All The Weyrs of Pern

6

As events over the next few weeks proved, the self-appointment of the Harper, the old Weyrleader, and the retired Lord Warder as Aivas's custodians was providential. The management by three men who already enjoyed reputations for probity and impartiality went unchallenged. Certainly the accumulated knowledge of Harper, Weyrleader, and Lord Warder was utilized to its fullest in the rebirth and administration of Landing.

Some visitors-the merely curious-became disenchanted when they discovered that Aivas ignored foolish or egocentric questions. Those willing to be enlightened and to work hard to acquire the new disciplines stayed on and profited.

Until ten secondary stations were up and running, the three custodians arranged appointments for Aivas, deftly slotting in emergency consultations without offending anyone. And, because Aivas needed no rest, concentrated lessons, such as those for Master Oldive and other healers, were scheduled for the early hours of Landing's day.

The major crafthalls were not the only ones to send representatives; it became prestigious for the Lord Holders to send promising sons and daughters, as well as likely candidates from minor holds. There were so many at first, some of whom were obviously ill-equipped to deal with radical new concepts, that it was kinder and less bothersome to set each applicant a basic test: an aptitude test, Aivas called it. It certainly weeded out the idlers and those without true scholarship.

Lessa and F'lar never became proficient in their use of a console, mostly because, in the Harper's estimation, they had little time to spend learning the essentials; but they did grasp the fundamentals of accessing information. F'nor didn't even try, but his mate, Brekke, joined the Masterhealer's dedicated group in their striving to regain the lost medical techniques. Mirrim, determined to keep up with T'gellan, struggled on despite a most distressing start and succeeded. K'van became as adept as Jaxom and Piemur.

To the surprise and delight of his close associates, the taciturn Lytol became an avid user, accessing files from the widest range of topics. He insisted on taking the late shift, as he never required more than four hours of sleep anyway.

"Lytol's always been a deep person, with unexpected reserves-or he wouldn't have survived as long as he has," Jaxom replied to those who commented on Lytol's new obsession. "Though I don't understand his fascination with all that dry historical stuff when there's so much more that we can apply to living and working here and now."

"On the contrary, Jaxom," the Harper replied. "Lytol's investigations may be the most significant of all."

"Even more significant than Fandarel's new water-turbine power stations?"

The Mastersmith had taken great satisfaction in demonstrating how a model of the proposed generator worked, as his foundry labored day and night to complete the components of the full-scale machinery.

"That is certainly significant now," the Harper replied, choosing his words carefully. "But there's the problem of general acceptance."

Various study rooms had been set up, each dedicated to a different subject. Two of the larger rooms became laboratories to teach the basic sciences that Aivas felt were required as foundation courses, as he termed them: chemistry, physics, and biology. One room had been set aside for short consultations, and another for general teaching; a fairly large room was set aside for the healers, and its walls covered with various diagrams "of the most gruesome sort," in Jancis's estimation. Aivas also requested that a room be reserved for special students, those who were taking concentrated courses in a variety of subjects: Jaxom, Piemur, Jancis, K'van, T'gellan, N'ton, Mirrim, Hamian, three journeymen, an apprentice of Hamian's, four other young bronze riders, two brown, four blue, and three green riders. Other riders would follow when there was space in the classes, since the Weyrs were the most eager to take advantage of Aivas.

Occasionally Robinton liked to walk down the hall and listen in on the instructions. One day when he peered in on a lesson including Jaxom, Piemur, Jancis, and two Smithcraft Journeymen, he saw an astonishing sight.

A ring of dull metal hovered about two inches above the high worktop in front of them. As they reached forward to touch it, it slipped along the bench as if it were on invisible rollers. Aivas continued his explanation.

"The lines of magnetic force in the ring are induced in such a way that they exactly oppose the electromagnets that are generating the field."

Robinton made himself small against the doorjamb, so as not to disturb the fascinated students.

"This is far more dramatic at very low temperatures, where there is no electrical resistance, the rings are superconducting, and the current passes without any loss. There are not the facilities here to show you this, but you will be ready for the superconductivity lesson in three or four weeks. Jaxom will be ready for it sooner; Piemur must do more on winding electromagnets with proper toroidal windings. Journeyman Manotti, your metal formers were not up to the standard required, but you have a week in which to improve."

Robinton tiptoed quietly away, not wishing to embarrass the students. But he was smiling as he sauntered back to the entrance hall: a good teacher should give praise, encouragement, and admonition as required.

There were auxiliary workshops for smith, glass, and wood crafts in the larger of the excavated structures at Landing, staffed with masters, journeymen, and apprentices.

One morning, Lytol and Robinton were startled to hear a loud explosion and rushed to the source of the sound, which had come from Master Morilton's glass forge. There they found Master Morilton helping Jancis to blot the blood from a mosaic of cuts on the face of Caselon, one of the Glass-smith's apprentices. There were tiny bits of mirrored glass everywhere.

"Now," Master Morilton was saying calmly, addressing his remarks to the others in the forge, "you appreciate why protective goggles are so important. Caselon could well have lost his eyesight when that thermos glass exploded. As it is..." Morilton glanced inquiringly at Jancis.

"As it is," she said, with a wry grin, "Caselon's going to have the most interesting pattern of scars. Oh, don't worry," she added as the youth cringed. "They'll heal to nothing. Don't grimace. You'll only bleed until I've got you properly annointed with numbweed."

As Lytol turned to deal with the press of curious people who had rushed over, Robinton looked about the place. Master Morilton had certainly set up quite a crafthall here. A pump was going tapockety-tapockety in the corner. A tube reaching up to the apparatus had a leather collar at the top, on which were the remains of a mirrored bottle neck. The rest of the glass was everywhere in the room, a myriad of tiny glinting pieces.

"Shards," Caselon muttered, trying not to flinch from Jancis's ministrations. "That was my twentieth!"

Robinton then noticed that nineteen vacuum flasks were neatly racked on Caselon's half of the worktable; another twelve stood on the other side, where another apprentice, Vandentine, was working. How they had escaped the flying glass splinters, he didn't know.

"We are not in competition mode here, Caselon," Master Morilton said, wagging a stern finger at the boy. "What exactly happened? I was concentrating on Bengel's wand work."

"I dunno," Caselon said, shrugging one shoulder.

"Aivas?" Master Morilton asked. The glasswork facility included a direct connection to Aivas.

"When he molded the glass, he didn't ultrasonicate it or even tap it as you have taught him, to get the bubbles out of the mix. He was too busy trying to outproduce his partner. There were bubbles in the glass, so that under vacuum it imploded. But you may now use two of his vessels to demonstrate the properties of liquefied gases."

Numbweed had stemmed the bloodflow from Caselon's face, so Master Morilton gestured for him and Vandentine to follow him to an adjacent room. Robinton trailed behind. In this room, there was a different kind of pump; from a frost-covered nozzle, drops of a faintly blue liquid dripped to fall into a thick, mirrored catch-pot every second.

"The blue liquid is the air itself, the air in this room," Aivas continued, "which we are compressing and then rapidly expanding so that it cools again and again, further and further, until a tiny fraction of it liquefies."

Master Morilton said, "Don't touch the radiator vanes-they'll blister your fingers. This, Master Robinton," he added, smiling at their guest, "is a multistage refrigerator, quite different from the one you've been using in Cove Hold to chill fruit juice and foodstuffs."

Robinton nodded wisely.

"This last stage is the most difficult," Aivas said as Master Morilton gestured for Caselon to fill his flask. The room was filled with mist as the liquid air seethed until it had cooled Caselon's flask. Robinton moved his feet away as some of the pearly drops ran across the floor toward him. "Now, Caselon," Aivas instructed, "return to your workspace and observe the antics of liquid air."

Caselon was already doing so as he left the room.

"Play with air?" Robinton asked, perplexed, and he noticed Master Morilton's knowing smile.

"This liquid helium," Aivas went on, "or rather, these liquids can flow in opposite directions at the same time; they will creep out of the top of a tall vessel and leave none in the bottom, and will even creep faster, much faster, through tiny holes than through large ones. You may fill a flask with liquid air yourself, Master Robinton, and experiment on your own. This is one of the most dangerous, and therefore educational, exercises for the students to do. Jancis, Sharra, there are flasks for you, too; this experiment is an important one for both of you." The way the two girls smirked at each other suggested to Robinton that they didn't know why it would be. "When you have become familiar with liquid air, we can begin to learn about the special properties of liquid hydrogen, and especially of liquid helium."

"If it's dangerous, should we be doing it?" the Harper asked.

"Danger can be quite educational," Aivas replied. "It is unlikely, for instance, that Caselon will forget to tap his mix no matter how many glass inserts he blows from now on."

It was an hour before Robinton and Lytol, whom the Master harper had interested in the liquid-gas experiments, returned to their usual duties.

More and more of the dwellings at Landing became occupied. Many of the artifacts so long stored in the Catherine Caves had been put to use, though the custodians had decreed that samples of each be retained to exhibit in Master Esselin's Archive building. Abandoned Landing once again became a bustling community. Where the walks and small yards had been cleared, there were even signs of renewed grass and weed growth.

"Are we a bit mad to reestablish this settlement?" Lessa asked one evening when she and F'lar had taken an evening meal in the Aivas building with Jaxom, Robinton, D'ram, Lytol, Piemur, and Jancis. "Those volcanoes could erupt again."

"I did mention that to Aivas," Lytol said, "and he replied that he is naturally monitoring seismic activity. Some of the instruments which the settlers' vulcanist installed are still functioning. He also assured me that there is little activity in the chain."

"And that is a positive thing?" Lessa asked, still skeptical.

"So Aivas assured me," Lytol replied.

"I 'd hate to lose all we've rebuilt here," F'lar said.

"Unfortunately," Lytol commented, with an ironic half smile, "Aivas can't be moved."

"Then let's not worry about something that may not develop into a problem," Robinton said firmly. "We have sufficient immediate ones. Such as how we're going to handle Master Norist. As you know, he had threatened to disavow Master Morilton's Mastery and to disown all journeymen and apprentices who have produced glass according to the, ahem, spurious methods and techniques of Aivas."

"He calls Aivas 'the Abomination'!" Piemur said with a malicious chuckle. "Aivas said-"

"You didn't tell Aivas that?" Jancis was aghast at Piemur's tactlessness.

"He didn't mind. I got the feeling it amused him."

Master Robinton gave Piemur a long look. "Do you-any of you-ever get the feeling that Aivas is amused by us?"

"Sure," Piemur replied blithely. "He may be a machine and all that, and while I know a great deal more about machinery than I used to, certainly, he's a Master machine that interacts with humans, so he must have criteria by which he recognizes levity. He may not guffaw as some do at my jokes and anecdotes, but he certainly enjoys listening to them."

"Hmmm" was the Harper's noncommittal response. "About Norist... As the duly elected Mastercraftsman, guiding his Halls, he can be replaced only at a convocation of all Masters. Unfortunately, the Glass-smithcraft is not a large one, and most of the Crafthallmasters are as dogmatic as Norist. On the other hand, I won't sit by and see Master Morilton disavowed or harassed or humiliated because he has learned something Norist didn't teach him. He's certainly proved adept at the new skills."

"Norist has also been leaning heavily on poor old Wansor," Lytol said. "Fortunately, Wansor appears oblivious both to the criticism and the fact that he might suffer the same discipline as Morilton. In spite of Norist's declaration, Morilton has managed to recruit quite a few journeymen and apprentices who have felt restricted by Norist's rigid adherence to Recorded techniques."

"If Norist is leaning on Wansor, why don't we lean on him?" Jaxom asked.

"I will," Lytol replied with a ghost of a smile. "And I would be happy to. A man who will not see beyond his nose has no right to be Craftmaster!" His smile was replaced by censure.

"Hear! Hear!" the Harper cheered.

"I also heard that Norist is denying Morilton the use of the best sandpits," Lytol went on, frowning.

"That's no problem at all. We've sand aplenty on this coastline," Piemur responded.

"Dimwit. Beach sand isn't what's used for glass," Jaxom said with some disdain. "It's the pits at Igen and Ista that have fine stuff."

"And those are the ones that Norist has denied Morilton," Lytol explained.

"He hasn't denied Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold!"

"Nor D'ram," the aged bronze rider said as firmly as the young Lord Holder.

Even Lytol grinned at that solution to Norist's intransigence. "Microscopes require a very high quality glass, you know."

"In any case, I don't see that as a major difficulty," D'ram said, glancing over to Jaxom. "Ruth and Tiroth won't mind a little excursion, I'm sure." Jaxom nodded obligingly. "You take Ista, and I'll get some from Igen."

"There's nothing on the settlers' map to indicate closer deposits, to reduce transportation time?" F'lar asked.

Robinton held up one finger. "We'll ask." And he pecked out the query with considerable speed on the keyboard of the unit in the room.

Immediately a list of locations scrolled out, with the type of sand to be found at each. Those sands that could be used for medical glass were starred, but Aivas recommended in particular the sands found at Paradise River and in an inland sandpit near the site of old Cardiff.

D'ram said he would go to the Cardiff site, as he knew that Jaxom would prefer a chance to see Jayge and Aramina, who were holding at Paradise River.

"Hmmm," the Harper said, studying his screen. "Aivas reminds me that he wants more green and bronze riders for training,"

"Would he take a big brown or two?" F'lar asked. "I've several riders who've offered. Seems like Aivas is biased against the medium sizes."

"I asked him about that," D'ram said, "for I thought it odd that he'd want only the largest and the smallest. He says the operation requires them, but he won't elaborate beyond stating that he must have enough candidates to allow him to pick the most likely to succeed in the venture and to have sufficient trained backup personnel." D'ram shrugged at his inability to explain further.

"I wish," Lessa said, "that occasionally he would be specific. Then we would have something to tell those we must disappoint. I don't want any resentful dragonriders. Though, in general, I'd say that morale has improved in all the Weyrs. And," she added, making a face, "all the Weyrs want to participate."

"Aivas did remark that it was easier to teach the younger dragonriders," D'ram went on, "since there were fewer set mental patterns. Of course, there are naturally some few exceptions," he added smugly, rather pleased that he was one of them.

"Is that all right now?" Jaxom asked. "I'd better get back to Ruatha." His grin was abashed. "I'll bring in Paradise River sands tomorrow, but I'd better spend some time at home."

"In danger of being disowned?" Piemur asked with an impudent grin.

Jaxom disdained to reply, while Jancis elbowed the young journeyman harper in the ribs.

"Go on, then," F'lar said, with a bland sideways glance at Lessa.

"I'll just ask Aivas to print out the location of the sandpit," D'ram said, rising to leave with the young Lord Holder.

There was a slight frown on Lytol's face as the two left.

"Don't fret, Lytol," Lessa said reassuringly. "Sharra's got every right to be annoyed at the amount of time Jaxom's spending here."

"Especially when I'm sure she's dying to take the healer lessons," Jancis said. "But Piemur, have you noticed it, too? That whenever Jaxom misses a day, Aivas particularly asks why?"

"Hmm, yes, I had at that," Piemur replied, momentarily thoughtful. Then he assumed a careless pose. "But Aivas sure works Jaxom harder than any of the rest of us, bar Mirrim and S'len."

"S'len?" F'lar asked. "Isn't he that young green rider from Fort?"

"That's the one. And Aivas insisted on drilling Mirrim to bring her up to a level with the rest of us," Piemur added.

"Why would the green dragons be so important to Aivas?" Lessa asked.

"They're small, that's why," Piemur said.

"Small? "

"Well, that's my hunch, and Ruth's the smallest of them all," Piemur went on. "There's no doubt in my mind that those two will play a special part in Aivas's Great Scheme."

Lessa and Lytol both looked concerned.

"Oh, don't worry about Jaxom," Piemur said airily. "He's the best of us all. Has a real grasp of all that navigational mathematics Aivas throws at us, and the spatial relationships."

"Has he suggested anything yet?" Lessa asked Robinton and Lytol. Both men shook their heads.

Then Robinton grinned. "I get literary quotations, such as: 'There's a time for some things, and a time for all things: a time for great things, and a time for small things.' I am forced to assume that this is the time for small things, like assimilating all those foundation courses from Aivas; while the time for great things is still four Turns, seven months, and however many days away from us."

"Literary quotations?" F'lar asked, surprised. His lessons with Aivas tended to the practical: tactics, mathematical projections of Threadfall, and draconic healing-though he practiced none of the latter, he kept himself informed of Aivas's innovations.

"Oh, yes. And though Aivas admits he is choosing what he thinks might appeal to my tastes, our ancestors had fascinating and complex literatures from ever so many cultures that put ours to shame. Some of our epic sagas he has identified as paraphrases of Terran originals. Fascinating."

"Indeed, my studies have been equally absorbing," Lytol said, leaning forward on the table, his face lighting with his own enthusiasm. "I don't think any of us realized that our present political structure was handed down from the very Charter our ancestors brought with them. That is historically very unusual, Aivas told me."

"Why should it be?" F'lar asked, mildly surprised. "It allows Weyr, Hold, and Hall to function without interference."

"Ah, but interference was a major factor in Terran politics," Lytol replied. "Spurred by territorial imperatives and, all too often, sheer greed."

Adroitly interrupting another of Lytol's historical perorations, Lessa rose, nodding to Robinton and the two young journeymen. "We must get back to the Weyr now. Aivas gave me another healing compound to try on Lisath's wing. It simply isn't mending as it should."

I told Aramina that we're coming, Ruth said as Jaxom mounted him. She likes to know, you know, he added in a confidential tone.

Jaxom rather wished that Ruth hadn't committed them to paying a call on Aramina and Jayge. He really ought to get right back to Ruatha, and go to Paradise River in the morning, as he had said he would.

"Well, we won't stay long, mind," Jaxorn said, giving Ruth an indulgent slap.

The white dragon was very fond of the young woman who, as a girl, had heard dragons so easily-and so incessantly-that she had inveigled Jayge of the Lilcamp Traders to take her as far away from dragons as he could to preserve her sanity. Shipwrecked on their way to the Southern Continent, they had been rescued by shipfish and set ashore. There they had discovered and restored ancient buildings, not realizing the significance of their find. Located by Piemur on his coastline survey, they had been officially named as Holders of Paradise River and had increased their numbers to a sizable Hold, including a Fisher Hall. The former trader had been immensely surprised when Piemur and Jancis told him that a paternal ancestor named Lilienkamp had been instrumental in saving so much useful material in the Catherine Caves.

Following Aivas's directions, Jaxorn and Ruth emerged over rather anonymous grassland. It wasn't until they had overflown the alleged site several times that Jaxorn noticed the declivity well overgrown with grass and shrubs, with the suspicion of white glinting through the vegetation. They landed, and by kicking and gouging, Jaxom peeled back the obscuring greenery and lifted a handful of sand so fine it was nearly powder. Working up quite a sweat, he filled the large sacks he had brought with him. Finally, hot and tired, he remounted his dragon.

He had cooled off by the time Ruth glided to a gentle, faultless halt in front of the gracious ancient residence of the Paradise River Hold.

"And a good day to you, Lord Jaxorn and Ruth!" Jayge said, coming down the stairs from the wide porch. "Ara started squeezing fresh juice the moment Ruth told her you were coming. And I'm glad you did, because something's come up!"

I'm going swimming. The fire-lizards said they'll scrub my back, Ruth told Jaxom, his eyes whirling with green delight. At Jaxom's approval, the white dragon hop-glided right into the river, several full fairs of fire-lizards, both wild and banded, circling ecstatically above him.

"Off for a scrub, is he?" Jayge asked. He was of medium height, his bare chest burned a fine deep brown, his legs not quite as dark. His oddly flecked green eyes stood out in a tanned face that reflected a hint of a strong personality and a basic tranquility, even though a slight frown crossed his face as he led Jaxorn up to the coolness of the porch. "I'm glad you stopped by, Jaxom. How did you work up such a sweat in between?"

"Stealing sand."

"Indeed?" Jayge regarded him thoughtfully. "Now what would you need Paradise River sand for? As I'm sure you're going to tell me anyway." He gestured for Jaxom to take the hammock while he leaned against the porch banister, arms folded across his chest.

"The settlers had a sandpit back in that scrubland of yours. They thought highly of Paradise River sands-for glass making."

"There's enough certainly. Did Piemur and Jancis find those whatchamacallums..."

"Chips?" Jaxom supplied with a grin.

"Chips, then, useful after all?"

"Well, we managed to salvage the usable transistors and capacitors, but they haven't actually been put onto a board yet."

Jayge gave him a long, hard, suspicious look before grinning. "As you say!"

Just then young Readis, clad only in a clout, came out onto the porch, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. He eyed Jaxom steadily. "Ruth?"

Jaxom pointed to where the white dragon, surrounded by industrious fire-lizards, was wallowing in the shallow water.

"He's enough of a guardian, isn't he?" Readis asked his father, tilting his head back in a stance that reminded Jaxom of Jayge.

"Ruth's bathing right now, and besides, I d like you to tell Jaxom what happened to you and Alemi the other day," Jayge said.

"Did you come just to hear?" There was a certain element of vanity in young Readis's grin. Jaxom was suddenly aware of how much he missed his own son, Jarrol, an engaging two Turns old.

"Well, that was one reason," Jaxom replied mendaciously. "So what did happen to you and Alemi the other day?"

Aramina emerged from the house, carrying her squirming daughter under one arm and a tray in her free hand. Jayge sprang quickly to relieve her of the tray, but she gave him two-Turn-old Aranya instead and served Jaxom a tall, cool drink and some freshly baked sweet biscuits. It took a few more minutes until Readis had been sat in a chair, his small glass and two biscuits to hand. As Aramina settled herself, Readis looked to his father for his cue to begin.

"Uncle Alemi took me fishing three days ago in the skiff. The big reds were schooling out there." Readis's brown arm indicated a general northerly direction. "We was to have a beach meal 'cos it was Swacky's nameday and we needed big 'uns to grill. There was only little squids on the edges of the school. Then, all o' sudden, a big one got Uncle's hook and it dragged us, boat and all"-Readis's eyes were shining with remembered excitement-"right into the current. But Uncle Alemi, he wrestled it aboard and it was this"-he held his arms as wide as they could go-"big. No funning!" He glared briefly at his father, who was hiding his laughter in his hand. "It was big! You ask Alemi! But he hung on, and I helped him gaff it aboard. Then my reel started spinning, and Uncle Alemi and I had to plat our backs into landing that one. That's why we didn't notice the squall coming up."

Jaxom glanced anxiously at Jayge and Aramina. Alemi knew his Craft, and he would never endanger anyone.

"It was some squall, I can tell you," Readis said, jerking his chin to emphasize the details, in the manner of any good storyteller. "We got tossed and spun about 'cos there was no way the sail would have lasted in a blow like that. And then a big wave overturned the skiff and I came up coughing and sputtering, Uncle Alemi hanging on to my arm fit to break it." The little brown face regarded Jaxom seriously. "I'm not afraid to admit I was some scared. The sky around us was black and the rain coming down so heavy we couldn't see the shore. But I'm a good swimmer and I can see now why Uncle Alemi always makes me wear my deep-water vest even if it is hot most times and rubs my back. See?" He swiveled his torso, raising one arm over his head, to show Jaxom where the underarm skin had been abraded. "Then it happened!"

"What happened?" Jaxom asked as if on cue.

"I had my arms out, trying to keep my head up, when suddenly something came smack-dab into my right hand. And started pulling me. Uncle Alemi yelled at me that it was all right. We were safe. I was to hang on tight, just as he was doing."

"Shipfish?" Jaxom asked with an incredulous glance at Readis's parents. He knew that Jayge and Aramina owed their lives to shipfish; even Master Idarolan swore that the sleek big sea creatures would rescue humans in stormy areas.

"A whole pod of 'em," Readis said proudly. "And every time my hand slipped off, there was another one right behind to hang on to. Uncle Alemi says there must have been twenty or thirty. They pulled us far enough in for us to see the beach and reach safety on our own. And," he added, pausing to give emphasis to his final words, "the next morning the skiff was found beached up by the Fishhold, like they knew exactly where it belonged."

"That is some tale, young Readis. You're a harper born. An amazing rescue: Truly amazing," Jaxom said with genuine feeling. He glanced at Jayge, who nodded supportively. "The redfish weren't by any chance returned with the skiff?" he asked.

"Nah." Readis dismissed that with a flick of his wrist. "They drownded. So we had to eat of stringy wherry 'stead of good juicy redfish steaks. And you know something else?"

"No, what?" Jaxom asked politely.

"The shipfish kept talking to us all the time they was saving us. Uncle Alemi heard them, too."

"What did they say?"

Readis frowned deeply in concentration. "I don't 'xactly remember the words. The wind was shrieking, but I know they were shouting at us. Encouraging us like."

Until Jaxom caught Jayge's eye, he thought it was a youthful embellishment on a hectic rescue story, but Jayge nodded in confirmation.

"Readis, why don't you run down and see if the fire-lizards are giving Ruth a proper scrubbing?" Jayge suggested.

The sturdy little boy jumped to his feet. "Can I? Really?" He flashed a radiant grin at Jaxom.

"Really, you can," Jaxom assured him, wondering if Jarrol would be as enchanting as Readis when he was five.

"Yahoo," Readis cried, tearing off down to shore where Ruth was afloat.

"That's exactly what happened to him and Alemi?" Jaxom asked.

"With no invention," Aramina said, obviously proud of her son. "Alemi said that Readis didn't panic and obeyed him instantly. Otherwise-" She broke off, her face paling under her warm tan.

Jayge leaned toward Jaxom. "I wondered if you'd mind asking this Aivas thing of yours what he knows about the shipfish. Alemi also swears that they were speaking words, though over the wind and sea noises, he couldn't distinguish exactly what they were saying. He thinks they were giving them directions or reassurances. Piemur mentioned a passing reference to the big fish-doll-fins-which Aivas said were brought here from Terra. I asked him to inquire, but I guess it slipped his mind."

These days Jaxom always carried a small pad and pencil in his belt pouch. He made a notation. "I won't forget," he assured them, patting his pouch when he had replaced pad and pencil.

As soon as Ruth had had time to dry off in the sun, Jaxom called him up from the beach. Readis was squealing with rapture, for Ruth had allowed the lad to climb up on his back for the short walk back. Aramina gave Jaxom a full net of fresh fruit to bring Sharra and Jarrol, and he thanked her profusely.

As Ruth ascended to a safe height, Jaxom came to a conclusion, based on the guilt he experienced in being so long away from Ruatha-yet again!

Ruth, let's shave three hours of our return. That's safe enough, and we'll be back in Ruatha just as everyone's getting up.

You know Lessa doesn't like us timing it.

We haven't in Turns, Ruth.

Sharra will know.

I'm hoping she'll be so glad to see me she won't mind-this once. Jaxom stroked Ruth's neck urgently. Let me handle my mate. Ruth didn't like to deceive either Sharra or Lessa. It's not deceiving Sharra. It's getting home early for a change. Not a big thing to ask.

Oh, I suppose it won't matter this once. I always know when we are.

However, as soon as they came out of between above Ruatha Hold, Jaxom had cause to regret coming home at all. A wild blizzard blowing down from the mountains all but obscured the Hold.

A good thing I always know where I am, too, Ruth remarked, craning his neck and blinking windblown particles out of his faceted eyes.

Can you see to land, Ruth? I never thought to check on the weather conditions. Jaxom covered his cheeks with his gloved hands, feeling the chill entering his bones despite the heavy riding jacket. His legs, clad in trousers appropriate to Southern's summer, felt like lengths of ice.

I didn't either, Ruth replied forgivingly. Only a moment or two longer. I'm right above the courtyard.

Suddenly he backwinged, and Jaxom felt the jar as the white dragon landed with an uncharacteristic thud.

Sorry. Snowdrift.

Jaxom wasted no time sliding off his dragon, but his path to the big doors that opened into Ruth's weyr at Ruatha Hold was impeded by the heavy drifts. He had to scoop snow away to get one leaf of the door open wide enough that Ruth could find purchase for his forepaws. Then dragon strength hauled the stout metal door back through the drifts.

Get inside. Go on, Ruth ordered his rider, and Jaxom was all too willing to obey.

Once inside the weyr, which was only warmer by virtue of being out of the chill and gusting wind, both dragon and rider struggled to pull the door shut. Rubbing his legs fiercely to restore feeling, Jaxom half ran across the stone floor of the chamber to the capacious hearth, where a fresh fire had been laid. His fingers fumbled with the firemaker before he got it lit, but at last the flames were eating hungrily at the dry wood, and Jaxom was able to warm himself.

"I don't usually mind the cold," Jaxom said, removing his jacket and shaking off the snow. "It's just coming from all that lovely weather . . ."

Meer says that Jarrol has a bad cold and Sharra's not feeling good with being up all night, Ruth told his weyrmate, his eyes tinged with the yellow of worry.

"Young children often have colds this time of year," Jaxom replied, though he knew that Jarrol had had far too many sniffles that winter. And poor Sharra was exhausted from nursing him, for she refused to allow anyone else to tend their firstborn. "Sometimes, Ruth, I'm very stupid," he exclaimed abruptly. "There's no reason in the world Sharra can't come south, enjoy decent weather, and study with Aivas!"

How? She can't go between carrying a baby.

"She can come by ship. We'll just find out from Master Idarolan when he can accommodate her on a trip south. They make the journey often enough. Yes, that's what we'll do. We'll all go south. There's nothing here at this season that Brand can't manage without me."

Suddenly Jaxom felt a great deal better. And not long after, when he found Sharra rocking their cold-fussy son in the warmth of their apartment, her instant enthusiasm for the removal was as keen as his. The subject of his unusual arrival did not come up at all. As soon as Jarrol was lulled back to sleep and laid down in his cot, Sharra proved to Jaxom's delight just how glad she was to have him home and in bed.

His face screwed in an anxious grimace, Harper Journeyman Tagetarl came striding out of the Aivas complex toward Robinton's desk in the foyer. "Aivas would like to speak to you and Sebell when it's convenient," he announced.

"Oh? What's he stewing up now? " the Harper asked, noting how uncharacteristically perturbed the journeyman appeared to be.

"He wants the Harper Hall to build a printing press." Tagetarl agitatedly ran his hair back from his face with both hands and heaved an exasperated groan.

"A printing press!" Robinton gave a gusty sigh, then reached up to nudge his bronze fire-lizard awake. "Zair, please find Sebell and ask him to join us?"

Zair chirruped sleepily but obediently unwound his tail from the Harper's neck. He walked down Robinton's arm and onto the table; stretching himself as he did so, and then leaped away and flew out the open door.

"Sebell can't be far if Zair's not bothering to go between," Robinton remarked. "Have some klah while we wait. You look as if you need some. Why did Aivas suddenly decide the Harper Hall needs a printing press?"

Tagetarl gratefully poured himself a cup, hooking a chair to Robinton's desk and, once again, smoothing back his long black hair, less urgently this time.

"I asked could we please have copies of the string-instrument quartets he played the other evening. Domick particularly wanted to have a transcript. He said he's tired of hearing us rave about ancestral music. Domick added,"-Tagetarl smiled ruefully– "that with so many masters and journeymen working here, he's not able to come and hear for himself."

Robinton grinned, knowing that Tagetarl had probably edited the Composition Master's acerbic comments.

"Aivas said that he's got to conserve the paper he has left and he has to consider music to be a nonessential in view of the demands on his resources. He's down to the last two rolls. He feels we ought to have our own replication machines." Tagetarl grinned expectantly.

"Hmmm. That's certainly reasonable." Robinton tried to sound enthusiastic, since Tagetarl was evidently much taken by the idea. But he was considerably concerned over just how much more could be added to the "essential" mechanizations already being undertaken. There were so many people from so many Halls already working full tilt on half a dozen critical projects. "Undeniably a great deal of information ought to be circulated. Especially for distant Halls and Holds that cannot send representatives here."

Zair returned, chirping in the tone that said his errand had been successful. He had only just settled himself again across Robinton's shoulders when Sebell came running. He had obviously dressed in a hurry, and his hair was still wet.

"Easy, Sebell. There's no urgency," Robinton said, raising a hand to slow the Masterharper down. "I hope Zair didn't misinform you."

Catching his breath, Sebell gave his mentor a salute and a wry grin. "Obedience to any summons from you, Master, is too deeply engrained to change now."

"Even when you're Masterharper of Pern?" Robinton's grin was sly. "Especially now that you are Masterharper of Pern, you should be allowed to finish your morning ablutions."

"Klah?" Tagetarl suggested, and when Sebell nodded appreciatively, the journeyman poured him a cup.

"I'd just finished showering," Sebell replied, accepting the klah. "So now that I'm here, how can I assist you?"

Robinton gestured to Tagetarl.

"It's really Aivas who wants to talk to you and Master Robinton," the journeyman said. "He needs a printing press, and he says that according to his understanding of our present structure, that should be the responsibility of the Harper Hall."

Sebell nodded, accepting the information. Robinton recognized the mannerism as a habit of his own, which Sebell adopted when he, too, was absorbing unexpected requests.

"Any form of communication is indeed a Harper Hall function. What exactly is a printing press?" Sebell asked after taking several thoughtful sips of his klah.

"An improvement on Master Arnor's crabbed script, I devoutly hope," Robinton remarked in a bland tone. The other two harpers rolled their eyes. "Something approximating the readable print which Aivas produces would be an enormous help."

"Aivas is apparently the only one in the world who easily reads Arnor's script. What's the problem?" Sebell asked Tagetarl.

"Domick's been after me to get copies of some of the splendid music Aivas has been playing for us."

Sebell nodded understandingly. "That was inevitable. And certainly the request is only fair, when he's had to take over so much Hall management to keep us here."

"Don't let Domick pressure you with insidious suggestion," Robinton said, wagging a finger at his colleagues. "Though he will certainly find the string music utterly fascinating."

"We all do," Sebell said as he rose. "Let's see exactly what this printing-press project entails. We are certainly not a mechanically inclined Hall, even if we produce our instruments." And all three harpers went to consult with Aivas.

"Harpers may not be mechanically inclined," Aivas replied when Sebell expressed his concerns, "but they are not without skill or intelligence, Master Sebell. Replicating or duplicating written material can be achieved by a variety of methods, of which the current laborious hand copying is the most prone to error. Using the relics of machinery and parts still available in the Catherine Caves, it will be possible to assemble a more efficient method of reproducing multiple copies of essential information, and the musical scores requested by your colleague in the Hall."

Sheets spewed from the print slot into Tagetarl's agile hands.

"The drawings itemize the parts you should be able to find in the caves, and the few that Master Fandarel will need to fabricate for you. It will be in his interests, also, to cooperate." There followed one of those pauses that Robinton liked to interpret as indicative of the various humors of Aivas. This one, he was sure, was a pointed reminder of how much the Smithcrafthall had already benefited by Aivas's assistance. "With the intelligence that appears to mark even apprentices in your Hall, you should be able to assemble the apparatus by the time Master Fandarel has finished installing the water-turbine station. There will then be sufficient power to run the printing press, as well. Master Bendarek has succeeded admirably in producing continuous rolls of paper, which are also essential to the process.

"The manufacture of the individual letters and numbers to comprise a legible type font, and the musical and scientific signs, should be relatively simple for those with good manual dexterity." Another page came out, illustrating a highly readable type font. "Journeyman Tagetarl is a dexterous carver." His remark astonished Tagetarl, who could not imagine how Aivas had learned about his handiwork. "There may be others with similar artistic talent who might assist."

"There isn't a printing press in the Catherine Caves?" Sebell asked, his tone slightly wistful.

"Unfortunately, no. Replication and data storage had developed well past such cumbersome processes. This method will, however, be sufficient for your needs for some time to come."

Sebell had taken the type-font sheet from Tagetarl. "It'll be nice not to have to squint or use a magnifying glass to read." He gave his head a shake. "Master Arnor won't like it."

Robinton grimaced and then sighed with regret. "Perhaps it is time. He's almost blind right now, you know. And those wretched apprentices take terrible advantage of him. Menolly was telling me about an incident only last week. One impertinent youngster handed in a scurrilous verse in place of the ballad he had been assigned-and poor Master Arnor approved it."

Tagetarl masked a grin. "That's not the first time Master Armor's had that trick played on him."

"This printing press would help conserve your supplies, Aivas?"

"It will, but that was not the basic reason to suggest that you extend your activities to include such a fundamental improvement in data handling. You will find that eventually you will need more than one press, so it would be prudent to learn the principle and improve on it in your own time."

"I think-" Robinton paused to glance at Sebell, aware that he was encroaching on the new Masterharper's authority with the suggestion. "-that this first printing press should be constructed here in Landing."

Sebell nodded, guessing the real reason for his mentor's suggestion. "That would certainly be less of an affront to Master Arnor." He examined the sheets with Tagetarl. "Dulkan's already here, and he's done some fine brasswork for harp plates. There're four more of the older apprentices, waiting for their hour on the General Science Course. We could use them until their appointment."

Robinton beamed at the two men, pleased to see the alacrity with which they were already moving forward on the project.

"Terry's down at the Catherine Caves right now, in fact. If we hurry, we can get advice from him, too," Tagetarl said eagerly.

With the briefest but still most courteous of farewells to Robinton, the two young men strode out of the room and down the hall, exchanging ideas on how to proceed.

Sometimes, Robinton thought as he slowly eased himself down into the nearest chair, such energy exhausted rather than revived him. Not that he wouldn't be delighted with this printing press. Able to run off as many copies as needed? What a concept!

It truly amazed him that there were now so many devices that had never before been required. The effects on Hall, Hold, and Weyr, only beginning to filter through, would be profound. Lytol, having delved into the history and politics of their ancestors, had already worried about what he called the erosion of values and the subversion of tradition by new demands. The promise of the eradication of Thread-the possibility, Robinton sternly corrected himself-motivated all but a few dissenters. Even the most conservative of the surviving Oldtimers had come around to support the Benden Weyrleaders.

And how were dragons and their riders to occupy themselves when Thread was no longer the rationale for the Weyrs? Robinton knew, though the notion was not widely discussed, that F'lar and Lessa wanted to lay claim to considerable lands here in the Southern Continent. But would the Lord Holders, who themselves looked greedily toward the open space of the vast Southern Continent, be complacent about such claims? Toric's realization that he had settled for such a small portion of the southern lands still rankled in that ambitious man's mind. In Robinton's estimation, the Weyrs deserved whatever they requested after centuries of service, but would the Lord Holders, and the Halls, agree? That concerned him the most. Yet it seemed to worry the Weyrleaders least. And what if, in the four Turns ten months, and three days specified by Aivas, the attempt should fail? What then?

Perhaps, and he brightened suddenly, all this new technology would absorb both Hold and Hall, to the exclusion of the Weyrs. Hold and Hall had always managed quite nicely to ignore the Weyrs between Passes. Perhaps things like power stations and printing presses were indeed valuable, but for more abstruse reasons, as well as the obvious ones.

"Aivas," Robinton said in greeting, carefully closing the door behind him. "A word with you." He cleared his throat, wondering why Aivas could sometimes reduce him to the nervousness of an apprentice. "About this printing press..."

"You do not concur with the necessity of such a machine?"

"On the contrary, I most certainly do."

"Then what troubles you? For your voice betrays a note of uncertainty."

"Aivas, when we first realized what you represented in terms of knowledge, we had little idea of the scope of all that had been lost over the centuries. Yet now, rarely does a day go by but some new device is suddenly on the essential list. Our skilled craftsmen have enough lined up to keep them busy for the entire Pass. Tell me, truly, are all these machines and devices really necessary?"

"Not to the way of life you had, Master Robinton. But to accomplish what is apparently the desire of the majority of Pern, the destruction of Thread, improvements are essential. Your ancestors did not employ the highest technology available to them: They preferred to use the lowest level necessary to perform the function. That is the level that is presently being reestablished. As you yourself requested in the initial interview."

Robinton wondered if he had imagined the tone of mild reproof. "Water-driven power..." he began.

"Which you already had available to you."

"Printing presses?"

"Your Records were printed, but in a laborious and time-consuming fashion that, unfortunately, permitted errors to be made and perpetuated."

"The teaching consoles?"

"You have harpers who instruct by set lessons. You had even managed to rediscover papermaking before accessing this facility. Most papermaking techniques, Masterharper, are refinements of techniques you already employ, made easier by some basic machinery and of no higher level than your ancestors brought with them. It is little more than correcting long-standing errors and misconceptions. The spirit of the original colonists is still intact. Even the technology that must be utilized to thwart the return of the wanderer planet will be of the same level as your ancestors'. There may be other scientifically advanced methods now available to Earth scientists that could be utilized if there were still communication between this planet and Earth. Great strides in cosmology were being announced at the time the colony ships left Earth's system. These were not, however, incorporated into the memory banks of this facility. Once you have regained the appropriate level of understanding, you may progress, or not, as you choose."

Robinton pensively rubbed his chin. He could scarcely fault Aivas for doing what had been specifically requested, that Pern be brought back to the level of knowledge it had originally enjoyed. It was also obvious that Aivas was obeying the initial request that only what was really needed be revived. It was just stunning to realize how much had been lost.

"This world has survived, Master Robinton, with more dignity and honor than you would imagine-as Lord Warder Lytol is discovering in his exploration of history."

"Perhaps I have not paid as much attention to his studies as I ought."

"That statement was a private analysis of achievement, Master Robinton. It is for Lord Warder Lytol to arrive at his own conclusion based on his studies."

"I wonder if his conclusion will parallel your impartial one."

"You should delve into history and arrive at your own, Master Robinton." There was one of the interesting pauses that Aivas tended to affect. "Printed books would make that much easier for you."

Robinton glared at the green light on the face of the Aivas facility and wondered, once again, what constituted "artificial intelligence." The several times he had asked that direct question, the reply had been a repetition of a translation of the acronym. Robinton now understood that there were explanations which Aivas either could not, or was programmed not to, make.

"Yes, printed books would be much easier," the Harper agreed at last. "But according to what you've shown us, the settlers had other devices, much more compact."

"That technology is too advanced to be considered at the present time and would involve processes that are presently beyond your abilities or needs."

"Well, then, I'll settle for books."

"That would be prudent of you."

"And you will remain prudent in what you ask us to recreate? "

"That is a corollary to the prime goal of this facility."

Robinton was content with that answer. But just as he had his hand on the door pull, he turned. "Would this printing press be able to print musical scores, as well?"

"Yes."

"That would be much, much easier for the entire Hall," he said. He felt so buoyant as he retraced his steps down the hall that he began to whistle.