All The Weyrs of Pern

5

Against his entreaties, F'lar took Master Robinton back to Cove Hold.

"You need the rest and the quiet, Robinton," F'lar told the Harper sternly. "You won't get that if you're allowed to stay at Landing again tonight. You're exhausted."

"But what a wonderful way to get tired, F'lar. And every time I turn around, I think of something else I must ask Aivas." Robinton chuckled. "It's rather like knowing you have the most fabulous vintage in your glass and being torn between drinking and admiring."

F'lar shot him an amused look. "That's apt enough, considering the source."

"I try! But surely you appreciate why I'm loath to leave?" And the Harper's expression was entreating.

"Oh, I do, Robinton." F'lar grinned as he handed the man down from Mnementh's great shoulder. "But it'd be worth my peace with Lessa if we let you overstretch yourself."

"But this is giving me new life, F'lar. A new hope that I never imagined to receive."

"Nor I," F'lar replied fervently. "Which is why we must take care of you all the more-to interpret for us."

"Interpret? He speaks in plain and simple terms."

"Not what Aivas says, Robinton, but how our people will see what he offers. For me, and all dragonriders, despite the future effects on Weyrs and dragonkind, I cannot but accept Aivas's offer to rid us of Thread. But already there are those who are either frightened or feel threatened by what Aivas can tell us, or give us."

"Yes, similar thoughts had crossed my mind," Robinton said solemnly, but then he flashed F'lar a roguish grin. "But I also cross them out. The good done us will far outweigh the bad."

"Get a good night's rest, Robinton. Benden flies Thread tomorrow, but D'ram will oblige, I'm sure, to get you back to Landing."

"Him!" Robinton was suddenly petulant. "He's worse than a milk mother, as it is." And he settled easily into D'ram's voice." 'I wouldn't, if I were you, Robinton! Have you eaten enough, Robinton? Now would be a good time to rest in the sun.' Tsck! He fusses me!"

"Not tomorrow. D'ram's as eager to see and hear more of Aivas as you are, you know," F'lar said just before Mnementh launched himself upward.

I've told Tiroth to take you tomorrow only if you're well rested, the dragon said. Zair, bronze tail wrapped about the Harper's neck and talons lightly clasping his right ear, chirruped agreement.

"Oh, you!" Robinton was torn between irritation at their overprotectiveness and pleasure that Mnementh had a word for him. He could never forget how much he personally owed the dragons who had kept him alive when his labored heart had faltered that terrible day at Ista Weyr two Turns earlier.

When he arrived at Cove Hold, Robinton was forced to admit to himself that he was tired. Just walking the short distance to the steps of his lovely residence winded him. There were lights on in the main hall: Dram and, doubtless, Lytol waiting up for him.

Zair chirped again, confirming his guess. Well, they would not tax him, and certainly they both deserved a brief report of the day's activities. Only how to be brief, considering all that had occurred since he had awakened early that morning? Only that morning? It was Turns away in knowledge and understanding.

But when he walked into the pleasant, well-lit room, Dram, the venerable retired Weydeader, and Lytol, former dragonrider and Jaxom's mentor, would listen to no explanations; they ushered him to his room with instructions that he was to rest first.

"Whatever momentous events occurred after I left can wait until morning," Dram said.

"Drink your wine," Lytol added, holding out the Harper's beautiful blue glass goblet. "And yes, I've added something to make you sleep tonight, because just one look at your face tells me you need rest above all else."

Robinton closed his hand about the goblet. Norist might be a closed-minded Craftmaster, but he blew elegant glass when he had a mind to, and in the exact shade of harper blue. "But I've so much to tell you," the Harper objected after a sip of the wine.

"All the better told when you've had a good night's sleep," Lytol said. When he would have bent to undo Robinton's boots, the Harper became indignant and pushed him away.

"I'm not quite that tired, thank you, Lytol," he said with great dignity.

Laughing, Dram and Lytol left. Robinton took another sip of wine before loosening the fastenings of his boots. The third before he hauled his tunic over his head. And another as he loosened his belt with his free hand. That's enough, he told himself and, draining the cup, lay back. He had only sufficient energy to pull the light blanket over him against the possible chill of a morning sea breeze. He felt Zair nestle down on the next pillow-and that was all.

The next morning he awoke slowly, aware that the dream he had had during the night had been both satisfying and confusing, but its ephemeral details eluded a conscious effort at recall. He lay for a moment, orienting himself. Sometimes, of a morning, he had difficulty remembering what day it was, or the tasks he had mentally assigned himself to accomplish.

Today he experienced no such disorientation. He remembered everything that had happened the day before with amazing clarity. Ah, that was good. A challenge to stimulate his flagging faculties. Corman and his accusation of gullibility! Indeed! Zair rumbled reassuringly on the pillow and stroked his head against Robinton's cheek.

"Will you pass the word along that I'm now completely refreshed?" he asked the bronze fire-lizard.

Zair regarded him, tilting his head sideways, his eyes whirling ever so slightly with the green of contentment, and gave a chirp. Then he rose and stretched, his transparent wings arching over his head before he shook and folded them tightly along his spine.

"So, are Tiroth and Dram awake to take me?"

Zair ignored him and began to groom his left hind claws.

"I gather that means I must bathe and eat first?" As he rose, Robinton realized that he had slept in his trousers-for the second night in a row. He shucked them off, snagged a large towel, and, opening the door from his corner room to the wide porch that sheltered Cove Hold from the intense sunlight, strode out. Descending the flight of steps with more vigor than he had climbed them the previous night, he jogged down the sandy track to the sea. Zair swirled overhead, crooning approval as Robinton dropped the towel on the white sand of the Cove and continued on into the pleasant waters. With Zair plunging into the next wave right beside him, Robinton emerged, propelling himself forward with a strong overarm stroke. A group of wild fire-lizards joined him and Zair, zipping just above the water alongside him or plunging in just in front of his face, missing body contact by inches. As often as they had seen humans bathing in the sea, they never ceased to be fascinated by swimmers.

Robinton turned back to shore, allowing the waves to carry his body forward. The sea was gentle this morning, but the exercise was still a fine toner. He dried himself off, then knotted the towel about his waist and strode off toward the house, where Dram and Lytol were waiting on the porch. "Tell them, Zair, that I'm completely refreshed and in vigorous health."

"You're awake, are you?" D'ram called. "About time. It's well past noon."

"Past noon?" Robinton stopped in his tracks, appalled at having wasted so much time sleeping. Who knew what he had missed of Aivas's disclosures that morning? "You should have wakened me!" He did not attempt to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Your body has more sense than you do," Lytol added, rising from the hammock hanging in the corner of the porch. "You got only the sleep you needed, Robinton. Pour him some klah, Dram, while I finish preparing his breakfast-our lunch."

As Robinton came up the steps, the aroma of the klah that Dram was pouring was enough to remind him that hunger was a need, too. He settled himself down, and between bites of the substantial breakfast that Lytol served him he brought them up to date.

"And so, the miracle begins," he said, finishing his account.

"You've no doubt in your mind, Robinton," Lytol said with his usual skepticism, "that this Aivas can effect the annihilation of Thread?"

"By the first Egg, Lytol, one cannot doubt it. The marvels we saw, the very fact that our ancestors made that incredible flight from the planet of our origin, lend credibility to his promise. We have. only to relearn the skills we lost, and we can triumph over this ancient menace."

"Aye, but why didn't the ancients rid us of Thread then, with all their incredible crafts and their full knowledge of the technology lost to us?" Lytol asked.

"You're not the only one to query that, Lytol," Robinton said. "But Aivas explained that the volcanic eruptions came at a crucial time and the settlers went north to establish a safe base. So their plans to defeat Thread were interrupted."

"Why didn't they come back when Threadfall ceased?"

"That Aivas didn't know." Robinton had to recognize that there were gaps in Aivas's account. "And yet... a musical instrument can only do what it is constructed to do, or one of Fandarel's machines. Therefore, a machine, even as sophisticated as Aivas, could do only what it/he was designed to do. It/ he"-I really must make up my mind how I consider the thing, Robinton thought-"is unlikely to tell lies. Though I suspect he," Robinton said, making up his mind, "does not reveal the whole truth. We've had enough trouble absorbing and understanding what he's already told us."

Lytol gave a snort, a cynical expression on his face which, Robinton was relieved to notice, was not mirrored by Dram.

"I would like to believe that we can!" Robinton added.

"Who wouldn't?" Lytol said, relenting slightly.

"I believe Aivas," Dram said. "He speaks with such authority. He explained that the time will be right in four years that is, Turns-ten months and twenty-seven days. Twenty-six today. The time factor has to be correct to succeed."

"Succeed in what?" Lytol persisted.

"That is something we must also learn." Robinton laughed in self-disparagement. "Not to put too fine a point on it, Lytol, but we're plainly too ignorant to understand his explanation. He did try-something about windows, and leaving Pern at just the precise moment to intercept the Red Star, or rather the planet which appears red to us for so much of its orbit in our skies. He showed us the diagram." Noting his defensive tone, he shook himself. "If you wish to query him, Lytol, I'm sure you can."

Lytol cast Robinton a sardonic look. "There are others with greater reason to consult Aivas."

"But you must hear our history from Aivas, Lytol," Dram said, leaning forward across the table. "You'll appreciate then why we can so unreservedly believe in Aivas and in his promise."

"He really has got to you, hasn't he?" Lytol shook his head at their credulousness.

"If you listen to what he says, you'll believe," Robinton said, rising. He had to clutch at the towel to keep it from slipping, which reduced the dignity of his pronouncement. "I'm dressing to return to Landing. Dram, will you and Tiroth oblige me?"

"Since you are rested," Dram said, giving his housemate a long and searching look, "we will, of course, oblige. Lytol, will you not join us?"

"Not today."

"Are you afraid of being won over despite your reservations?" Robinton asked.

Lytol shook his head slowly. "That's not likely. But go. Enjoy your dream of Threadfree skies."

"The last of the true skeptics," Robinton muttered under his breath, somewhat disturbed by Lytol's continued disbelief. Did Lytol think old age had dulled Robinton's wits or discriminatory faculties? Or did he believe, like Corman, that the Harper was gullible enough to be taken in by any plausible story?

"No," Dram assured him when he voiced the question to the old Weyrleader as they walked toward bronze Tiroth, waiting for them on the strand. "He's too pragmatic. He told me yesterday that we were far too excited to think logically about the repercussions Aivas will have on our lives. Altering the basic structure of our society and its values and all that twaddle." D'ram's snort indicated that he did not agree. "He's been through several upheavals himself. He's unlikely to welcome another."

"But you do?"

Dram smiled over his shoulder at the Harper as he settled himself between Tiroth's neck ridges. "I'm a dragonrider, Harper, and dedicated to the eradication of Thread. If there is even the slightest hope . . ." He shrugged. "Tiroth, take us to Landing!"

"Watch out, D'ram," the Harper cautioned. "It's undergone considerable alterations even since yesterday noontime when you left it."

So Monarth warns me. Although the Harper knew that Tiroth was speaking directly to Dram, his chest swelled with the privilege of hearing. I have the altered .scene from him. It has changed.

Was there a note of discontent in Tiroth's tone?

However, the great bronze dragon took them between and reentered on the hill west of the Aivas building, hovering in the air above the line of dragons sunning themselves on the promontory. Robinton looked up at the dragons on the hill, to see if he recognized any of the bronzes or the queens. Then he remembered that Benden Weyr would be involved in riding Threadfall today.

Gliding down toward the building, Robinton and Dram could not see the alterations until the bronze veered to his right and backwinged to land on the wide yard.

"I'd no idea!" D'ram gasped, turning to stare at the Harper, who was no less surprised than he.

Robinton hid his own reaction behind a quick smile of reassurance. Obviously, Lytol was in the minority, to judge by the changes here: all designed to facilitate access to Aivas. The original wing had been tripled in size, with odd lean-to sheds, like skirts, along all three sides. As the Harper dismounted, he recognized more of Fandarel's batteries housed under the sheds-sufficient power, he assumed, to sustain the entity all the hours of the day and night until the new and more powerful water-turbines were finished.

In the broad new courtyard, several knots of folk were arguing vociferously with each other while, above their heads, fire-lizards made raucous sounds of agitation. Most of the people wore the shoulder knots of Masters and journeymen from various Crafts; their tunic devices told Robinton that they came from different Holds, as well.

"Free-for-all?" D'ram asked, dropping to the ground beside Robinton.

"That's what it certainly sounds like," Robinton did not recognize any of the dissenters, though he noted four of Master Esselin's biggest workmen standing in front of the closed doors of the building. He took a deep breath and strode forward.

"Now, just what seems to be the trouble here?" he asked loudly. It took only a moment for all the disputants to realize who was addressing them; immediately he was encircled, each plaintiff demanding his attention. "Now wait just a moment!" he bellowed. Behind him on the hill, bronze and gold dragons added their authoritative bugle, and silence fell. Then he pointed at one man wearing a Masterminer's knot and Crom's device.

"Master Esselin will not let us in," the man said belligerently.

"And my Lord Holder"-a man wearing the head-Steward knots of Boll pushed forward from the group-"insists that we be given the facts about this mysterious being."

"Deckter charged me to do the same," a Steward from Nabol said in the most aggrieved tone of the three. "We demand to know the truth about this Aivas. And I'm to see this marvel before I return to Nabol."

"Yes, you all have been unconscionably slighted," Robinton said soothingly. "And those of us who have been fortunate to hear Aivas know that seeing Aivas is the first step in believing what he can do for us all, Hold, Hall, and Weyr. Why, I've only just been allowed to return." He feigned indignation at such an omission. That the much respected Harper of Pern should be denied access, too, seemed to appease them. "Now, you must realize that the room where Aivas is installed is quite small, though I notice there have been attempts to enlarge the space." He craned his neck as if trying to see just how much larger it was. "Hmmm. Yes, working day and night from the look of it. Most commendable really. Now, if you'll just bide here, I'll see what can be done about your quite legitimate request to see Aivas."

"I don't want to just see it," the miner complained. "I want it to tell me how to get back to the main lode of a very rich vein of ore. The ancients located all the ores on Pern. I want it to tell me where to dig, since it knows everything about Pern."

"Not everything, my dear fellow," Robinton said, less than surprised that Aivas was already being considered an omniscient being. Should he emphasize that Aivas was only-only? he thought bemusedly-a machine, a device that had served their ancestors as the receptacle of information? No, their understanding of machinery, craftsmen though many of them were, was too rudimentary. They would not grasp the concept of so complex a mechanical apparatus, let alone the concept of an artificial intelligence. The Masterharper didn't understand that all too well himself. He sighed with resignation. "And he knows very little about Pern as it is today, though a great deal about Pern as it was twenty-five hundred Turns ago. I suppose none of you heard that you were supposed to bring Hall Records with you? Aivas particularly wants to bring himself up to current times with every Hall, Hold, and Weyr."

"No one said anything about Records," the miner said, taken aback. "We heard it knew everything."

"Aivas will be the first to inform you that while his knowledge extends to many subjects and skills, he is not, happily, all knowing. He is... a talking Record, and far more accurate than ours, which tunnel snakes, time, and other perils have rendered illegible."

"We was told he knew everything!" the miner insisted stubbornly.

"Not even I know everything," Robinton responded gently. "Nor has Aivas even once suggested that he does. He knows a great deal more, however, than we do. And we shall all learn from him. Now, let me speak to Master Esselin on your behalf. There are, let's see, how many of you?" And he did a quick head count. "Thirty-four. Well, that's too many for one go. Dram, choose by lots. You all know Dram here as a fair man. You'll all have a turn-brief it may be, but Aivas you shall see."

Master Esselin was delighted to see the Harper but appalled at Robinton's solution to the matter of the plaintiffs.

"We can't send them away unhappy, Esselin. They have every bit as much of a right to see Aivas as a Lord Holder. More, even, because they'll be the doing of Aivas's grand plans over the next few years. Who's in there now?"

"Master Terry with Masters and journeymen from every Smithcrafthall in the world." Then his eyes went round with anxiety. "And Master Hamian from Southern Hold and two of his apprentices."

"Ah, Toric's finally sent an emissary?" Robinton wasn't sure if the news pleased or worried him. He had rather hoped not to have to contend with Toric's avarice yet.

"I don't think he comes on Lord Toric's behalf." Esselin shook his head, his eyes still wide with apprehension. "Master Hamian did say to Master Terry that his sister, the Lady Sharra of Ruatha, suggested that he drop everything and come here immediately."

"And so he should. So he should," Robinton agreed affably. Hamian would be an excellent man to have involved here. A clever innovator who had already put back to use what the ancients had left behind in a Southern mine. "I'll just see when it's convenient to interrupt them for a few moments. Believe me, Esselin, it's the better part of discretion to give those fellows out there the chance to see Aivas for themselves."

"But they're only Stewards and small miners . . ."

"There are more of those than of Lord Holders and Crafthallmasters and Weyrleaders, Esselin, and every single one of them has the right to approach Aivas."

"That wasn't what I was told," Master Esselin said, resorting to his usual obstructive attitude, thrusting his heavy chin belligerently forward.

Robinton eyed him pityingly for such a long moment that even the thick-skinned Esselin could not fail to notice that his behavior was unacceptable to the Harper.

"I think you will find before the day is out that you will be told differently, Master Esselin. Now, if you will excuse me..." And with that Robinton strode down the hall to the Aivas chamber.

As he approached, he could hear Aivas's sonorous voice using the sort of penetrating tone that suggested he was addressing a large group. When Robinton quietly opened the door, he was first amazed at how many people were standing in the room, and then that even more occupied the new wings on either side of the Aivas facility. Two doors had been opened into the large annexes on either side. The two walls enclosing Aivas were intact, of course, but much more space had been made for larger audiences. This afternoon the group was composed of smiths who were, in general, possessed of large, powerful bodies. Master Nicat, the Masterminer, was seated at the front on a bench with Terry and two of his best Masters, who were all busily copying the diagrams on the main Aivas screen. Jancis was also there, in a corner, bent over a drawing board on her lap. Others in the room were doing their best to draw, too, some using the backs of others to steady their pads. Robinton could make no sense of the complicated design, but it was obvious from the rapt attention it was being given that it was of great importance to the Smithcrafters. Aivas was explaining, adding numbered specifications that also meant nothing to the Harper. The measured voice enjoined his listeners to ask questions on any point that was not clear.

"You have explained in such detail," Master Nicat said, his swarthy face wearing a most respectful expression, "that even the most simple-minded apprentice would understand."

"Ah, if you don't mind, Aivas..." A Masterminer whom Robinton knew to be the Master of the works at one of the larger Telgar iron foundries raised his hand. "If faulty melts can be remedied up to standard, then can we repair the damage to ones long since discarded?"

"That is correct. The process can be applied to used metals. In fact, quite often the use of old metal improves the final product."

"Even metals made by the ancients?" Master Hamian asked. "We have found some in what I understand were the original workings at Andiyar's Stake in Dorado."

"Once in the crucible, the melt burns off impurities of all kinds." Then, to Robinton's astonishment, Aivas added, "Good afternoon, Master Robinton. What assistance do you need today?"

Robinton found himself embarrassed. "I do not intend to interrupt..."

"You aren't," Terry replied, rising and stretching. "Right, Nicat?" he added to the Masterminer, who looked like a man hoping that he had understood his orders.

The other craftsmen began low conversations with neighbors, and those nearest the door began to file out, carefully folding their drawings and notes.

As Robinton moved farther into the room, he caught the pungency of sweating bodies, laced with the taint of metal's acidity and the odd dank smell of deep mine shafts. As the room emptied, he could appreciate the size of the room that had been achieved overnight.

"Well, well!" he murmured, noticing the windows on either ends, opened to a breeze which began to circulate freely as the last of the craftsmen left. Jancis alone remained in her corner, furiously scribbling.

She looked up and smiled at the Harper. "We've accomplished so much today, Master Robinton."

"And did you get any sleep last night, young woman?"

Her cheeks dimpled in a mischievous smile. "Indeed we did!" And then she colored. "I mean, we both slept. I mean, Piemur fell asleep first-oh, blast!"

Robinton laughed heartily. "I won't misconstrue, Jancis, even if it mattered. You're not going to let all this fuss and fascination delay your formal announcement, are you?"

"No," she said firmly. "I want to bring the date forward." She blushed prettily but kept the eye contact. "It would make things easier." She gathered up her things. "The others are all in the computer room. You might want to take a crack at it, too."

"Me?" The Harper was dumbfounded. "That's for young resilient minds like yours and Piemur's and Jaxom's."

"Learning is not limited to the young, Master Robinton," Aivas said.

"Well, we'll see," the Harper replied, hedging and running his fingers nervously over his face. He was acutely conscious that he could no longer retain the words and notes of new music and had few doubts that the problem would extend to other areas. He did not think himself a vain man, or excessively proud, but he did not wish to show to disadvantage. "We'll see. Meantime, we have a minor problem..."

"With that lot out there; determined against all Master Esselin's prejudice on seeing Aivas?" Jancis asked.

"Hmm, a minor miner problem," Robinton heard himself saying, and groaned.

Jancis pleased him by chuckling. "It is apt," she said. "They need to see Aivas so that they can tell their lords and masters that they have?"

"That's about the size of it. Aivas, if you would agree, I shall waft them in and out, with just time enough to say that they've been here."

"Is that your true wish in this instance?"

Robinton cleared his throat. "I could wish that as many men and women as possible on this planet could be exposed to your fund of knowledge, but even with these enlarged accommodations, that is neither possible nor wise. The parochially minded tend to flog petty issues to a nubbin. The worried assume their problems are uniquely threatening, or that you are omniscient enough to solve any problem put to you."

"It has always been so, Master Robinton," Aivas said, as accepting as ever. "Mankind has always put great faith in oracles."

"Oracles?" The word was unfamiliar to the Harper.

"A full explanation of the phenomenon should be kept until you have forty-four hours free, for the file on religion is lengthy. At this moment in time, how do you propose to satisfy the petitioners outside?"

"By sending in small groups to see and question you, however briefly."

"Then permit them all to enter. The outside sensors indicate the exact numbers that this room can now accommodate."

While Master Esselin looked on in dismay and disapproval, the entire gaggle hurried down the corridor.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Aivas said, his mellifluous voice startling the newcomers into awed silence. "Within the walls you are currently facing, there is an Artificial Intelligence Voice-Address System that stores information for retrieval. Or Aivas, to use the appropriate acronym. It is seen that there are among you those of the miner craft. No doubt you noticed that Masterminers attended the previous lecture. It would be of considerable value to you to consult with these men on the new methods of smelting ores. It is hoped that you two Stewards from Crom and Nabol have brought with you the Records of your Holds. These will be vital in assessing the present, and future, productivity of the properties you so ably manage for your Lord Holders. You glass-smiths and journeymen from the Halls at Igen and Ista have, in the sandpits and lead mines of your respective Holds, some of the best silicates in this world, which accounts for the fact that you produce the finest, most durable glass on the planet. If this facility may be of service in any way to your crafthalls, please ask Master Robinton to appoint a time for a longer discussion."

Most of the attendees simply gawked, trying to find the source of the disembodied voice. The Ista glass-smith took a hesitant step forward, swallowed hard, and spoke.

"Master Aivas, Master Oldive asked me to construct the lens of a microscope for him." The words came out in a rush.

"Yes, such an instrument is of vital importance to the Healer's Hall."

"I looked up our Records, Master Aivas." He pulled from his tunic some moldering sheets, stained, spotted, and full of holes. "But, as you see..." He held them out toward the screen.

"Place them over the lit panel on the worktop, Masterglasssmith."

Looking about for reassurance, the Istan hesitated, until the Harper shooed him forward. The others stared at the glass-smith for his audacity. Part of one page crumbled off even as he placed it over the lighted panel. His journeyman rushed forward and, with the air of a man greatly daring, shoved the missing corner up against the broken end.

Instantly the screen lit up with an image of the much damaged drawing. Magically an unseen point connected up the missing lines and while the watchers gasped in wonder, the diagram became entire. From the printer slot emerged a sheet, which the dazzled journeyman took at Aivas's suggestion.

"Look! Look! Finer than the best draftsman we have could render it!" the excited man exclaimed.

"Next page, please," Aivas said, and the glass-smith, with some fumbling, managed to comply.

Very shortly the missing notes and explanations had been restored, and everyone in the room had had a chance to see the reconstructed sheets.

"Have you any queries regarding the manufacture of barrel, focusing devices, or lenses?" Aivas asked politely.

There were one or two questions from the journeyman; his master was too dazed to be coherent.

"If some should arise during manufacture-" Aivas finished.

"During what?" the journeyman was startled into asking by the unfamiliar word.

"During the making, either send your question to Master Robinton or return for additional explanations or further demonstration."

It was easy then for Robinton to move the group out of the room and speed them on their way down the hall.

"That took ten minutes," Aivas said in a low tone. "A useful disposition of time."

"Have you been advised to appoint me your aide?" the Masterharper asked in an amused tone.

"Your impartiality is legend, Master Robinton, and your scrupulous sense of fair play has just been demonstrated. Master Esselin's definition of priority is noticeably skewed toward rank. The glass-smith's need of stored information was indeed a priority that ought to have been immediately scheduled when he arrived early this morning. Master Esselin ignored him."

"He did?" Robinton was annoyed.

"If you will see to it that he does not exceed his very limited authority, considerable future ill-feeling will be avoided."

"I will see to that immediately, Aivas."

"If you should be unwilling to act in this capacity, perhaps D'ram, the bronze dragonrider, would assist. He, also, is held in the highest regard by peer group, Hall, and Hold. Is it true that he came forward in time four hundred Turns to fight Thread? That he has already spent a good portion of his life in that onerous task?"

"That is correct, Aivas."

"This generation, and his, are amazing, Master Robinton." Though the words were spoken levelly, the tone of admiration was unmistakable, and Robinton squared his shoulders proudly.

"We are of one mind in that." Then, brusquely, Robinton added, "As your aide, Master Aivas, I'll just set Master Esselin straight on the matter of assigning priorities without consultation. You may be sure he will obey you as promptly as he does myself or the Weyrleaders."

Back in the hall, Robinton cut short all of Master Esselin's tedious explanations and apologies. He found D'ram in the room where Piemur, Jancis, Jaxom, and Benelek were clattering away at their lessons on the small screens. They were each working on different projects, he could see; he recognized that Jancis was somehow replicating the diagram that Aivas had shown the miners.

"Come on, Master Robinton," Piemur said, looking up from his screen. "I fixed a station for you to experiment with."

Robinton held up his hands and backed away. "No, no, I've appointed myself aide to Master Aivas for the afternoon. You cannot believe how stupid Esselin is."

"Ha! Yes, I can!" Piemur said emphatically.

"He's as thick as two short planks," Benelek grumbled. "And he doesn't like any of us coming and going as we need to."

"I don't have any trouble," Jancis said, but her eyes danced with mischief. "All I have to do is give him a cup of klah or something to eat from the tray when I bring it in." '

"And that's another score I'm going to settle with of Master fuddy-duddy Esselin," Piemur said heatedly. "You are not a kitchen drudge. Does he never see the Master tab on your collar? Doesn't he know you're Fandarel's granddaughter and top of your own Craft?"

"Oh, I think he will," Jaxom remarked without looking up from his board, his fingers flying across it. "I caught his paternal act this morning, and I reminded him that the proper form of address for Jancis is Mastersmith. You know, I don't think he had noticed the collar tabs."

"That's no excuse," Piemur retorted, likely to fume until he himself had settled the score with the old man.

"Perhaps Master Esselin should go back to his archives," D'ram said. "That's what he's supposed to be doing."

"And about all he's good for," Piemur muttered.

"However, since someone must take over his current responsibility, I think I shall appoint myself in his place."

"A marvelous notion, D'ram," Robinton said while the others let out a cheer. "Actually, Aivas had already recommended you in that capacity. He's heard that you are a well-respected and scrupulously honest character. He doesn't know you as well as I do, of course." When D'ram glanced apprehensively at him, Robinton broke into a teasing grin. "In fact, I think we should inveigle Lytol up here, too. Or would three honest men be too much for the job?"

"There can never be enough honest men," Jaxom said firmly, looking up from his screen. "I think the challenge would be good for Lytol." His expression reflected a deep concern for his aging guardian. "The pair of you already look the better for some proper use of your long experience. And there ought to be someone in charge who's got the sense he was born with."

"I second that," a voice said from the doorway. In walked Mastersmith Hamian. "I had to elbow the old fool aside to get back in here. I see what Sharra meant when she said you were all wrapped up in this, Jaxom," he added, tolerantly grinning at his sister's mate before he nodded courteously to the others in the room. "I didn't want to cause undue consternation among my peers earlier, Master Robinton, but would Master Aivas be able to tell any of us-me, because I'm dead keen to know-how the ancestors made their durable plastics?"

"Hurrah!" Piemur and Jancis cheered together. And Piemur jumped from his stool and thumped Hamian's back.

The big smith from Southern Hold was not as tall or as massive as Master Fandarel, but he was solid enough to absorb Piemur's hearty pounding without giving an inch. He grinned at his friend, his large and even teeth white in his tanned face. "Glad someone approves. Do you?" He looked directly at the Harper.

Robinton looked inquiringly at Dram. "And thus we make the first test of our authority?"

"I'd say Hamian is exactly the right man to try something so new-new to us at least," Dram said, nodding.

"So it's now up to him who knows," Robinton said, and jerked his head towards Aivas's room. "Let's ask."

All but Benelek traipsed along to hear what Aivas would say. Robinton beckoned for Hamian to stand squarely in front of the screen, then had to prod him when the big smith suddenly found it difficult to frame the question.

"Ask him. He hasn't bitten anyone," Robinton said.

"Yet," Piemur added, pretending to be worried.

"Ahem, Master Aivas . . ." Hamian faltered again.

"You are volunteering to learn how to make silicate-based plastics such as your ancestors used in building materials, Master Hamian?"

Hamian just nodded, his eyebrows raised in comical surprise. "How d he know that?" he asked in a low aside to the Harper.

"He's got long ears," Robinton replied, amused.

"Incorrect, Master Robinton," Aivas said. "This facility has far more sensitive receptors than ears, Master Hamian, and since the door to the adjacent room was open, the conversation was audible. To reiterate, you wish, Master Hamian, to learn how to produce the plastics your ancestors used."

Hamian squared himself in front of the screen, throwing his head up. "Yes, Master Aivas, that is my wish. There are sufficient of my peers eager to improve the quality of iron, steel, brass, and copper, but, having seen the durability of the ancients' plastic materials, I would like to specialize in them. It is my belief that this could be as important a material to us as it was to our ancestors."

"The manufacture of plastics was a highly refined skill in your ancestors' time. Different polymers produced different end products that could be pliable, semimalleable, or rigid, depending on the chemical formulae. As surface petroleum was discovered near Drake's Lake, there is no reason you cannot revive organic plastic manufacture. However, you will have to understand considerably more chemistry than is currently part of your Mastery training. The manufacture itself can be defined as a continuous mass solution process. Two units were left in the Catherine Caves by Joel Lilienkamp."

"Lilienkamp?" Piemur cried, pivoting to point both forefingers at Jancis, who also cried, "Lilcamp?"

"Who was Joel Lilienkamp?" Piemur asked Aivas.

"The Expedition's supply officer: the person who preserved so many artifacts in the Catherine Caves."

"Jayge just has to be a descendant," Piemur crowed, and then abruptly apologized for his interruption.

"The two large polymerizing units are not marked as having been protectively packaged. Therefore they will have suffered decay and are unlikely to be operative. But they can be used as templates. You will learn much in the reconstruction, Master Hamian, and have more to learn in the chemistry and physics experiments that you will be set."

Hamian's grin stretched from ear to ear. "My pleasure, Master Aivas, my pleasure." He rubbed his big callused hands together in eagerness. "When do I start?"

"First, you must find the prototype models in the cave."

Aivas's screen lit up with the pictures of two thick cubes with a variety of curious extrusions. "These are what you must find. They will be heavy and cumbersome to move."

"I've moved odder and heavier objects, Master Aivas."

A paper illustrating the necessary objects extruded from the slot, and Piemur handed it to the Southern smith.

"You will require a workshop in which to disassemble them and decide what materials you have readily available with which to assemble a modern model. It is advisable that you not be the only one to study these basic sciences: The manufacture of suitable polymers will require a considerable team of workers trained in chemistry and physics."

Hamian smiled ruefully. "Study will obviously be necessary, just to understand the unfamiliar words you're using."

"I think it's safe to say," Master Robinton put in, glancing pointedly at Piemur and Jancis, "that you will have at least three or four more students in your class, Aivas. I'm sure, Hamian, that you will want some members of your own Hall trained, as well."

"I've one or two likely fellows in mind, that's certain," Hamian replied. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. "My thanks, Master Aivas."

"Acknowledged, Master Hamian."

"How'd you escape Toric?" Piemur asked softly, masking his words behind one hand.

"Escape doesn't enter into this, Piemur." Again Hamian said with a droll grimace, "I'm my own master. I've organized Southern's mines to produce with or without me leaning on anyone. Now I shall broaden my own horizons, as Toric did his. My thanks, Master Robinton, Dram. I know where the caves are. I'll start right away." And he strode purposefully out of the room and down the hall.

As soon as the smith had turned the corner, Master Esselin ducked out of one of the sleeping rooms on the corridor, his expression aggrieved.

"Master Robinton, I told that smith he wasn't to-"

"Master Esselin..." Robinton adopted his most charming manner as he put an arm around the man's fleshy shoulders and turned him around. Dram closed in on the other side, so that Esselin was inexorably led toward the entrance hall. "I do believe that you have been most shamefully treated lately."

"I?" Esselin's fretful look turned to surprise as he laid one plump hand on his chest. "Yes, Master Robinton, when bullies like that Southern smith pay absolutely no attention to my orders...

"You're quite right, Master Esselin. Most shameful, and I think your good nature in suspending your invaluable archival contributions to this site has been woefully abused. Therefore, it has been decided that Weyrleader D'ram, Lord Warder Lytol, and myself should relieve you of this onerous duty and let you get back to your own responsibilities."

"Oh, but, Master Robinton..." Esselin would have slowed his pace if the other two had let him. "I didn't mean to imply that I was unwilling..."

"You have been willingness itself," D'ram said, shaking his head. "And all to your credit, Master Esselin, but fair's fair, and you've been more than kind to officiate. We will now take over from you."

Master Esselin continued his protests all the way out the door and down the walk to the path that led to the Archive complex. Gently but firmly Weydeader and Harper gave him a final push, smiling and nodding and totally ignoring his repeated demurrals.

"There!" D'ram said once they were back in the building. He brushed his hands together in satisfaction. "I'll take the first watch, Robinton." He turned to one of the guards. "I'm in charge now. What's your name?"

"Gayton, sir."

"I'd take it kindly, Gayton, if you'd fetch something cool to drink from the kitchens. Bring enough for all of us here. And no, Robinton, he is not going to bring you any wine quite yet. You'll have to have a cool head when you stand your watch, you know."

"Why, you old coot!" Robinton exclaimed. "My head remains cool no matter how much wine I take. The very notion."

"Take yourself off, Robinton." Grinning, Dram shooed him away. "Get into mischief somewhere else."

"Mischief?" The Harper grumbled with mock indignation, but just then they both heard a triumphant shout from Piemur, so he hurried along to see what had occurred.

"I did it! I did it!" Piemur was still carrying on when the Harper arrived. Jancis and Jaxom both looked slightly envious; Benelek adopted a distant attitude.

"Did what?"

"Made a program all by myself."

The Harper peered at the enigmatic words and letters on the screen and then at his journeyman. "That... is a program?"

"Sure is. Dead easy once you get the hang of it!" Piemur's elation was infectious.

"Piemur," the Harper found himself saying, "I have a few hours to spare right now while D'ram's on duty. Did you or raid you not mention that there was a spare one of these contraptions? "

"Indeed there is, Master." With considerable satisfaction on his face and not a trace of his usual impudence, Piemur spun out of his seat and went over to the shelf where the components were neatly stacked.

"I think I may regret this," Robinton said to himself.

"It is to be hoped that you will not, Master Robinton," was Aivas's low reassurance.

Zair nipping his ear roused Robinton from a doze. He had been leaning back in his chair, head resting on the support, legs propped up on the desk, and as he woke the first thing he was aware of was the crick in his neck. His knees wouldn't at first bend as he lowered his legs. When he groaned, Zair nipped him again, eyes flaming red-orange.

Instantly the Masterharper was alert. Down the hall, he could hear Aivas's voice explaining something and the lighter voice of one of the students querying. That was as it should be. He looked up at Zair, who was staring out the door into the night. It was then he caught the faint noise of something cracking, and the even fainter splashing of liquid.

He rose, silently swearing at the recalcitrance of aging joints that no longer functioned smoothly. As stealthily as he could, he moved across the entrance hall and out into the night. He knew it was near dawn; the insect sounds that had lulled him to sleep on his post had ceased and daytime noises had not yet begun. He crept forward, hearing that soft cracking noise again. To his left, where the banks of Fandarel's batteries had been installed against the wall, he saw darker shadows. Two men.

Two men busily smashing the glass tanks that held the battery fluid.

"Now, just what do you think you're doing?" he demanded, outraged. "Zair! Grab them! Pie... mur! Jancis! Someone!" He ran forward, determined to prevent any further damage to Aivas's power supply.

Later, he wondered what he had thought he was doing, an unarmed elderly man attacking vandals. Even as the pair came at him with upraised clubs or iron bars or whatever they had been using to smash the battery tanks, he wasn't afraid: just purely and simply furious.

Fortunately Zair had weapons, twenty sharp talons, and as the little bronze swooped to tear at the eyes of the first man, Piemur's Farli, Jancis's Trig, and half a dozen other fire-lizards joined the battle. Robinton caught a handful of tunic and tried to drag the man to the ground, but with a savage jerk, accompanied by an anguished squeal as fire-lizard claws racked facial skin, the man broke free and took to his heels. His companion swatted viciously at the aerial attackers and then ran off as well. The fire-lizards followed, dividing into two groups to follow the separating fugitives.

By the time human assistance arrived, even the sound of the vandals' retreat was lost to listening ears.

"Don't worry, Robinton," Piemur said. "We've only to check who got clawed. We'll find them! Are you all right, Master'?"

Robinton was clutching at his chest and panting from his exertions, and although he gestured fiercely for Piemur and the others to follow the fugitives, he became their first concern.

"I'm all right, I'm all right," he cried, trying to avoid their solicitude. "Go after them!" And he fell into a fit of coughing, caused more by frustration than by exercise.

By the time he had convinced them of his well-being, the firelizards had returned, looking exceedingly pleased with themselves for having chased the intruders. Disgusted at the vandals' escape, Robinton grabbed up a glowbasket and led the way to the point of attack.

"Five smashed, and if you hadn't heard-" Piemur began.

"I didn't hear. Zair did." Robinton was furious with himself for having dozed off.

"Same thing," Piemur replied with an impish grin. "And they didn't break enough tanks to jeopardize the power supply. Don't fret now, Master. There're spares in Stores."

"I'm fretting because it happened at all!" Robinton heard his voice rise in angry stress.

"We'll find the vandals," Piemur assured his master. Guiding the old Harper back to his chair, he poured him a cup of wine.

"Wed better," Robinton said savagely. He knew there was growing antagonism to Aivas, but he had not really considered, even for a moment, that someone would actually attack the facility.

But who? he wondered, sipping at the wine and feeling its usual efficacious soothing. Esselin? He doubted the fat old fool would dare, no matter how upset he might have been over losing his sinecure. Had any of Norist's glassmen been at Landing that day?

"Don't fret yourself," Piemur repeated, regarding his master with continued anxiety. "See? Zair's bloodied one of them. We'll find them, never fear."

The men were not found the next morning, although Piemur organized a discreet search of the entire complement at Landing. He even went so far as to rouse Esselin well before the indolent man was apt to be awake, but the round, fat face was blemish-free.

"They must have just kept running," he reported to the worried Harper, who was overseeing the replacement of the battery tanks.

"We must build a barrier across these," Robinton said. "We must mount a watch at all times. Aivas cannot be jeopardized."

"Have you decided who's the most likely suspect?" Piemur asked, watching his master's tired face.

"Suspect? I've a variety of choices. Proof, no!"

Piemur shrugged. "Then we watch harder." Then, as an afterthought, he asked, "Why didn't Aivas sound an alarm? He usually sees what's going on, night or day."

When queried on that point, Aivas replied that the vandals had been operating under the level of the exterior visuals, and the only sound the audio sensors had picked up had been consistent enough with usual nocturnal activity.

"What about in here?" Robinton asked.

"This facility is safe. Do not fear vandalism in here."

Robinton was not all that reassured but could not argue the point, as the first of the new day's students were arriving.

"We'll keep this to ourselves for the time being, Piemur," Robinton said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"What about a message to all harpers to watch out for claw-marked faces?"

Robinton lifted his shoulders briefly. "I doubt they'll appear in public until they're healed, but send the message."