax. An orange-red fireball blossomed on the side of the wanderer planet.

“Only one?” F’lar exclaimed, feeling a certain chagrin that half the planet had not exploded, too, after all Aivas had told them about the awesome power of the antimatter.

“That is how it would appear at this distance,” Aivas replied.

“It
is
rather spectacular,” Robinton murmured.

“Then all three engines went off at the same time?” Fandarel asked.

“It would seem so,” Aivas said.

“Well done, Aivas, well done.” Fandarel beamed, evidently not bothered by a tinge of disappointment. “That junction was successful.”

“And efficient,” D’ram said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease Fandarel.

“It’s odd, you know,” Piemur began, more to Jancis than the others. “You work your butt off to achieve an end, and suddenly you’ve done it! And all the excitement, frustration, sleepless nights, and involvement are over! Gone!” He snapped his fingers. “In one large and impressive fireball! So what do we do with all that extra time we have on our hands now?”

“You,” Robinton said, pointing a stern finger at the journeyman, “will now have the unenviable task as a harper of explaining the true facts of the achievement to those who didn’t understand that this effort would not alter the path of Thread during the remainder of this Pass.”

To Lytol’s surprise, Robinton had not been at all dismayed by Jaxom’s report. In fact, the Harper had seemed to expect such disgruntlements.

“Menolly’s already composed one ballad,” Robinton went on, “with a chorus to hammer home the point that this is the Last Pass for Thread, that Pern will be forever free from the end of this Pass.”

“A point!” Piemur said. “Is that certain, Aivas?”

“That is now guaranteed, Piemur. You must realize, of course, that an immediate alteration of the Red Star’s orbit will not be perceived,” Aivas said, “for some decades.”

“Decades?” F’lar exclaimed, surprised.

“Naturally. If you consider the size of the object you were trying to move,” Fandarel said, “and the scale of this solar system, there is no such thing as sudden change. Even chaos takes time to develop. But in several decades, that alteration will be measurable.”

“Rest assured of that, Weyrleader,” Aivas added in a tone so laden with certainty that F’lar’s consternation eased.

“It’s too bad Jaxom and Sharra didn’t come,” Lessa said, slightly irritated by their absence. “I knew that Ruth would strain himself, taking part in the second lift.”

“Jaxom is quite capable of making his own decisions now, my dear,” F’lar said, amused at her proprietary concern for the Ruathan Holder.

“There is one more minor adjustment to make, however,” Aivas said, “which it is recommended to be undertaken by the lesser colors.”

“Oh? What?” Lessa and F’lar were very much aware that the brown, blue, and green riders were somewhat aggrieved by their exclusion from the project. “All the Weyrs of Pern” had been limited to most of the bronze dragons and only a few of the other colors, even if it had been obvious that there wasn’t space enough on the spars to accommodate every dragon who wished to take part, much less space suits to protect their riders in space.

“The matter of the
Buenos Aires
and the
Bahrain
.”

“What about them?” F’lar asked just as Fandarel emitted an “ah” of comprehension.

“Readings on the orbits of the two smaller ships have shown a marked increase of frequency of adjustments. The adjustments take more and more power, and the prognosis is that their orbits are likely to decay over the next decades to the critical point. The
Yokohama
, of course, has the fuel to remain in a stable orbit and must be maintained as long as possible, since its telescope will be used to track the Red Star. But the other ships ought to be moved.”

“Moved?” F’lar asked. “Where?”

“A slight alteration in their speed and altitude will break them out of orbit and send them coasting harmlessly off into space.”

“Eventually to be captured by the sun’s gravity and pulled into it,” Fandarel added.

“Burned up?” Lytol asked.

“A heroic end for such valiant ships,” Robinton murmured.

“You mentioned nothing of this before,” F’lar said.

“There were more urgent priorities,” Aivas replied. “It is certainly a task that must be accomplished sooner rather than later when the orbits have decayed, and while the skills your riders have learned for the more essential task are still fresh in their minds.”

“It would certainly ease the tension in the Weyr,” Lessa said. “We hadn’t anticipated that.”

“What exactly does this entail, Aivas?” F’lar asked.

“As stated, the dragons are to alter the direction of the two ships and give a ‘push’; that is, transport the ship
between
, all moving at the same cue. There are many handholds on the exterior of the ships to give dragons a grip. Judging by what you were able to accomplish in transferring the engines, such a maneuver is well within the scope of your smaller creatures.”

F’lar grinned. “You’re no longer skeptical about them?”

“In no way, Weyrleader.”

“What is the time frame on this?” Fandarel asked.

“Preferably within the next few weeks. There is no immediate danger, but do not let the dragons and riders lose the edge.”

“I think that will be good news,” F’lar said, nodding acceptance.

“Then you will set a time for this maneuver?”

“As soon as I can discuss it with the other Weyrleaders.” Oddly enough, F’lar’s spirits rose with the thought of another project. Flying Threadfall had become less exciting since the removal of the engines to the Red Star.

“It seems ungrateful to condemn those ships to death,” Lessa murmured.

“It’s a crime to waste all the material,” Fandarel added.

“These ships were never designed for planetary landings, Master Fandarel,” Aivas said.

“In one piece, that is,” Piemur added.

“Yes, Piemur, the pieces could have lethal consequences if they were to enter the atmosphere without disintegrating entirely.”

“I’ll let you know,” F’lar said. “Shall we go, Lessa?”

Watching the fireball soon lost its appeal for many on the
Yokohama
bridge that day. Shortly thereafter, when D’ram and the Eastern Weyr rider were ready to take the last watchers back to the Landing, Fandarel and Piemur cycled the life-support systems down to the holding mode.