The Skies of Pern

PART 3-Aftermath

F'lessan found himself awake at Benden's usual dawn hour though night lingered at Honshu.

Ramoth says we must come back to Benden,Golanth told him. The brown riders will visit your seaholders. They are Monaco's people, not Benden's.

F'lessan quietly gathered his clothing, hoping to have a chance to bathe and change, and left his room without waking the others. He took a quick shower; there'd be many people wanting one. He was glad he'd fixed the cisterns. As he padded down the stairs, past many sleepers, the pungent and irresistible odor of fresh klah told him someone else was awake. He heard voices, arguing quietly but intensely. Well, that was their problem, whoever it was. He needed klah.

He slid open the panel into the kitchen and nearly ducked out again when he saw that it was Mirrim and Tai who were bickering. Or rather, Mirrim was ranting at Tai, who kept saying "No, I didn't," "No, the children came first," and "I don't know how."

Zaranth says,Golanth told him, that Mirrim thinks Tai deserted the Weyr's children to save her skins.

Skins?

Her pelts from the Cardiff felines.

She saved the children. I sent you with her.

Zaranth says she got the skins.

How could she?F'lessan looked from Mirrim's angry face to Tai's pale one. You were with her. She came and went with you.

"Golanth says Zaranth was with him all the time, transporting children," F'lessan said and strode across the counter to the huge urn of klah. He'd have a cup no matter what the argument was.

Mirrim whirled toward him. "She didn't have the skins when she got to the Weyr. She did have them when she left."

"I didn't get them."

She's telling the truth,Golanth said.

"Golanth says Tai's telling the truth, Mirrim, so leave her alone."

"Then how did she get them?" Mirrim demanded.

"I didn't!" Tai was taut with anger and frustration. "If I'd had time to get to my place, I'd've saved my books and notes. Not sharding pelts."

"Pelts like that would have given you enough credit to buynew books," Mirrim countered.

"Ahha, but not her notes, Mirrim. Golanth says she's telling the truth. Now leave it!" F'lessan rarely spoke in such a tone. Mirrim gulped, and swallowed whatever she had been about to say. F'lessan used her silence to drink as much hot klah as he could. "Thanks, whoever brewed the klah." He looked toward the pale, tense Tai and smiled, indicating he was certain she'd made the klah.

"I couldn't sleep," she murmured.

"And, if that doesn't-" Mirrim began.

"I told you to leave it, Mirrim!" F'lessan took a menacing step toward Mirrim who unexpectedly gave ground. He saw the meatrolls on the counter behind Tai and, stepping around her, grabbed a handful. "Thanks, Tai. Besides which, Mirrim, I didn't see the pelts on Zaranth's saddle until Landing."

As he hurriedly slid the door open to leave, he heard Mirrim sputtering behind him. He bumped into T'gellan who looked thin and haggard despite a night's sleep.

"No matter what Mirrim says, Gell, Golanth says Tai's not lying. Good flying today."

He raced down the stairs and out the wide door to the main terrace before he sat down to put on boots and jacket, allowing Golanth time to arrive from wherever he had weyred that night. Slits of blue and green dragon eyes on the terraces above watched him mount but closed again before Golanth tilted off the ledge and made his first wingstroke. Far to the east was the brightening of the sky on a new day.

And what doesit have in store for us?F'lessan wondered.

Tai was telling the truth.

I know.

Zaranth saved the pelts.

I suppose,F'lessan said facetiously, because she didn't know which books and notes to save.

Quite likely. Ramoth calls me.

With that, the bronze went between.

Considering what filled the day, it was not at all surprising F'lessan did not dwell on that exchange. He and Golanth conveyed people and necessities to various Benden coastal holdings, reporting on how the flooded areas were draining, occasionally using dragon strength to shift wave-driven debris, and everywhere he had to explain that the dragons could not have stopped the Fireball from hitting nor held back the tsunami. He was repeatedly asked why Thread was still falling now that the Red Star was supposed to be gone. Few understood that the Red Star had only shepherded Thread close to Pern and what was falling now was what the Red Star had dragged in behind it.

At first he'd used diagrams on the sand, in the dirt, or on a piece of paper: a big circle for the Sun, a much smaller one for Pern, tiny ones for the two moons. He'd draw the orbit of the Red Star, and show how it swooped down and around Pern, then out, carrying with it the cloud of Thread.

"Why does it take so long?" he was asked.

"Thread's been on its way and it takes between forty-five and fifty of our Turns to get past it again."

Then he'd be asked why the Fireball had dropped. He answered that by saying it had been a leftover fragment from the Turnover Ghosts, lost trying to follow the others. (That might not be exactly the truth; Masters Wansor, Idarolan, and the newly promoted Master Erragon still had to deliver an official verdict, but at least most people had seen Ghosts and could accept the little fiction.) He'd drop another stone-the Fireball-into the water and show them how the tsunami was like the ripples. It was, he knew, an explanation, not an answer. He didn't know what the answer was, especially for those who'd lost a lot to "ripples."

Back at Benden Weyr, no one had the energy or the wish to settle on a better explanation. Or an answer. The next day Benden was flying Thread so, after eating quickly and checking on S'lan to be sure the lad was holding up well, he retired to his weyr, checking his safety harness and wondering if he could afford new leather pants to replace the ones the last few days had split, torn, and scraped. F'lessan remembered Tai's fine pelts. Well, there were plenty of felines to be hunted near Honshu. He could probably trade such pelts for wherhide pants from the Weyr's tanner. It'd be fun to hunt with Tai and Zaranth. Golanth agreed. So F'lessan gave the drowsing bronze an affectionate rub and went out to the ledge of his weyr. He clasped his arms with his hands against the chill. During those earlier lessons with Aivas, he had made himself familiar with the names of the brightest stars to be seen in Benden's wintry skies. Canopus was low on the horizon, Girtab outshining her.

He really ought to get to work now; to make Honshu a viable part of what dragonriders could "do" to protect the planet. That was at least obvious to him. He had no idea how a dragon, or all the dragons of Pern, could stop another fireball-they didn't have any more antimatter engines to drop on them, he thought wryly-but it made a lot of good sense to find out if anything else was likely to impact any time soon. From some scrap of those nearly disregarded astronomy lessons, he remembered that hazardous impacts were infrequent. There were a few documented, like the Circle Runner Station and the most recent meteorite that had rammed into the prison yard at Crom Minehold.

Wansor, old Lytol, and D'ram were certainly working all out on updating orbits with Erragon down at Cove Hold. The skies currently above Pern had altered within Rukbat's system since the colonists had first surveyed it twenty-five hundred and fifty-three Turns ago. Asteroids had collided, broken up into different pieces, spinning into new orbits. Perhaps one of them had been the Fireball. Others, like the erratic wanderer inaccurately called the Red Star had entered the system as comets or fragments. In the spare moments F'lessan had had, he'd reviewed his old astronomy notes from his classes with Aivas. A long-forgotten lesson reminded him that the Yokogot its information from what the Ancients had called "a southern array of satellites." Aivas had once mentioned the absence of a northern array, which would have given a much clearer picture of minor planets, comets, and other orbiting bodies. He remembered that there were more telescopes stored in the Catherine Caves, which probably would have been set up in observatories to keep track of such objects. Old Earth certainly had known exactly what was in its solar system. But no one had anticipated the Red Star and Thread falling on Pern.

Thread must have sharded a lot of the colonists' plans, F'lessan thought to himself.

To identify what now circled in Pern's spatially near vicinity would need more than however many apprentices and journeymen currently worked at Cove Hold. The telescope in the ingenious observatory that old Kenjo had contrived was the type that required a computer and a screen to display what it saw. The l0x50mm binoculars he had wheedled out of Jancis worked well enough. With these he had been able to spot what were marked in the Aivas charts as minor planets and the larger objects in the asteroid belt. But to have an instrument that would produce images that one could study in detail! That would help enormously in charting the skies. He grinned, rubbing his cold arms. And maybe he'd get Tai to help him. Ah!

When the entire furor over the Flood had eased down, he was sure he could now get authorization from Master Wansor to withdraw the appropriate boards and crystals out of storage at Admin to be able to focus the primary mirror. Aivas had taught him how to assemble a computer. Benelek, another of his old friends and now Master of the Computer Hall, could probably be talked into helping him. Screens were harder to come by, but he might just cajole Stinar into giving him a spare one, if he promised regular reports of what the ancient Schmidt-type telescope detected.

Enough stargazing. He had a tiring day ahead of him. He hadn't had a chance to show Tai where he kept the binoculars or the stand. Much less the glory of the Honshu observatory. As he turned on his heels and walked quickly back into his weyr, out of the cold, he smiled to himself: she'd like that!

"Not the first time things have fallen on Pern that weren't Thread!" Chesmic, Circle's garrulous Stationmaster, said to the two men who had asked for a night's shelter. Since it was extremely cold and there was enough in the stew pot for two more, Chesmic allowed them in. Besides, he could use a new audience. Every other Runner gathered for a warm meal before continuing their runs had already heard his usual tale.

"Why d'you think we call this place Circle?" he went on, glancing first at one and then the other.

"Do tell us," the younger man said, his tone so close to downright rudeness that Chesmic almost didn't continue.

"Do tell us." The older man with the scarred face spoke more courteously, in a deep, oddly muffled voice. When he broke off a piece of bread from the big loaf in the center of the table, Chesmic noticed that he was minus the top joint of the first finger on his left hand.

"Not because it's built round." As he took up his tale again, Chesmic's penetrating glare included everyone at his table and their quiet conversations stopped. "Which it ain't. But, 'cos o' that great hole out there!" He pointed in the appropriate direction. "Twenty good paces from the front door and twice as deep as the tallest man ever growed. 'Cos that's where that–" and now he pointed to the twisted black fragment displayed in a niche in the stone wall,"-landed!"

Of the two guests, only the older man looked at it. His companion assumed a supercilious smile as he continued to spoon stew into his face. At least, Chesmic thought, they won't complain they hadn't been well fed at Circle.

"Nothing compared to what the Fireball did," the younger man said, openly contemptuous. "Never should have messed with the Red Star."

"That-" Chesmic waggled his hand toward the crater, "fell over a thousand Turns ago before Aivas had the dragon-riders push the Red Star out of harm's way." He rushed on before the arrogant young man could do more than open his mouth. "So it stands to reason there ain't no connection twixt it and the thing what plowed through Crom Minehold. Both of them are meteorites." He pronounced each syllable. "Ain't the first that have fallen. Fireball was a different thing altogether. Right?" he asked the Runners.

They murmured agreement with him.

"Does Crom Minehold display its meteorite as you do?" asked the older man in his odd speech.

Chesmic couldn't quite place the man's accent. He was certainly not from Keroon; Keroonians drawled-that is, when they spoke at all. Nor was he from the eastern coast. Runners bred there spoke in crisp tones. West coasters did, too, though they accented some words differently. That was it. The man had no accent, no tone to his words: he just spoke them and sometimes blurred the t'sand d'sand n's.

"Naw, sold it to the Smithcrafthall for more marks than the mines've earned in Turns." Chesmic did not wholly approve of that sale but it had been their meteorite. Not that he couldn't have sold his to the Smithcrafthall, if he felt like it, but you couldn't sell something that had been in his family so long. Wouldn't be right!

"I heard that they think it's part of the Red Star," the young man said, a sly gleam in his eyes.

"That's a bundle of snake wallop," Chesmic replied contemptuously. He pointed skyward. "Iffen the Red Star had broke up-which Masters Erragon and Stinar and Wansor has seen through Cove Hold that it hasn't-we'd have rocks falling down all over the planet. And we don't."

"That Fireball made enough trouble for us," one of the Runners said.

"It was wrong to move the Red Star," the older man said, his face somber and his voice forbidding. "It has circled Pern for centuries and to alter its course is a bad deed."

"Oh, it's still to circle Pern," Chesmic agreed. "Just not close enough to drop Thread on us again."

"Thread, and the dragonriders flaming it out of our skies, is tradition. So many have been broken. So much has Aivas corrupted our way of life, our traditions."

There was something about the man's toneless voice that caught you up in his words but Chesmic knew about traditions. Runners followed ones that belonged to the first Craft-hall to be formed at Fort Hold.

"There isn't a Runner on any trace on Pern, north or south, that does not follow tradition. And since you've both finished eating, you'd best make use of the beds that tradition-" Chesmic paused to be sure these strangers understood what he meant."-requires us to offer travelers during winter." He rose and gestured toward the loft steps.

The older one rose and bowed. So did the younger man, but his expression was sullen as they both made their way to the sleeping loft.

Mulling over the unease he had felt about that pair, Chesmic recalled the description that Prilla had given of the man who'd stopped her on the trace to carry a message onward. Definitely it had been the older fellow, for Prilla had mentioned his odd deep voice. He'd've been wearing a hat, possibly, so the scar wouldn't've been so noticeable. Of course he'd paid his mark piece for the service or Prilla wouldn't have carried it a stride farther. But why'd a fellow waylay a Runner when he could have easily brought it to the Station and had it logged on and all in the proper manner?

Well into the next month, as the flooded coasts drained and, in most cases, resumed their previous contours, food and materials were sent by almost every inland hold, minor or major on both continents, to sustain and rebuild drowned holds. Messages bulged Runner pouches and fire-lizards carried more, finding out who needed what and where. Shipmasters volunteered free cargo space and, on the days between Threadfalls, riders offered the services of their dragons and themselves. In the atmosphere of renewed friendships and mutual assistance, the unfortunate occurrences at Turn's End faded in the press of other priorities. The general movement of materiel and people included some of those in whom Pinch had an interest. He did know that messages were sent, but not to whom or their content. None of the people he watched so assiduously had fire-lizards, which proved that fire-lizards wouldn't come to just anyone who fed them. He could never quite get close enough to hear their discreet conferences. He'd come back to Harper Hall to report, get some new clothes and marks.

He found Sebell in his office, piles of odd-sized papers on his desk, held down by rocks.

"Well, come to do your share of petitions?" Sebell asked, gesturing to the mess.

Pinch groaned and looked away. "Bad timing on my part."

Traditionally all petitions presented at Turnover were forwarded to the Harper Hall and read by a special group of journeymen and masters who determined which were urgent enough to be submitted to the Council at Telgar on the first of the Third month. Some of the petitions should have been handled at Hold level. However, if there were sufficient complaints brought against major or minor Holders, the Council was the best place to decide if the matter should be investigated further. Pinch was often assigned to get specific information.

"I'll do my share. I always do. I'll look at any in Keroon, Igen, or Bitra-I know most of the troublemakers there anyhow."

Sebell gave a little smile. "Not much from Bitra so far. Sousmal seems to be taking such good hold that everyone's happy with him."

Pinch widened his eyes, moved one pile of papers to hitch his hip up onto the desk. "For now! How about those sketches I sent you? Any of that trio known?"

"Woman's from Tillek, rather a sour contentious sort, apprenticed to local healer hall but released prior to her third term as unsuitable to the Craft. Petitioned Lord Ranrel to be given her father's hold in preference to the younger brother who had been named by their father, evidently with a specific instruction that she was not to be considered. She and the brother had a huge dispute and she left. Hasn't been seen since Tillek's autumn Gather last Turn."

"So she's holdless?"

Sebell shrugged, searching briefly in the wide drawer under his desk and finding the three sketches. "One of the Traders through here-a Lilcamp-recognized this fellow." He tapped the one with the missing index finger. "Travels a lot. Does his share when asked, can put his hand to a lot of jobs, has a habit of asking questions. Funny sort of voice, too." He paused. "Young Sev mentioned the questions were-how do I put it-provocative."

"Provocative? And he asked Traders?" Pinch was mildly surprised by such gall.

"They see a lot of people and are smart enough to know what's going on where and how folks are reacting. Better than Runners who can't stay long anywhere."

"They're helping though," Pinch said. "Chesmic up at Circle Hold says he's had strangers in, sending messages, and others leaving them at a Runner Halt, a half mark left to pay carriage."

Sebell raised his eyebrows. "Overpaying? Bribing?"

"Not when Chesmic tells me."

"Does he know you're Harper?"

"Doesn't ask." Pinch's eyes danced with amusement. "By the bye," he added, his grin turning malicious, "did you know that the window glass that broke during the shock wave was all made by Master Norist? None of Master Morilton's shattered! Another point for our new technology." Then he cocked his head. "Do we know, officially or unofficially, if the-ah-exiles survived the Flood?"

Sebell pursed his lips and regarded his companion. "Has there been a question about that?"

"Not in so many words but it might be handy to know."

"And you're curious?"

"Part of it." Pinch's shrug was noncommittal.

"As I understand it, one of the natural attributes of a proper exile is that no one, searching in a ship for dissidents, would find a beach to land on. Many of such islands are sheer-faced cliffs. The relevant ones were drenched but not drowned. What's the other part of it?"

"A snippet of conversation I overheard-misinformation, actually-that I'd like to honestly-" He put his hand over his heart. "-genuinely, sincerely, trustworthily repudiate. As I was saying, I suspect our plotters, and perhaps the ingeniousscum who assembled the pamphlets, that so distressed Master Crivellan, lurk in the foothills of Keroon where dwell many with insufficient teachering to argue, and no interest in what happens to the rest of the planet. Did you identify that third chap?"

"He looks slightly familiar but I can't place him."

"Nor can I. He resembleshalf a dozen men I know, same age, same height, same general features, but he seems to have no morals or ethics. He does have some responsibilities that he has to attend to from time to time or a person he makes reports to. He may be a younger Holder son, not likely to succeed; he holds his nose a lot. You've seen the type, though he adapts to his surroundings better than Third and Fifth do."

"Third and Fifth?"

Pinch made a face. "They go by the numbers. The one woman's referred to as Fourth. I think the original second is dead. I got the distinct impression that they're glad he is since he objected to some of their plans. Third's the big one, Fourth the female. Seven in all or at least seven who come to the hill retreat from time to time. I'd suspected Sixth was from Tillek, with that flat nasal twang. Third's traveled-as we know-and Fourth's been in so many places I can't tell where she came from. Definitely Third is in it for money and sport. I think Third is genuinely concerned about too much technology. Fourth uses Tradition as a reason to exist. Her thinking's skewed. She wants to lead and she hasn't got the personality for it. She's too concerned about doing things the old way, the right way, the way she was taught that ought to be the way everyonedoes it." Pinch paused. "Too hidebound to know the color of her pelt."

"Are they planning something?" Sebell asked.

"They act like it, all this leaving of messages at Runner Halts so the sender can't be identified."

"How do they collect messages, then?"

"I suspect one of their docile hill folk do. I asked at Wide Bay-Stationmaster Arminet knows me-and he remarked, casual like, that a lot of hill folk were getting messages."

Sebell rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "They must know that now most healer halls lock away their stores-and use Master Morilton's glass." He gave Pinch a telling look. "The Glass Halls have shifted healer-hall work to more secure places, the SmithCraftHalls have started using digital lock systems… "

"And Aivas scores another posthumous victory over vandalism," Pinch said with customary impertinence, raising his hand in triumphant gesture. "Never know what we'll need next because of them."

"Benelek's delighted. The units are easy to build and attach to alarms. I've sent some handy apprentices down for a few weeks' training with him."

"You're not worried about them breaking in here, are you?" Pinch was genuinely alarmed.

Sebell laughed, lightening his generally serious manner. "Not with the Fort Hold watch dragon!"

"Who didn't hear the vandals in the Healer Hall…"

"Because they entered quietly and wearing healer green. Then there're all the fire-lizards that live here-not just Menolly's." Sebell pointed a finger at the roving Harper. "You hear anything of their plans, even a whisper…"

"My hearing's excellent and Bista's is better."

"Send word." Sebell frowned a little, thinking. "Odd, isn't it, that those who dislike the advantages Aivas gave us should force us to use his technology to thwart them!"

"Ironic, too." Pinch rose from his perch on the desk corner. "I've read enough in Aivas's historical files to feel that Pern will never be in danger of becoming over-technical. Takes too long to develop the skills needed, except in special instances like the digital locks, and we certainly don't have the production systems the Ancients had. As a population, we have been conditioned to this slower, more methodical rhythm of living and only a very small portion will ever feel the urge to aspire to Aivasian heights."

"A Pinch of philosophy, too, huh?" Sebell said, grinning. "I wonder would such reassurance suffice to content the dissenters."

"We all have a choice," Pinch said and rubbed his hands together with an air of anticipation. "What petitions d'you want me to go over? I'm here overnight at least."

Just as Sebell was deciding which pile, the latch of the Master's office door was being pulled down. Both men heard a child's delighted laughter and then the door was pushed inward.

"Da, I learnt 'nothertune. Perfect!"

The child-and Pinch had no difficulty in identifying him by his tangle of dark curly hair as Menolly's oldest son, Robse-swung in on the door handle, waving his wooden recorder over his head. "Ooops, sorry. Dint know anyone was here."

"No, come in, come in," Pinch said, wondering if he could escape being lumbered with petitions.

"Is by Aivas!" Robse announced as if the source made all the difference.

"By Aivas, is it?" Pinch could not resist echoing the phrase.

"By Aivas!" Robse affirmed with a nod that made the curls on his head bounce and his expression turn very stern indeed.

"If it's by Aivas, then it's all right," Pinch said.

"These, Master Mekelroy, are for your perusal," Sebell said, bowing as he held out one of the larger piles to Pinch.

"Thank you, Master Sebell, thank you. You are always so generous to me. I can't thank you enough for giving me something to busy myself with while I'm here," and with such effusions, and a wink at the mystified Robse, Pinch backed out of the room. "A perfect tune really must be heard as soon as it's learnt," and he closed the door on that remark.

He'd given Sebell the most important news, though he still had to discuss the problem of far too many people wanting to know "What were the dragonriders going to do about things that fell from the sky?"

The watch dragon trilled the note that Weyrleaders were flying into Benden and Mnementh and Ramoth on their ledges rose to bugle a welcome, which informed Lessa and F'lar of important, if unscheduled, visitors.

Tileth and Segrith,Ramoth said, raising her head from her front legs.

"Really?" Lessa was as surprised as F'lar. "Did you forget they were coming?"

"I wouldn't forget something as unusual as that," he chided her as he quickly slipped off the soft, fleece-lined ankle-boots he was wearing and pulled on leather ones warming near the heating unit, shrugged off the wool vest, and rose to his feet, straightening his collar and settling the deep cuffs of his wool shirt.

With an air of not noticing his rearrangements, she wrapped her long braid into a more formal coronet and smoothed the creases out of her woolen trouser-skirt.

"We have wines, don't we? And perhaps Manora will send someone with fresh klah and whatever is freshly baked," she said. "I wonder why they're here!" she added.

"No doubt they'll inform us!" he said as he opened the thick curtain that kept cold air from leaking into their comfortable quarters. He frowned as he looked out. "They should have checked our weather first. It's turned into a miserable day."

Did they ask, Ramoth?

No, or I would have told you. I, too, do not forget any thing.Ramoth turned lightly, whirling reproachful eyes on her rider.

"Of course not."

She heard voices on the ledge and stepped around the curve of the wall to see Pilgra slipping, putting one hand firmly out to the stone to get her balance.

"My dear Pilgra, you should have checked the weather," she said solicitously. Pilgra was not her favorite of the Old-timer Weyrwomen but anyone venturing out today would receive her concern. "Come to the heat. Let me take your coat. Ah, you've one of the new long ones! Is it warmer, d'you think?"

"On a better day, it might be enough but I didn't expect it to be so miserable here. It's cold enough in High Reaches, but at least the sun's out."

Holding the wet coat, Lessa noticed that Pilgra's wool trousers were baggy at the knees and unattractively creased at the thigh.

"Oh, how warm you've made your weyr," the older woman said, her eyes taking in the heating units. "Good day to you, Ramoth," she added, nodding formally to the queen who was observing the visitor with tranquil green eyes. Then she walked rapidly to the nearest source of warmth, giving a mock shiver. "How marvelous! We have heat now, too, but nothing seems to penetrate the cold in High Reaches."

Suddenly Lessa had an idea why the two Weyrleaders had come.

The sun may shine on High Reaches, but it never warms,Ramoth remarked. I have told Tileth and Segrith to warmthemselves on our Hatching Sands. It would be better than waiting on the ledge in this weather. How thoughtful!Lessa responded. Then she turned to greet M'rand and saw the pinched look on his face. Yes, definitely, they were here about stepping down. Not that they hadto discuss such a decision with Benden since the Weyrs were autonomous, but M'rand was punctilious about such fine points.

"Wine? Or some of Master Oldive's liqueur?" she asked him.

"That'd do fine, Lessa," M'rand said, and a spasm of coughing shook him.

Why hadn't she noticed that M'rand was aging? When was the last time the Weyrleaders had seen each other? The queens exchanged messages from time to time but the riders had not visited. The mental image she had of the High Reaches leader, hearty, vigorous, straight, underwent a distressing revision: he was slightly stooped in the shoulder; his solid features-once handsome-were thinned and dry, his cheeks a network of red lines; the tip of his nose was mottled and the flesh sagged slightly under his chin and neck. Pilgra's dark hair showed no glint of white but the density of the color suggested to Lessa that the woman made use of some of the personal products that had become available from Aivas's files. There'd always been a red dye available from Pernese roots but the result was not as natural-looking as the new ones that had many shades to choose from.

F'lar served the liqueur to all, and Lessa asked after friends in the Weyr and Lord Bargen who, she was informed, was still annoyed that three of his sons had abandoned him to find holdings in the south.

"Hosbon's done quite well," Pilgra said. "Has a pier, a drum tower, and a sloop at Seminole."

"He got that much out of Toric?" Lessa said, exchanging surprised looks with F'lar who chuckled.

"Must be a chip off the old block if he can wheedle amenities out of Toric," he said.

M'rand nodded enthusiastic agreement. "Well, Bargen brought 'em all up to work hard so that he'd have a choice when it comes time for him to quit holding."

"Which is why we're here, Lessa, F'lar," Pilgra said, sitting forward on the edge of her seat. "We want to step down."

"Four good Wingleaders who know every bit as much as I do about Threadfall," M'rand added in a rush. "Weyr'll follow any one of them. Three good strong queens and a young one not yet old enough to mate. So we want to go south. Found a place down there in Cathay, when we were helping after the Flood. Small bay, protected east and west, not a big holding but don't want a big one. Got four to five weyrfolk want to warm their bones along with us. Wanted to ask you, can we?"

"Can you?" F'lar regarded him with surprise. "Of course you can. You and Pilgra have done more than your share of flying, in this Turn and the old one."

"You don't think we're deserting?" Pilgra directed her question to Lessa, her face screwed with anxiety.

"By the Egg, no." Lessa leaned across the space between them and patted Pilgra's hand, noticing the brown spots and the puffiness of her fingers holding the glass.

"Segrith hasn't had any of the old urgings to fly," Pilgra went on, adding, "though she's clutched every two Turns since we got here."

"With at least fifteen eggs and all living to fly. I wonder you've any space left in the Weyr."

"Well, it's space another queen can fill from now on," Pilgra said with a touch of asperity. "M'rand wants to see the Pass out but…" and she raised one hand in a helpless gesture.

M'rand cleared his throat, leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Did hope to, F'lar, not many get the chance, you know." His grin was a brief echo of his former vitality and charm. "But, after seeing the place in Cathay, what with R'mart stepping down, I thought maybe, with three queens available and I've got some fine bronze riders, we might… well… go south and get warm!"

"You don't have to ask our permission, you know," Lessa said gently, smiling with genuine gratitude. "You didn't have to come Forward from your own time to help F'lar and me during this Pass."

" 'That was twice decided,' " M'rand murmured softly, quoting the old Question Song. "We came because that was what we'd done, had to do, did."

"And, for thirty-one Turns, we've been grateful for your splendid generosity," Lessa said.

M'rand demurred with a chuckle. "Wasn't having as much fun in the Interval. I was young enough to accept the challenge. Now I'm old enough to think R'mart was right. We got you started and now we can retire in good faith. Of course, he still wants to be ina Weyr. Ourselves, we've been in one too long and Pilgra and I'd like to be by ourselves. Not," and he held up a hasty hand, "that you can't call on us and our dragons whenever you need to!"

"Now, if you're trying to get us to argue you into staying in that cold Weyr of yours, you've come to the wrong ledge," F'lar said, with an amused tilt to his mouth. He flicked one hand at M'rand. "Go, rider, and enjoy a well-deserved rest. May it take you into the next Interval."

"You mean that?" Pilgra turned to Lessa, eyes wide.

"Who thinks this is wrong?" Lessa wanted to know. And when both exchanged uncertain glances, she went on. "Let me guess: G'dened."

"Well, he's the oldest of us," Pilgra said.

M'rand cleared his throat. "Stubborn, too, won't let go at Ista because he's been at that Weyr-" He paused to guffaw. "-a half a hundred Turns and he knows all there is to know about leadership and Fall."

"One can appreciate such a sense of loyalty," Lessa said after a moment, and smiled. "Tenacity, too, and dedication, sense of purpose, perfectionism."

F'lar dropped his head, looking away from Lessa who was being outrageous and sounding so sincere.

Pilgra caught it first, blinking with astonishment as Lessa found a few more similar adjectives. Then M'rand roared with laughter, which turned into the hacking cough.

"Go before you die of the cough and get done out of your ease," Lessa said sternly.

"But-but-"

"Four good bronze Wingleaders? Let each one lead in turn during the next Falls until a queen rises," F'lar said pragmatically. "You'll be available for any problems. In fact, it'll take you time to step down even after you have. Now where's this splendid cove in Cathay? Did you think to get-ah, you did," he went on as M'rand withdrew a folded paper.

"Got Master Idarolan to do the map work for me. He's good at that." M'rand offered it to F'lar, once again the decisive leader, and a very relieved man. "I don't know which is better to have, map readings or your dragon knowing where to go."

Lessa had had a woodsmith make a cabinet with long, deep drawers where they could store the documents and charts that displayed chosen sites in the southern continent. The fact that the Weyrleaders controlled such dispositions rankled with many but, after heated debate in the Council, that had been agreed. What had also been stipulated was that each new holding had to be self-sufficient and had to have instructions about the dangers, as well as the advantages, of life in the south.

F'lar found the chart, flipped it to the worktop, angled M'rand's map, and found the coordinates.

"You're not asking for very much."

"Don't need much, and it's one in the eye for Toric," M'rand said.

Pilgra and Lessa came over as F'lar was outlining the new hold with a silver marker, reserved for dragonriders.

"A hundred square meters?" Lessa exclaimed. "A patch!"

"The nicest patch you could imagine," Pilgra assured her stolidly and started to describe the amenities. "There might even have been an Original Settlement there. Stones piled, like they finally fell, and just where you'd get a marvelous view of the sea below. All kinds of frees and it was so warm for First Month."

"There really aren't that many holdings allotted there yet, are there?" M'rand said, surprised.

"More than there were," Lessa said, "and far fewer than there will be when certain folk can make up their minds." She favored her mate with a dour look.

"More than I expected," Pilgra said with a sweeping glance of the chart. "That isn't all of Southern there is."

"No, it's not," F'lar said, tapping the drawer. "That's just the Cathay area, eight degrees to ten degrees longitude, fifty to twenty latitude. From the aerial photos on the Aivas scale, so they're big enough to delineate holds. I'll send the official register down to Admin." He opened another drawer and took out the register documents, which he tossed back inside. Opened a third, smaller one and took out a form. "This'll be your Deed." He riffled the side to show there were several pages. "I'll just fill it in, Lessa and I will sign it, and get it witnessed by the Weyr harper and perhaps Manora or G'bol and the holding's yours."

M'rand blinked. "Just like that?"

F'lar grinned. "You're Weyrleaders. You're entitled to your choice and require no further Council authorization." He leaned over the worktop, filling in the form, printing quickly but legibly, M'rand watching him.

"But it takes other people so much longer?" Pilgra asked, cocking her head to one side, her expression concerned.

"Other people take only as long as fulfilling the requirements of emigrating do," Lessa said. "Proof of being reliable people from hold or hall, with sufficient skills to survive in what can be hazardous terrain-where predators are bigger than the largest tunnel snakes they'd encounter here in the north-and a definite area where they will establish a new hall or hold. It's no more than was required by the original Charter, and that's another reason why it's important that everyone knowswhat's in the Charter."

"I did remind you of that, Pilgra," M'rand said, regarding his weyrmate with a jaundiced look. "People can get some ridiculous notions, listening to drunken Gather talk."

F'lar accorded that a grumble, checking from map to form to be sure he had the longitude and latitude correct to minutes and seconds. "That's why the harpers keep-you'll excuse the pun-harping on the subject of reading and understanding the Charter."

M'rand started to chuckle; it turned into a hard coughing spasm. Anxiously Pilgra handed him the rest of his liqueur and Lessa rushed into her room, coming back with a dark brown bottle and a spoon.

"Here! Take a dose of this. It's reinforced with something Oldive found in the Aivas files to reduce just the sort of hacking cough you have." She measured and gave him the dose. "Not that getting into the sun won't correct it in short order."

F'lar finished the official Deed, separated the copies, and shoved one with M'rand's original little map into a plastic sleeve. While M'rand was recovering his breath, the Benden Weyrleader presented the Deed to Pilgra with a bow. "Take him there today."

"Today?" Pilgra was as breathless as M'rand, Deed clutched in her hand.

"Certainly. What else were you going to do on such a miserable day? Get your weyrfolk to pack up what you need for a few days: plan there, 'in the warm,' " and Lessa pointed southward, "what else you'll need."

"Go? Today?"

"Think what a pleasant surprise it'll be to your Wing-leaders and the junior queens," Lessa said, eyes bright and wide and far too innocent. When Pilgra looked unhappy, she added more solicitously, "Oh, they'll miss you because you're both good-hearted and fair. But who would fault you?" She shook her as Pilgra took-a breath. "And don't say old leather-face G'dened. Cosira has her work cut out soothing his injured feelings. D'Fam's not likely to gripe. Living in Cove Hold has put Turns on his life. You're both popular leaders but I cannot imagine anyone faulting you for going, and making the break quick."

F'lar says if we go with them,Mnementh told Lessa, it will stifle any complaints G'dened might make. He adds, don't think you 'II get him to retire so easily.

Not when he's twenty Turns younger than M'rand and G'dened. I expect your rider to finish the Pass with me!Lessa replied stoutly.

And me!Ramoth said.

"We'll come with you," Lessa said out loud, brightly, as if she had just thought of it.

"That's a better way to spend a miserable evening than anything you've come up with, Lessa," F'lar remarked, knowing perfectly well he would pay her a forfeit later for such a remark.

Taking into consideration the difference of time between western High Reaches and eastern Ruatha, the Benden Weyr-leaders had plenty of time to assist M'rand and Pilgra in their hurried departure south and get back to Benden for a late supper. In the interval, they had supported M'rand and Pilgra in his explanations to their Wingleaders and queen riders, organized the men and women who were to accompany them south, and allowed M'rand a hurried conference with his Wingleaders, some of whom had trouble concealing relief and anticipation. Pilgra, too, spoke to her queen riders (the youngest one obviously upset and the older three eyeing each other speculatively, since the first one to fly to mate would be the new Weyrwoman). For Lessa, that was great fun and for F'lar a chance to assess the bronze riders.

M'rand is right. F'lar agrees that there are four well-experienced men who can take over immediately,Mnementh told Lessa.

Which queen?she asked the bronze.

Yasith,Ramoth said so firmly that if Mnementh had a different candidate, he did not now mention her.

Lessa kept her opinion to herself. Yasith's rider was Neldama, weyrborn in High Reaches twenty-five Turns before, and twelve Turns younger than the oldest of the queenriders. So she was of this Pass, which, in Lessa's estimation, meant fewer problems. Not exactly a pretty girl-attractive enough to rate a long look from F'lar-with green eyes that looked right at a speaker and a considerate, sensible manner as she set about collecting the items that Pilgra said she'd want to pack.

M'rand fretted over how to inform three main Lord Holders and the most prominent minor ones of his sudden departure.

"It would be courteous, but it's only a formality. 'Due to continued ill health, in the best interests of the Weyr and the Holds that look to High Reaches for protection from Thread-fall during a Pass.' " F'lar rattled off the phrases. "A change of Weyrleadership is our–" he rocked his hand to indicate the four of them,"-business."

"It's not as if the whole Weyr is retiring," Lessa said just as Neldama and Curella, the oldest queen rider, brought in mulled wine and small hot savories to be served in the Weyrwoman's quarters. "And it's not as if you haven't traveled between both continents before. Be easy, Pilgra, M'rand. This time you're doing what's best for you!"

Of the other two Oldtimer Weyrleaders remaining in control, G'narish of Igen was flexible enough in his mind to accept suggestions while G'dened of Ista was nearly as contrary as R'gul had been. All the Weyrs needed to look ahead to After. G'dened gave her the impression that he didn't even consider After. He certainly wasn't suggesting to any of his riders that they would have to look to their own support once this Threadfall was over and the traditional tithing of Hold and Hall no longer appeared on a regular basis.

"If one more person asks me 'what are dragonriders going to do about things that fall out of the sky on us' or 'how we're going to keep the sky from falling on them,' " F'lessan said with a great deal of bitterness to Tai, "I'll-I'll tell Golanth to drop him, orher, between."

He stood up, stretching to ease his back muscles from bending over to plant saplings around Benini's cothold. The dwelling, a sprawling extended family site, had lost its roofs from the tsunami winds. Mud, sand, and debris had been dug out of hold and beasthold; the structures had been soundly built twelve Turns before and could be repaired. The large family-by craft, herders, Benini himself a Journeyman-were out early and late, hunting strays that had been scattered inland ahead of the wave. Redfruit trees and the giant fronds, which had amazing vitality and could be trimmed to provide windbreak, had once shaded the hold. Paradise River had offered new starts of both, as well as young fellis saplings.

Planting was not work most riders would volunteer to do but, when F'lessan saw Tai's was the only name on that list, he added his. He had done very well getting on work teams with Tai, mostly jobs as backbreaking and thankless as this, waiting until he saw where she was going to spend her spare hours before he signed up. She was willing enough-even eager-to discuss their mutual interest in astronomy. They were sometimes the only dragonriders on such sites. She seemed to know many of the more isolated cotholders and was welcomed warmly. The two dragonriders had been shown where to find tools, where fresh water could now be obtained, and what was available for their lunch. All the Benini holders had ridden out on their runnerbeasts for another long hot search.

When the two dragonriders had collected the plants at sunrise, rootballs wrapped and secured on wooden flats, Jayge had greeted F'lessan with surprise and gravely shook hands with Tai, remarking on what a fine green she rode.

"Didn't think to see you again so soon, F'lessan," the Paradise River Holder said, grinning at the bronze rider.

"And will do as long as Paradise River is intent on reforesting Monaco," F'lessan responded. He waggled his finger at Jayge. "You and Aramina have been exceedingly generous. T'gellan told me."

"The least we can be," Jayge said. "We were very lucky here, protected from the tsunami by the Kahrain cape." He gestured first over his shoulder and then down the river. "We can find as many young trees and bushes as are needed. You two look tired. Have you eaten?"

F'lessan dismissed that with a wave of his hand. "Yes, yes, thank you. We can get untired when things are more or less back in order." He examined the thick lift knot on the flat, the net that secured the young saplings to it, and the corner ropes. All the dragons were now deft at lifting such carriers. One trick was to keep the ropes taut and lift vertically very slowly to keep the load from swaying; dragons were perfecting the maneuver. The other step was going betweenvery close to the ground, again to prevent swaying. After being root-pruned several days before, the young bushes and saplings were wrapped in balls early on the morning they were to be replanted. Dragon transport meant they could be in the ground, watered, and staked within hours.

It also meant that the transplanters could finish before the sun started baking gardeners and plants. F'lessan checked the angle of the shadows; his watch was in his jacket. It was just midmorning and they were nearly finished. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up this pace, even if they had both stripped down to sleeveless tops and shorts.

"You're getting pretty good at this," Tai said, pushing her hands up to her knees until she was upright, too. She removed the sweatband from her forehead, mopped her brow, and retied the kerchief.

"I like restoring things," he said, looking at the zigzagline they had been working on, a windbreak on the eastern edge. The holding was actually on a rise, which had saved it from more damage. Redfruit on the inside, handy to the hold, a curving line of fellis, and then the fronds. Some untagged saplings, which didn't resemble either redfruit or fellis, they decided to plant in the rich loam here and there. Someone had started a garden patch. Luckily this was midsummer and they'd have fresh vegetables in a few weeks. With just a little husbandry, there'd be good growth in the windbreak plants before winter's winds.

"Like Honshu?" she asked, leaning down for the canteen. Benini's spouse had left cool juice to slake their thirst.

"Yes, like Honshu." F'lessan grinned, sweeping sweaty hair back from his forehead. He gave her a quirky grin. "Place fascinates me. There're still levels of it I haven't had a chance to show you."

They had spent several evenings on the upper terrace, sharing the use of his binoculars, held steady on the stand. He'd let her have more time using them because he liked watching the intent expression on her face as she observed, jotting down time and references. She was quite circumspect, taking down notes-but then she'd been training with Erragon-marking degrees carefully, asking him to verify the objects she viewed. He even teased her-she had to knowthat he was teasing her or she got quite upset-about minutes and seconds in the degree readings of the fifth planet out from Rukbat, currently visible at right ascension 19 hours, 32 minutes, 53.7 seconds; declination 27 degrees, 16 minutes, 25 seconds, just below Acrux. She said it was a habit she'd got into, sky-watching at Cove Hold, to keep a record. Erragon was collecting such information from other sky-watchers. F'lessan had wanted to take her high on Honshu's eastern face for a panoramic view of the forest and foothills below where sometimes he'd used the binoculars to spot felines, hunting at dawn, but the long spiral staircase was not a climb he could face with equanimity and she was as tired as he was.

"I would really like to see this mysterious observatory of yours, F'lessan," she said shyly as she passed him the canteen.

"Oh, I'll take you, never fear-one night when we aren't dragging tired. It's a steep climb."

"Well, whenever," she agreed amiably as she reached for the next plant from the nearly empty flat. "We're about done here. Let's just put these untagged ones near the garden," she added with a sigh and glanced over at their dragons, lounging on the ridge behind the hold, in the thick ground cover that not even the tsunami had been able to scrape away.

F'lessan took note, but did not mention, that the dragons were, unusually for dragons, so close they were touching. He'd had a few ideas of his own but with a personality as reserved as Tai's, he deliberately kept his manner as casual as possible. The excuse of sky-watching had reduced tensions and given both F'lessan and Tai a respite. Not that he had been able to join her every evening. F'lessan was only too willing to give Tai the chance to replace the notes that had been swept away. He had several reasons for rediscovering an interest in astronomy.

Most of the weyrfolk had left whatever temporary accommodations they'd been in; riders had cleared space for their dragons and built personal shelters. A new Monaco Center was being constructed on a height, well back from the shoreline. Today, certainly tomorrow, the very last displaced riders would be gone to new quarters. As far as he knew, Tai had not found any. She might have, when he was at Benden; he hadn't wanted to appear to be keeping a watch on her. And Zaranth.

He watched now as Tai gravely considered where to dig holes for the unidentifiable plants. He picked up an armload and carried them over to her. Out of the corner of his right eye, he caught movement in the thick grass cover just beyond Zaranth. He looked more closely and muttered in surprise.

"Trundlebugs," he said. He deposited the plants within her reach. "I'd thought most of them got swept out to sea."

"They can, and have, tread water," Tai said, grinning at him as she pushed the spade into the ground.

"Really?" F'lessan regarded their relentless progress. "How long?"

"I don't know. But I have watched them cross streams." She dug deeper.

"Hmmm."

She handed him the spade and knelt to take the wrapping off the balled plant, deftly spreading its roots before she put it in the prepared hole.

"Big mother," F'lessan said, commenting on the size of the lead bug. "Four offspring. If she's not careful, she'll lose the biggest."

Tai shot a glance at the trundlebugs, then quickly knuckled loam around the plant, tamping it down well. For some reason, she was smiling.

"Coming right at Zaranth. Shall I…" He hefted the spade and took a step forward to intercept the trundlers. One had to swat the wretched mother bug out of her line of march but, at the same time, be careful not to break off her largest offspring at the end of the reproductive line, lest she retaliate with some of the stink-spray to defend her offspring.

"No, no! Wait."

"They're heading right for her. I don't know about Zaranth but Golanth hates 'em crawling on him. If he wakes, he'll squash them." F'lessan did not add that Golanth was showing more and more of a proprietary interest in the green's well-being, one of the subtler reasons why he was glad Tai preferred to work away from projects with other dragonriders. He wasn't ready for others to notice the growing relationship between Golanth and Zaranth.

"Watch," she said, her eyes sparkling green as she rose from her knees.

F'lessan dropped to the ground, narrowing his eyes in the bright sun to check the angle of the trundlebug approach.

Tai held up her hand, grinning. "Just a moment!"

"They're heading right for her nose. Doesn't she sense them? Golanth usually does."

"Wait!" Putting up her hand to stay his attack, Tai grinned widely, her look almost mischievous.

The trundlebug parade marched relentlessly in its unswerving path, oblivious to what was in its way. Zaranth's nose twitched but she didn't open so much as a slit of one eye. The parade was abruptly at right angles to its original path, heading back into the scrubland.

"There!" Tai beamed at her dragon.

"She blew them away?" F'lessan exclaimed.

"No. She didn't. They can only get so close to her and they go off in another direction, any direction so long as it is away from her."

She reclaimed her spade from him and began to dig another hole. "There're two spades, you know."

"Yes, yes, of course, my dear green," he said, making a play of diligence, going for the second one. Anything to keep her from noticing the brilliant green of the sleeping Zaranth, lounging so gracefully in the sun by the sleeping bronze. How long would Golanth continue to fake sleep? F'lessan wondered.

"Tai, a question," he began, digging busily. "I was watching and Zaranth didn't move. She only twitched her nose. How could she make a trundlebug detour doing that?"

Tai dabbed at a drop of sweat rolling down her nose and, picking up the next to last plant, removed the wrapping and dropped it in place.

"I don't know. But, if they get close to her, they are suddenly perpendicular to the original line of progress. You know trundlebugs: they never deviate from their chosen path."

"Amazing!" He blotted the sweat from his face, then unwrapped the last plant, placed it firmly in the ground, and tamped dirt around it. "That's that. We're supposed to water them now, aren't we?"

Probably the first thing Benini had done after the flooding receded was to sink a new well and provide a long watering trough from which they could easily fill buckets for that last garden chore.

"Didn't Benini say they'd rigged a shower over by the beasthold?" he asked, when they had finished.

"Yes, with a big enough cistern above to wash all of them," she said, looking eagerly around to point to the freshly painted enclosure. "Or so his spouse said. We'll get clean much quicker showering than having to wash in a bucket," she added, dropping hers on the shadowed side of the well.

"Leave enough warm water for me," he said, waving her to go first. "I'll return the tools." He gathered them up and started for the shed, calling after her. "I plan to hunt Golanth this afternoon at Honshu. How's Zaranth's appetite?" Well, he thought privately, "appetite" was one word for it.

Tai cast a look over her shoulder at her sleeping dragon. "She isn't the least bit off-color."

F'lessan blinked and then, with an engaging grin that Mirrim would have identified as "devious," added, "We could hunt felines. Saw some a little closer than they should be to the Honshu herds. Get us some good pelts."

Since the Flood, most green riders had been giving all their customary courier services free of charge. But there'd be a Gather in Telgar in two sevendays, when the Council met, and that was time enough to cure hides for sale and give her book-money.

"Fine by me!" Tai called back. He caught just a glimpse of her back and long tanned legs as she entered the shower enclosure.

He gathered their riding gear and packs and walked slowly up to the shower, giving her time for a good wash and rinse.

"Hey, leave me some," he said, speaking above the sound of vigorous splashings. He slipped off his muddy sandals. Well, cleaning them could wait till he got back to Honshu, but he smacked them against the side of the wall to remove as much mud as he could.

"You'll find it warm enough," she assured him. "Can you hand me my towel?"

He opened her pack and dragged it, and her fresh clothes, out.

"Where is it?" she asked.

He saw her bare arm extending from the shower wall and accurately lobbed the towel to her searching fingers. There were shiny new hooks screwed to the wall and he hung her fresh clothes on one, his own on another. Riders were not as bothered by nudity as holders or crafthall folk so he stripped down, glad to be out of the sweaty, dirty shorts. As she emerged, toweling her body dry, she gave him a fleeting glimpse. He stepped courteously past her, into the shower, and looked around for sweetsand.

When he had had a good scrub, especially his feet, he rinsed off well and, vigorously drying himself, sauntered across the changing area to his clean clothes. Dressed in her leathers, with her jacket still open, she leaned against the wall, in what shade there was, looking out at the scene of their morning's hard work, feeling pleased.

Summoning their dragons, they took off before heat brought fresh sweat.

As they came out of betweenabove Honshu, F'lessan first noted that there were no dragons lounging on the summit or the main terrace.

Will you hunt today, Golanth?

I will hunt well today,Golanth replied, watching Zaranth as she glided past him to land on Honshu's main terrace.

Startled by the odd note in his dragon's tone, for a moment F'lessan worried that he hadn't been as sensitive to Golanth's needs as he should be. When was the last time he'd hunted Golanth?

I will hunt very well today!

The bronze was coming in slowly-almost stealthily-to land so that Zaranth was directly in front of them, her rider stripping the safety harness, which was never used when dragons went after a meal. F'lessan could not miss Zaranth's condition. She was gleaming with more than health. Why hadn't Tai noticed that the green was coming into heat? He tried to think which dragons had been at Honshu early this morning. Most had gone well before dawn, as they had, to begin whatever work was slated for that day in the reconstruction of Monaco's Weyr building. In a traditional Weyr, with dragons basking on their ledges, her readiness would have been noticed long before the green herself might be aware of her form. Honshu had been guesting dragons since the Flood. True, both riders and dragons arrived tired: riders eating quickly and seeking their beds, dragons finding a spot on sun-warmed terraces and rousing only when their riders called them the next morning. He and Tai had gone directly to Paradise River and from there to Benini Hold, their dragons sprawling in full sun; several hours in the sun. Heat was known to trigger a dragon's mating instinct. He swore, wondering if any of the other dragons had been awake to the nearness of Zaranth's cycle? Riders were known to remember when greens were likely to come into heat. Most of those staying at Honshu were Monaco Weyr riders. Would they come storming in from all over now Zaranth was active? Was this a delayed reaction in Zaranth? Overdue? But he was a Wingleader and he shouldn't have missed the signs. Well, Tai had!

I didn't.

For once, Golanth jolted gracelessly onto the terrace, throwing his rider forward in an unexpected assist in dismounting. F'lessan was lucky to keep on his feet, running a few steps to restore his balance. Did Golanth sense other male dragons near enough to challenge him? Certainly the bronze demonstrated his eagerness by arching his neck, tucking his head into his chest, proudly male. Sweeping the skies for the appearance of more dragons, F'lessan quickly stripped off safety straps, shucking the pile to the nearest bench, as he began to shed his flying gear. Golanth moved carefully toward Zaranth, his eyes beginning to whirl in anticipation.

Tai was standing there, the harness folded over her arms, gazing fatuously at her dragon.

"Good to see her looking so well. She'd gone quite dull there for a while after the Flood," she remarked as F'lessan strode up to her. "How near are the felines?"

"Looking so well?" F'lessan paused, astonished by her choice of words. Then he pointed dramatically at Zaranth. "By the Egg, lookat her, Tai!"

Her eyes gleaming orangey-red, Zaranth angled her head coquettishly back at Golanth who was displaying, moving cautiously nearer, his faceted eyes sparking more redly.

Tai gasped, eyes widening with an expression of such fear and intense loathing that F'lessan wondered just what had happened during Zaranth's other mating flights.

"But there's just us!" she cried defensively, the harness slipping off her arms as she spread them wide in a gesture of panic and confusion.

How had she thought there was safety in that? Of course there had been other dragons and riders around, in and out of Honshu. Until right now! But, with a green in heat, there was no safety in numbers. Her hands turned, palms toward him in flat rejection. And, of course, he thought in fury, when Zaranth had gone proddy before, every blue, brown, and needy bronze had appeared: their riders had corralled her rider, waiting to see which dragon would win the green. He closed his eyes; he knew very well how intense the mood would be. But the green rider would choose!

"Tai, did you never choose?" he cried, outraged for her as he started to close the distance between them. And halted. He mustn't crowd her. The others had. How much time could he give her? Howcould he soothe her?

She was trembling violently, her eyes wide-not in an answer to her dragon's sensuality, but in sheer terror. She seemed to draw into herself, denying what was about to happen. Crossing her arms in a defensive position! Shards! Had previous riders raped her as their dragons twined? He tried to remember which blues and browns weyred at Monaco.

Tai continued backing away from him, looking about wildly for some refuge.

"They were all the same," she muttered. "There's no escape from them. From their…" She swallowed, trying to lick dry lips, white-faced with revulsion: her green eyes stark.

"Tai, were you forced?" With those words Tai shot F'lessan a look of such fear laced with guilt that he felt his belly fall flat. "You didn't choose?" He spoke very gently, appalled. This should be the most wonderful experience: a doubled ecstasy as both dragon and rider exalted in the union. He'd thought he'd made it so for those he'd partnered. The queen riders had always known:they had chosenhim. With the state she was in, there was no way Tai had ever chosen. "It shouldn't be a violation. It should be a celebration for you and your dragon. The most glorious union!"

"Union?" She snarled the word, the panic in her eyes telling him that mating had been far from that.

How many times had Zaranth mated? How many times had she been … he struggled to find the appropriate word… violated? He knew hold and hall girls often were; it was one reason so many sought sanctuary in a Weyr. Dragonriders, except at this one time in their dragon's cycle, were known to be considerate, and ardent, lovers. Without conceit, he knew that he enjoyed a certain reputation. Is that why Tai had been so chary of his company? He'd thought she was just naturally reticent. Now he realized she had been motivated more by fear than reserve. He'd have a few well-chosen words for Mirrim after this-if he could only reach the girl now, when it was vital to soothe her.

With the stunning warble of a lustful green, Zaranth issued her challenge to Golanth and launched herself, straight up. Unlike the queens who needed to blood a kill to give them extra strength for longer mating flights, greens required little preparation beyond the onset of their cycle. Golanth did not hesitate for a moment, the bugle of his acceptance echoing back to their riders.

Tai screamed in anguish, reaching out futilely as if she could have stopped her green.

"Tai, listen to me," he said, keeping his voice light. "Let me explain how it should be." Carefully, slowly, he held out one hand but she backed away along the terrace.

Eyeing his hand as if even his touch would sully her, she cowered away, her green eyes frantic.

"Oh, Tai, my friend, if I could, I'd stop Golanth," and he would have given anything to have been able to prepare her more. If he hadn't been so callous as to ignore what he'd thought was a natural reserve rather than sexual fear. "I can't, not now when Zaranth wants himso badly."

"How can she want him?I don't want you! Not thatway!"

That admission was at least something in his favor, F'lessan thought, struggling to find a way through companionship to solving the intensely immediate problem of their situation. All too soon the rider would be consumed by the dragon in a bonding neither could escape. He had to reach Tai, the human being, before her mind was locked into her mating dragon.

"But you see, she does. She just challenged him," he said softly, infusing as much gentle persuasion into his voice as he could. "He answered. He has been admiring her in so many ways. Just as I admire you, Tai."

She blinked, confused.

That was good, F'lessan thought, somewhat frantic himself. If he couldn't reach her, she'd never realize that it needn't berape. He knew he could control his human self, no matter how he might wish to revel in orgasm with his Golanth.

"Haven't you learned anything of me?" he cried in soft desperation. "Have I offended you? Slighted you as friend, Tai?" She blinked again, shaking her head, more confused than ever as the hold of her dragon increased. "In this let me beyour friend-and lover, too. Challenge me, Tai, as your dragon challenged mine. Challenge me to make love to you, to you, Tai, not to Tai-rider. Choose me!" He spread his hands across his chest. "Choose me,Tai!"

"I have no choice," she said, whimpering. She collapsed inwardly.

"Oh, Tai, love," he pleaded, holding out his hands but careful not to crowd her. She was so near the edge of the terrace. She was suddenly so dear to him, he was surprised to realize. This was not all Golanth's yearning: F'lessan the man was yearning, too. "Please, Tai, please choose me!"

Whether it was Tai who reached slowly out to her friend for support, or the dazed rider, he wasn't then sure but she did reach. Was there enough of the human there to have made a choice?

"Please, Tai, come with me now," he said, taking her hand in a light grasp and gently turning her back, toward the nearest door. "My friend, we must go in."

He tried not to startle her, slowly guiding her steps-she couldn't see the arm he held behind her, just in case she might still bolt. Her eyes were glazing: she wouldn't know how close the edge of the terrace was if she should suddenly feel trapped and try to escape.

Murmuring encouragement, he got her inside the weyr-hold. With equal care, he closed the door behind them, grateful that the hinges were oiled and hoping she didn't hear the slight noise as it shut. Her fingers were slack on his, her gaze distant: she was half in rider trance. He wanted to settle her before she was completely submerged by Zaranth's sensuality. That would have been frightening enough the first time it happened if no one had explained it in full detail. Tai's reserve should have warned him; he cursed himself for insensitivity. How long had he been a rider?

Abruptly Tai tensed. He glanced at her eyes, pupils enlarged against the dark in the hallway. He kept his hand relaxed while hers tightened convulsively. He put his other hand on the small of her back, lightly, offering no threat, just guidance.

"I'm honored you chose me, Tai," he said. She must believe that. "I didn't believe you would, you know. I admired you for how calmly you got the children out at Monaco." He'd better be careful what he said now. "Be calm now, Tai. Be calm and let me help you now."

As deftly as he could, he turned her into the nearest sleeping room. He could feel Golanth's desire mounting. He had to control his. He had to remain human as long as he could. And that was becoming an effort. He couldn't just push her on the bed-that would frighten her-but he also didn't want to turn dragon and have her endure rougher handling.

Gently, he put his arms around her. "You have chosen me, F'lessan, and I will love you well!"

He kissed her forehead and slowly tightened his arms about her. If she weren't completely thralled by Zaranth… but had she ever been lovingly kissed? He bent his head, his mouth tender on hers. Let her still be human enough to feel this! He had not expected the flare of passion that passed between them in a kiss he had intended to be delicate. She trembled violently. Instinctively he tightened his embrace.

"You chose me, Tai. You chose me," he cried but her body went stiff in his arms. Rocking her, he kissed her face, her cheeks, her mouth, her neck. "Choose me, Tai!" he begged as he felt the rigidity that was dragon-frenzy, not human.

And hewas abruptly Golanth.

She had launched herself well, and then ducked sideways, streaming away from him with unusually strong sweeps of her wings. She was big for a green and he liked that in her. He did prefer greens to golds. The golds always felt as if they were conferring great honor on a bronze by permitting them to mate. But greens could be grateful. They were certainly lustier than queens. Perhaps because they mated more often. She dodged to the right and he followed lazily. Let her wear herself out a while. He could wait. He would wait. This one was worth it. He had been so careful, not being too possessive of her company but he had let the others know that he intended this green to be his. He had been marshaling his strength whenever possible, knowing how tired other dragons were. But he was Golanth! Of Benden Weyr! Sired by Mnementh! Hatched of Ramoth. Worthy of that noble pairing!

She tucked her wings along her back, diving obliquely. He followed quickly. Did she realize how close she was to the ground? Oh, she did and swooped up again, proudly, head reaching for the low clouds that scudded over the foothills.

She'd play that game, would she? With one quick glance around him to see if any challengers had entered the chase, he swept after her. Sun sparkled off her brilliant skin between clouds and he pursued her, wondering if she knew that he could see her so clearly.

She turned on one wing tip and, knowing these skies better than she did, he did the same and soared through the narrow pass. If she thought he'd fall for that wily trick, she hadn't his measure. Soon she would.

She rose above the filmy cloudbank, heading toward the thinner air, then almost tumbled back down. He followed this maneuver effortlessly. She raced forward, rolling slowly as if caressed by the chill air. He nearly overshot her but didn't, so she failed with that ploy. She ducked, dodged, and fell surface-ward again, pulling up with the most graceful and powerful of movements he had yet seen in a green. Oh, she was a prize, this one! How he loved her! And she had chosen him!

Clouds again and he shadowed her progress through them by the glow of her reddened eyes. Then, just as she let him get very close, to evade him at the last moment, he gave his wings a sudden massive stroke and reached for her, making the catch, pulling her to him, connecting. Wings entwined and beating together, they flew suspended and, because he was a bronze and cleverer than she had thought him, their flight was horizontal to the ground and he could extend this passion for a long, long time. He did, sweeping them both carefully over the great inland sea where the thermals caressed their gleaming hides.

F'lessan was back in his body and Tai's was his. They were both panting from the exertion of a marvelously extended flight. He felt both triumphant and drained. He hadn't felt such repletion in a long while. She lay limply beneath him, eyes closed, head to one side, curls of sweaty hair concealing her face. He hadn't the strength-nor, to be candid, the wish-to release her, to leave her body. Considerate of her, he shifted. For all the pleasure he had enjoyed with other women, this encounter really was different. He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say and he had prided himself on knowing exactly the right words to use in any situation.

"Oh, Tai, you did choose me," he murmured, propping himself on his elbows, looking down at her with a feeling close to awe. "You did!"

His words took him as much by surprise as they did her. She turned her head slightly, her eyes wide and human again. Her lips were swollen from kisses he had been unable to control, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Please say you did?" The human in him needed to be reassured but he was also aware that their meeting had been incredibly intense, even for a dragon-generated mating. That could only be achieved with the enthusiastic cooperation of both partners. He couldn't be feeling the way he did right now if rape had been involved.

"I didn't know it was supposed to be-like that!" she admitted softly and she turned her head, embarrassed.

"My very dear green," he said tenderly, stroking her face with his thumbs, feeling slightly superior because he was no stranger to the "that." "It is assuredly the most intense emotional and sexual experience. We know exactly what our dragons are feeling, and they mirror ours. It can be stunning enough when humans love, but magnified by our emotional bond with our dragons…" He spread his hands, unable to quantify it and smiled tenderly at her. "Well, it-" he hesitated, "should have happened to you before, Tai." He couldn't help making fists and driving them into the rumpled furs of the bed. "I'm appalled and concerned that you were so abused. That's notthe way dragonriders should behave even when the dragon's in control. I'm…"

"Sssh," she said, reaching up to lay her palm against his cheek, her face calm, the hint of a smile on her kiss-roughened lips.

He wished he could see her eyes but there was so little light filtering through from the hall.

"I'm glad it was you I could choose," she said.

"I-" He started to protest, stunned that, despite his best efforts, she had somehow sensed his wile.

"I know me well enough, F'lessan," she said, putting both hands on his face now. "I am so very grateful to you."

"Gratitude in a snake's arse," he said, incensed. He wrapped his arms around her, wanting very much to take her again, and with human lust. "It's not bloody gratitude I want from you, my dear Tai!" He loosened his hold when he felt her resist with a hint of the panic she had shown on the terrace. He made his body relax beside hers, looked down into her eyes, wishing he could see the expression in them, the color they were right now. "I likedyou when we first met. In the Archives. I know you knew who I was, that Mirrim had probably prejudiced you against me. Had probably said I was-reckless. I'm not. I'm a good Wingleader. Riders trust me. So do their dragons. I want you to choose me, of your own free will, Tai. I'd like to-choose you, too, as a person I want to know better, not just because your green went into heat and Golanth was the only dragon available."

She looked up at him for a long time and then, tentatively, curled one hand around his bare shoulder.

"How did you manage it?" Her voice was low, even.

"How did I manage-?" His voice broke in surprise. She meant Zaranth challenging Golanth. "Believe me, it is not something even I could manage!" A laugh burst from him. "Your dragon wanting mine!"

And then he wondered. Dragons could be very cunning.

"Wasn't there onedragon in Monaco Zaranth liked?" he asked quickly. "Didn't Mirrim tell you to decide which rider youpreferred and latch on to him?"

Her eyes slid from his and she swallowed hard. "Don't go after Mirrim, F'lessan. She said-something like that. But I didn't-didn't prefer any of them."

"He didn't have to be Monacan, you know."

"You're angry with me again." Her body was stiff beneath him.

"With you? Again? When have I been angry with you, Tai?"

"When you got back from Fort."

He blinked.

"When you found me swimming after-after-"

"When you were injured," and he stressed that word, "trying to stop those sharding vandals." He got angry just thinking about that attack.

"You're angry with me again."

"No, I'm-" He closed his lips on "not" and saw that, unaccountably, she was smiling a little; that her body had relaxed, that both her hands were lying loosely on his back. He took a deep breath and made taut muscles loosen. "I'm not angry with you, my dear Tai, I'm angry foryou."

"I'll have to get accustomed to the difference."

"Will you, my very dear green?" he asked very gently.

"Will I what?"

"Wantto get accustomed to the difference? To me?" He searched her face, rubbing his thumbs gently from her temples to her cheeks. "I do so very much want to know you better." He kissed her lightly at the corner of her mouth, felt her lips twitch under his. Then, carefully, he moved to one side of her long body and pulled her against him, pressing her head against his chest.

"They're lying just like this, you know," she murmured.

He smoothed her hair back and settled his cheek against it. "Hmm. I know. On the ledge. But they're almost asleep."

"Aren't we?"

"We." He liked the sound of that and especially the idea of sleep. Of sleeping with her in his arms.

I told you I would hunt well,he thought he heard his dragon say. Had Golanth been planning a very subtle courtship after all? Just as his rider had?

"You wanted to see me?"

Sebell gave a start. Pinch closed the door that he had opened so quietly that his Masterharper had not even heard it. He grinned.

"Losing the old skills, are you, Sebell?"

"So long as you don't," Sebell said and flipped a piece of paper across the table, nodding for Pinch to read it. "From Crom's harper."

"Serubil? Sensible man. Knows endless verses to that dreadful 'Down the Shafts.' " Pinch gave a revolted shudder as he stepped forward to take the note. His eyes brightened as he scanned it. "So if the body was never found, even if the trackers were delayed looking, Serubil says the man must have escaped. Possibly taken the river down to the plains."

"Read on. There's bad news, too."

"Oh. The prisoner did have a missing finger joint. No facial scar though." Pinch sighed. "Well, he could have got the scar on one of those early forays the Abominators made. Or even during or after his escape, you know," and Pinch eased his butt to the edge of Sebell's desk, not quite disturbing the piles of papers as he continued to read. "Didn't we send every harper a copy of the sketch I made?"

"Thought we had."

"Ah!" Pinch's somewhat sleepy expression brightened as he read further. "The prisoner-did the man have no name at all?-was sentenced for life to the Crom mines with several others for attacking Aivas."

"While I was waiting for you to arrive," and Sebell adroitly teased Pinch though, indeed, Master Mekelroy must have hurried to the Masterharper's door before pausing to slip inside in a stealthy fashion. That was often how Pinch entered this office, in stealth and at night or other inconvenient hours. "I had time to review Master Robinton's report of that incident."

Sebell stroked the blue leather cover of the journal and opened it with gentle fingers to the place where he had left a slip of paper. "Aivas thwarted the attack with what he called a 'sonic barrage'-a noise so fierce and penetrating that it rendered the intruders unconscious. Aivas said that some aural damage might be permanent. When we expressed amazement that he would retaliate, he remarked that, and I quote him, 'These units are programmed with industrially and politically valuable information. Unauthorized access and/or destructive actions must, therefore, be actively discouraged, and this has always been a minor function of an Aivas facility.' "

Sebell looked up from the open pages to regard Pinch.

"Well, yes." Pinch scratched the back of his head. " 'Some aural damage might be permanent.' According to Serubil-" and Pinch rattled the message in his hand, "-this prisoner was deaf. Maybe he recovered his hearing? Convenient and useful to pretend not to hear if someone wanted to escape."

"Yes, in the next paragraph, Serubil says this wasn't the man's first attempt. However-" Sebell held up a finger, "neither this one or the others ever gave their names."

"If they were deaf, how would they hear even that question?" Pinch asked.

Sebell grimaced. "Usually there are ways to get across as simple a question as that. Me," and he punched his chest with his thumb, "Sebell. You?" He widened his eyes, assumed an interrogatory expression, and pointed at Pinch.

"Having failed to crash or crush Aivas, the last thing I would want to tell was my name."

"Good point, but-" And Sebell looked down the closely written, beautifully inscribed handwriting to the paragraph he wanted, planting his finger on the margin. "-while the men carried no identification whatever in their clothes, one of them had been a glassblower, judging by the pipe calluses on his hands and burn scars on his arms." He regarded Pinch with an anticipatory expression.

"And Master Norist was one of the most outspoken adversaries of Aivas and his new techniques. He was also exiled for his part in the abduction of our Master Robinton." Pinch's face went as bleak as Sebell's at that reminder of the man both had respected, admired, and loved.

"Three of Master Norist's sons were journeymen in the Glasscrafthall. All were very much under their father's control."

Pinch considered this. "Mind you, after thirteen Turns in a mine, pipe calluses might not last but burn scars made by hot glass do not fade." He cocked his head at his Craftmaster. "So I should take a sketch of our good friend up to Serubil and maybe question some of the prison guards about those burn scars. Someone must have noticed them in thirteen Turns."

"And if he regained his hearing."

Pinch gave a snort. "He'd have to be able to talk if he's been plotting raids and selective booty."

"Find out, too, will you, Pinch, in your delightfully subtle way, how long it was before they went after the escaped prisoner? I'd heard tell the Smithcraft gave them twenty marks for that meteorite."

Pinch gave an appreciative whistle. "No wonder the latest ones have made such a stir."

Sebell shifted uneasily, his mouth pursed with annoyance.

"No matter how much they're worth, they're causing more trouble than they could possibly be worth to the Smithcraft."

"Oh?"

Sebell gave him a sharp look. "The one on the Keroon plains has the hillmen certain they'll have a fireball next and aren't the dragonriders going to blast it out of the sky before it falls on them and burns up all the fodder."

"I thought the one in Paradise River Hold only fell through aroof?"

"It harmed nothing and Jayge got fifteen Smith marks for it. He also said," and the expression on Sebell's face suggested to Pinch that the Masterharper wished that Jayge had not been so garrulous, "that the dolphins had seen several 'hissy hot' objects sink into the sea and they'd be happy to dive for them."

Pinch gave an indifferent shrug. "From what 1 remember, meteorites are more often apt to come down at sea than on land since we have so much more water on Pern."

"That's not the problem. Even people who should know better are demanding that the Weyrs send out more sweep-riders to prevent more objects falling out of the sky."

Pinch gave a bark of laughter. "Dragons can move fast but not as fast as a meteorite. And meteorites are so hot when they hit the atmosphere that however hot dragon flame is, it couldn't stop a meteorite-even if a dragon could match its speed."

"I know, I know." Sebell sighed gustily.

"Now-" Pinch rattled Serubil's message. "Why don't I do something useful, like go to Crom Minehold?"

"I've asked N'ton to have you conveyed. You've about time to get your sketch of that Abominator and change into riding gear."

"Good. Bista loves going a-dragonback." Pinch neatly folded Serubil's message and put it in a thigh pocket. "I shan't be long."

"I hope not."

He was back by late evening. This time he knocked discreetly at Sebell's office door and entered, carrying a tray with a klah pot, cups, and a plate of sweet biscuits.

"1 do not come empty-handed," he said and strode to set the tray down on Sebell's desk. He gave the piles of papers a quick appraisal: Sebell seemed to have made little headway with the stacks. "Did you do nothing today about all those petitions?"

"I put them in different piles. What's your news?"

Pinch poured klah for them both before he made himself comfortable on the edge of the desk again.

"The prisoner did not have a scar on his face when he left. He lost the top joint of the first finger on his left hand in a mining accident. He had tried to escape before but was easily caught. The trackers were sure he couldn't hear them coming. That's one reason they delayed going after him."

"When were those attempts made?"

Pinch consulted notes he had made in the margin of Serubil's message. "In the first couple of Turns he was there-" His eyes widened and he pointed at the MasterHarper just as Sebell reached the same conclusion.

"So he got enough hearing back to try again!" They spoke in unison and then both grinned.

"And he waited for the right time-" Sebell said.

"What better time than when a meteorite has knocked out holes to escape through!" Pinch jumped to his feet again. "Right. The prison bathroom has partitions in its stalls so no one there remembers any scars on his arms."

"And no name?"

"They called him Glass because of the pipe calluses."

"So he could be Norist's journeyman?" Sebell asked.

"That's likely."

"So he'd have plenty of reason to hate Aivas. Norist thought of Aivas as the Abomination. There's enough circumstantial evidence to believe that the escaped prisoner is the new leader."

"My man, Fifth," Pinch put in. With a sigh, he sat back down on the edge of the desk. "Now all we have to do is find him and see if he can hear our questions clearly enough to answer them."

"I suggest we set our minds first to finding out what he and his fellow Abominators plan to do next," Sebell said gloomily.

Pinch watched his Master for a long thoughtful moment. Then, with an artificially bright expression, he asked, "Did you hear that M'rand and Pilgra are retiring to Cathay?"

"Yes," Sebell said. "And I'm glad. For their sakes-they've fought Thread long enough-and because the new Weyrleaders are young and will balance old G'dened who's so conservative you wonder where he got the courage to make the trip Forward thirty-odd Turns ago."

F'lessan and Tai still reported to their respective Weyrs for Threadfall but F'lessan was in Benden as infrequently as possible, returning to Honshu and his continued maintenance of the weyrhold. Though he knew that most of the Monaco riders were now settled in new quarters, Tai kept returning to Honshu-and him. He also got her to talk to him, about her childhood in Keroon, her schooling with Master Samvel, her work at Landing, and her apprenticeship with Master Wansor and Erragon. In the bright evenings, they would take turns identifying more and more of the stars in the southern skies.

"You know, I've often wondered why there are four more telescopes in the Catherine Caves," F'lessan said one night on the terrace as they lay comfortably beside each other on a wide mattress.

"I didn't know you knew that," she exclaimed, lowering the binoculars to her chest and looking at him.

He chuckled. "You forget, I was in Landing almost from the beginning and I certainly took every opportunity I could to poke about in those Caves. I even made up outrageous treasures for the sealed cartons-that is, before I learned to read the bar codes and ancient invoice words. Speaking of outrageous, how doesZaranth move trundlebugs? And for that matter, how did she rescue those hides of yours? The ones Mirrim got so upset about the day after the Fireball."

F'lessan silently berated himself for startling her with those questions. Hurriedly he went on, "I mean, I don't doubt it was Zaranth who saved them, but how? All the while I was there helping clear Monaco Weyr, you were too busy loading Zaranth with personal things, you couldn't even have timed it to your place." He rose to one elbow, turning his body against hers, and running a caressing finger down her face, which had turned all stiff and uncommunicative. "Zaranth told me she got them. I know her. I know you."

Tai's taut body relaxed and she turned her face, inviting his touch.

"All I know is she got them. Sometime before we had to leave Monaco ahead of the first tsunami wave and before we got to Landing." She shook her head back and forth on the mattress, vaguely waving one hand. "I was so tired by then. I don't know how long T'lion kept us timing it, back and forth-" Her voice trailed off.

He kissed the side of her mouth and nibbled at her lips. "Did you ever ask her? I mean, later, when all the furor had died down and we could start thinking again?"

"No."

"Could we ask her now?"

"I don't think she knows. But I'll ask her." Her eyes took on the unfocused look of a rider speaking to a dragon. She blinked and gave a little laugh. "She says she knew I'd want them before they floated away so she just brought them to me."

F'lessan thought that over, not much the wiser.

"Well, does she know how she moves the trundlebugs? The ones at Benini Hold?"

"Oh," Tai said, her voice less taut, "she does that with any that get close to her. She just points them in another direction."

"How?"

This time Tai closed her eyes to speak to Zaranth. "She says she used to do it to tunnel snakes who got close to my weyr, too."

"What could she do it to here? Now! Tonight!"

"There aren't that many trundlebugs around here and snakes would all be holed up."

F'lessan sat up and looked around the terrace. "Ask her to move that bench," and he pointed to one against the wall, "here." He patted the ground beside him.

"The bench is not threatening you and it won't climb into your nose or your bed."

"So, something has to be harmful for her to shift it?" F'lessan asked, a little vexed with Zaranth's lack of comprehension. Then he remembered how patient Aivas had been when trying to get the fire-lizard, Farli, to go to the Yoko'sbridge, so far above Landing.

"No, just aggravating. The bench is not aggravating her."

Swiftly, F'lessan took a bowl from the tray of refreshments they had brought out to eat while stargazing. He aimed it at Zaranth, lounging beside Golanth on the upper terrace.

"What-" was all Tai had time to say before the bowl reappeared on the tray.

Glaring at him, her fists clenched, Tai turned on her lover with more anger than he had ever seen her display.

"You may notthrow things at my dragon!"

"It wasaggravating of me but look how she reacted!"

It took him time and much coaxing to calm Tai down, a pleasurable enough activity since her body responded to his deft caresses even if she did not wish it to. When she did see what he had been trying to prove, she herself made a suggestion: a cover from their bed since the night wind was proving chill.

"Maybe Golanth could bring us some wine?" she proposed.

Golanth peered down from the terrace above, his eyes whirling with some anxiety. Idon't know how Zaranth brings things you want.

"Maybe we should try him with trundlebugs in his way," Tai said, giving her lover a sly grin. "If he does it Zaranth's way, they don't get upset and spread that stink of theirs."

We don't have trundlebugs in Benden,Golanth told his rider but he was plainly curious about how Zaranth had managed to move things around. Dragons moved themselves and their riders across great distances all the time; and recently Golanth had moved between times, but this moving something elsewas another matter altogether-one he had never attempted and could not do.

"We'll find some then," F'lessan said aloud as well as mentally to his bemused bronze. Some stray memory-associated with the time Farli and Ruth had gone to the Yoko-hovered at the back of his mind. "Will you have time tomorrow to help us locate some?" he asked Tai.

"In the afternoon, perhaps, but I did volunteer to help Erragon calculate orbits."

"Well, if you should see any trundlebugs at Cove Hold, give us a shout."

"Why not come help me calculate orbits?"

"A splendid notion since you know very well that I need the practice. Speaking of practice-" Carefully he lifted the thong of the binoculars from her neck and put them to one side and practiced making love to her. That was the most important reason he had brought the mattress out to the terrace and suggested they lie down and challenge each other at identifying stars.

When they met the next afternoon on the west side of Cove Hold where Tai had already spotted trundlebugs, they landed. Golanth was still dubious about arranging himself in the direct path of a mother trundlebug and two offspring, and Zaranth crouched behind a nearby thicket to encourage him. F'lessan and Tai stood in the shadow of a large frond tree as spectators.

Sublimely unaware of the obstacle set in its path, the trundlebug continued.

"Zaranth is telling Golanth that it's just a matter of turning it."

With a wide and mischievous grin, F'lessan closed his fingers around Tai's hand.

"My very dear green, I can hear everything she says."

"Can you?" Tai shot him a surprised glance. She knew that Ramoth and Mnementh, even Monarth and Path, spoke to each other's people.

The unmistakable stink of trundlebug interrupted this revelation.

What did you do?both riders cried, holding their noses as they ran for their dragons to mount and leave the clearing before they were actively ill.

I turned it,Golanth said as he leaped into the air, hoping betweenwould absorb the awful reek.

Into mush,Zaranth said with some disgust.

They came out, so high above Cove Hold that they could see the whole of it spread out before them and the observatory sitting on its hill. I can't smell me,Golanth said in an unusually meek voice.

I hope no one visits that clearing in the next day or two,F'lessan told Zaranth.

Tai says she sees another clearing and that Golanth must try again. I think I know what he didn't do,Zaranth said.

Riding at Golanth's right wing tip, Tai grinned across at his rider and gestured down. F'lessan nodded vigorously. Zaranth and Tai veered left and let the following wind ease them down until both dragons circled the new clearing of the thick young growth that was springing up after the tsunami flooding.

Again Golanth sat himself down in the path of the trundle-bug, one with five offspring, the last nearly big enough to go off by itself.

Now, you want to turn them just enough so they go in another direction,Zaranth was saying calmly. Not grind them into the sand at the same time. Just point to the east and give them a gentle…I SAID GENTLE… Where'd you send them?

East,Golanth said very softly.

The green dragon and both riders looked to the east. There was a noticeable passage, trundlebug-wide, in a straight line through the grasses as far as they could see to the very waters of Cove Hold.

"Didn't you say they can tread water?" F'lessan asked, almost as chagrined as his dragon.

"If they don't already, they'll learn today," Tai replied. "Trundlebugs are survivors."

He does understand what to do,Zaranth said. He was–well, maybe, too enthusiastic?

"I think," F'lessan said, making good use of a chance to put his arm around Tai, "that more practice will determine exactly how much-energy? enthusiasm?-is enough to do the trick."

When Tenna came in from her run and handed Torlo her packet of letters from the Southern Boll stations, he leaned close, on the pretext of making a notation of her arrival on his schedule pad.

"Need to see your friend-" The old man paused so that Tenna would appreciate which friend. "-tonight. You, too. Side bench. Ten-thirty."

Tenna was becoming accustomed now to arranging meetings with Haligon for Torlo.

"You've a run uphill tomorrow, Tenna," he said more audibly.

She made an amused grimace. "Then I'm for the baths and a good long soak."

"As well, things considered," was his reply and she went off, pausing first in the dormitory she shared with other girls. It faced the main street and she pulled the curtain across to the exact center of the window. Haligon, who knew she was back at the Station, would now realize that she wished to see him. She didn't know which hold child ran his messages but they always got to him. She gathered up clean clothes, and then had a long soak and a brisk leg massage before the evening meal.

It was a fair evening, if cold, and a wind always blew down the main road from the hills so she had her lined jacket ready when Haligon appeared at the door. Everyone expected the two to be together when she was in Station so she smiled him a welcome and was glad to see his expression lighten at the sight of her. He'd had a lot of responsibility laid on him by Lord Groghe this Turn, being what Haligon privately described as "the Lord Holder's Runner," and had remained cheerful and accommodating. Or such was the impression she had from Torlo, as much because of what the Station-manager didn'tsay as what he did.

"Walk, Tenna?" Haligon asked, nodding courteously to Torlo and his wife, and extending the acknowledgment to the others in the main room.

The usual jibes of "a walk will do her good after the run" and "don't walk her legs off " followed them out. Such impudent comments were better than disapproving silence.

The new electric lights, fashioned like glowbaskets, were positioned on poles up and down the main road so, despite the chill, they weren't the only ones taking an evening stroll. They walked beyond the fixed lights and off to the side, near a shed by the beastholds. In the shadows there, she and Haligon could embrace without being overseen and with considerable enthusiasm. She'd been away a sevenday and she had missed him. Considering the ardor with which he kissed and nuzzled her, the feeling was mutual.

They had not really-not in so many precise words-discussed their association. She knew that he knew she felt that she wasn't good enough for a son of one of the oldest Bloodlines on Pern. He felt she would miss the freedom of her profession and did not wish to constrain her. He had other, older brothers so his father might not be so particular about whom he espoused. With the problems caused by the Fireball-which Haligon called the Comet--and Flood, they had both been extremely busy. Fort Hold had taken no damage but Lord Groghe had sent Haligon to arrange assistance in Southern Boll, which had had bad flooding. Tenna wondered if perhaps that was Lord Groghe's way of suggesting that Haligon favor Lady Janissian. Thatwould have been an acceptable alliance to Tenna's way of thinking. Haligon's only comment was that the young woman would make a good Holder and he liked her.

They were both conscious, though no one in Fort mentioned the fact, that Lord Groghe was losing some measure of his phenomenal vigor. Not surprising, considering he was eighty-nine. The vandalism at Turn's End had so shocked the old Lord that he was determined to prevent a repetition in hisHold and to identify who was behind this "resurgence of all that Abomination nonsense." He had managed to enlist the support of Torlo and many other Stationmasters, but not all Runners; there were those who still did not understand that it would be many, many Turns before the "abominable" hand units significantly affected their profession. Nevertheless, most would follow Station policy: they abhorred the violence displayed by the Abominators and their callous attack on the Healer Halls. Tenna might be one voice but she did her part, when she could, repeating what Lady Lessa had said-that Runners had long served Pern and would continue to do so.

Held passionately in Haligon's arms, she could forget duty, responsibility, and anything but the sensual contact she was enjoying. Tenna did nothing by halves and neither did Haligon.

With the innate sense of time that most Runners possessed, she reluctantly wriggled out of his arms and started pulling her clothing straight. She smiled when she heard his deep exasperated sigh.

He finger-combed his hair-which he hadn't had time to have trimmed-into a neat club at the back of his neck, fixed the collar of his jacket and lengthened his stride to match hers. Tenna certainly could set a brisk pace.

Torlo, or rather a shadow that could be a man, was already seated on the side bench, where the corner of the Station jutted out from the line of its neighbors. Tenna and Haligon often sat there, out of sight. Without a word, they sat on either side of him.

"Runners finally traced all those messages to Keroon," Torlo said without preamble. "Wide Bay and two inland holds, both isolated. Another reason it took so long to confirm Lord Groghe's request was because sometimes the messages were handed to Runners already on the trace."

"They were?" Tenna was astonished.

"Runners were paid, so it was permissible. 'Cept it happened quite a few times in Keroon, and Chesmic got suspicious and asked Runners and other Stationmasters, sort of quiet-like, how often that happened. That's why we got a network for Runners-never too far for someone to bring a message, proper-like, to the Station and have it logged in from source. Then it took time to catch up with the Runners who logged in such messages at their next Station. Seems odd to have it happen in sort of bunches, like in twelfth and thirteen month last Turn."

He paused. "Then I got confirmation that sort of thing had happened elsewhere, too. Same time. Only now-" and he paused again, "same thing's happening and all down Keroon way. Three times in the past two sevendays, man twice and woman t'other, stopped Runners to take on messages. Chesmic may be old, but he doesn't forget a face. Seen one too often, in different clothes, garbling words, too, saying he was picking up for Apprentice-this or Holder-that. Sent some off, too. Recently. We're still tracing where they were collected. We,"and putting his thumb to his chest indicated he was referring to all other Stationmasters, "think it's how those Abominator fellows are passing messages. Make sure that Pinch fellow knows, too."

Only the dark prevented Haligon from betraying surprise that Torlo would know Pinch by name and could hint at his discreet function within the Hall. Since Turn's End, Haligon had developed a healthy respect for Torlo's discretion and judgment. Son of a Lord Holder though he was, and allowed into many conferences his father held, he was surprised at how much more Torlo knew and understood about matters in Fort Hold and all across the two continents.

"Tell that MasterPrinter to be especially on his guard. It was his Hall printed that paper that's got folks so worried. I'd send a fire-lizard soon as I could, Lord Haligon."

"I will."

"Like right now," Torlo added at his driest. "See Tenna back. She's got a hard run tomorrow."

So dismissed, both rose. As they strolled around the corner to the Station door, Haligon circled her shoulders with one arm, wishing they didn't have to separate quite so soon. In front of the Station, Haligon gave her a quick hug and let her go. He didn't know how many eyes followed him up the steps to the Court, but no one would have seen that he made for a narrow side staircase on the far left of the Court that led to the Harper Hall. Later, on that moonless night, the departure of a fire-lizard, from an upper window in the Hall, was seen only by the vigilant watch dragon who wished Menolly's Beauty a safe flight.

If Beauty woke the Masterprinter by picking delicately at his ear, he had the good sense not to thrash about in surprise. In fact, the fire-lizard's unexpected arrival merely confirmed the presentiment of trouble that Rosheen had confided in him three days ago. To cap her uneasiness, Stationmaster Arminet had sauntered into the Hall the day before, ostensibly to get a fresh notice of Runner fees printed. He had seemed far more interested in prowling the big Print Hall, asking if the glass were Morilton-made or the original. It was now a joke that the impact from the Comet had smashed glass that had come from old Norist's Hall while Morilton's remained intact.

"Morilton, of course," Tagetarl had replied with a grin.

"Good locks on the windows," Arminet had closed one eye with slow significance. "Sky-broom wood in gates and the Hall doors, too."

Tagetarl raised his eyebrows but Arminet had gone straight on to discuss his printing needs. That night Tagetarl had checked the gates, Hall doors, and windows himself, and slid into the brackets of the outer gate the heavy bar of sky-broom tree wood, which the former owner of the warehouse had used to dissuade pilferage. At both ends, the bar had ingenious fastenings that made removing it difficult if one didn't know how to release the latches. Sky-broom wood was too dense to break or chip so he felt safe enough.

No matter, on top of Rosheen's uneasiness and Arminet's odd remarks, a late-night message from the Harper Hall, and from Beauty, Menolly's gold, was alarming. Tagetarl wondered why Ola, Rosheen's fire-lizard queen, did not instantly appear to "supervise" the visitor. Ola wasn't usually absent when needed.

He held out his hand and Beauty stepped onto it. He could see the message holder on her left foreleg but it was too dark to read it. Rising carefully so as not to disturb Rosheen unnecessarily, he slipped yesterday's shirt and pants from the clothing rack and left the room. He pushed his hand for Beauty to leave it and motioned her down the stairs. He pulled on his clothes, her annoyed chirp hurrying the process. The thin carpet on the hall was cold under his bare feet, another incentive to move quickly.

As he descended the stairs, he peered out the windows into the court, silent and shadowed. Maybe that's where Ola was, lurking on the rooftop. The weaver's roof abutted the Hall's outbuildings. Pinch had made use of that entry. But Ola knew him. Tagetarl paused on the landing, listening for any sound from the hall that led to the upper story of the Print Hall. Nothing moved in that direction. He heard an admonitory chirp in the other and continued on to the spacious kitchen that was also their main living room.

Then Tagetarl berated himself for assuming that the message dealt with the Print Hall. There were any number of reasons-all equally worrying-that could have prompted Menolly to send Beauty in the middle of the night. It wasn't that late at the Harper Hall. Maybe she was merely inquiring about the musical scores she had recently sent him to be printed. Even with Beauty impatient, Tagetarl took the few steps to the porch door. It had a fine lock, strong, well-cast metal with another cunning catch that you'd have to know about to open the door once it was set. And the glass was Morilton-made, not easily shattered.

Tagetarl turned right into the big, dark kitchen, warm enough from the banked fires in the big range. Orange light from the ash grate made an eerie glow on the flagstones: not bright enough to read by. The shutters were closed against the winter's cold so he flicked on a small light and saw Beauty perched on a chair back, ruffling her wings shut. She held up her left foreleg for him to remove the message tube, cocking her head at him as if reproving his slowness. Taking a deep breath, Tagetarl unrolled the thin sheet of the message.

"Runners confirm trouble at Wide Bay. Guard the Hall. Assistance planned."

Rosheen had been right. Had Arminet been just passing on suspicions? Which now the Harper Hall was confirming? Trouble? From whom? Instantly the Abominators came to mind. But there hadn't been any more activity from that source since Turn's End. Of course, the Fireball Flood had kept everyone busy.

"Trouble? What sort of trouble?" Out of habit, he filled the kettle, put it on the range, and stoked the fire with blackstone. Then he stared at the range. "Fire trouble?" He swallowed hard. Paper burned just as easily as dried herbs or powdered medicines. And he had all those books displayed in the Hall, more packed to be shipped north and south. The presses could be smashed just as easily as medicine bottles and equipment, toner and ink could be spilled, and the sheds where he stored paper had wooden doors, because he hadn't been able to afford steel doors.

The note didn't mention Abominators. What made him think they would attack his Hall? What made him think they wouldn't? He was using a process that Aivas had provided, encouraged. Was the use of "Aivas procedures" all that was needed to agitate them?

"What sort of assistance?"

Perhaps he should ask some of his male apprentices to sleep in the Hall, or in the sheds. And Ola. Which reminded him. Where was she? Menolly had helped train her and she was certainly most responsible when Rosheen sent her with messages, going and returning as quickly as anyone could expect.

"Shouldn't you be getting back to Menolly?" he asked, a little sharp with worry.

She blinked her green eyes. Well, shewasn't worried if her eyes were green.

A whir of wings and into the kitchen flew Rosheen's gold queen, Ola. She may have landed on his shoulder but the warble of her message was for the Harper Hall queen. For a brief second, Tagetarl was amused at Ola's proprietary perch. Beauty's eyes whirled and, with a very definite air of command, she trilled several long musical phrases at the younger fire-lizard.

Ola straightened on Tagetarl's shoulder, sending her claws into shirt and flesh.

"Easy there, Ola!" She stroked his cheek with her head in apology.

Beauty trilled again briefly and disappeared.

"So she was waiting to speak to you, eh, Ola? Just what did she say?"

Closing the first lids over her eyes, Ola regarded him in what Rosheen called her "you-don't-need-to-know" response. But, under the lids, her eyes were picking up speed, with little flecks of yellow. Tagetarl was not as good as Rosheen at reading fire-lizard eye colors but he knew the color was edging toward alarm. Orange or red meant danger. She pushed against his shoulder, digging her talons into his flesh deep enough to make him wince, and then she, too, disappeared.

Tagetarl went to the window and put back the shutters, wondering if Beauty had ordered her to guard the Hall. It wasn't quite dawn-the brightest of the northern stars just fading-so he could distinguish the uneven roofs against the dark blue sky. All of a sudden, he saw the silhouette of one fire-lizard, wings cupped high, head extended and the wink of a yellow-green eye. He liked to think his harper hearing sharp enough to catch the call she was obviously sending. Her summons brought immediate results: it was rather heartening for him to see the mass of fire-lizards that congregated along the rooftops.

"Assistance planned" the note had said. He knew that fire-lizards could be fierce in protection of their human friends but Ola was only one and, while Wide Bay had several large fairs of wild fire-lizards, the creatures were notoriously short of memory. Surely Menolly meant more substantial assistance than a watch maintained by fire-lizards?

The kettle began to steam so he measured klah into the big pot and poured in hot water to the top. Hadn't Benelek told him at the last Gather that he was experimenting with an electrically heated kettle? His stomach grumbled so he looked in the bread cupboard and cut himself several slices to toast on the reawakened range. He was looking for sweetening to spread on it when he detected just the barest sound, a scuff. Had he been stupid enough to unlock the outside door when he examined it? He picked up the full klah pot; moved toward the hall, ready to fling the hot contents on anyone who appeared.

"It's me," a familiar voice whispered.

"It is I, please, Pinch," Tagetarl corrected irritably, lowering the klah pot.

One step brought Pinch to the doorway, his gold Bista clinging to his jacket.

"How did you get in? No, don't tell me. Over the roof."

Pinch made an apologetic face.

"How'd you get in the hold?" Tagetarl was really startled now, having spent so much on a difficult lock for the hold door.

Pinch held up a slender key. "You told me how to release the safety catch when you gave me this. I didn't want to wake you up." He dropped the key back into an inner pocket where it gave a muffled clinkas it settled and Tagetarl wondered how many other keys the Harper had collected.

"But Ola's on the roof with fairs of fire-lizards." What good wouldfire-lizards do in his defense?

"For one, she knows me. And two, Bista vouched for me. I'll give her this, she was ready to call her fairs down on me." Then Pinch sniffed, noticing the klah pot still in Tagetarl's hand. "You knew I was coming?" he asked, faintly surprised.

"Beauty brought me a message. Are you and Bista my 'assistance'?"

Pinch's weary face was wreathed in a smile. "Part of it, but I'm glad to know that the warning got through to the Harper Hall, too." He looked over his shoulder and said in a louder voice, "It's safe to come in now. There's fresh klah. And," he went on to the startled Tagetarl, "by the way, I suspect that when they decide to enter these premises for their subversive activities, they, too, will use the weaver's roof. He's listened to loom clacking so long he's deafer than a shuttle."

Pinch moved confidently to the wall cabinet and started hooking cup handles on the fingers of his left hand, gathering four more together with a clink in his right fingers. He placed all on the table as his companions solemnly entered one by one.

"Still, it's wiser to letthem use a known vulnerability and prepare. Oh, by the way, these are more of the promised 'assistance.' Don't gawk, Tag. Pour the klah while I introduce them."

Five young men and three girls filed in, packs on their shoulders, covered buckets in their hands, giving him a nod or a shy smile.

"Oh, leave the stuff on the landing or there won't be anywhere to stand," Pinch said, gesturing them to do so before he handed out the cups. Then he named them as he poured klah. Macy, Chenoa, Egara, Magalia, Fromelin, Torjus, Garrel, and Niness.

"Much obliged, Master."

"Thank you, Master Tagetarl."

"You're very kind, Master."

"Appreciate this."

"Eight, Pinch?" Tagetarl said, automatically steadying cups as he filled them; trying to absorb the presence of the Harper and the assistance. Would there be enough klah left for him?

"Yes, that's the number we figured it would take to paint all the wood you've got," Pinch said with a weary sigh. He snagged a stool to set his backside on, gesturing for his followers to be easy. "For all that most of your Hall is made of good fieldstone, you've wood in your doors and floors and window frames. They'd burn just as easily as paper will." Pinch raised his hand to soothe Tagetarl's explosion. "So we have thoughtfully brought a fire-retardant. A coat of that's to go on all your wooden surfaces between now and full daylight. Doesn't smell either. Or won't with all the stinks this close to the wharves. The stuff dries quickly, Piemur assures me, and since our Abominators would scarcely have delved that far into Aivas's files to know such useful substances exist, it'll help foil their plans."

"It is the Abominators? You know what they plan?" Tagetarl exclaimed, nearly sloshing hot klah over Macy's hand.

"We can make some pretty good guesses, based on what they've done before," Pinch said condescendingly. Then his lips thinned with distaste.

"But why should they attack the Print Hall? We're supporting the teaching program after all and…"

"Well, you printed a concise report of the Fireball and the true extent of the Flooding," Pinch said, grinning at the outraged Tagetarl. "We've surmised that the Abominators wanted to set about the rumor that Aivas had meddled with the very rhythm of Pern and that this Fireball was a direct result. Therefore anything that Aivas had suggested, recommended, dispensed the plans of, offered solutions to should be suspect, avoided, discarded, and forgotten so we can go back to the pure days when all we had to do was worry about Threadfall every two hundred and fifty Turns-give or take a few."

"Is that what they were going to say? After the good that's been done by the Healers since they learned how to rectify so many ailments and provide cures for maladies that used to killpeople by the hundreds? Not to mention being able to refer to books that provide explanations and-and-"

Tagetarl was stunned. Pinch poured a cup of klah and put it in his hand.

"Drink. You're not awake yet. But that gives them more reason to try and put a stop to the Hall."

"More reason? Stop the Hall?"

"The written word has a power all its own, that rumor can never replace. So you publish truth. The Abominators circulate rumor. A person can reread words and reestablish truth. Rumor can't be caught, can't be traced. It may be more fun to pass along but a book, a sheet of printed paper, that's tangible and the sense of it doesn't change when it's passed from hand to hand. Drink the klah, Tagetarl," Pinch said very gently, raising Tagetarl's hand to bring his cup to his mouth.

The MasterPrinter managed one sip of the hot liquid. "What do I do? I'll need guards. My apprentices aren't going to be enough!"

Pinch raised hands to silence him. "Of course they aren't. Nice enough lads but not trained, though I suspect Marley's a good man in a brawl, but my reinforcements here-" He gestured broadly at the young people who were quietly sipping klah. "-have a few tricks and they know one end of a brush from another. We've arrived timely, too, since Beauty was here and my suspicions have been confirmed by the Runners." He grinned brightly at Tagetarl. "Dragonriders aren't the only ones who can be where they're needed when they're needed."

Tagetarl's jaw dropped at what was almost a profane remark from a harper.

"Now you've finished your klah, boys and girls, we've a lot to do before daylight. Smear the retardant on anything wooden. The gloves may be clumsy but they'll save your skin. Work quietly, if you please. I don't want even to hear the slap of brushes on the wood. You've all had practice."

While two of the group gathered the cups and set them in the sink, the others went out, collecting their supplies and quietly leaving by the kitchen porch. Tagetarl glanced out the window and, in the dim predawn light, could barely see the other side of the wide court.

"Stuff's dark going on, dries transparent. Don't worry," Pinch said, rising to refill the kettle from the tap at the sink and put it back on the stove. As he swung his leg over the stool, he took a sheet from a pocket and smoothed it on the table in front of Tagetarl. "Seen him around here lately?"

Tagetarl frowned. "That's the same man you drew the last time you were here. I thought he looked familiar. I thought it odd of him to ask for a copy of Teaching Ballads. I'd actually filled an order for Lord Kashman and had none in stock. Told him to come back in a sevenday."

Pinch nodded as if that wasn't news to him. "Tomorrow."

"You mean, he plans to just walk in here…" Tagetarl was appalled when he remembered the incident. "I showed him through the Hall. It seemed only courteous."

Pinch's smile was sardonic. "I hope you limited it to the Hall."

"I did, but I also mentioned how many apprentices I'm training." Tagetarl slammed his forehead with his hand. How naive of him! Had he lost all his Harper-trained acuity? He had seven lads, none of them fully grown except Marley, and three girls, who were all of them light-boned, hired for their quick fingers. Add in the eight Pinch had brought-

"Don't fret," Pinch said soothingly. "You'd no cause-then-to suspect anything. No reason not to be courteous. You are, after all, offering a special service. Even if the Abominators don't like it."

Tagetarl swallowed, the hot klah cooling too rapidly in his belly to give him the comfort it usually did. "How many were there in that attack on the Healer Hall? Ten? No, fifteen."

"I'd say there'd have to be at least ten for the job here," Pinch said casually, as if that made no difference. "Had any other 'curious' visitors lately?"

Tagetarl buried his face in his hands, rubbing it and then scrubbing his scalp with his knuckles. "Quite likely and all of them seemed perfectly reasonable folk."

"They may well be," Pinch remarked amiably, "except those who get a notion that you're a wicked tool of the Abominator because you can turn out whole books in days instead of months."

Tagetarl groaned.

Pinch reached over and patted Tagetarl on the shoulder. "But we've warning and I know who-and what-to be looking for."

"The three sketches you showed me?"

"I'm hoping all three will come to this party." Pinch's expression turned enigmatic.

"Party?" Tagetarl was livid.

"Evening exercise, if you prefer. Since they expect to surprise you, we'll just prepare a few of our own." He rose and Bista glided from her perch on the windowsill to his shoulder. "I'll go give them a hand." When Tagetarl started to rise, throwing off the last of this infamous shock, Pinch motioned to the kettle. "We'll need a lot more klah. And don't notice me walking about today, will you? The others'll hide in the loft. Just don't send anyone up there, will you? Fine. We brought food and water with us. No one will know we're here."

He started to leave, and then stopped, putting up a hand to steady his gold fire-lizard on his shoulder.

"There's one more thing, Tag," he went on. "You might just get an unexpected gift, like a skin of good wine. Don't even sample it out of courtesy. Or any provisions offered in kind for books received."

"What?" Tagetarl bristled at that. They did take fresh fruit or meat in return for printing. Would an Abominator stoop to poison? Then he remembered that Master Robinton had been drugged at the Ruatha Gather and abducted right in front of hundreds of people. "How many are involved?"

Pinch gave an indolent shrug. "Don't know, but Abominators seem to work in groups. Since they intend to damage the Hall, they'll bring enough brawn to smash stuff around. There are still persons," and he heaved a sigh for those so misguided, "who'll do any job that drops marks in their pockets."

Tagetarl shuddered; he had a vivid picture of the Hall, paper burning, toner powder splotching the whitewashed walls, hammers smashing his presses, even if Pinch seemed certain that fire could be prevented.

"You are notreassuring me, Pinch!" he said in a caustic tone.

"While we want them to get in,"Pinch said, "to show that they had evil intentions, we want to keep them from getting out." His grin was malicious. "That'll be easier to do, you know."

"No, I don't know, but this is just the sort of adventure you enjoy!"

"You used to, too, in your younger days, Tag," the Harper said with an unrepentant grin. "Until you got your Mastery and started a new Hall." He rose before Tagetarl could marshal a stern rebuttal. "By the way, if you should hear someone whistling," and he provided a trill, "that's me. If you hear this one," and the intervals of the five notes in the next warble were very odd indeed, like some of the quartet music Menolly liked to write for very experienced players, "that means someone suspicious close. Got 'em?"

"Of course," Tagetarl replied with some heat. "I'm a MasterHarper. Which reminds me: where did you so handily assemble that crew of yours? One of the Halls?" There was something familiar about them that Tagetarl couldn't place.

"Here and there," Pinch replied enigmatically but added with uncharacteristic candor. "Runners, a few of 'em are seafolk waiting for a ship, useful types. All vouched for, I assure you. Ran me ragged getting here in time. Quick over the roof, too." He glanced outside. "Experienced with brushes… of all sorts."

Then he and Bista were out of the kitchen before Tagetarl could ask anything else. Bewildered by Pinch and the imminent threat to his Hall, Tagetarl looked around, wondering how he was going to break this news to Rosheen. Well, if he washed the cups and put them away, she wouldn't know at first glance that there had been early morning visitors.

"Come, my dear Tai," F'lessan said as she entered the kitchen area at Honshu, "we will eat-and get down to business." He rose and came to meet her.

She gave him a wary smile. He had a tendency to jump in different directions, as if he enjoyed catching her off balance. He probably did. She'd thought that, once Golanth had flown Zaranth, F'lessan would disengage from her, perhaps more kindly than others had. On the contrary, he had insisted that she remain at Honshu, that she choose a room as her own-though they mainly shared the large one he preferred, and had shown her every part of an installation that must have originally been designed to support a large population. She hadn't known there were so many levels in the stone mountain. She loved the well-equipped machine and tool room, just off the ground level where the covered hulk of an Ancient's sled was stored. The night of the Fireball, when so many displaced Monacans had found shelter at Honshu, had probably been the first time in centuries the Weyrhold had been even half full.

He encouraged her to talk about her interest in astronomy and managed to bring texts from the Archives that she was certain Master Esselin did not realize he had borrowed. He was very conscientious about returning them.

"We've put it off long enough, I think!"

A sparkle in his eye was all the warning she had before he swung her up in his arms and twirled around. She clung to his shoulders, not fearing that he would drop her, but so she had this excuse to touch him. She wasn't yet accustomed to either his spontaneity or his preference for touching but she was learning to welcome them. His gray eyes echoed his smile. If she weren't so familiar with the weather and worry lines on his face, she'd've thought him much younger than she knew him to be when he smiled like that. Such an open, merry smile!

"Put what off?" she said, humoring his mood. He wanted to surprise her, that was certain.

"It's a beautiful clear night." He paused tantalizingly, and then she knew what he meant and could not suppress a gasp of excitement. "Yes, tonight, my dear green, we can hook up the scope."

Tai couldn't suppress her crow of delight. "You got a monitor!"

"And the operating disks. Erragon copied them for us and supplied fresh blanks for the imager. He's given us a search pattern to follow. As if we'd ever get enough exposures to do a thorough job." His eyes flashed with determination. "All we need is the rightone at the righttime of night or piece of sky."

He was right, of course, she knew, but with his merry grin and wide-open eyes, it was as if he was somehow going to succeed despite the odds against it. His was a personality of great contrast. She was fascinated by it and rebuked herself that she had ever considered him shallow. Over the last few sevendays, she had seen how seriously he took responsibilities, exuding an optimism that could fire those around him, and how he never shirked tasks, like the Benini Hold planting, which he could have delegated to another rider. He was certainly not the casual reckless weyrbred lad Mirrim had described.

"I can certainly help with the search patterns," she said, noticing how easily he involved her in his schemes. "Erragon trusted me with comparisons and scannings."

"I'd prefer scanning just you, Tai m'dear," he said, kissing the hollow in her throat; his teasing lips were warm against flesh still chilled from her trip between."But we'll have to show Erragon results from Honshu or he'll insist on dragging you back to Cove Hold."

Slowly he let her down. She liked the feel of his body against hers; F'lessan was so vital, so energetic, so-alive! He did not release her entirely, affectionately looping one arm across her shoulders.

"I also spent my day doing what Aivas used to call a refresher course," he added with one of his mischievous grins.

"I don't think I paid as much attention to him the first time as I should have."

She noticed how his eyes darkened with the knowledge of wasted opportunity. She touched his cheek in a brief caress. "If only we all knew then what we know now."

"Ah, yes," and his lips curved with a touch of bitterness.

Once again she was amazed that F'lessan was willing to show his regrets. He always appeared so self-confident. Still feeling a little embarrassed by such intimacy, she caught sight of the steaming pot on the range.

"You cooked?" And looked again. "That isn't a Honshu pot."

"No," and he chuckled, giving her a hug as he guided her to the range. "I stopped off at Sagassy's hold on the way back. I'd some nails for them from Landing's Smithcrafthall. She insisted that I take this as a delivery fee." He shrugged. "Remind me to return the pot."

"I will," she replied. "After I'm sure you've washed it properly." She couldn't resist teasing him as she picked up the wooden spoon to stir the stew. "Oh, you've nearly let it scorch!"

"Then it's hot enough to eat."

F'lessan pushed her out of the way, gesturing her to sit at the end of the table that she saw had been set for two, and began ladling the stew into the wide, deep bowls. Mirrim would never believe that F'lessan could be so useful. She pinched the bread loaf and it was fresh; there was a salad, too, as greens were beginning to flourish again along the coast. She poured wine from the skin into glasses while F'lessan brought heaped plates to the table.

"Sagassy said that Riller, Jubb, and Sparling have all seen signs of felines creeping back into the valley," he said. "They haven't run a check for missing stock but the herds have been spooky lately." He blew on his spoon to cool the gravy-soaked meat. "Those sharding creatures may be hunting on this side of the ridge again."

Eight families, gradually clearing enough land to grow essential crops as well as round up wild herdbeasts, had settled the valley that spread out north of Honshu. They protected their cluster of buildings and beastholds with dragon dung and firestone mash, the best deterrents for any pests in the south, apart from trundlebugs. Visiting dragons-and those staying at Honshu after the Fireball had added considerably to the perimeter-were encouraged to donate. Once the residues dried, there was little smell to aggravate human sensitivities, but what there was was sufficient to put off all but the hungriest predators.

She and F'lessan had hunted there during their first week together. She and Zaranth had just missed catching one of the cloudy-coats that wore such valuable pelts. There was so much else to do that they hadn't been able to take time to hunt felines again.

"We'll have to plan to swing round the holds' borders and re-discourage the carnivores," he said, breaking off a piece of bread and offering it to her before taking some for himself. "You've about finished curing the last pelts we got, haven't you?"

"Just about. Someone else must have pegged skins on the wall I'm using," she said.

"Probably. Hold records suggest they were self-sufficient." He shook his head. "I've never understood what happened to the people who were doing so well here. Why they simply…" he spread out his hands in bewilderment,"… left?"

She felt gravy on the corner of her mouth and used a bit of the bread to remove it, right past her lips. "Plague?" Disease had wiped out so many holdings it was always the first guess.

He shook his head. "No, no skeletons."

"Vermin would have scavenged the remains."

"Their effects were all neatly put away."

"As if they meant to return?" she asked, surprised, but then F'lessan had been researching the history of this weyrhold of his.

"No, as if that was the way they took care of tools and equipment." He gestured to the kitchen and the utensils visible on the work surfaces.

"As they did in the workshop." All the shelves and drawers fascinated Tai, the contents neatly packed away in oil or grease and the airless plastic envelopes that the Ancients had had. Even the flying machine-a sled, F'lessan called it-had been cocooned. She'd never had the opportunity to visit the Catherine Caves as F'lessan had, but he'd said that these weren't thoroughly explored or emptied of treasures. Samples of the things the Ancients had used were on display at Landing, some still encased in the packing used for the voyage to the Rukbat system. She-and others-had puzzled over the use of some items. "Why would they leave such a beautiful place?"

"Once this Pass is over, you may be sure I won't leave," he said resolutely. "As it is, I'm here more than I should be," he added with that irrepressibly engaging grin she so enjoyed. "Eat up, my dear green."

"Shouldn't have eaten so much," he remarked twenty minutes later as she trudged behind him up the steep stairs to the observation room. He was panting, too, she noticed. "As well we don't have to lug things all the way up these stairs. Only down one level when we get where we're going."

F'lessan had explained the almost secretive design of Honshu's observatory; not all the secrets, he'd said, grinning with a boyish delight, but Kenjo had made sure it was not readily accessible. The first challenge was the stairs that went up six levels inside Honshu's cliff.

"Does Golanth watch stars with you, too?" she asked. Zaranth affected to and never objected when Tai spent long hours on her green back, studying the night sky.

"He pretends to be interested," F'lessan said in a mock-soft voice, turning to grin down the metal spiral at her.

Ihope I will not hurt these things when I bring them to you so high up,Golanth said facetiously.

"Golanth, you will carry them as carefully as fire-lizard eggs," F'lessan said, his voice stern as he winked down at Tai. "When I found the place, it was a mess and outside most of the solar panels were fouled or missing. Worse than the Admin building." He took a deep breath before the next step. "Golanth was very good about helping me repair and reinstall them. He doesn't fit in the observatory, of course, but he's good at encouraging me to work hard." He chuckled as he plodded up several more steps, boots clanking on the metal. She could feel the climb pulling at her muscles. He went on. "Good thing the cylinder had been vacuum-wrapped-another point in my theory that they intended to come back!" She could see that he was using the handrail to pull him upward. Good idea! She followed his example. "So we cleaned and repaired the vents and solar panels, and let power build up. I'd the finder scope to use to see if the instrument still worked. It did." He gave a deep sigh of satisfaction. "We'll have to run a pointing recalibration but I've got the files for the stars we use. Once we've hooked up the computer and are sure it's pointing accurately, we can proceed to search whatever part of the sky Erragon wants us to scan. The program makes it possible to shift the primary mirror. We'll get pictures on the monitor and decide what to save."

He paused, taking in deep breaths before he started upward again. She wondered that he didn't save his breath for the climb but F'lessan loved to talk and, since his voice was very pleasant to listen to, she didn't mind. She didn't usually have much to say.

"Got the generator working, too, so we don't have to limit solar panel use." He had breath enough for a chuckle. "Mighty clever those Ancients were in harnessing renewable energy. When we told Aivas that we'd found the old machinery, I swear he almost laughed."

"Laughed?" It would never have occurred to Tai that Aivas had been endowed with a sense of humor. She nearly stumbled on the steps but caught herself on the handrail.

"Oh, Aivas had a powerful sense of humor. You know the kind of pause that means someone's laughing inside? Well, Aivas would pause, wait a beat, and go on with what he was saying. Piemur was sure Aivas laughed to himself in such beats, but Jancis was horrified by the mere suggestion of a machine that could laugh."

Tai couldn't see his face but, though sometimes he made jokes about his Turns under Aivas's supervision, his voice was tinged with a respect that he didn't accord even his Weyr-leaders. She'd been so young, fresh from Keroonian hills when her mother and father had come south to work at Landing, and painfully naive. Told over and over what a splendid chance she was getting in a Landing education, she had concentrated on learning as much as she could to avoid disappointing anyone, including Aivas. She had never questioned anything then.Now, and in the presence of F'lessan, she felt able to ask.

"Why would Aivas be amused that you had discovered this valuable instrument and a power generator?"

"I suspect," and F'lessan climbed a few more steps before answering, "because Kenjo had been very clever about so many things. Like saving fuel in sacks each trip down from the Yokoso he could fly the little plane he built. And using the stone-cutters far more extensively than any other colonist. Yet what a beautiful place he designed-although, come to think of it, his wife, Ita, was artistic and it's likely she did the murals in the Hall and some of the tapestries."

"Here we are," he said and she could hear the relief in his voice. Dragonriders were more accustomed to flying heights than climbing them.

She didn't mind showing that the narrow winding stairs had winded her. Her thighs felt heavy, and she had an ache in the calf of her left leg. She gave it a quick massage as he fiddled a key into the locked door they had climbed so high to reach.

At first, Tai saw nothing but the smooth sides of the vertical shaft's creamy rock, eerily lit from small guide lights. She could feel a light breeze sweeping upward, cooling legs, body, and even the sweat on her forehead, and then a door opened just above her eye level. F'lessan lifted himself through, for a moment blocking her view. He moved to one side and, in the light from the shaft, she saw more creamy rock. She clattered up the last few steps and walked into such a splendid space that she just stood, looking around in amazement. A large dark brooding mass dominated the center of a wooden floor.

F'lessan pressed plates on one side of the door and lights blinked on, one by one, girdling the room about F'lessan's height from the floor. She could also feel more fresh air circulating.

As the lights came up, she saw the long barrel of Honshu's telescope, thicker in circumference than she could have put her arms about, longer than F'lessan was tall. A U-shaped fork structure held the barrel and, as she got closer, she could see that the fork was itself supported by a heavy metal plate, attached to a metal turntable. This tilted arrangement was an equatorial mount entirely different from the up-down, left-right, alt-azimuth mounting that was appropriate for Cove Hold's larger, skeletal type scope and its position near the equator. Honshu's scope was a dull cream of a composite material, slightly longer at the front, with a blunt rear end that she knew sleekly enclosed the 620-millimeter reflecting mirror. Unlike the Cove Hold scope, where the mirror was clearly visible inside the supporting skeleton, this mirror was hidden within the opaque cylinder. Only the services connecting to the telescope revealed what else was inside. She could see cooling pipes and electrical cables feeding through the cylinder at its midpoint, which she knew led to the camera at the heart of the telescope. What she could identify as the finder scope was attached to the upper surface beside two other anonymous cylinders. The Cove's instrument-one of the Ancients' classical Cassegrains-was half again as long as this one, having a one-meter lens, its optics based entirely around mirrors and enclosed in a light gray composite of some ancient material. Here, too, was a raised wooden floor, to keep vibrations from being transmitted to the telescope and to allow people to walk safely around while observing. Not that the sheer cliff to which the scope was attached would move: Cove Hold had a cement base on its rocky promontory, high above the sea.

Tentatively, she approached the cylinder, saw the cover at the top and controlled her impatience to see it. She did, however, appreciate F'lessan's proprietary feeling for the scope.

That he was willing to share it with her was yet one more unexpected boon.

"Now watch!" he said, holding up his left hand, grinning with anticipation. With the fingers of his right, he pressed more plates, diverting her from a closer inspection of telescope and mounting.

She was startled when a crack appeared in the ceiling. She stepped back, close to him, as what had seemed to be solid rock shifted. Gears whirred and the halves dropped and spread slowly apart, continuing to sink down, out of the way, against the observatory dome, stopping just above the girdle of lights.

"Full range," F'lessan cried in a proud tone, gesturing to the opening created by the sliding roof. "Golly found the seam in the rock when we were repairing the solar panels. No rock has straight seams," he said with a snort. "Took Jancis, Piemur, and me days to oil, repair, and get this working again."

Tai knew that she was gawking idiotically at the superb view of the southern night sky now visible. She gasped then, when two dark shadows stealthily loomed down into the opening.

Us,said Zaranth and gave an audible chirp, well pleased with herself for scaring her rider. She had kept her eyes shut and now opened them, happily whirling green.

You meant to scare me,she accused her dragon, hand still at her throat.

Golanth thought it would be all right,Zaranth said in a meek tone, cocking her head slightly at her rider, eliciting pardon.

Golanth made amused sounds of his own, showing his white teeth.

"They're a right pair of Gather fools," F'lessan said, giving her a reassuring squeeze before he walked over to where Golanth was peering down. Then, in one of those abrupt changes of his, F'lessan turned almost brusque. "Golly, take care not to step on those solar panels when you swing those controls down. Tai, can you manage the one Zaranth has for you? I'd like to get this system up and running before dawn."

He reached up, tall enough to grasp the boxes that Golanth dutifully lowered one by one to him through the open roof. Tai shook off the moment of panic-too astonished by the open sky to feel her dragon's presence-and took hold of the well-padded square that Zaranth dangled down to her.

"We'll unpack up here, Tai. More space. The control room's just down that short staircase." He pointed to the far wall where she now saw the well of the other stairs.

Did I really scare you, Tai?Zaranth asked penitently, drawing one set of her eyelids across in apology.

"Of course you did," Tai replied and then relented. Is Golanth teaching you bad habits?

None I don't like,her dragon answered with a flirt of her eyelids.

Tai cleared her throat. "What do I have here, F'lessan?" she asked, changing the subject.

He spared a look from what he was unpacking. "The monitor!" he replied and he sprang toward her. "I'll just turn the lights up down there," he said and strode to the stairwell, tapping the keypad. "Kenjo must have been a security freak the way he designed this observatory. As if someone could steal this or the stars."

With lighting, Tai had no trouble taking the ten straight steps down into the control room. The worktops had been cleaned recently and the shelving above them fitted with jacks for the controls. Two wheeled half-chairs had been pushed back under the stairs. An enclosed panel ran slantwise from the jack in the direction of the base of the telescope on the floor above. She settled the flat-screened monitor on a mounting that was an exact fit. Well, no doubt the long-dead Kenjo had used a similar unit to view the images she devoutly hoped the scope would still mirror.

F'lessan clattered down with the keypad, decoder box, and storage disks. His eyes gleamed with anticipation. With no wasted effort he arranged his burdens on the worktop and put the storage disks on the shelf where he could read the labels. He hauled connectors out of his thigh pocket and began plugging them in, murmuring as he did so, reminding himself which went where until he had the system connected. Standing with his hands on his belt, he let out a long breath. Then he reached toward the rank of storage disks, found the one he needed for the calibration, and slipped it into the operating slot.

"Shall we see if it'll light up? Ooops," and he was halfway up the stairs, "got to uncover its eye, first."

She heard the thump of his footsteps on the wooden flooring and his admonition to the two dragons to find themselves comfortable places to stay and not to step on the solar panels.

He ran back down, rubbing his hands, grabbed both seating units from under the stairs, swinging one over to her while he planted himself on the second and, for one long moment, poised his hands over the controls.

"Now," he announced, grinning at her, his eyes glittering with high spirits, "let there be light!" He tapped out several sequences, inhaled deeply when the monitor came to life, entered another series of commands, and then folded his arms on his chest. "Remember to breathe, Tai!"

She did, smiling because she hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath.

The monitor cleared and they had an image of the skyscape of the northern horizon, the direction in which the telescope had pointed, covered, for centuries. "So," and F'lessan rubbed his hands together, "let's run the pointing calibration. I'll use Acrux as the first check." His eyes crinkled in a smile as he reminded her of the stars she had pointed out to him the first evening she was at Honshu.

Tai caught her breath, for this was another example of how he endeared himself to her without really trying.

"I'll allow for the time elapsed since we last checked positions." He went on and she rose to stand behind him as he tapped in the commands, daring to put her hands lightly on his shoulders. "Good ones to start with." While waiting for the system to respond, he lifted her right hand to his lips and kissed the palm, his eyes never leaving the screen as the scope began to shift in obedience to the coordinates for Acrux. "When we have a chance, we can automate this procedure but I can't resist the temptation to show off a little. You've had so much more time on a working scope than I have."

He put her hand back on his shoulder, giving it a final pat. "Ah, here we are!" He flourished his hand as the winking pulse of Acrux appeared on the monitor, centered. He leaned forward as the calibration came up to one side, confirming the focus. "And no optical aberrations noticeable."

He grinned up at her, his gray eyes sparkling, infecting her with his exuberant enthusiasm. He was so boyishly pleased with Honshu's performance-as if it were all his doing-that she couldn't resist rumpling his thick hair. He laughed softly, pleased by her spontaneous caress.

"Now Becrux," he said, tapping in its position and obediently the focus altered. "Sudden idea!" And he turned to her, his expression one of recklessness, "Once we've done enough calibrations to be sure the focus is accurate, let's dispense with the rest of Honshu's catalogue and focus on whatever strikes our fancy. Some of those globular clusters I was just studying about. Or the spiral nebulas. Or something that isn't anywhere close to Pern!"

She gawped at him, unaccountably thrilled at such a suggestion. She'd often wanted to just "look" beyond this dark corner: to the cloudy canyons with dark holes, the cartwheels in various orientations, ghostly circular shapes of planetary nebulae, wisps of gas lit up by newborn stars. She did so want to see the eternal and changing magic of the universe.

"And we'll take some images of the ones we like best, shall we?"

She grinned back at him. But, before he did anything else, he kissed the dimples in her cheeks.

Tagetarl spent a terrible day, trying to conduct himself as he would any normal day in front of apprentices and clients alike, all the while wondering what "normal" should look like. For instance, on a normal day, he wouldn't have made so many pots of klah before dawn nor washed so many cups. He did have a fresh pot ready at the usual time that he opened the outer gates for his apprentices and unlocked the double doors of the Hall. He noticed that there was a slight shine to the wood but, though he sniffed deeply-causing his oldest apprentice, Marley, to regard his Master oddly-the smell was composed more of the prevalent odor of fish and toner than paint. He regained some of his usual composure by assigning the day's tasks.

He heard the whistle, had to think for a moment, and then saw two grimy fellows rolling in two big barrels.

"Just as you ordered 'em, Master Tawgurtall," the older man said, chewing his words as he deftly shifted his cask into a corner by the right-hand door. How like Pinch to mangle his name, so Tagetarl merely nodded at the shabbily dressed drudge. His equally scruffy associate rolled a second barrel into the opposite side. "As required." Then, with that cryptic statement, they both left.

"As I was saying, Marley," Tagetarl went on, tapping the copy to get Marley's full attention.

He tried to concentrate on the usual tasks of a day, making up a new order for different weights of paper from Master Bendarek-well, he could delay that for today. He checked the two girls stitching bindings, made sure Delart was cutting the leather economically, that Wil was trimming only the paper edges neatly and not his fingertips with the extremely sharp edge of the wide blade. Idly Tagetarl wondered if he could detach that broad knife and use it against the Abominators tonight, or whenever they attacked his Hall.

On brief trips across the court, he did notice that Ola seemed to make a great many short dashes from roof to kitchen window, checking on Rosheen wherever she was. He hadn't told Rosheen yet because she seemed happy today, and had possibly forgotten her uneasy presentiments. She also had a complicated Smithcrafthall manual to proofread. He didn't recognize Bista's pale gold hide among those coming and going on the roofs, but she was as sly as Pinch. There seemed to be no more than the usual wild ones, sunning on the slates. Or were they wild? Tagetarl couldn't tell and decided it didn't make any difference. Fire-lizards were volatile creatures.

He had no appetite for lunch and fretted over how Rosheen would scold him for not letting her know the danger the Hall was in. He usually told her everything.But why should she spend the day worrying, too? She had to keep her mind on the manual; that was one task he could nothandle today! He did not see any of Pinch's helpers, nor did he see Pinch again in any guise. He didn't know whether to transfer paper from storage to the Hall as he usually did at the end of a day. But then would anyone be watching to see that he kept to his usual routine? He kept running a hand over the wood of doors and frames but couldn't really feel any difference, much less recognize a substance that could retard flame.

He was anxious because no one came to his office with new work, but also relieved. How did you tell an Abominator from any other ordinary man or woman? It was the set of their minds: their self-appointed mission to deny choice to others, to neutralize all the useful things that were already in operation. Aivas had made available a great deal of knowledge, some of it information miscopied over the Turns that only needed careful research in the Archives and invaluable to all the Crafts to rectify. Any thinking person would examine what was sensible to add to what Pern already had-like printing, but he required no one to read or buy his books: that was their decision. For all the amazing diversity of processes and products that the Ancients had known and used, just learning how to faithfully execute some of the designs was enough to discourage making the unnecessary. As Master Menolly said-and he knew Sebell basically agreed with her-not everything and anything new meant an improvement. But people should make that decision themselves, not have it arbitrarily denied.

The five-note whistle that Pinch said was a warning startled Tagetarl: it seemed to float across the court from nowhere. He wrenched around to face the outer gate, trying to compose himself. He, Master Tagetarl, who had never flubbed an entrance or forgot tune or words, felt himself unnaturally stiff with fear and apprehension. What should he say? What could he say to someone who had decided to destroy his livelihood? People were passing by the Hall on the road outside. Then in walked the man of Pinch's sketch: there was the missing joint of the left index finger and the zigzag scar on the forehead, all but hidden under the black knit cap. The man stood for a moment looking across the court with narrowed eyes, his expression disdainful and his lips twisted scornfully-as if, Tagetarl thought, he was anticipating the changes that might shortly be made to the order and serenity of the Printer Hall.

"Good evening," Tagetarl said as affably as his wariness permitted. He reached for the book he had placed on one of the barrels.

"Come for the book. You said a sevenday," the man said as if he had no faith in that promise. He spoke tonelessly, as if coming for a book was only an excuse.

He kept his lips over his teeth as if hiding them. Pinch's drawing had not included that detail or the smell of the man: stale sweat, campfires, and beast dung. Nor was he wearing hill-style clothing. In fact, the black leather jacket and trousers looked barely used, his boots were definitely new, if road-stained. The man sauntered deeper into the yard; Tagetarl following him, trying to give him the book and get him out of his Hall.

"That'll be three marks," Tagetarl said, amazed at how even his voice sounded in his ears. Was this Scar-face the leader? The man seemed determined to make a final close assessment. Tagetarl intercepted his circuit, pushing the book at him and holding out an open hand. "Three marks."

Digging in one pocket of his jacket he wore, Scar-face dropped two full marks and two half marks, all weaver stamped, into Tagetarl's hand.

"Weaver marks good enough for you, Master Harper?" he asked without the usual inflection of a question.

"MasterPrinter," Tagetarl corrected automatically. "Weaver marks are well guaranteed!" Shards, did the man want to provoke a fight? Or spread word that the Print Hall disdained weaver marks?

Scar-face took the Ballads from Tagetarl's hand much as one would cautiously grasp something dirty or repulsive. Tagetarl, loving the books he published so that at times it was hard to sell them on, had to grip hard on the worn marks to prevent himself from grabbing the volume back. The man shoved it roughly into a pocket of his jacket.

"MasterPrinter," the man said with a queer grin. "You're kept busy?" He kept darting glances to the Hall and around the courtyard where the genuine apprentices were sweeping the cobbles and tidying up in the Hall. Then his eyes settled briefly at the heavy leaves of the outer gate and his lips twitched across his teeth.

"Busy enough," Tagetarl admitted, wondering how he could get the man to go. He heard the rumbling of a cart on the road outside, and then saw one being pushed through the outer gate, dropping wisps of the straw that cushioned the wineskins inside. Tagetarl knew very well that he hadn't ordered anything from his local supplier and was about to protest when he remembered what Pinch had said and turned casually about.

In the moment he had looked away, Scar-face departed.

"Shipment for Master Harper?" the wineman announced, lifting his hand for attention.

"MasterPrinter," Tagetarl corrected for the second time in a few minutes and wondered why no one could give him his proper rank today.

"Ahem, sorry, sir, MasterPrinter Tagetarl?"

"I am he." And Tagetarl hoped that Pinch was listening somewhere.

"Promised to deliver this myself," the stout man said with a hearty air.

"Indeed, and who might have required extra service from a busy man like yourself?" Tagetarl asked, noting the second set of new black leather jacket, pants, and boots of the day. The reek from this man was sour wine but no improvement. He did wear the proper journeyman's Craft knot. Tagetarl admonished himself that he hadn't noticed which knot, if any, Scar-face sported.

"You had no message to expect this delivery?" The man looked shocked and pulled up his paunch as if the waistband of the pants needed easing. "Runners are getting lazy."

Tagetarl heard a muted oath and spotted the shabby drudge collecting the straw wisps.

"As you can see, it's a fine Benden red," and the wineman turned the tag for Tagetarl to read.

"Yes, indeed, it is," and Tagetarl was impressed. "A 'forty-two! Excellent vintage. I shall enjoy that. Whose health do I drink tonight since the donor's message is overdue?"

"Why, the Lord Holder's, of course," the man replied easily.

Tagetarl beckoned for the drudge to put his broom down. "You there, take this into the kitchen and we'll all drink the health of the Lord Holder tonight. I expect he must be pleased with my latest publications," he added mendaciously.

"Cellar to cellar is our boast. I'll take it in myself. Wine needs to be handled carefully." The wineman held an arm up to discourage assistance.

"Very good of you, I'm sure," Tagetarl said, sternly motioning the drudge to obey, ensuring that the wineman wouldn't enter the hold. "I see you've other skins. Would you happen to have a Benden white among them, of a good vintage?" He stepped forward to look at the labels hung from the neck of the skins in the cart.

"No," and now the false wineman intercepted Tagetarl-every bit as good as a Gather play, Tagetarl thought, experiencing a flash of amusement and stepping back. "Nothing as good as what I'm delivering to you now."

With unexpected agility, the drudge had deftly got under the wineskin to slip it to his shoulder in a way that would not muddle the wine unnecessarily and, straightening, carried it to the steps and up into the Hall. There was an unmistakable air of disappointment on the wineman's face. Wanted to have a good look inside, had he? Tagetarl thought.

"Too bad," Tagetarl said heartily. "Had some marks to spend." He gripped the weaver circles tightly in his hand. "Do stop by again if you should have a good white 'forty-five," and maliciously Tagetarl named what he knew had been an inferior year.

"Good choice, Master-ah-Printer."

Tagetarl escorted him to the outer gate in firm dismissal and watched him push his cart away, up the hill. He sprinted back to the hold then, to see what Pinch-if that had been him under the rags-had done with the wineskin. He was not in the kitchen, which was as well since he could see that Rosheen was busy getting supper. She'd've wanted to know where they had acquired a dirty drudge as well as a wineskin. Hearing footsteps echo on the steps down to the under-cellar, Tagetarl followed. When he reached that level, the wineskin had been deposited into one of the flint laundry sinks and the drudge was unwinding his holey tunic and reaching into a belt pouch.

"Carefully pour out a measure, Tag," Pinch said, drawing out a small vial which Tagetarl knew contained one of those invaluable powders that most long-distance travelers carried to check the potability of stream water.

Taking down an old glass, Tagetarl unstoppered the skin and poured a sample. Pinch carefully tapped a few grains of the powder into the glass. The wine slowly began to froth.

"You'd have beep dead asleep-or maybe even dead," Pinch said. He replaced the bung in the wineskin. "Definitely a malicious attempt to render you incapable of defending your Hall. Where can we hide it?" He looked around the room.

"Underneath the sink, behind the laundry soaps," Tagetarl suggested and helped Pinch bestow it, with a final glance to be sure the bung was in tight. "And we were supposed to drink a whole skin tonight?"

"You usually drink with your evening meal."

"Cider," Tagetarl said in protest. "Wine only on special occasions. And how do they know we drink at dinner?"

"Probably watching. Your kitchen faces the road. You don't close the shutters until you go to bed." Pinch shrugged. "Then, too, most people'll drink freely of free wine, you know. And you did say you'd drink the Lord Holder's health."

"It couldn't possibly be Lord Kashman he meant?" Tagetarl asked.

Pinch twisted his chin sideways and shrugged. "He wasn't specific, was he? Or do they intend to impugn Lord Toronas since it's a Benden wine? Or implicate Lord Kashman? Interesting." Then he gave a delicate sniff of the savory odors drifting down from the kitchen level. "When did you say dinner is? I mean to join you. All that free wine!"

Rosheen came into the cellar. "I thought I saw someone strange. Pinch?" she added, staring at the Harper as he discarded the outer layer of rags. "What are you doing here?"

"I perceive you haven't told her," Pinch said with a long-suffering sigh.

"Told me what?" She glared at both of them.

"You were right, Rosheen," Tagetarl said with a sad grimace. "There is trouble coming our way."

"Abominators?" she exclaimed when, between them, Tagetarl and Pinch disclosed all they knew.

As ever, Rosheen did not react the way Tagetarl thought she would.

"You mean, you didn't tell me to cook enough to feed your friends a decent supper, Pinch? You left them waiting up there in that awful loft all day long?"

"They brought food and they've slept most of the day," Pinch added as if that was occupation enough. "Couldn't let anyone know they were here."

Abruptly she sat down on the stairs, her face suddenly white as she absorbed the danger the Hall was in.

"You mean," and now her white skin was flushed with angry spots on her cheeks, "you let me go through the entireday oblivious to all this?"

"Now, now, Rosheen, one of us had to act natural," Tagetarl said.

"Well, now, I've a thing or two to say to that,MasterPrinter Tagetarl-"

"Later, Rosheen," Pinch said. "You can say anything you want to him whenwe've got all this behind us."

She paused, one hand raised to point accusingly at her spouse. "When?" she repeated in a very scared, small voice.

"Tonight, if we're lucky," Pinch replied.

"That's lucky?" She blinked. "Is that why Ola hasn't let me out of her sight all day?"

"Quite likely," Pinch agreed amiably. "Now, we'll eat dinner, and drink merrily from whatever you have in the hold that's safe to drink. Some of your good cider?" he asked ingenuously.

Rosheen took a deep breath, started to say something, changed her mind and pointed down the cellar hallway. "Harper, you know exactly where I store the cider!" She turned and started up the stairs, slamming each foot down hard on the riser to disperse her anger.

"I think she took it rather well," Pinch said to Tagetarl. He rewrapped his rags. "Now, this drudge will hobble out and disappear in the lanes and byways. And shortly a very respectably dressed gentleman will arrive from the direction of the wharf with a commission for the MasterPrinter that will be discussed while his hosts visibly toast the Lord Holder's health."

And that was exactly what happened as dusk settled over Wide Bay. Then, with a great show of having enjoyed the wine, Tagetarl and Pinch went to close the outer gates for the night. The heavy sky-broom wood bar took considerable heaving to get into place. Tagetarl clipped over the unusual fastenings at both ends.

"Now don't worry, my good friend," Pinch said as they walked back to the kitchen porch, giving him a reassuring shake on the shoulder. "They may get in, but I assure you, they won't find it so easy to get out. Nor a chance to do any harm. Now we go inside, like the innocents we are, and lock the door."

Though Pinch had explained the various precautions he had taken during the day and where his helpers were now hiding, Tagetarl was realist enough to know that Thread could fall in unexpected tangles.

"Try to relax, Tag," Pinch advised him. "I think every fire-lizard in the town is ready to come when Ola warbles."

"If they remember," Tagetarl muttered to himself, shivering a little. The night air was chilly.

Pinch gave a soft, wry chuckle, "Bista's there, too, you know, and she'll remember. Now, I've one more trick to see to." He clapped him once more on the shoulder and took the short interior corridor to the Hall.

"Relax?" Tagetarl repeated under his breath.

"How couldyou leave me in ignorance all day, Tag?" Rosheen demanded, coming out of the kitchen.

"Now you know, would you rather have known earlier?" he replied more bitingly than he meant and put his arms about her in a tight, apologetic embrace. He could feel her trembling.

"No, I guess not, but you've been very brave, Tag."

"I'm scared stiff. If only we could have put in steel doors!"

"Steel doors didn't keep the Abominators out of the Healer Hall, now did they? They just walked themselves in. Well, at least they can't just walk in here!"

He reached over to turn out the kitchen lights.

"Shall I giggle drunkenly or something? Having enjoyed the Lord Holder's wine? Or s-s-should we reel up the s-s-stairs?" She spoiled her casual manner by stammering.

"A waste of effort, dear," he said, trying not to sound grim. "Now the gates are closed, no one can see in."

He transferred one arm to her waist as they climbed to their sleeping room, dowsing the lights as they went up. Then they crept back down the stairs. Fully dressed, they made them– selves as comfortable as possible on the long kitchen bench. Rosheen had padded it with pillows to ease a long wait.

"Is Ola on watch?" he asked Rosheen softly.

"If she were more on watch, she'd give her vigilance away." She gestured to a long shadow on the wide sill.

Even the pillows could not make the upright design of the bench comfortable. After the very long tense day he had spent, Tagetarl found waiting in the dark for the expected attack the worst part. He could have used the time to edit the copy to be printed the next day-if his presses still worked. Surely, with most of Pinch's folk hidden in the Hall, his presses would be untouched? He tried to remember the latest verses Menolly had sent him for setting and found he remembered her new tunes better. Then he was aware of a sleepy murmur from his spouse and realized that Rosheen, her head pillowed on his shoulder, had actually managed to fall asleep. He was further distracted by the many soft noises the building could make. He had to identify each one as normal. And inside the hold. Not outside.

He was struggling to keep awake when Ola's soft hiss roused him. He shook Rosheen and she mumbled before she realized that she shouldn't make any sound. He felt her body tense.

Then the fire-lizard disappeared. What had she heard that he hadn't? Could he risk looking out the window? His ears hurt with the strain of listening.

A noise! Outside. The muted thud of the sky-broom bar rattled in its slots. He grinned. They'd have trouble just finding the safety catches. A sudden flare of light: a match? Hunching down, he got to the kitchen door, crammed his body to one side so he had a partial view of the outer gates but wouldn't be seen. Since his eyes were accustomed to the night, he made out two dark burly figures struggling to lift the sky-broom bar. Then another black shadow, visible crossing the pale cobbles, joined them. Three? That was the number Pinch reckoned would come over the weaver's roof. Their initial job would be to open the outer gates and let the others in. He heard once again the muted thud as the sky-broom bar refused to lift from its brackets. He suppressed a malicious delight in their frustration. Suddenly, outlined against the lighter building across the road, three shadows-heads and shoulders-loomed over the top of the gate. The figures disappeared back the way they had come. Had he heard muted cries? The three inside huddled together briefly and once again tried to lift the bar.

Another flare of light, carefully shielded, but then held against one end of the stubborn bar. Tagetarl chuckled. They'd need full daylight to puzzle the mechanics: an old, old device. Another huddle; one was left examining the catch. A match was struck and he saw it passing from the head of one torch to another. In that light, he followed the progress of the arsonist across the court, saw him jam one torch under the edge of the first shed door, the second under the farther one. They burned merrily and Tagetarl held his breath. Maybe that paint wasn't a retardant. Fearfully he watched but, although the flame leaped up along the lower edge of the door, all that was really burning was the torch, its light reflecting back from whatever covered the wood. The man who had placed the torches didn't seem to notice, returning to the stubborn bar securing the outer gates.

Movement there caught Tagetarl's eye. He caught a glimpse of someone scraping the arch in an effort to avoid the top of the gates. That was a very awkward method of clearing a height, wasn't it? One of Pinch s surprises? When had Pinch had a chance to trick out the gates? Not that Tagetarl had noticed since the heavy leaves reached a good half meter above his head. There was some kind of argument, carried on in emphatic gestures, some indicating the gates and another undeniably made to the person's crotch. Whatever that had been about, now they were concentrating on both ends of the restraining bar. He counted those now inside and came up with at least ten different shadows. The attempts to shift the bar were abandoned and the group moved toward the Print Hall. Tagetarl wondered if they were falling behind their schedule.

What had been in those barrels? He couldn't see the Hall doors as easily as the outer gate but he did hear the scuff of heavy soles on the stone steps leading to the kitchen porch. A dark figure, a big man, was silhouetted against the useless torches across the court.

Pinch had given Tagetarl the task of preventing anyone from entering the link from the hold to the Hall. He took a firm grip on his cudgel, wishing he had chosen a thicker one. The man looked huge in the shadows. Not since his journeyman's days had Tagetarl been in a brawl. He heard the clink of something against the pane and smiled to himself. It took a smashing blow to break glass of Master Morilton's manufacture. And would make a lot of noise, too.

But it didn't, because the intruder held something over the pane as he hit it again. The glass made a tinkling sound as the splinters fell on the inside carpet. Another dull sound and the door lock was broken. If he and Rosheen had been drugged and asleep, they would not have heard those sounds. Then he had no time to think because the man pushed open the door and crouched, listening. Tagetarl pulled back his arm and just as the man moved forward, so did he. But the man suddenly tripped, swearing as he fell. Tagetarl aimed at his head and brought down his cudgel, numbing his arm to the shoulder when his cudgel connected with something else, much harder.

"Got 'ya." Rosheen said in a low and very smug voice and then saw Tagetarl's cudgel lying across the heavy iron pan with which she had clouted the intruder. "I didn't see you, Tag!"

Tagetarl was reeling somewhat with the shock that was still coursing up his arm, his hand numb from forceful contact with an iron skillet. A whirr and Ola arrived, hissing down at the intruder. Three more fire-lizards neatly zipped in through the broken pane.

"How'd you drop him?" he whispered.

"Tripped him with the broom," she said. "I heard the glass go. Where were you?"

Tagetarl jerked his head over his shoulder.

"Let's throw him down the cellar steps, out of the way," she said so coolly that Tagetarl regarded his spouse with surprise.

She was generally the kindest of women. "Ola will make sure her friends don't let him go anywhere."

"If you haven't killed him."

"If I killed him, what was he doing where I could do so?" she demanded in a hoarse whisper.

He was still alive when they took him by the shoulders, dragged him the short distance to the top of the cellar stairs and then tipped him down, the hissing fire-lizards following him into the darkness below.

Crouching, they moved back to the open kitchen door.

Rosheen gasped as she jiggled her hand at the flaming torches across the cobbles. He caught her before she could move. "Look carefully," he whispered in her ear. "It's only the torches burning."

"Yes, but what happens when they see the fire hasn't taken?" she shot back at him.

Where wasPinch?

Suddenly he heard a loud, creaking rasp of wood, the odd, squeaking, popping sound of screws being wrenched forcibly out of their seating, a mutter of triumph, and, in the light of the torches, he saw the double doors of the Hall being flattened to the cobbles. The intruders, audibly pleased with this success, started trampling across the broken leaves of the door. In the next moment, Tagetarl's ears were pierced by such a weird warble that he flinched and blinked, as the court seemed to be full of wings and gouts of flame, converging on the battered entrance to the Print Hall. Now human shrieks and screams reverberated amid sudden surprised shouts and protests. Tagetarl was on his feet, cudgel held high as he took the porch steps in two leaps, Rosheen right behind him, swinging her skillet.

Fortunately they were running down the left-hand side of the court toward the Hall because something large and gray settled to the cobbles, almost on top of them. Flattening his body against the wall, Tagetarl snatched Rosheen back out of the way, unable to imagine what other menace the intruders had imported. But the shouts from inside his Hall altered to angry, startled ones and shrieks of pain and curses.

"Get off' my face!" "You're breaking my ribs!" "My face, my face!"interspersed with pounding on the outer gate and anxious calls. "What's happening in there? Open up! Tagetarl! Master Printer!"

"Master Tagetarl, it's Venabil! What's happening in there?"

"Watch out!"

"Shards! Do you see what I see?"

"Here! Back off! There now! Stand aside!"

There was a clearance of perhaps a meter and a half between the top of the outer gates and the arch, and that space was filled with two whirling, orange eyes.

"Tagetarl! Get this gate open!"

"In a minute! In a minute!"Pinch roared back. "Who has the hand lights? Torjus, Chenoa, dowse those torches! Macy, help me unfasten the bar!"

The court was suddenly awash with light. Someone in the Hall had had the sense to turn on the main switch. The large gray object Tagetarl had been trying to avoid turned rainbow-colored eyes on him and Tagetarl stared back at the white dragon, Ruth. And then at the man dismounting.

"So it's you Ruth wants me to rescue," was Lord Jaxom's slightly amused greeting.

"How did you know!?''Not that Tagetarl wasn't remarkably relieved to see him.

"Only to come, here and now."Jaxom was unfastening his jacket and it could be seen that he was wearing casual clothing underneath, not full riding gear. "Ruth tells me Lioth and N'ton have also been summoned. Do I assume that you've had some intruders?" He pointed toward the broken doors and the wriggling mass hanging just above it. "Did you catch them all in the one net?"

Stunned by all that had happened so quickly, Tagetarl had not really noticed. So nets had been stuffed in those barrels? Hadn't Pinch mentioned that some of his helpers were sea-folk? How ingenious. He then saw that the fairs of fire-lizards that had come swooping and flaming in were attacking those captive in the nets, pecking and scratching at arms, legs, and various other parts that were protruding from the mesh. The anguished and pained protests were almost louder than the furor of the crowd outside, demanding to be let in.

"There's one more," Rosheen said, breathless with relief and pride. "He tried to get into the hold and we knocked him out and pushed him down into the cellar."

"Clever of you," Jaxom said, raising his voice to be heard, "but whatever did you do, Tag, to annoy the Abominators?"

"Why are you sure that's who they are?" Rosheen asked.

"Who else would try to damage a Print Hall when most of Pern can't wait to own real books? And why else are N'ton and I here, too? As witnesses to a midnight attack on defenseless premises."

Just then, Pinch and Macy lifted the sky-broom bar and the outer gates were flung open to the considerable crowd waiting to enter, waving cudgels, knives, and more torches. They surged right up to the flattened leaves of the Hall's doors, halted and stared up at the swinging net.

"Jaxom? Are you all right?"someone cried above the angry shouting. A tall figure in riding leathers came striding through the crowd to join them. "Lioth was told to bring me to Wide Bay immediately. Tagetarl? Isn't this your Print Hall?" N'ton had rocked to a halt when he recognized those standing with Jaxom. Then his eyes went wide. He looked over his shoulder at the swinging net. "What's the haul?"

"That's what we must discover," Pinch said, stepping forward and nodding courteously to the Lord Holder and the Weyrleader. "I may have acted hastily but I did hear that the Printer Hall might be vulnerable. So, since it is such a valuable asset to Pern, north and south, I thought to prevent any untoward impairment of its facilities. Had a-beauty-of a message yesterday."

Tagetarl saw Jaxom and N'ton exchange glances but, Harper though he was, he could not read more than an odd regret on N'ton's face and a sadness in Jaxom's.

"There's no question harm was meant?" N'ton asked Pinch who shook his head.

"Three sent in over the roofs," and Pinch pointed, raising his voice to make himself heard over the tumult in the court, "to open the main gate, torches set to fire the paper stores, hauling the Printer Hall doors off their hinges."

"But the gates weren't opened," N'ton said.

"Not for lack of trying," Pinch said.

"One broke the glass and the door to the hold and Rosheen flattened him with her iron skillet," Tagetarl said. His arm still felt the repercussion.

"And there's the matter of the drugged wine, too," Pinch added.

"Drugged wine?" Jaxom repeated.

"So you netted those entering the Hall?" N'ton asked.

"Only after they'd battered down the doors," Pinch replied, eyes wide with injured innocence.

"Hey, the fire-lizards are having all the fun!"someone shouted from the crowd ranged about the entrance of the Print Hall.

Since it was obvious that the fire-lizards were also preventing the crowd getting near enough to have a go at the captives, Jaxom turned to Ruth, patting the white shoulder. "Do dismiss them, Ruth, with our thanks. They've performed admirably."

Ruth raised his head and emitted an unusual warble. Not only did it mute the noise of the crowd but also the fire-lizards departed in one final dramatic swoop, low enough to make the tallest onlookers duck. Gesturing to his friends to accompany him, Jaxom strode forward and the crowd parted to allow them to reach the battered doors on the cobbles, conversations dying down now that someone was taking charge.

"Lower the net!" Jaxom ordered and four of Pinch's assistants jumped to obey.

"Belay that!" cried a voice from the right-hand side of the crowd and a big man, capped as a fisherman and showing a Master's knot, stood apart. "If you leave 'em in the net, Lord Jaxom, we can just sling the whole lot of 'em aft of my ship and I'll tow 'em out to the deep water! Save a lot of trouble!"

The crowd roared its approval of such rough justice.

"Ah, but, Captain, I am here," Jaxom said and his expression was one of rueful regret, "and so is Weyrleader N'ton and the MasterPrinter. So we are obliged to follow established procedures."

"Which are?" the captain demanded, not pleased with the rejection.

"According to the Charter," and Jaxom swung slowly around to the audience, his eyes seeming to touch everyone in the front ranks, "by which we have been well governed for the past twenty-five hundred Turns, a Lord Holder, a Weyrleader, and a Master of any Craft may hold a trial."

"Hold it then!" roared the captain and the crowd roared back an affirmative.

"You can't do that!" one of the captives shouted, struggling in the net. "We've done nothing wrong."

A lump hammer dropped free of the mesh and then Tagetarl saw that it was not the only tool that had tumbled to the ground.

The captain threw back his head to roar with laughter. "Only because you didn't get the chance!"

The crowd howled with delight.

"Would you prefer the captain's justice?" Jaxom demanded.

"That isn't justice!"cried a woman's voice. "Stop grabbing me!" she added angrily to someone beside her in the net. "You've no right to do this to us."

Another heavy object dropped ringingly to the cobbles.

"Oh, clear all that hardware away, Pinch, and drop the net," Jaxom said, utterly disgusted with his attempt to make this an orderly procedure. "Let's see what sort of catch you've made. Black-faced iron fins? Did you get the whole school of 'em? D'you know the captain, Tag?" he asked in a quick aside.

"Captain Venabil," Tagetarl replied. "He's well known but no one would dare board his ship without permission."

The net came down hard enough to rattle everyone in it, provoking a new spate of cries, curses, and pained exclamations. The captives were then as unceremoniously dumped out of the thick mesh as a load of fish: some sprawled facedown, others on all fours, groggy after their time in the swaying net.

"All right there." It was Pinch who took charge. "Stand up! Make a line!" Roughly, he pulled one man up and signaled for his assistants to get the rest to their feet. "Search 'em, too."

While that was being done, and knives, chisels, matches, and long spikes were added to the pile, he walked up and down the uneven line that was finally formed by the captives.

"Nothing else on them?" N'ton asked, remembering Fort Hold and the conspicuous absence of any personal identification.

"Clothes?" someone from the crowd suggested, laughing raucously.

"A bit worn, some of 'em," another man replied derisively.

"What a sorry bunch!" Captain Venabil said, fists thrust against his hips, shaking his head. "It's plain as the nose on my face this lot were up to no good sneaking into the Print Hall, faces blackened and all. Not to mention pulling the doors down and heaving torches about. Wide Bay's not a wild hold and we don't want such louts hanging about. What's this established procedure of yours, Lord Jaxom? I'd like to get back to my ship before dawn."

Jaxom accorded him a little bow.

"Shouldn't we send for Lord Kashman?" someone shouted from the crowd. "He's our Holder and he's supposed to deal with peace-breakers, thieves, burglars, and such."

"For general Hold matters," Pinch said quickly. "This is a Harper Hall matter. However, if any of you…" and he addressed the captives, "is from this Hold you may step forward and I'm sure Lord Kashman will keep you comfortably enough."

He was interrupted by a derisive snort and the comment from the crowd that the net was more comfortable than where offenders of the peace were held at Keroon Hold.

"As I was saying," Pinch continued with a faint grin, "if you are of this hold, you can be transferred to the Hold to await Lord Kashman's judgment."

None of the captives claimed that right.

"Name, hold, hall, and rank, if any," N'ton said, stepping with authority beside Pinch.

There was no response and N'ton shrugged.

"Then, since they have been caught in an illegal entry and in the willful destruction of an authorized Crafthall, Master Tagetarl, Master Mekelroy, how will you deal with them?"

Surprised by the anger and the sense of violation that suddenly fueled him, Tagetarl surged to Pinch's side, glaring at the captives. The false wineman he had already recognized by the ripped trousers-which hadn't fit properly even before he'd been bounced about in a net-but he could not find Scar-face or the woman sketched by Pinch after his first foray to the suspected Abominators' hill camp. Their absence from this line added worry to Tagetarl's very mixed emotions.

"Why did you wish to damage this Hall?" he demanded in a harsh voice, his fury palpable enough to make those captives nearest him recoil uncertainly. "WHY?" He jammed his fists against his side to rein in the urge to tear the truth out of those who would have destroyed what he had so painstakingly built. He took one more step.

"Lies!" Hands defensively raised, the man directly in front of him ducked back. "We have to destroy the lies!"

"What lies?" Tagetarl demanded, having expected no answer, certainly not this one.

"The lies Harpers are printing. Spreading all over Pern!" the man cried, gesturing wildly toward the Hall, to the wall where finished books were shelved.

"What's this about lies?" demanded Captain Venabil, turning to Tagetarl for an answer.

"I don't print lies!" Tagetarl cried, loudly.

"But you print books. You use the Abomination's vile methods. You distribute abominations!"

Captain Venabil, big fist raised, leaped toward the speaker who cowered away.

"Ha! Abomination, huh? These're Abominators!" He turned, eyes flaring with disgust, toward the crowd. "Nothing but a pack of cowardly Abominators, sneaking around in the night to destroy what they haven't the wit to appreciate."

"We must stop the lies. We must keep Pern pure!" cried a woman farther down the line of captives. "We have to keep Pern free of abominations."

"Of all the daft ideas!" Captain Venabil's contempt was echoed vociferously by many of the onlookers. "Pern needs all the help it can get right now!"

"Where would we've been if Aivas hadn't warned us of the Fireball Flood?" a man in the crowd demanded loud enough to be heard, waving his fist at the captives. "Captain's got the right idea. Drown 'em!"

Shouts of "drown 'em" quickly became a chant, rising in ominous volume!

"Back in the net with them! Take the school back to the sea."

"That'd pollute our harbor!"

Ruth bugled loud enough to deafen those in the court. Outside, Lioth answered him and a muttering silence returned to those in the Hall court.

"You are Abominators?" Jaxom said in an oddly controlled voice. His eyes were on one of the taller captives who stared unseeingly ahead of him.

"We are!" the woman cried defiantly, just as the wineman shouted, "We admit nothing!"

"I think in this case," Captain Venabil said in a wry tone that carried to the edges of the crowd, "I'll believe the female."

"They're all together, ain't they?" asked the fist-waver. "All pulling the doors down, trying to fire the sheds."

"Yes, firing the sheds." A thin, stoop-shouldered man pushed through the crowd, waving wildly at the sheds and the back of the court. "You could've burned my hold, too! I'm Colmin, Journeyman weaver, and all my winter work's in the loft back there. I use only traditional patterns and you could have ruined me! Ruined me!"

"We don't like arsonists in Wide Bay neither," a woman shouted, cupping her hands to her mouth to be sure she was heard. "It's your say, Harpers! It's your Hall they attacked."

"Known Abominators require different handling," Pinch cried and turned to face Jaxom and N'ton. "Or at least being isolated," he added in a low voice.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Captain Venabil said and then frowned. "What d'you mean, Harper Mekelroy?"

The onlookers hushed to listen for Pinch's answer.

"In offenses caused by those admitting to be Abominators, the Council recommends exile!"

It took another blast from Ruth and Lioth to still the clamor that was raised at that announcement.

"You can't exile us," the wineman cried, stepping out of line and trying to seize Pinch. He was instantly pinned by two of Pinch's assistants who, judging by the roughness with which they held him, had been just waiting for an opportunity.

"Why not?" Jaxom asked.

"All the islands were drowned."

"Oh," N'ton said in a quiet voice, "I think we can find a suitable one."

"We can't be exiled!" "We're saving Pern!" "That's unfair."

The captives broke from their sullen stance, dashing frantically about the court, looking for some way to escape or force their way past those blocking the gateway. The crowd was only too happy to recapture them. There were calls for rope to tie them, cloth to gag the screamers.

"So where're all these established procedures of yours, Lord Jaxom?" Captain Venabil demanded, heaving from his exertions.

"A Lord Holder, a Weyrleader, and a MasterCraftsman may enforce any Council decree," Jaxom said. "It is in the Charter, if anyone cares to check. We must do so before sufficient witnesses."

"WE WITNESS." "WITNESSED!" "WE WERE HERE!" "DROWNING'S EASIER. QUICKER!" "EXILE 'EM!" "AWAY WITH THEM!"

Raising his arms, Jaxom faced the crowd. "Those of you who do not care to be witnesses to the judgment of this incident may step back without prejudice."

Later Tagetarl was to remember that no one stepped away.

"Then the decree of the Council will be enforced. Weyrleader N'ton, you may send for assistance," the Lord Holder of Ruatha said formally.

"D'you just drop 'em off?" Captain Venabil asked, his expression severe as if stunned by the sentence of exile.

"They are not dropped," N'ton said, stressing the last word, his eyes hinting an inner conflict kept under stern control. "Sufficient food, supplies-" he paused briefly, "and water are provided to give them time to become established."

"But-but-"

N'ton stared Venabil quiet. "I," and he jerked a thumb at his chest, "am the only one who will know which island. And there are still many, many islands in both the Eastern and the Ring seas that can isolate those who can be so destructive."

"Better than they deserve, Weyrleader. Better than they deserve!" Captain Venabil stepped back, giving all three men a respectful bow. Decisions involving the lives of others were never easy to make.

The crowd had quieted down from its previous high pitch though some low conversations were begun. Pinch sent two of his men to bring the unconscious man from the cellar, tying his hands behind his back before he was set with the other Abominators, placed in a rough line on the broken Hall doors.

Seeing Rosheen shivering, Tagetarl put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to him.

"It is legal, you know," he whispered to her.

"I know. I've read the Charter. I just never thought we'd have to invoke it."

"It's perhaps as well to isolate them," Tagetarl murmured to her. Angry as he was, and he had been ready to batter the men, he was not a violent man. "They could escape from the mines and come back and try again. I think that I want to know they can't get to us-even if, at a later date, we decide to retrieve them."

She clung to him, shaking her head. He didn't tell her that two important members of the Abominator group Pinch had been watching out for were not in those captured tonight:

Scar-face and the awkward-looking holdless woman from Tillek. That meant that not all those who held Aivas an Abomination had been removed from hall and hold.

The dragons were seen in the sky, their eyes sparkling in serene whirls as they hovered above the court: a half wing of them. From somewhere, fire-lizards did sky-pirouettes around them, calling in an oddly melodious chorus.

"They'll land on the wharf," N'ton said and pointed in that direction.

It was only the next road over and there were plenty of strong men and women to carry the Abominators despite their writhing and struggling and the gagged pleas to be released. Ruth followed, perching on a bollard while the exiles were hauled up on the dragons, and tied alongside the sacks that were to be left with them.

Then N'ton vaulted to his dragon's back. "Riders, take your destination from Lioth!" he said in a voice loud enough to be heard by all watching. He lifted his arm, visible in the wharf lights, and gave the signal to leap skyward.

Tagetarl thought he had never seen a more impressive sight: twelve dragons leaping into the night, the fairs of fire-lizards escorting them and disappearing at the same moment.

In an unnaturally quiet way, those who had witnessed the night's incredible event left the wharf side or climbed aboard the ships anchored there for the night.

"It was what had to be done, Lord Jaxom, Master Tagetarl," said Captain Venabil in a low but firm voice. He shook their hands and then made his way down the wharf.

"Yes, it was what had to be done," Pinch said as they all turned to go back to the Hall.

Then Pinch dropped back to Jaxom who was walking more slowly, his head bent.

"Dorse was among them, wasn't he, Jaxom?" he asked so softly only Jaxom could hear. Jaxom flashed him the most quelling stare the Harper had received since he'd been an apprentice.

"No hold, no hall," Jaxom finally replied. "Even if he was my milk-brother, what else could I do?"

"I've been trailing him, Jaxom," Pinch murmured, "a long time."

"You have. I haven't."

"I know," and there was great compassion in the Harper's voice.

"Was he in this from the beginning?"

Pinch shrugged. "We don't even know when the Abominators were revived to plague us. Not all of those participating in these-events-are interested in keeping Pern pure or traditional. I've no doubt some of these people were motivated by blind adherence to what their fathers or mothers taught. I recognize some as hill folk who never took kindly to teachering: like the woodsy ones down in Southern Boll, or the mountain holds in upper Telgar and Lemos, or the desert nomads in Igen. Any and all of them simply fear change. They might even resent losing the Red Star as a permanent problem on which to blame 'things that go wrong.' Unfortunately, two of the people that I suspect have been churning up ill feelings against healers, and now the Print Hall's new technology, aren't among those in tonight's catch." He quickened his pace and fell in step with Tagetarl, leaving Jaxom to his own somber stride. "It would be wise, MasterPrinter, to issue a concise statement of what happened here tonight. The Runners can see that the truth is circulated."

A truth that would not name the milk-brother of Lord Jaxom of Ruatha Hold as one of the vandals who had been exiled that night.

A handful of men and women stood by the open outer gates of the Hall. Ruth could be seen quietly awaiting the return of his rider.

"If you need some help tonight, or tomorrow, Master Tagetarl," began one of the men stepping forward, "we'd be willing to do repairs."

Tagetarl thanked them, aware that the doors to the Print Hall would have to be replaced. Steel would have reassured him but he didn't have enough marks and he doubted the Smithcrafthall had the time.

"If one of you is a carpenter…"

"Five of us are, Master Tagetarl, the reason we bother you right now."

"I am extremely grateful. Come when you can in the morning."

He and the others had no sooner walked away than two fire-lizards whisked out of the night, landing on the shoulders of Rosheen and Pinch.

Jaxom walked straight toward his dragon and vaulted to his back. Tagetarl lifted his arm in farewell but he didn't think the Lord Holder saw him. In silence Pinch and Tagetarl closed the gates. Then Pinch made his way to the loft where undoubtedly his assistants had taken themselves. Tagetarl and Rosheen turned to the right and the steps up to their hold.

In the morning, while the five carpenters put up new doorposts-made of sky-broom wood, they proudly informed Tagetarl-the Masterprinter took the report that he and Rosheen had spent a sleepless night composing to the Runner Station.

Pursing his lips, Stationmaster Arminet read the text. "Well said, Master Tagetarl. Fairly said. It will go in every pouch to come through here. I may even need more."

Tagetarl made a protest, wondering how much more the night's work would cost him.

"Keep your marks in your pocket," Arminet added, pushing away the ones Tagetarl proffered.

"It's a Harper Hall announcement…"

"It's a community announcement," Arminet replied, straightening himself to his full dignity though he was not as tall as the well-built Tagetarl. He glared up. "I'm the one who decides what should or should not be spread from my Station. The people of Wide Bay were very much aware of the atrocity committed by persons who would not claim hall or hold, Master Tagetarl, and others must know about the matter so as not to be left in doubt as to the exact details of the matter." He tapped the bottom paragraph. "As I was one of those witnesses, this is exactly as I recall the incident. Thank you, Master Tagetarl. Let it not be said that the Runners did less than their best, too."

"You recognized one of them, didn't you, Jaxom?" Sharra asked softly, having watched his silence all day. She knew he had been called away that night. When he had returned, he had tried to disguise both fatigue and a preoccupied air. He had pushed food around his plate at both lunch and dinner. He had not been able to display any enthusiasm for the hour he usually spent so companionably with his sons.

She had waited, without appearing to hover close by, in case he might wish to talk about what was depressing him. She'd seen him terribly distracted like this only once before: when he had presided over the exile of those who had been responsible for abducting Master Robinton.

She waited until they had gone up to their own quarters and he was leaning against the deep window, looking out on nothing. Just as she was sure she'd have to pry, he gave a deep sigh.

"Ruth and I went to Wide Bay, to assist Tagetarl. There was an attempt to damage the Print Hall."

"More Abominators?" Who else could it have been, since the Print Hall had been so enthusiastically received by every Craft.

He nodded but did not elaborate.

In the silence that followed, Sharra watched her spouse, absentmindedly running his hand up and down the heavy brocade curtain that prevented the worst of the winter winds from penetrating into their sleeping room. She waited quietly. She knew when he was fretting over something.

"Dorse was one of them."

Sharra felt something within her lurch at that soft, chilling admission. Jaxom did not have many fond memories of his milk-brother but had kept giving him the benefit of the doubt, long after his foster mother had died. Dorse had left before one more outrageous act would have compelled Jaxom to send him away.

"I thought he had gone south. Worked for Toric." She gasped as soon as she finished speaking.

Jaxom nodded his head slowly. "He did not speak."

"But surely, love," and Sharra went to lay her hand on his shoulder, feeling the tension in his body, "he had only to-"

"They were asked to name hall or hold." Jaxom's grip tightened on the curtain so that the fabric was stretched from its rail, the upper hem tearing.

"Are you distressed because he didn'tspeak?"

"I'm not sure." Sharra could hear the anguish in Jaxom's voice. "I'm not sure! I-think," and now Jaxom buried his face in the folds of the curtain, "he was the leader. I think he was challenging me. Defying me and what I stand for. What did he expect me to do? See that they were only sent to the mines?"

Before he tore the curtain from the wall, she closed her hand around his fingers and gently detached them.

"I suggest that either way he is getting his own back on you, Jaxom," she said in a quiet nonjudgmental tone. "By any chance, did anyone else recognize him? Ruth said you did not go alone." He gave her a fierce look. "No, no, my love. I neverasked him. He knows I worry that sometimes the pair of you might get into trouble and not tell me." She tried to speak lightly, to ease his distress. She didn't even get a rise out of him for what he usually termed unnecessary anxiety.

"Pinch has been on his trail, he said. It's possible N'ton recognized him, though he wouldn't have seen him in Turns." He was silent a moment then added, "I should somehow have had a word with him. To see if he would tell me more."

"More about what? Isn't it enough that he was caught destroying what he can very well recognize as a tremendously important asset for all Pern?"

Jaxom gave her a long closed look. That made her flinch inwardly because they were usually so open with each other about everything in their lives.

"I thought he had been well placed in the south with Toric," he said finally.

"Oh!" Sharra had to sit down quickly as she absorbed the implications of that. Jaxom had been trying to shield her.

"It's preferable to think that he was on his own, perhaps just taking an opportunity to be paid for making the kind of trouble he enjoys. It wouldn't be unlike him," and Jaxom spun from the window and began pacing the floor, looking everywhere but at his spouse.

"My brother, Toric," Sharra said in a voice as taut as Jaxom's had been, "was greedy as a child and would allow no common sense to dissuade him from what he felt was his, or-" she paused a beat "-perceived was his by right. He has since, as you should know, forfeited the loyalty of all his brothers and sisters. Even his sons. I thought when he was brought up short several Turns ago by the Lord Holders and Weyrleaders that he might realize that there are limitations to what one man may hold."

Jaxom could not endure her anguish and took her in his arms, his cheek against her cheek.

"We do not know that this is another scheme of his, Sharra."

She clung to him, her fingers tight in his hair, pressing herself into the strength that always emanated from him. "Even if I, too, can see that Toric may be setting himself against the rest of Pern, just to prove he can?"

Comforted now turned comforter. "We shall know soon enough who has been giving orders for all this wasteful vandalism and unrest."

"We will? Did Pinch say anything?" Sharra leaned back, to look deep into his eyes. "We seem to recover from one disaster and another threatens."

"Sssh, sssh, love.' He rocked her in his arms, slowly, lovingly.

Sssh, sssh, Sharra. We are here!

For just a fraction of a second, though she was accustomed enough to having Ruth speak to her, she thought his reassurance was oddly amplified.

From her seat in the window at Cove Hold, Lessa could watch those coming up the newly graveled path from the beach. It still amazed her that Robinton's Hold had survived the havoc that had spared few other places. After the Winter Storm, some of his possessions had had to be replaced with lovingly contrived duplicates and these had been removed in case the Kahrain Cape did not protect the Hold. So once again, the Hall looked much as it had before his death. She could still believe that he was only out on the porch, or fussing with his tunic in his room before coming to greet his guests. The essence of Robinton, the MasterHarper of Pern, subtly pervaded the place as if he still lived here with his friends, Lytol, old Master Wansor, and D'ram. What a quartet they had made!

Now she watched as dragons arrived in pairs, gliding down to waves that lapped quietly-again-up the beach. It was like a Gather dance, she thought, trying to think of something pleasant to quiet the nagging frustration that she had been experiencing ever since the Fireball Flood. From the north and High Reaches came the newest Weyrleaders, G'bear on Winlath and Neldama on Yasith-their mating had turned out felicitously, one of the few things that hadgone right lately. Slightly west of them, in from Telgar flew J'fery and Palla on Willerth and Talmanth. A single dragon appeared from the west, with two passengers, Jaxom and Sharra on Ruth. She wanted a word with Jaxom and N'ton about the Printer Hall incident. A second Printer Hall must be established as soon as possible. Printed documents were too important: human memories couldn't cope with all the details and the tedious act of handwriting was a process rife with opportunities for mistakes.

The visibly larger Fort dragons, Lioth and Ludeth, with N'ton and Margatta, followed Ruth immediately. Igen's Gyarmath and Baylith with G'narish and Nadira entered facing north. Lessa could hear dragons bugling over the building announcing the arrival of K'van and Adrea on Heth and Beljeth. Then three from the east, T'gellan, Talina, and Mirrim. Well, Mirrim was to be expected and, while Lessa knew the girl could be domineering and arrogant, she had great sympathy toward a fosterling she had trained.

The newly made Master Erragon had particularly invited F'lessan and a Monacan green rider, named Tai, who was one of Erragon's apprentices. Her name was familiar to the Benden Weyrleaders for her part in thwarting the vandals at Landing and being indefatigable during the evacuation of Monaco.

As the Weyrleaders filed in, Master Wansor, their official host for the night, greeted them. He stood on the threshold, a serene personality in a room that held memories for all of them. He lifted a smiling face to each new arrival as if he saw them as clearly as ever. Erragon stood behind Wansor, wearing the diamond pendant that was the sign of his new rank, and well deserved for the way he had managed information and warnings about the Fireball. He was being introduced to those few Weyrleaders he had not previously met. Lytol and D'ram were fussing with papers at a table in one corner. Nine piles of paper: one for each Weyr and who got the last? She flicked her eyes back to the door, to scrutinize F'lessan as he reached the steps, one hand under the elbow of the tall, dark-haired woman accompanying him. What Lessa noticed most were her wide mouth and curiously slanted green eyes.

Zaranth's rider,Ramoth said, almost approvingly. Lessa cleared her face of the beginnings of a scowl. F'lessan was not a child any longer. He had come very close to total exhaustion after the Impact; moving dories among other things, Ramoth had reported with critical asperity. His feat of saving the Seaholder from sure death in the tsunami wave had been notable in a day that the harpers said had been full of incredible feats of courage. F'lessan's timing had always been exquisite and someday she must ask exactly how he'd achieved such an impossible rescue. He was at Benden only when Wingleader duties required him to be present, for he seemed to prefer living in Honshu now.

His choice,Ramoth added ambiguously.

F'lessan caught sight of his mother in the window seat, gave her that engagingly charming smile of his and turned to speak to Wansor. The very casualness of his greeting amused Lessa. She was more surprised when, as Tai held out her hand, the old Smith caught it in his, his smile redoubling, his eyebrows flaring up as if by widening his opaque eyes he might somehow see her more clearly: obviously this green rider was very welcome in Cove Hold. Erragon's greeting was that of pleased teacher to best student.

"Attractive but not pretty," F'lar murmured to his weyr-mate after a very brief glance at F'lessan's companion. "No wonder he's so often at Honshu now."

He likes it there,Ramoth said in that same cryptic tone.

T'gellan, with Mirrim and Talina, came up the steps now and Lessa thought Monaco's Weyrleader was much too thin, his eyes haunted. He had been working all the hours of the day to rebuild his Weyr. For that matter, neither Mirrim nor Talina looked much better, but they didn't look as gaunt as the bronze rider: they didn't have the full responsibility that a Weyrleader shouldered.

Lessa realized that all were now assembled and F'lar led her to their places on one end of the long, oval-shaped table.

"We're all here, aren't we?" F'lar said with a weary smile. He waited until the others seated themselves.

Twenty-two riders, three men who should have been enjoying their last decades in leisure, two Masters, and a Lord Holder: twenty-eight men and women to solve what she felt in her bones was impossible. But then, killing Fax had been-once. And ending Thread. Why should she consider thiscrisis to be beyond their capabilities? She gave her shoulders a little shake and took her place beside her weyrmate. She heard his sigh. Then he, too, stood straighter, to address the assembled.

"I'm sure we've all heard that dragonriders should do something about anything that falls from the sky." He let the various angry and resentful reactions to that peculiar assumption fade. "Ridiculous as that notion is, I think we all realize that that's the first question the Council will put to us in two days' time. Somehow that Fireball has become our fault." He altered his voice, affecting a querulous tone. " 'Dragons can fly between.Can't they just push rocks out of the way? Can't they burn them out of the skies? Can't they dosomething?' "

"Didn't we do enough?"F'lessan said with a brittle edge to his voice that surprised Lessa. Then he shrugged and his expression altered to one of detached indifference as other bronze riders muttered about ingratitude and impossible demands.

"Dragonriders did more than enough," said Lytol, the former Lord Warder of Ruatha, his craggy face fierce.

"Every Weyr performed magnificently," D'ram added, prideful.

"In the time allotted," Jaxom said, his expression very bland, turning his head ever so slightly toward Lessa. That sly remark subtly defused the unspoken resentment. Some even chuckled.

"I never understood quite how you accomplished as much as you did," Wansor said in all innocence. But then his expression turned to respectful awe. "The miracles you managed! In the face of what could have been catastrophic. Why the Storm of 'Twenty-nine Present Pass was a shower in comparison!"

"Fortunately, we're not considered responsible for the weather," F'lar said satirically.

"Not yet," G'dened added in a sour voice. Though Ista had been spared the full impact of the tsunami waves, the island had suffered badly from the hurricane.

"You know, there are those who feel we failed them in that storm, too," G'narish said, shaking his head.

"This time we had sufficient warning," K'van remarked, "before the winds made it impossible to fly."

"Back to what you said, F'lar, it isn't as if dragons couldflame rocks in space," N'ton said. "Dragons need oxygen to make fire."

"Meteorites are moving too fast to be caught by dragons," K'van added, "not to mention the fact that they're so hot, mere dragon fire would have no effect whatsoever and be a total waste of time and effort."

F'lar grinned broadly. "Other facts Lord Holders and Craftmasters tend to forget. Still, I'd like to take the initiative. We've been on the defensive since that sharding Fireball impacted."

"You mean, there issomething we can do?" G'dened demanded, sitting up straighter and glaring around the table.

"Oh, indeed," Wansor said, smiling beneficently around the table. "My Craft hasn't been idle a single moment. We have solid recommendations to make to the Council."

"Recommendations?" G'dened snapped, scowling. "They want answers!" He thumped the table with one fist. He had been one of the youngest of the bronze riders to come forward to the Ninth Pass and Lessa could see that he was burned out by giving answers to Lord Holders and Craftmasters.

"They always want answers," G'narish agreed, shaking his head. He, too, had reason to be as tired as G'dened.

Lessa wondered if there was any way to suggest that those two older Weyrleaders should step down and let younger, more flexible bronze and gold riders take over. She was grateful enough that M'rand and R'mart had retired. The two new Weyrleaders tried to appear at their ease but it was certainly the first time G'bear and Neldama had attended this sort of tactical meeting.

"Well, they deserve answers, G'dened," F'lessan said at his most cynical. "Only this time, they also want us to dosomething." His grin was positively challenging.

"What canwe do?" G'dened demanded, eyeing F'lessan as if the younger man were challenging him as Weyrleader.

As she was about to take exception to G'dened's manner, Lessa felt F'lar give her thigh a reassuring squeeze. Especially after F'lessan had laid claim on Honshu, it should have been extremely clear that he had absolutely no desire to accept Weyrleadership anywhere.

"It will, of course, require the cooperation of all the other Crafts and Lord Holders," Wansor went on, smiling with benign encouragement, "for the marks and craftskills required. We've already made the preliminary surveys and preparations and, with the assistance of our newest Master," and the old Star Master made a respectful bow to Erragon, "Master Idarolan, F'lessan, and Tai," and his smile included the two riders at the end of the table, "and three dedicated persons who are not included in this meeting, we have these ready."

"Preliminary surveys of what?" G'dened demanded.

"Preparations to do what?" G'narish asked, surprised.

"Which three dedicated persons?" Mirrirn asked, turning to look at Tai in an almost accusing manner.

"Surveys to locate the most advantageous site for another of the telescopes from the Catherine Caves, to give us a twenty-four-hour coverage for that critically needed sky-watch program!" Master Wansor beamed expansively as if this provided the answer.

Turns ago now, Lessa recalled Wansor's triumph at finding a high resolution telescope, a Cassegrain-according to the metal plate on the mirror cell and the thick manuals that had come with it-in the Catherine Caves. Aivas had supervised its installation and lighting up during his first Turn in charge of the Red Star Project. F'lessan had found the one left at Honshu and had just recently, after a lot of hard work and delicate repair, got it functioning again. How a third one would possibly deter more comets, stony or metallic bits from pocking the surface of Pern she did not know. Whether or not the project would appease the nervous or parsimonious among the Council was, of course, in doubt. Was sky-watching what really kept F'lessan down in Honshu and so much in Tai's company?

Yes,was Ramoth's smug reply.

"If we hadn't had the Yoko'stelemetry reporting the Fireball as early as it did," Wansor went on, "or the unusual capabilities and devotion of the dragonriders, there would have been a complete catastrophe instead of a mere disaster."

"Mere?" T'gellan burst out, half rising from the table; his outrage reflected in the stunned expressions on the faces of both Talina and Mirrim.

"I am so sorry, dear boy," Wansor said, twiddling his fingers in distress, blinking his clouded eyes. Lessa knew that if Wansor had actually seen how Monaco's land had suffered, he'd have been more tactful. His next words tried to correct the damage. "I don't mean to imply that the incredible damage Monaco sustained was 'mere,' just that it wasn't as bad as it could have been had the Fireball landed without any warning. Everyone tells me how magnificently you have repaired almost all the damage."

"As much as we can until the land itself recovers," T'gellan murmured, reseating himself but still palpably upset.

"How will this sky watch help?" F'lar asked, trying to get back to the subject.

D'ram cleared his throat. "In the first instance, it will allay the Council's doubts to know that, since dragonriders are unaccountably responsible for anything in the sky, we are very much aware of our responsibilities, and the scopes are essential to identifying what's up there. In the second instance," and he paused, regarding those at the table with an oddly self-righteous smile on his lips, "if we make sky-watching our craft when this Pass is over, we will have a profession that is peculiarly suited to dragonriders."

There was a rather stunned silence as the various Weyr-leaders assimilated that suggestion.

Beside D'ram, Lytol was also broadly smiling and Lessa thought that that must be the first real smile she'd seen on his face in Turns. The Oldtimer pursued the matter.

"By forming our own Craft, we will be able to significantly reduce the tension among holders and crafters who fear we wish to dominate their traditional crafts."

"Well, well, sky-watching wouldn't take allof us," G'dened began, fuming with indignation.

F'lessan laughed out loud. "And a good many more, G'dened, if we're to make a proper job of it." His eyes sparkled. "In fact, Honshu already has images of the asteroid belt from its initial search patterns."

"Search patterns?" G'dened asked, scowling.

With a glance at Erragon, F'lessan went on, "We know which stars are constant in our skies. What we searchfor is something moving between those stars and us! Look!" He flipped several prints to the table. "See this one?"

"I see a streak on black and a blur," G'dened replied, dismissing the image.

"We've identified the streak as an asteroid. We're calling it Aliana." He ducked his head and gave the almost cheeky smile he had used as a small boy when he was hiding deeper feelings. "Tai thought we should give them names, instead of numbers, and I thought that perhaps we'd name it after one of the first dragonriders. We've got a lot of those."

"Which, asteroids or dragonriders?" Lessa asked, smiling to show that she liked the idea. She could see that both Wansor and Erragon obviously approved.

"Both."

"How'd you know it's an asteroid?" G'dened demanded impatiently, his scowl deepening.

"F'lessan cross-checked it with Cove Hold and Yoko."Erragon said.

"This blur, as you call it, is a star named Acrux. Acrux is fixed… at least in a forty-minute exposure… while the asteroid is moving fast enough to create the blur. By considering its position in the sky, we know that it is in the asteroid belt. By getting to know our night skies and taking images-" F'lessan tapped the print.-"we will find ones that might be moving dangerously close to Pern."

"One just did!" G'dened objected, feeling insulted, and pushed the print away.

F'lessan laughed. "We've had more than one near miss."

"Oh, not that Runner site again!" And the Istan Weyrleader swiped his hand in dismissal.

"If I may," Tai said in such a firm voice that everyone regarded her in surprise, "the Fireball was the first really hazardous impact noted in the Yoko'srecords as far back as it kept them."

"Quite right, Tai. And, until the last ten minutes of its descent," Erragon said, "we weren't even certain that it would impact on Pern. And it is by no means the only one in a possibly hazardous orbit."

That was news to the inland Weyrleaders; G'dened's scowl deepened.

Lessa wondered if they oughtn't to have asked M'rand to come to this meeting. Usually he had balanced G'dened's pessimistic, biased attitudes.

"We have now had a chance to thoroughly examine the Yoko'srecords," Lord Lytol said, his expression doleful, "and the Fireball was a visible light against the asteroid belt as far back as Turn's End."

"When we were occupied with other matters entirely," G'dened said wearily.

Lytol gave him a repressive glare and continued. "The Yokohas traced its inclination and now suggests that it was probably even then a possibly hazardous object, not merely one near Pern."

"What's the difference, Lytol?" Lessa asked.

"Oh, between 100,000 and 400,000 kilometers, Lady Lessa," Lytol said with a sad smile. "If Pern had been farther on its rotation around Rukbat, the cometary fragment would have passed us by."

"The point is, Lady Lessa," Wansor said, leaning toward her earnestly, "that if we had had a sky watch then, we would have known to track it more carefully."

"What morecould we have done about it if we had known?" T'gellan asked wearily.

A depressed silence followed that heartfelt query.

"The situation for dragonriders was once much worse than this," F'lar said in a quiet but firm voice, "when Benden had only a handful of riders to fight Thread, and you," he gestured to D'ram, G'dened, and G'narish, "came forward in time to support us. Now we have access to the Ancients' exhaustive records and, if I remember Aivas's lectures at the time, he told us that old Earth had its own share of problems in near space. Erragon, how did the Ancients handle that problem?"

Erragon gave a dry chuckle. "They watched through very powerful telescopes augmented by a dedicated group of men and women using lesser instruments. Aivas states that they had mapped the position of stars in their part of the galaxy-and objects in the Earth's system-with an accuracy measured by micro-arc-seconds. Far beyond the abilities of the telescopes we have, of course. But we need only concern ourselves about Rukbat."

"Yes, yes," G'dened interrupted, leaning eagerly in his direction, "but what did they doto things that came too close to Earth?"

"They took-I quote-'action when required to divert a possibly hazardous object.' "

"With what? How?" demanded G'dened.

"That," Erragon said ironically, "they didn't say."

"But they must have done something!" There was a quaver of fear in G'dened's tone.

"They did have a sky watch," F'lessan said so firmly that he caught everyone's attention. "We can be accurate enough and, as Erragon says, we should learn what should be in our skies and track any newcomers."

"The astronomy files I've been studying clearly state that such destructive impacts are rare," Lytol added.

"Then why do we have to go through all this rigmarole of watching?" G'dened asked, more impatient than ever.

"In the first place, because it will prove to the Council that we aredoing something," F'lar said. "In the second place, we would know if Pern would be in danger. Since the Weyrs were able to prevent much loss of life and property to reduce the damage done by the Fireball, we can certainly repeat that effort. May I earnestly recommend that we seriously consider D'ram's second suggestion-that dragonriders would make excellent sky-watchers? Especially those riders who haven't yet found a suitable alternative."

Sky-watching, Lessa thought sternly, ought to be congenial to the less flexible bronze and brown riders. Blue and green riders were not so prone to stand on dignity and tradition.

"F'lar," and G'narish rose to his feet so suddenly that F'lar motioned for him to go ahead, "there've been rumors in Igen that the Fireball was the result of diverting the Red Star!"

"Shards, I hope you stifled such idiocy," F'lar said, disgusted.

"By Aivas, there is absolutely no possibility of that, G'narish," Lytol replied in vigorous protest. "I have made an exhaustive study of the physics and mathematics of that remarkable effort. Aivas was a superb astrophysicist. He was especially thorough in the matter of possible perturbations and every single equation of effect was faultlessly accurate. Waiting until the planet was far enough from Pern to assure that displacements would be negligible was one of the main reasons we had to delay the blasts, to achieve the maximum effect."

Abruptly Jaxom started to choke, a reflex that had him sputtering until Sharra thumped him on the back and the spasm subsided.

"Another reason being that we had to learn many new techniques to do so," D'ram said, his tone slightly acerbic.

"But if Aivas knewwhere everything else around us was," G'dened began in his rambling way, "then why don't we just use his records and not have to bother with this sky watch… rigmarole."

"Because," F'lessan began urgently before anyone else, "comets keep coming through, from the Oort cloud or beyond, because meteors and asteroids collide and fragments-possibly one like our Fireball-can spread in all directions, and we need to know where they are and where they're going! It doesn't matter that we haven't figured out how to stopthem, but we certainly can learn how to spot them!"

Jaxom, N'ton, and D'ram cheered and clapped their hands,

Wansor positively beamed, Erragon looked immensely relieved, and even Lytol managed another smile.

"I think that should clarify the issue, G'dened," F'lar said, raising his hands for silence.

"It's certainly the plan we should present to the Council," D'ram said. "Put some heart into us, too, F'lessan! Do you happen to have any more prints like the one you showed G'dened? Perhaps a little clearer."

"We do," and he included Tai in his gesture, "so does Erragon from both Cove Hold and Stinar's link with the Yoko"Taking the prints in his hand, F'lessan glanced at each one before he began dealing them out to the Weyrleaders. "These are some that Tai has taken of what lies beyond our system." He shot a glance at Erragon. "She figured out how to do this 'unsharp masking' from her watches at Cove Hold. The technique reduces the intensity of the bright parts," he leaned over to tap the one in front of T'gellan, "and brings out sharp detail. That's a nebulosity-looks like a blob but there are stars imbedded in it. See? Those blurs are actually stars."

"Can stars be pink like that?" T'gellan asked, amazed and intrigued, holding the print up so that Mirrim and Talina could see it.

F'lessan chuckled. "Or blue, lavender, and white." He held up another for all to see. "We took this when we got the monitor up on the Honshu scope. This cartwheel is a galaxy far, far away. Actually, our sky is rather dark, apart from what Aivas called the Milky Way and the Magellanic Clouds."

"And these spirals?" asked Lessa, peering at the one in front of her. "There're so many." She was awed.

"Are these clusters all stars?" F'lar asked Tai, showing her the print he had picked up from the table.

"Global clusters," she replied.

"Good work," Erragon said, nodding approval. "You've made notes of time and position?"

"Of course, though these were random shots because I was actually experimenting with the filters Honshu has, trying to see more detail," Tai replied.

"And everyone can see these?" Mirrim regarded Tai with obvious respect. "You star-gaze for a reason?"

"That's part of it," Tai said, her dusky skin flushed with both pleasure and embarrassment.

"Just think what we could see and understand about the cosmos," F'lessan said, his eyes bright with such a visionary gleam that Lessa regarded the bronze rider with admiration, "if we had more observatories and people trained to watch."

G'dened grunted, unimpressed, flicking his fingers at the beautiful starscapes, and glared at F'lessan. "You said those were far, far away. Isn't it the nearby stuff you're supposed to be watching?"

"Oh, we do more of that." F'lessan splayed out another set of prints in front of the Oldtimer.

G'dened recoiled suspiciously. "Looks like a bug-eaten tuber." He picked up one, studied it briefly before discarding it contemptuously. "More holes than reef rock."

"Ah," and F'lessan waggled a finger at him. "Those asteroids are not far enough away. What looks bug-eaten is where other flying bits have made craters in the surface. Or where gases that were once in the asteroid blew out." Then F'lessan added, "The first one is ten kilometers long and the holey one is fifty. It's big enough to blow Pern apart."

G'dened swallowed, slowly turning his eyes to Erragon who nodded solemn affirmation.

"That's the whole point of tonight's meeting," Wansor said, "to establish a sky watch and train those who will keep their eyes on asteroids like that."

"There're only four scopes in the Catherine Caves," Lessa said, and wondered if they would be enough.

"Which," and F'lessan jumped to his feet, "makes me wonder if perhaps the Ancients hadn't planned to set up a sky watch of their own before Thread changed all their options."

"That has often occurred to me," Wansor said, nodding his round head thoughtfully. "And why there is no northern array. Though, of course, the Ancients had settled on the southern continent so they wouldn't have needed a northern array for many Turns."

"A northern array would have warned us of that storm," G'dened remarked sourly.

"Will four more scopes be sufficient?" K'van asked.

"It doesn't even take a large scope for night-watching, K'van," Erragon replied reassuringly. "Master Jancis has been making binoculars that many," and he turned to Jaxom, who nodded, "have been utilizing."

"All watch-riders use them and all of us have done our watches on Weyr Rims," N'ton added, glancing around for confirmation from the other Weyrleaders. "I think I can still name all the bright stars."

"Sadly, it's not the bright ones we have to watch, N'ton," Wansor said, "but they are important to recognize, to give the positions of the ones we must chart and register."

"It's also a very big sky, F'lessan," K'van remarked.

"Which is why it is such a very good idea for more dragon-riders to learn how to watch it," F'lessan said, giving K'van, the Southern Weyrleader, a challenge. "You've an admirable situation down there on the heights in your new Weyr."

"It's the sort of thing you young riders should do," G'dened said emphatically. Then he realized what he'd said. "You may be sure I'll encourage my riders."

"Before I Impressed Talmanth," Palla said, raising her hand, "I studied astronomy."

"Why, so you did," J'fery said, regarding his Weyrmate with surprise.

"An apprentice I was sorry to lose and would be delighted to encourage," Erragon said, nodding acceptance of her shy offer.

Aware that everyone was looking at her, she ducked her head and stared at her clasped hands. Lessa noticed that J'fery bent to say something in her ear and she gave him a quick smile, relaxing her hands.

"That sounds like it will take a lot of time," G'dened said, not sure he approved of such activity.

"Oh, it will," Erragon had to agree. "With your assistance, we will have a splendid register to present the Council. Already we have Master Idarolan quite willing to move anywhere he can be of assistance, in teaching or watching. He reminds me that most Fishmen use the stars to navigate and he isn't the only one who's retired."

"Which brings us back to making this sky watch efficient. What do you mean, Master Wansor, by twenty-four-hour coverage and another telescope?" F'lar asked.

"About time," F'lessan said forcefully.

"We have Cove Hold, we have Honshu," Erragon replied, "we need to site at least one of the Catherine Cave telescopes in the north as soon as possible." Erragon coughed. "For a proper twenty-four-hour coverage, we should consider setting up the first observatory on the Western Continent."

"There's nothing there," Lessa exclaimed.

"There are still stars above it," F'lessan reminded her, then hastily added, "We can worry about how to improve the place later."

"An observatory on the Western Continent must be established as soon as possible," Erragon said firmly, prepared to argue that point.

"To allow us to confirm sightings with as much accuracy as possible, we must have one there, despite its distance from any other major population center," Wansor said, bringing one hand down flat on the table. The noise startled everyone. Master Wansor was the mildest of men and his sudden insistence surprised G'dened and G'narish. "We must have one there or the sky watch can fail. Master Idarolan is of the firm opinion that a small settlement is feasible. He even suggests a sheltered harbor between the two halves of the western Continent and knows where clear water is available. Even some trees."

"Really?" Lessa asked.

"Really," Wansor said, nodding earnestly in her direction. "If we number dragonriders among the sky-watchers, establishing an observatory-even at such a distant point-will cause no great problem. They can be home daytimes, you see. It's only the night they need to watch."

His cheerful qualification caused several to grin; Palla and Mirrim turned chuckles into coughs.

"Then that's one observatory settled," he went on.

"But where will there be others?" K'van asked, still smiling as he leaned forward, a keen expression on his suntanned face.

Jaxom cleared his throat. "There's an excellent spot for an observatory at Ruatha Hold. Near the Ice Lake, accessible enough. I am quite willing to cede it-and the tithes of any holds in the immediate area-to establish a wholly independent Star Hall."

Wansor beamed in his direction while others exchanged glances at such generous sponsorship.

"With all due respect, Lord Jaxom," J'fery said deferentially, "since Palla has some training already and there is also a possible site not far from our Weyr…"

"Managing a Weyr takes all mytime," Cosira said, pointedly looking away from Palla.

Lessa made a disparaging sound and dismissed that inference. "Palla's younger than either of us, Cosira. Since she's been Erragon's apprentice, I don't think any of us would object if she delegates part of her Weyr duties to the other queen riders."

"That's as may be," F'lar said, giving both Lessa and Cosira quelling stares.

"Yes, yes," Master Wansor said. "Thank you, Lord Jaxom, Weyrleader J'fery, Lady Palla. You will have to refresh and augment your original training. While I may not be able to see anymore, my memory is excellent. Master Samvel at the Landing school has a whole class of young people to whom I already teach basic astronomy. I suspect," and his opaque eyes appeared to twinkle, "that there may be many older people, aunties and uncles, retired from physically demanding work, like Master Idarolan, who would be delighted to have responsible work to do, even if it is at night. Frankly, I only need a few hours' sleep," he added with an ingenuous smile.

"It would be no problem for me and Tiroth," D'ram said, "to bring students toMaster Wansor. It will take considerable time, especially with the workload that is currently carried by our best people, to build an observatory, so we must make strong representations to the Council to start as soon as possible. In the meantime, the production of binoculars from the Smithcrafthall has been increased-"

"By over half again as many," Wansor interrupted with one hand upraised in apology, "since the Fireball."

"Has been increased considerably," D'ram went on gently. "Master Jancis and Piemur assure us of a supply and Master Morilton has professed himself and his Hall willing to experiment with reflecting mirrors for small telescopes."

"And, when the dangerous objects are discovered, will dragons be required to push them out of the sky?" G'dened demanded sarcastically.

Lessa noticed that F'lessan exchanged a quick look with Tai. F'lessan also had a gleam in his eye that had always preceded some mad start of his as a boy.

"One never knows, G'dened," Jaxom said, "considering what strange things dragons have done in the past eleven Turns. I repeat, I'm quite willing to site and provide for an observatory in the Ruathan hills."

"I'll undertake to set another at Telgar. Master Fandarel will certainly approve of an efficient watch on the sky," and J'fery grinned, "and Lord Larad is more open to such projects than other Holders."

"It would be wise," Jaxom said, stressing the last word, "to include as many holders and crafters in this sky watch as possible."

"I thought it was to be a dragonrider responsibility," G'dened said.

Really, thought Lessa with a disgust she did not express, G'dened must step down. He was so hidebound.

"We will need everyone who's willing! Why, we'll need to train two or more Halls full of people," and Wansor held out both arms in an expansive gesture. "As Weyrleader K'van remarked, it's a big sky. And we must discover as many objects as possible. Most will prove harmless when their orbits are charted, like our Turnover Ghost cometary trails. Many may come close but proceed on their ways."

"That's all very well, Master Wansor," G'dened said, still unconvinced, "but that doesn't answer the important question: what couldwe do if another comet or meteor or whatever is close enough to impact Pern again?"

The silence in the hall was so complete that the incoming waves could be heard rippling up the beach, and the occasional splash of dolphins playing one of their evening games.

"We'll think of something," F'lar said into that silence.

"What's the matter with all of you…" F'lessan cried, jumping to his feet.

Lessa could almost hear the words he had been about to utter: old dragonriders.

He recovered quickly, almost stumbling over the next words. "We've only started exploring the masses of information Aivas left us and somewhere in all that information there will be a way of dealing with them. When Thread first starting falling, our ancestors made do with what they had, and developed what they needed to survive-the dragons. They found ways to adapt that have sheltered and expanded a population that, had they been less resourceful and optimistic, would have perished without a trace in that first Pass. All due respects to you, Erragon, but Aivas had a habit of hiding information so we have to work to find it. Let us make the best of what we have-those telescopes and the brains we were born with."

Lessa regarded her son with considerable, if pessimistic, respect. And yet, what he said might well be true. Aivas had talked about weapons of mass destruction and she earnestly hoped that nowhere in those records were such particulars. But if there was hope…

"We had to learn a great many things to blow the Red Star off course. We still don't know the half of what there is in Aivas's records," F'lessan went on.

"There's more than half of that we don't needto know, F'lessan," G'dened said, scowling.

"Quite possibly more than half, G'dened, but, as dragon-riders, we are committed to learn as much about our responsibilities of protecting this planet as possible."

Giving F'lessan an approving nod, F'lar rose. "The Weyrs will continue to serve. If we propose the sky watch to the Council in the most positive terms, and with complete accord," he glanced meaningfully at G'dened and the puzzled G'narish, "then, by the first Eggs that hatched here in Landing, we dragonriders will add a new dimension to our future!"

His fist came down on the table and, eyes brilliant, he stared around, daring anyone to challenge him.

Now that,Lessa thought with a surge of pride for her weyr-mate, was plain speaking! The two new Weyrleaders, so determined to succeed in their new responsibilities, would have followed any strong lead. Between F'lessan and F'lar, they now had one and rose to their feet, cheering. T'gellan's dejection noticeably lightened and, if Cosira looked confused, at least G'narish seemed revitalized by F'lar's stirring words.

"I suppose it's best to show a united front," G'dened muttered, reluctantly acquiescing to the majority.

"Well now, that's most encouraging, most encouraging," Wansor said, nodding around. "So, let us summarize our plans. Yoko,Cove Hold, and Honshu will continue their search patterns of near-space; we'll request the Council to release three of the remaining telescopes; start work on the vitally required one on the Western Continent, another to be sited at Ice Lake-thank you very much, Lord Jaxom. The third at Telgar-if Lord Larad's goodwill and assistance can be obtained. Good of you, Lady Palla, Lord J'fery, to offer your services. Of course, we shall ask the invaluable cooperation of Master Fandarel. We shall also ask for volunteers-sky-watching will require many eyes as well as many of the dark hours-and instigate an accelerated training program. I'm sure the Harper Hall will encourage this. And I'll ask Master Tagetarl to print up one of his notices. The entire planet will know!" He swung his arms wide, his broad smile infectious.

"I think that does about summarize what the dragonriders will do," F'lar said. "Now, why don't we relax and have some wine? We brought some Benden with us for those who might like it."

There wasn't a person in the hall, save perhaps G'dened, who wasn't quite happy to take a glass. Mirrim bustled out to the kitchen with Talina, Adrea, and Sharra in tow. Tai started to join them but F'lessan held her back, to help him explain the prints to Palla, J'fery, and K'van. Erragon produced old Aivas projections, which showed how much currently unobserved sky would be the responsibility of the Western Continent installation.

Relieved that this meeting, which she had begun with little hope of any positive support, had ended on such a high note, Lessa felt incredible relief. The Weyrleaders of Pern would take their places at the Council with considerably more confidence and that, in itself, would impress the Lord Holders and Craftmasters. She especially looked forward to announcing the post-Thread occupation for which dragonriders were undeniably suited. She smiled to herself. Sharra brought her a glass of wine and a small dish of savories. She was roused from her private thoughts by G'dened's testy question to Master Wansor.

"You mentioned three other dedicated people? Who would they be?"

"Why, Master Stinar is one, the others are two of my old students from Telgar who are now masters in their own Halls, Tippel in Crom and Murolin in Southern Boll. They have even built their own scopes-reflecting telescopes, only one-hundred-millimeter-but adequate for the sky-watching. It is to Tippel's everlasting despair that he missed seeing the Fireball; it had been so cold he'd gone in early." Master Wansor made a comical face of regret. "However, I do have a suggestion for you, Weyrleader G'dened. Have a look at the sky tonight from the Cove Hold telescope."

Lessa sat straight tip, grinning at G'dened's sudden confusion.

"Now, why didn't one of us think of that?" She stood up. "I should like a chance to see myself. Is it possible, Erragon?" She saw the brief hesitation on the Master's face. "Or would we be interrupting your search pattern?"

"All in a good cause, Lady Lessa." Erragon bowed with sincere courtesy.

"Who's there while you're here?" G'dened wanted to know.

"Lofton, a capable journeyman," he replied just as F'lessan came up to Lessa.

"Tai and I would be glad to demonstrate Honshu's scope," F'lessan said, grinning from ear to ear. "I've got K'van, Adrea, Palla, and J'fery coming."

G'dened and Cosira were the only ones who did not care to go on to view the stars, either at Cove Hold Observatory or Honshu. G'dened did agree that he would find out who among his riders would wish to train themselves for this sky-watch project.

"You did say, Erragon," said F'lar, joining Lessa, "that you have more prints we can show to relieve the fears of the Council?"

"And the majority of the holders and crafters," K'van murmured, adding so only F'lessan and Tai heard him, "not to mention the dragonriders."

It wasn't until Lessa and F'lar got back to their weyr that she remembered she hadn't had a chance to speak to Jaxom, who had slipped out with Sharra while others were finishing their wine. She missed a moment with F'lessan, as he, too, left more ostentatiously with the group going to Honshu, so that she didn't have any time to talk to this green rider of his. She had never seen him so protective of anyone. Tai did not look fragile.

"She'll do," F'lar murmured, once again touching her very thoughts as he slipped an arm about her shoulders and made her comfortable against him in bed.