The Dolphins of Pern

CHAPTER IX

OVER THE NEXT FOUR TURNS, while Readis earnestly exercised his legs in the warm waters of Paradise Head, momentous events unfolded at Landing, Benden Weyr, Cove Hold, and Fort Hold. With advice and counsel from Aivas, Weyrs, Halls, and Holds combined their efforts with the technology available from Aivas and altered the orbit of the Red Star so that it would never again come close enough to Pern to threaten the planet with Threadfall. On the day that the explosion of the antimatter engines of the three colony ships was viewed through distance lenses, everyone on Pern celebrated the end of Thread tyranny. Only Thread did not stop falling, a demonstrable fact that confused many, including Readis.

“Then why did you celebrate?” he asked his father four days later, when Thread fell across Paradise River Hold.

“Because Thread will end—this is the last Pass.”

“It is? Harper says that we’ve had it for centuries and every time we think it’s going to stop—in a long Interval—it comes back anyhow.”

Jayge grinned at his son, tall for his eleven Turns, and tried not to glance down at the wasted right leg, which cocked on tiptoe beside the uninjured left foot. He ruffled Readis’s curly hair and thought instead that it was unfair for the boys in the family to have the curls while the two girls had straight hair.

“The dragonriders have gone to the Red Star and steered it away from getting close enough to bring Thread to Pern ever again.”

“How could they move a star?” Readis demanded. “It’s too big, even for dragons.”

“They used the engines from the Dawn Sisters. They pulled the Star out of an orbit that brings it too close to Pern. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Sure. Harper’s told us all about our star system. He put a coconut down for the sun and then walked all the way to the edge of the river to put down a tiny pebble for Pern.” Readis giggled. “He said that’s the re-la-tive distances involved.” Patently Readis could only repeat what he had been told and did not quite comprehend the subtleties of the explanation. “Pern isn’t as small as that pebble. I know that!”

“You’ll understand better as you grow up.”

“Everyone’s always saying that,” Readis replied disgustedly.

“You’ll find it’s true,” Jayge said, hearing an echo of his own boyish voice. “However, Boskoney has advised us to enroll you in the Landing school.”

“Huh? And leave Paradise?” Readis was appalled at the very thought.

“Daytimes, six of a sevenday, with a break during the hot season.”

“Daaad!”

“You, Kami, and Pardure are enrolled. At that, Paradise River is exceedingly lucky to gain three places out of the twenty-five available to special students …”

“You mean, because of my leg I have to go away?”

“There’s not a thing wrong with Kami and Pardure, my young lad!” his father said sternly.

Readis was not completely mollified. He hated anyone making concessions for him. He rode the small runner Lord Jaxom had trained especially for him only because Ruth had said that he, the white dragon, had selected the beast for Readis, who had been so good about scrubbing his hide all these Turns. The little creature had made it possible for Readis to go wherever the other youngsters of the Hold roamed: the boy was as good a rider as he was a swimmer. Aramina preferred him to use Delky, the runner—anything to keep him out of the water and away from the dolphins. She could not be convinced that the dolphins were not responsible for his illness and subsequent crippling. It was Aramina who had heard about the proposed special classes to be held in the Admin Building, using the information machines that were the legacy of Aivas. Menolly had told Alemi, who had requested the concession not only for his own eldest daughter, but for Readis as well.

“How’ll I get there?” Readis demanded of his father, sticking his chin out almost impertinently.

“A-dragonback. I trust you won’t mind that.” Jayge knew that the transport might be the final persuader.

“Every day?” Readis brightened considerably. “We’d have to ride a dragon every morning and every evening?” He hoped that T’lion and Gadareth would do the conveying. He’d never been able to convince his mother that T’lion wasn’t in some way responsible for his illness. He’d told her time and again that the dragonrider had told him, twice, to go see Temma for the thorn and he’d forgotten. So his illness, and his bad leg, were not T’lion’s fault, but his own. He heard what his father was saying then.

“This is a special dispensation for the three of you, until a dormitory can be set up for the pupils.”

“A-dragonback twice a day?” Readis did not hear the qualifier, his eyes shining with the prospect of riding dragons on a regular basis.

“Only as long as you study hard enough to deserve the honor,” his father said sternly.

Boskoney’s report listed Readis as his top student over Kami and the studious Pardure, Journeyman Weaver Parren’s eldest. While Pardure studied hard for his knowledge, everything seemed to come easily to Readis, who would benefit from the challenge of a more structured learning climate. Competition for the few places available had been intense, but Master Robinton, whose scheme this was, had insisted that the students be harper-recommended and that they be proportionately drawn from Weyr, Hall, and Hold.

Master Robinton wanted to be sure this current generation of young people grew up trained from an early age to absorb and utilize the vast amount of knowledge available through Aivas. He had started special classes with just a few suitable pupils from the Landing residents, and each Turn, had increased the size of the classes. Aivas had agreed, remarking that it would be easier to train youngsters—since they would have no misinformation to be corrected—than to retrain men and women who would have to alter lifelong habits of thinking and learning. Now that the main push of everyone’s efforts—the Red Star project—was accomplished, the Halls could concentrate on spreading new devices that would raise living standards all across Pern. Once power could be generated in Holds, Halls, and Weyrs, the special equipment Aivas had taught people how to use could be extended throughout the planet, instead of centralized at Landing.

Wind and tide generators were being studied by Jayge and his crafthall residents to see which would suit their needs best. Using a powered loom, Journeyman Parren could produce in quantity the coveted fabrics he made from the local fiber plants. Better lights would be a tremendous help in every household, and fans would make life more bearable during the hot season. Other applications of power generation were being studied, especially the manufacture of ice so the fish catches would remain fresher longer. Alemi was very keen for that amenity.

Jayge found some of the concepts difficult to understand, so he was delighted that Readis would have the opportunity to start off absorbing the new wonders at a belter “learning” age. Such training would also make the boy more acceptable to the Council of Holders when it came time for him to be confirmed in his holding. In the meantime, Jayge was determined to improve the Hold and its resources. The basics of figuring, reading, and scripting taught by harpers along with Traditional ballads and songs were well enough for those who would be apprenticed to a Craft, but a Holder needed a broader, overall view. Jayge had learned how to hold through trial and error back when he and Aramina had been shipwrecked on this coast, but he wanted more for his sons and daughters.

Readis was all set for his first session at school the following morning—his knapsack was packed and a flying jacket and cap on to protect him between—when a fire-lizard came screaming in to land on the porch. He heard its distressed cry at the same time as his family and reached the porch just as his father was unfastening the message tube the fire-lizard wore. As soon as he released it, the little creature, still desperately keening, flitted out and was gone, followed by the resident fair, who picked up its tormented cry.

“No, no, nonono,” Jayge said, shaking his head in denial as he scanned the message. “No. He can’t be!”

“What’s the matter, Dad?” Readis asked. He’d never seen such a look of anguish on his father’s face.

Jayge bowed his head to his chest and slumped against the railing, covering his eyes with one hand while the other held the message, a narrow strip of paper.

“Dad?” Readis felt the first twinge of panic. Something terrible had happened. “Dad?” Readis needed to be reassured.

“Readis, go tell Boskoney to come. Take Delky.” He gestured toward the little runner, standing hipshot in the shade at the corner of the house.

As Readis vaulted to her back, he looked over his shoulder and saw his father, sagging and motionless. He dug his heels into the willing little beast’s ribs and she was away in a flash. Readis really liked having Delky to ride on land, but it wasn’t a patch on swimming with Kib or Afo. For all she was patient and willing, Delky couldn’t talk to him, not as the dolphins and the dragons did, so he found her distinctly lacking. Even fire-lizards gave one some sort of reaction. Delky only did what she was asked to do. Still, she was useful. He sat back on her rump and, as she’d been trained, she came to a complete halt, showering sand into the harper’s open doorway.

“What’s the rush, now, m’lad?” Boskoney asked, coming to the door.

“Dad wants you. Urgent. Fire-lizard brought a message and it’s upset him.”

“It has?”

Readis gestured for Boskoney to mount behind him, though the harper’s legs would catch any bushes on the way back. Obedient and uncomplaining, Delky swiveled neatly on her hindquarters and cantered back as easily with her double burden as she had with only Readis’s light body.

“What sort of message?” Boskoney demanded, reaching through Readis’s arms to clutch Delky’s mane.

“He didn’t say. Just told me to get you. He hasn’t moved a muscle since I left,” Readis muttered to Boskoney as the harper dismounted at the porch steps. Readis was really worried now. Bad news didn’t often trouble Paradise River. When something did go wrong, his father was more apt to curse and pace and wave his arms about, but he was never silent and all drawn in on himself like now.

Hearing the harper’s step, Jayge reached the message strip in his direction. Boskoney scanned it. Then, in the act of stepping up, the harper halted, foot held midair a long moment before he sort of turned and sank to the top step, head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. Readis kneed Delky around the house to the door of the kitchen, where his mother was preparing their supper.

“Mother,” Readis said, edging into the house and touching her arm, “I think you better go see what’s wrong with Father.”

“What could be wrong with your father, dear?” she asked in a voice that suddenly seemed too loud to Readis.

“He got some bad news and sent me for Boskoney. Now he’s sitting on the porch and—what would make a harper cry, Mother?”

Aramina shot her son a startled look before she took the heavy pan off the fire and half ran to the front of the house. Readis moved after her in the touch-toe/step gait he had adopted to get him places almost as quickly as anyone else on two good feet. Before he could reach the porch, he heard his mother crying, not loudly as she had when she learned of Granddad’s death but softly, as if the pain inside her was unbearable. She had her arms about Jayge and was comforting him even as she wept.

The scene was too much for Readis, and he retraced his steps, vaulted up on Delky’s back again, and raced her toward the cluster of cotholds down the riverbank.

“I think you better get up to the hold, Aunt Temma, Uncle Nazer. You, too, Uncle Swacky,” he added when the burly figure of the grizzled old soldier appeared in the doorway. “I don’t know what’s happened but it’s made Dad, Mother, and Boskoney cry.” He didn’t wait to see if they followed but turned Delky around again and had her galloping past the tableau on his porch and on to Alemi’s hold. He brought Alemi back with him on Delky, leaving Kitrin and the other fishmen to follow on foot.

When Alemi arrived, Temma, Nazer, Swacky, Parren, and his wife and oldest daughter were standing about, weeping, too. The strip of paper was passed to Alemi, who began to breathe deeply and swallow while tears crept down his cheeks. Seeing his chance, Readis turned Unclemi’s hand toward him so he could read this awful message.

“‘Master Robinton and Zair have died. Aivas, too.’ “The stark words did not immediately make sense to him. Master Robinton couldn’t die. Everyone needed him. Readis knew that. And how could a machine die? He knew that Aivas was a machine, a very intelligent machine who knew a great deal—but still a machine. Machines didn’t die, they just … just ran down? Wore out?

Suddenly the air was full of fire-lizards, all of them uttering the most incredible keening noise, sort of edgy and hurting the ears: sounds he’d never heard them make ever before in his life. They went diving about the air, swooping down to the roof of the hold, and then up again, unable to settle, all the time making that dreadful noise.

“What’s the matter? My fire-lizard is terribly upset,” cried Lur, one of the landsmen, who came running up to the main hold.

Behind him on the path, Readis could see other holders and crafters making their way here, attracted by the fire-lizards’ unusual behavior. Alemi had slipped off Delky and joined those mourning on the porch, so Readis kneed his runner to meet Lur, showing him the message. Lur’s face went very pale under his tan and he collapsed against the nearest tree, bawling in great sobs. So Readis pointed Delky on down the path, showing everyone the message as he reached them. Soon everyone had congregated around the porch, weeping and immersed in this grief. Their children, not quite understanding the terrible loss, assembled a little away from the adults, confused by the atmosphere and the sight of their grieving parents.

It was the strangest evening Readis ever lived through. He watched as his father took a long time to coax Tork, his fire-lizard, to come to him so he could send off a message. Some of the women followed his mother into the house and they came back with wine. Another group went back to their houses and brought food, not that anyone other than the hungriest of the little kids ate much.

When the sun set, no one seemed inclined to go home. The harper was still on the steps, turning a half-empty wineglass—Aramina or Jayge kept filling it—in his hands. Readis noticed that tears kept dripping off his jaw and Boskoney made no move to dry them. Well, he was a harper and he would have been taught by Master Robinton, so one could understand his grieving for the death of his Master. Readis thought it even sadder that the Masterharper’s fire-lizard had died at the same time. That sort of loyalty brought a lump to his throat—even thinking that Delky, Kib, or Afo might die along with him, should he die soon. He nearly had, the time he’d been so sick with the thorn poison in his foot. He knew that dragons died when their riders did, but no one who had a fire-lizard had died in Paradise River, so he wasn’t sure about their reaction. Then he realized that the grown-ups on the lawn were talking softly among themselves. Kami thought they should get some glowbaskets. So Readis led her and Pardure, who had offered to help, to where they kept them and set enough out so that this remarkable scene was lit.

Many Turns later, Readis remembered that night and the shadows cast on familiar faces all saddened by their loss. He remembered that, although there had been many skins of wine opened, and everyone was drinking, no one got merry from the wine. There was no singing, which was most unusual for any group with a harper in the center of it. Readis wondered as the night got later and later why no one was chasing him and the other youngsters off to their beds. The littlest ones fell asleep where they were, in a parent’s lap or on the ground beside their parents. Eventually he got up and collected covers for Aranya, Kami, and her sisters and himself and Pardure and Anskono: his baby brother was sleeping in the hammock on the porch with their mother.

He tried to stay awake, to see what staying up all night was like, but the soft murmur of sad voices lulled him to sleep.

When he woke the next morning, he was in his own bed. Checking outside, he saw that a fair number of people had slept the night on the grass. Boskoney occupied the hammock, Aramina’s prized rug covering him. This was the day Readis was supposed to start school, but he knew it wouldn’t start today. The school had been Master Robinton’s idea. Maybe it wouldn’t happen now he was dead. Somehow Readis didn’t like being deprived of that opportunity, especially when it meant he’d be going journeying to school a-dragonback.

His stomach was rumbling, since he hadn’t eaten much last night out of deference to the occasion, so Readis went to the larder to see what he could find to eat. Evidently alerted by the small noises he was making, Aranya entered the kitchen, little Almie tagging beside her.

“Hungry,” Almie said clearly, pouting. Although Aranya was in a clean coverall, Almie was still in the rumpled things she’d worn yesterday. “I’m empty in my middle.”

“I’ll feed you, so be quiet,” Readis said in a low voice. He sort of figured his parents wouldn’t want to be awakened. His baby brother would sleep until someone, or some loud noise, woke him. Readis didn’t want the loud noise to be Almie.

He set out bowls, filled them with the fruit that was always sliced and ready in the cooler, and toasted bread for his sisters so they’d keep quiet. He spread Almie’s bread with the sweetener she loved because he knew if he didn’t, she’d demand it and loudly, too. Aranya was much easier to deal with than Almie. Then he got the grain for the poultry and took care of them, and Delky, who patiently waited out the back door for her morning handful of corn. The canines were just getting restless when he deposited their bowls in the run. They could howl loud enough to wake the dead, as his mother often said. Back in the kitchen, he heated water and ground more klah bark because the jar was empty. One thing he knew for sure would be needed was plenty of klah.

He got Aranya to take Almie into their room and wash her and dress her. Aranya loved playing “mother” to their sister. He was just sitting down to his own toast when Kami slipped in the back door, her blue eyes wide with the tidings and her expression solemn.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” she whispered at him.

“They’re still asleep,” Readis said, speaking in a low voice. He gestured with the toasting fork and she shook her head. She did, however, look wistfully at the pitcher of fruit juice on the table, so he poured her a glass of it.

“Father got messages this morning,” she said. “We’re all to sail to Monaco to escort the Harper to sea.

Readis felt his throat close over. Boskoney had sung a very moving song about an honorable sea burial, for another old harper, Aunt Menolly’s first master. It would be like that.

“All of us?” Readis asked after swallowing the lump. “All of us in Paradise?” He meant children as well as grown-ups.

Kami nodded. “Father says we’ll use all three ships so just about everyone can be there to honor our Masterharper. Father said we should never forget what we owe Master Robinton.”

“Then we will be able to go to school?” Readis asked.

“Oh, how can you think of something like school when the whole world mourns?” Kami’s voice rose in her disgust of his innocent query.

“It’s a fair question,” Jayge said from the doorway. “Ah, klah! That was thoughtful of someone,” he added, and cocked his head toward Readis. “Good lad. Your sisters are fed and occupied? Thank you.” He poured three cups, adding sweetener in two, and placed them on a tray. “I’ll be back. Toast me some bread, would you, Readis? I don’t think any of us ate anything last night.”

“A moment, please, Holder Readis,” Kami began formally, and she took a deep breath. “My father says that a message has come requesting the Hold to come to Monaco Bay tomorrow morning. My father says the ships will have to be loaded and casting off at the top of the night to reach Monaco by the appointed time.”

“All three ships? Hmm, that’ll be room enough for everyone?”

Kami nodded, the picture of solemnity. “Yes, sir. Everyone who can come, should, he said. The message said so.”

“Very well. Can you take the message round the Hold? Good, thank you, Kami.”

Kami slipped out the back door and, through the window, Readis could see her running down the path toward the cotholds.

“The bread, please, Readis, and enough for your mother and Boskoney, too.”

It was an odd day. People did what they usually did, but everyone was solemn-faced. Some people were red-eyed and sniffed a lot. Especially when Readis played messenger and gave out the ship assignments, which Unclemi sent for him to deliver. He wondered if Unclemi had told the dolphins. He must have, for when they boarded the Fair Winds in the middle of the night, he could see the dorsals crowding the water and the sleek silvery bodies in the starlight.

He couldn’t stay awake as long as he wanted to: last night had been tiring and the day had been, too, in the oddest possible way. The dolphins were singing a sad song, too. He curled up in his cover in the prow of the Fair Winds and fell asleep to the hiss of water, the dolphin song, and the gentle motion of the ship on a calm sea.

When they arrived in Monaco Bay, there was a great array of ships and small craft, and hundreds and hundreds of dolphins were in the water. In the air, in great fairs, thicker even than those that had swept across the Hold yesterday, the fire-lizards raced back and forth, blotting the sun at times. He was so busy watching their display that at first he didn’t notice the ship, all wreathed in black, that was anchored at the pier. The Fair Winds was standing far enough out in the bay so that his father had to call his attention to the procession, a small column heading to the dock. Readis was given a chance to use Unelemi’s far-viewer.

“I want you to remember this, Readis,” his father said, passing him the cylinder. “A great man has died!”

So they watched as the ship unfurled its sails, trimmed in black, and slowly they bellied with the light wind. Majestically it moved from the pier. Unclemi made sail, too, as it passed them by, and the Fair Winds followed in its wake, Readis all the time fearful that maybe a dolphin would be hurt, there were so many of them, as they leaped in escort.

What Readis remembered most that day, besides the awful solemnity of that ship and the covered body on its prow, was the dragons in the sky, wing after wing of them in close formation, hanging motionless as the ceremony was conducted. He remembered the terrible keening of the dragons as the Masterharper’s body slipped into the water. The hairs on his neck stood up and he could feel the sound down to the heels of both feet. It was far worse than the noise the fire-lizards had made: the dolphins squeeing and clicking only added to the uncanny noise. Had the dolphins known the Masterharper, too? Then all the pods gave one final leap and seemed to disappear. Readis could hold his breath pretty well now, and he had unconsciously held it just as they submerged. But they just didn’t come back up, and then he had to take a breath as spots were forming in his eyes. Shielding his eyes, he looked far out to sea and couldn’t see a single dorsal fin.

Then he realized that there was only one dragon left in the sky: Ruth, his white hide unmistakable against the blue of sky! He was motionless for so long that Readis began to wonder what had happened to him. Ruth remained, in that vigil, when Unclemi, himself at the wheel of his ship, turned to port and they began their journey homeward. The figure of Ruth dwindled finally—or maybe the white dragon had ended his skyborne post. Readis thought that was the most sad of all he had witnessed today.

The dolphins didn’t return until the Fair Winds had reached her home waters.

Three days after that funeral, T’lion arrived to take the students to Landing. They weren’t taken to the Admin Building as Readis had half expected, but to another building, three over from Admin, where a large crowd of young people had gathered. At the appointed hour, a Master appeared at the main door and, in a clear, carrying voice, announced which rooms were assigned to which class. When the older students had entered the building, he motioned for those remaining outside to approach him.

“Well, now, so you’re the ones starting with us this term,” he said, letting his gaze range over them. “I am Master Samvel, head of this school, and you will be known as Class Twenty-one, since this is the twenty-first year of the Present Pass. Not very original, I fear, but that designation will identify you to us and you will listen for any messages addressed to the class in general. I shall learn to identify you each by name over the next few days. Meanwhile, I bid you welcome and if you’ll all file into room D, we can begin orientation.”

Thus began what Readis later found was called the Transition Phase. He was an integral part of it.