Dragonsblood

SIX

Sunlight streamed through the room, bathing Wind Blossom’s cot in warmth. Wind Blossom woke, startled by the sun. You should have been up hours ago, she chided herself.

Her old, stiff bones resisted her efforts to rise quickly. Wind Blossom forced herself up anyway. With a deep, relaxing sigh she began her morning exercises.

As she completed her exercises, the Drum Tower boomed out an alert. She wondered if the drummer were Tieran. She had only seen him fleetingly in the two years since his father had died and he’d fled to the Drum Tower. He’d be eighteen now, near his full growth, and quite capable of pounding the drums as loud as they were being pounded now.

Wind Blossom tensed, then relaxed again immediately as she recognized why she had slept so late: The Drum Tower had been silent. With this realization, she knew why the tower had been silent earlier and what its message now would be-Threadfall.

That also explained why her newest trainee had failed to wake her this morning: The young lady was helping prepare the HNO 3 tanks for the ground crews, whose job it was to search out stray Thread missed by the dragons and burn it before it could burrow into the ground.

Wind Blossom’s place was in the infirmary, to deal with any mishaps beyond the expertise of her alumni. She changed with a conservative haste and proceeded down the stairs, clutching the railing carefully; it would not do to let rushing make her the first patient of the day.

One of the new trainees-Mirlan, Wind Blossom thought it was-saw her approach and strode over to offer a hand.

Wind Blossom snatched her own hand away from the proffered support. “I am not enfeebled, child!” she said, bitter that the whole effect was spoiled by her scratchy voice.

“I do need something to drink, however,” she added as soon as she could trust her voice again.

Mirlan escorted her to Admissions and then hurried off for some food and drink.

Janir-when had he gotten so tall?-approached her.

“The current pool is guessing that there’ll be two severe, one minor, and three stupidities this Fall,” he said, his eyebrows quirking with amusement. Long ago Wind Blossom had started a guessing game with the students to help prepare them for those wounded in Threadfall. Long ago it had ceased to be amusing to Wind Blossom. But it was still educational, so she pretended to enjoy it.

“Two minor, two stupidities,” Wind Blossom guessed. Janir pursed his lips speculatively.

“Is that a wager?” a new voice asked. Wind Blossom turned to see Josten, another of the new ones, appear behind her.

“If it is, it is between myself and the senior surgeon,” Wind Blossom replied. She noticed that the room had fallen silent. Mirlan returned with some food.

“This Threadfall will last six hours, yes?” Wind Blossom asked rhetorically. Around her, heads nodded.

“Is all the equipment ready?” Again, heads nodded.

“Then is there any reason why you should not be studying?” she asked the collected group. Janir suppressed a grin of remembrance and added his scowl to hers. Hastily the others in the room filed out in search of texts or to work together in groups, practicing various injuries.

“I shall inspect later,” Wind Blossom said. Janir’s eyes darkened. Wind Blossom noticed it. “What?”

“Um, my lady-”

“Spit it out, Janir.”

“Don’t you remember?” Janir looked embarrassed. Wind Blossom frowned. “After the last Threadfall we had agreed that I should run the infirmary and you would consult.”

Wind Blossom started to respond, then froze. After a moment she continued, “Of course. May I speak with you alone?”

Janir nodded and gestured to his examining room.

Once inside, Wind Blossom turned to him and said in a toneless voice, “Janir, it appears that I am beginning to exhibit signs of senile dementia. Do you concur?”

Janir closed his eyes briefly, a look of pain lining his face, then nodded. “My lady, this is the second time you’ve told me that.”

Outwardly, Wind Blossom absorbed this news like a rock; inwardly she reeled like a reed in a storm. “I see. When was the first time?”

“Only last Threadfall, my lady,” Janir replied. “Since then, you’ve exhibited no memory problems. Perhaps the stress?”

“Threadfall should not be stressful for me.”

Janir disagreed. “Threadfall itself is not stressful but, as you yourself said, we must anticipate a number of injuries-I think that is very stressful for you, my lady.”

“Yes, I believe that is so,” Wind Blossom said. My mind! I am losing my mind! She took a deep, calming breath. “But I am alarmed at the possible implications.”

Janir gave her an apologetic look. “We’ve been keeping an eye on you, my lady, to be safe.”

Wind Blossom pursed her lips and nodded. “Thank you. I was considering the broader implication to our aging population. I had expected that we would retain our faculties well through the late eighties, perhaps even our nineties.”

Janir nodded. “You said this the last time, my lady.”

Wind Blossom was so troubled by that answer that it took her a second to regain her composure. “I have no memory of that. What else did I say?”

Janir sighed. “When we talked, we agreed that while some of the early-onset dementia might be due to increased stress, it was more likely that it was due to differences in diet.”

“There could be other factors, too,” Wind Blossom said. “Could there be environmental factors?”

“You were concerned that there might be trace elements present or missing in our food that might affect memory and neural function,” Janir replied.

“We should perform some biopsies on any new cadavers,” Wind Blossom said. Janir gave her a long, discerning look, and she shook her head. “I do remember that we do not have the facilities to maintain a morgue. But if we could get to a corpse early enough, we could obtain some samples.”

“I agree, my lady,” Janir replied. “Sadly, our older population was depleted during the Fever Years and reports of death usually come after the burial has already taken place.”

“We would need to locate a cadaver nearby,” Wind Blossom agreed.

“And if we did, my lady, what then?” Janir asked gently. “Do we have the equipment to identify the contributing factors?”

A number of scathing arguments sprang into Wind Blossom’s mind. With a kick of her will, she disposed of them. She then spent some moments in deep thought. Finally, she answered, “I think you will say that our staff does not have time to do such extensive studies, and that we could gain more working on solving infant mortality problems.”

Janir shook his head, a small grin on his lips. “Actually, my lady, you said that in our last conversation. I have to agree, however. Given our current population it is vitally important to ensure that it grows as rapidly as possible. Our biggest gains will be in improving survival through early childhood.”

Wind Blossom nodded. “And while the young represent new cultural capital, the elderly increasingly become a drain on our precious resources.”

“You said that, too,” Janir said gently. “But I would like to disagree with you on that score. I have always admired you and wished that I could learn more from you.”

Wind Blossom smiled and patted his hand. “You were a good student, Janir.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Janir said, gripping her hand with his.

Wind Blossom turned to leave. “I think I’ll review my notes in my room.” As Janir nodded understanding, she added, “If you need me-”

“I will be sure to send someone for you, my lady,” Janir finished. He bit his lip reflectively. “I hope you are not too concerned about the memory loss. It is concentrated in your short-term and recent memories.” Wind Blossom turned back to face him as he continued, “Your knowledge of genetics is as good as it ever was and should remain so.”

“Yes,” Wind Blossom replied, turning back to the door, “but I am trying to learn reconstructive facial surgery, Janir.”

She left before the embarrassed healer could form any reply.

Tieran leaned into his stroke as he beat out the all clear. He had filled out and muscled up from the awkward sixteen-year-old he’d been when he first joined the tower. Now, at eighteen, his body was lean and tightly muscled from daily work.

He grinned as he heard his drumbeats echoing back along the cliff wall that housed Fort Hold. The echo didn’t mask the responses from the higher-pitched walking drummers in the surrounding minor holds and fields.

Jendel had been right to argue for siting the Drum Tower built between Fort Hold and the College. The shape of the cliffs made a natural reflector that concentrated the sound of his drum.

Because the location left the Large Drum exposed to all elements and particularly susceptible to Thread, it was secured in one of the rooms beside the Drum Tower during Threadfall. Jendel had made a habit of drilling his drummers in disassembling and reassembling the Large Drum. Tieran and Rodar, working as a team, had set the best time.

Tieran had come to the Drum Tower at a propitious time. The tower had only been completed a month before, and Jendel had still been experimenting with the best way to use the drums. Tieran had quickly learned the original code, mastered it, and developed a second, superior set of drum codes that Jendel and the rest of the drummers had enthusiastically adopted.

When Tieran had first escaped to the Drum Tower, he had expected to be unceremoniously hauled back to Wind Blossom. It had been half a year before he had allowed himself to believe that he had been left to fend for himself. It had taken him much longer to recognize that his place within the College was secure.

Tieran took advantage of his lofty and panoramic position to drink in the sights and sounds below him. When he was up here, two stories high and several dragonlengths from both the College and the Hold, no one could really see his face. From the heights of the Drum Tower, Tieran felt master of all he surveyed.

He saw Lord Holder Mendin on his way to the College-so soon after a Fall? Shifting his gaze, he saw Mendin’s eldest son, Leros, hot and weary, trudging in from the fields surrounded by flamethrower crews, apparently doing the job that his father should have been doing. Studying the two, he failed to notice Jendel’s jaunty step until the head drummer was halfway up the stairs to the tower.

“Tieran!” Jendel called out as he crested the stairs. Without pausing for breath, he continued, “You’re needed back at the College. See Dean Emorra.”

Tieran raised his eyebrows momentarily in surprise, then placed the huge drumsticks back on their hooks and reached for his shirt.

“Bring lunch for us when you come back,” Jendel added as Tieran started down the stairs. “And Kassa-you two will relieve us.”

“All right,” Tieran called back unheard over his shoulder with an acknowledging wave of his hand. There were always two on the Drum Tower.

Classes, Tieran guessed to himself as he crossed under the archway into the College. He made his way to the small classroom reserved for the drummers.

Emorra was waiting for him outside the door. “I want you to teach some of the youngsters drum code.”

Tieran cocked an eyebrow at her. When he had first been asked to teach, just after he had proved the value of his new codes to Jendel, he had been afraid of standing in front of a group of people with his scarred face and gangly body. But the first group had all been older students in their twenties, and they had all been intent on one thing: learning the new codes. Once he realized that, Tieran had thrown himself with enthusiasm and creativity into the job of imparting the new codes to them.

After several classes, Tieran had realized that some of the drummers weren’t learning the codes to work in the Drum Tower or in Mendin’s outlying minor holds. Some of the older students had left the College, taking their knowledge of the drum codes with them.

Others had been even more enterprising. They had taken their knowledge of the drum codes and brought them back to the music that many considered to be the life and the soul of the College. Emorra had told him that his codes had not developed into a new form of music. Rather, the drumming had allowed musicians to create new works both of jazz and of traditional old-Earth Celtic music. Tieran had been surprised, then pleased, and, finally, an enthusiastic participant in the music that had resulted.

Emorra recognized Tieran’s raised eyebrow with a nod. “I was wondering if working with drums and the drum codes might be a good way to teach musical beat.”

Tieran nodded, trying to hide his hesitation, but Emorra noticed it.

“They’re a good group; I just had them,” she told him, handing him a small drum.

Tieran’s heart sank as Emorra left. He hefted the drum, placed it under one arm, and absently beat out a quick tattoo-“trouble.” Inspiration struck, and he quickly amplified the beat and modified it.

He entered the room still drumming and took his place at the front of the class. There were eleven students in the class. All of them were young-the eldest hardly looked eleven and the youngest was close to seven years old. This was the youngest class he’d ever seen.

He switched the beat, changed the rhythm, and started a new message, still while watching his students. Two or three were unconsciously trying to imitate his beat on their drums and all of them were attentive.

With a flourish, Tieran finished his message and set the drum down on the teacher’s table. He looked at the youngsters. “Now that I’ve said all that, are there any questions?”

The eyes of the youngsters widened and there was silence in the classroom until one of the older girls raised her hand. Tieran grinned and nodded at her.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“I told you my name and welcomed you to the class on drumming, and asked you why you were here,” he answered. “Would you like to learn how?”

Every head in the class nodded, eyes wide. Tieran kept his smile to himself and started teaching the basics of drum beat and rhythm.

He was pleased to finish the lesson on a high note, having the class drum out the message “It’s lunchtime” just in time with the sounding of the hour.

“And with that, class, I take my leave,” he told them. The youngsters were very polite. Most of them came up to him and thanked him for the class and told him that they hoped he’d be teaching them again.

Emorra was waiting outside the class. She fell in with him as he walked toward the kitchen. “I take it you survived, then?”

Tieran nodded. “Nice kids.”

“Would you be willing to teach them again?”

“Sure.”

With a frustrated groan, Emorra whirled around in front of him, forcing him to stop. “And?”

Startled, Tieran’s first thought was to realize suddenly that he was taller than Emorra-and that he liked that. “What?”

Emorra gritted her teeth, then sighed to regain her temper. “Every class is a lesson for the teacher.”

Tieran nodded. “I’ve heard you say that before. I guess it makes sense.”

“So,” she asked with a tone of strained patience in her voice, “what did you learn today?”

“I guess that I might be able to teach younger students,” Tieran said.

Emorra’s eyes flashed. Tieran had seen that look before, and always when she was frustrated, usually in debates when she was about to make a telling point.

He raised his hands in surrender. “What do you think I would have learned?”

Emorra shook her head, dismissing his question. Ever since Tieran had hidden up in the Drum Tower he had become something of a project for her. The young man’s rebellion against her mother had sparked Emorra’s interest in him. Her interest had increased when she had learned that Tieran had developed the improved drum codes. When she had discovered how much his teenaged feelings of not belonging had been reinforced by reactions to his scarred face, she had tried to find ways to help.

Tieran’s stomach grumbled. With an apologetic shrug, he stepped around Emorra and gestured for her to follow as he resumed his way to the kitchen.

“You’re worried about me,” he said after a moment’s silence.

Emorra nodded. “I worry about everyone.”

Tieran snorted. “Then you worry too much.”

“It’s my job! Like everything else on Pern, the College has to earn its keep. So the students pay tuition and the teachers are paid for their research. And any profits are put into new projects.”

“Like the Drum Tower-I know,” Tieran said.

They reached the kitchen. “I’ve got to get food for Jendel and the others and bring it to the tower.”

“I’ll help,” Emorra offered.

“Thanks,” Tieran said, surprised that the dean of the College would offer to do such a menial task.

Happily, Alandro and Moira were working in the kitchen that day. Alandro had been a fixture in the College’s kitchen since the Fever Year, when he had arrived as a sick orphan. As soon as he recovered, he gravitated toward the kitchen, willing to do any job cheerfully. Now in his fourth decade, he was no less cheerful and not much slower in the kitchen than he had been when he first arrived.

Moira was a more recent arrival. She had started with the College as a fosterling but had refused to leave when she reached her majority two years ago. She said that nowhere could she find as good a kitchen as at the College and she refused to work with second best, even though every major holder had tried to lure her away.

“I need four lunches for the Drum Tower,” Tieran told them as he stepped into the kitchen.

Moira’s scowl-she was a fierce guardian of her domain-cleared when she identified him. “And in return, you’ll…”

Tieran grinned and bowed low. “I shall sing your praises to each and every one of my fellow drummers.”

Moira quirked an eyebrow at him and pursed her lips humorously. “Best not sing, Tieran. I still don’t think your voice has settled.”

“It has,” Tieran corrected sadly. “It’s just that’s all there is to it.”

She gave him a judicious look. “In that case-an hour’s sculling after dinner.”

Tieran considered the counteroffer for a moment before nodding. “Done! But only if you’ll let me make meringues.”

Moira’s face brightened at the prospect. “Deal!” She turned to her kitchen partner. “Did you hear that, Alandro? Tieran’s doing the yucky dishes this evening!”

The large helper looked down thoughtfully at the small cook, then over at Tieran, who waved, and asked, “Meringues, too?”

“Yes,” Moira agreed, “he’ll make meringues.” She found a soup ladle and waved it at Tieran threateningly. “Only no rose extract this time-costs a fortune and you haven’t learned restraint.”

Emorra smiled as she took in the byplay. She liked the way Moira went to the trouble of actually finding something to wave threateningly at Tieran. She was also relieved to see that Tieran was so warmly welcomed in the kitchen.

Of course, he’d be a fool to get on the bad side of the College’s best cook-and it was becoming clear to Emorra that Tieran was no fool.

“Wait a minute,” she said aloud. “Those are your meringues?”

Tieran nodded.

“They’re good.” Emorra gave him a longer, more appraising look. “You can cook, clean, teach-”

“No more hot boxes,” Alandro interrupted her, pointing to two trays.

“Yes, the last of the thermal units cracked yesterday,” Moira agreed sadly. “That’s why I’ve put your soup in small bowls and made sandwiches. If you lot want hot food from now on, you’ll have to eat in the hall.”

“Are there any of the thermos flasks left?” Tieran asked. “It gets very cold on the top of the Drum Tower at night.”

“I imagine it does,” Moira agreed. “There are two, but they’re both reserved.” She smiled at Emorra. “One’s for you, Dean, and the other’s for your mother.”

Tieran nodded as he picked up a tray. Emorra picked up the second one.

“Maybe you could rig up a fire,” Emorra suggested as they made their way out of the College toward the Drum Tower.

“There’s no place for it,” Tieran replied. “Besides, I think it would be a fair bit of work to haul wood up every evening.”

“Lazy!” Emorra teased. “Well, it’s your bones that’ll freeze.”

The tower grew in Emorra’s eyes as they approached it; she was always used to seeing it from the distance of the College. They walked and climbed in companionable silence until they were halfway up the steps wrapped around the outside of the tower and Emorra paused, gasping for breath.

“And this is why I’ll keep my bones cold, thank you,” Tieran said, pointing at the stairway and grinning as he waited for her to recover her breath.

“Yes, I can see that it would be a chore,” Emorra agreed at last. Much more slowly they completed their ascent.

“Rodar, Jendel, we’re here!” Tieran called as he crested the stairs.

“You’re late!” Jendel retorted. “I just hope the food’s good.”

“It’s cold,” Emorra said as she set the tray down on the only table available.

“That’s nothing new,” Rodar said, jumping up to help her.

“Where’s Kassa?” Jendel asked.

Tieran groaned and slapped his forehead. “I knew I was forgetting something!”

“It’s my fault, I distracted him,” Emorra said.

“Never mind-at least you brought food!” Rodar exclaimed.

“Poor Rodar’s been up here since first watch,” Tieran told Emorra.

“What’s the soup?” Rodar asked, lifting a bowl and sniffing it.

“The last of the hot boxes failed, so it’s all cold,” Tieran warned.

Rodar had already dipped a finger into his bowl of the whitish soup and licked it. “Potato leek! Excellent.”

Further investigation revealed a number of cold cuts, plenty of fresh-sliced bread, honey, mustard, and Alandro’s own special invention, a sage vinaigrette that doubled as a dressing for the greens and as a condiment for the sandwiches.

There were no chairs at the top of the Drum Tower, but the lower parts of the crenellations were wide enough to offer comfortable, if sometimes windy, seating.

“Alandro’s dressing is superb, as always,” Rodar said to no one in particular.

“We’re lucky to have it,” Emorra agreed. Jendel raised an eyebrow at her, so she expanded her comment. “The botanists had a very hard time getting the sage to take.”

“Why was that?” Rodar asked.

Emorra shrugged. “Mother said something about the boron uptake rates. In the end they finally got it to go by grafting it onto a native plant. Mother says it doesn’t taste quite the same as the original.”

“She’s one of the few left who’d know,” Jendel said.

“I like the flavor,” Tieran declared.

“What’s the difference?” Rodar asked Emorra.

Emorra shrugged. “I never asked her.”

“The dean of the College not asking?” Rodar was amazed.

Emorra shook her head. “I was a student of my mother’s at the time.”

“Oh,” Tieran said. He and Emorra exchanged looks of understanding.

“Did they adapt all the Earth fauna, or what?” Rodar wondered. He looked at Emorra. “Would you know?”

“Most of the adaptations were done before Crossing,” Emorra answered. “But I believe that the botanists and Kitti Ping had to drop a few adaptations. Some of it was a question of resources.”

“And some of it?” Rodar prompted.

Emorra grinned. “Some of it was by choice. Apparently there was something called okra that was dropped by mutual consent.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t drop spinach, then,” Jendel noted sourly, pushing a few spinach leaves about his otherwise empty salad bowl.

“Ah, but that’s good for you!” Tieran said.

“They were pretty selective about their animals, too,” Rodar noted sourly.

“They had complete gene banks at Landing,” Emorra said, adding dryly, “I think the original growth plans were interrupted.”

“Did they have elephants in the gene banks?” Rodar persisted.

“Not that again,” Jendel groaned. Tieran shook his head and smiled.

“Yes, they had elephants,” Emorra said.

“We sure could use them,” Rodar complained.

“As beasts of burden they are not as good as horses,” Emorra said, ignoring Tieran’s alarmed look and Jendel’s agitated shushing gestures.

“Who wants beasts of burden?” Rodar replied. “Their feet were very sensitive to subsurface vibrations-”

“They could hear noise over thirty kilometers,” Jendel and Tieran joined in chorus with Rodar.

“Oh,” Emorra said, suddenly enlightened. “That would make them good for picking up your drum sounds, wouldn’t it?”

“If you could train them!” Jendel said.

“They were very smart!” Rodar said.

“But how would they have got them from Landing to here?” Emorra wondered.

“On a ship,” Rodar answered.

“How could you get an elephant on a ship?” Jendel asked.

“Once you got it on, how could you get it off?” Tieran added.

“And what would you do if it actually liked ships?” Jendel continued.

“I suppose you’d have to take it on a cruise around the world,” Tieran finished with a laugh, which Jendel joined in, much to Rodar’s disgust.

Tieran leaned to Emorra and confided, “We tried to warn you. Rodar’s always going on about elephants.”

“Anyway,” Emorra continued, back on the original topic, “they couldn’t take over the Pernese ecosystem completely-”

“Did they ever completely categorize the Pernese ecosystem?” Rodar asked.

Emorra shook her head. “Hardly. On Earth they had never completely categorized the ecosystem, and they had millennia.”

Jendel rose from his seat with a shudder. “Oh, this is too much for a simple percussionist!” he said, waving the conversation away. “Tieran, seeing as you forgot to bring along your partner, how do you plan to run your watch?”

“I’ll stay,” Emorra offered. “You two can bring the trays back and send the other replacement over.”

Jendel pursed his lips consideringly.

“She knows the sequences, Jendel,” Tieran said.

“She does?” Rodar was surprised.

“Sure,” Tieran said. “They’re a fairly basic set of sequences, many of them modeled on genetic sequences.”

“Genetic sequences?” Jendel repeated. “You never told me that.”

He grabbed a tray, passed it to Rodar, and grabbed the other for himself, gesturing for Rodar to precede him down the tower stairs.

“All right,” he said from the top step. “Tieran, you can use the small drum to drill her on some of the basic sequences just to be sure. You know, attention, emergency, stuff like that.”

“Will do,” Tieran said, throwing the chief drummer a mock salute. Jendel returned it with a nod of his head and began his descent.

Tieran dutifully drilled Emorra on the drum sequences, gave her a quick test, and pronounced her fit to take watch with him. The whole procedure took less than a quarter of an hour.

“That’s twice in one day you’ve taught a class,” Emorra remarked dryly. “Keep it up and we’ll have to put you on the faculty.”

Tieran didn’t respond to her comment. Instead, he carefully hung the small drum by its harness on one of the small hooks pounded into the wall nearest the stairs. Then he peered out into Fort’s lush main valley, watching people tending the fields.

Finally, he turned back to Emorra. “What did they have, the settlers, before the first Thread fell? Eight years, less than that, and then they had to abandon everything and come here to the North.”

Emorra nodded. With a sigh, she rose and walked over to him.

“They didn’t have any time to do a proper survey, did they?” Tieran asked.

“Especially when you add the need they had to engineer the dragons,” Emorra agreed. “Mother would never tell me, and the reports are very vague.”

She frowned as she said that, wondering why her mother hadn’t insisted on making her read every report of the original landing survey.

“So what did they get? Five percent, ten percent?” Tieran wondered.

Emorra shook her head. “The best I could ever discover was about three percent.”

Suddenly she realized why Wind Blossom hadn’t told her about the survey: Her omission had encouraged Emorra to look up the information herself.

Mother, you manipulated me-again! Emorra thought angrily.

Tieran snorted, unaware of Emorra’s feelings. “Three percent of the entire ecosystem, that’s all?”

“They got a very good description of the fire-lizard genome,” she answered. “That’s almost complete, say ninety-seven percent or more. They mapped two or three other genomes, including one of the more basic bacteria.”

“What about Thread?”

“You know,” Emorra responded. “Mother says that they got a complete decode on the Thread genome-”

“-but it was lost in the Crossing,” Tieran concluded. He glanced guiltily at Emorra.

Everyone knew that Wind Blossom had been responsible for a large part of the equipment and records that were lost overboard on the storm-tossed ships bringing the survivors north from the Southern Continent. He continued hastily, “And the Fever Year was caused by a mutation of one of the viral strains from Earth.”

“Yes, as far as we know,” Emorra said. “It was far too early for any crossover infection.”

“And when that comes?”

Emorra shrugged. “I can only hope that people on Pern will survive. For all that they had so little time, my mother and grandmother, and all the other medical people, did everything they could to adapt us to life on Pern-even before they arrived.”

“Is that why you quit?” Tieran asked. “Is that why you left your mother? Was it the thought of just having to wait, having to hope that if any epidemic broke out it would come at a time when we could still identify it, still fight it, and come up with a cure before everyone on Pern was too ill to survive?”

“Is that why you quit, Tieran?” Emorra asked, deflecting his question.

Tieran nodded slowly.

“You lasted longer than I did, you know,” Emorra admitted. “I could only handle four years before I fled. You stayed a whole six. After my mother, you are the best-qualified geneticist on Pern.”

Tieran snorted. “That’s not saying much!”

Emorra shook her head emphatically, flinging her braided hair in the breeze. “It’s saying a lot, Tieran. You must know that.”

Tieran brushed her comment off. “Why did you give up?”

Emorra pursed her lips for a long moment of silence, wondering whether she would answer him. At last she said slowly, “I quit because I wasn’t good enough, Tieran. I knew that I couldn’t be the sort of person my mother expected me to be, the sort of person my family traditions demanded that I be.”

She swallowed hard. “I couldn’t wait for the next plague, the next mutation, the next biological disaster, knowing that the tools we needed had either failed already or were going to fail any day-maybe the day before we needed them the most.” She shook her head emphatically, looking miserable. “I just couldn’t.”

Tieran reflected that while Emorra might have fled her responsibilities, she had only gone so far as to become the College’s dean. It seemed to him that she would clearly be dealing with the impact of “the next biological disaster” in that lofty position.

“So how will we survive on Pern?”

“The best we can,” Emorra answered. “When this Pass ends-and that’ll be very soon-people will spread to every liveable corner on the continent. And they’ll have children, lots of children, and those children will eat things they’re told not to.”

Tieran snorted in agreement.

“And some of those children will get sick,” Emorra went on. “Some will die, and others will get better. Over time, people will learn what Pernese plants and animals they can eat, and what they have to avoid. With enough time they’ll be able to develop a whole new list of ills and a pharmacopoeia of the herbals to cure them.

“And if worse comes to worst, then perhaps some isolated group of people will not get infected and the disease will run its course, and the isolated ones will survive and repopulate the planet.

“And that’s what we hope for,” she concluded.

Tieran looked doubtful. Emorra looked away, out toward the College.

“Is that person my replacement?” she asked, pointing to a woman walking briskly in their direction from the entrance of the College.

Tieran peered out, following her finger. “Yes, that’s Kassa.”

“She’s pretty,” Emorra said suggestively.

“She’s seeing someone,” Tieran agreed sadly.

Emorra reached up and ruffled his hair affectionately. “You’ll find someone,” she told him.

Tieran sneered, running a finger over the scar from the top of his right forehead to his left cheek. “Not with this.”

Emorra held back a quick retort with a shake of her head.

The sound of someone climbing the stairs alerted them to Kassa’s approach. Then Kassa arrived, breathless. “Sorry, Dean! I put my head down for a nap and completely lost track of time.”

“No problem,” Emorra said, taking her place on the steps. “I had a lot of fun.”

She gave Tieran a cheerful wave as she left.

“The trouble with this job is that it’s either very boring or very exciting,” Kassa grumbled hours later as she and Tieran lounged under the waning sun.

“We’ve got only a few more hours to go,” Tieran said. The last message they had handled had come in over an hour earlier, and had only been a simple inquiry from the southern Ruatha valley-just a communications check. Kassa had impishly drummed back, “What? You woke us up for that?”

Tieran had groaned when she sent the message, hoping that Vedric wasn’t on duty at the South Tower or she’d get a scathing. Vedric had no sense of humor and didn’t “appreciate levity when engaged in official duties”-as Tieran could attest with well-remembered chagrin.

She’d been lucky and there’d been no further response. They both agreed that the drummer was likely Fella, who still had problems with some of the more complex rolls, which explained why her message was so simple and also why she had made no reply.

After that they had been reduced to gossiping. Naturally, the first topic of conversation was what would happen with the Drum Towers at the end of the Pass, only a few months away. Kassa hoped that with no Thread falling, it would be possible to link up the various towers established at the Holds into a Pern-wide network. Tieran wasn’t so sure and wondered if the dragonriders wouldn’t fill in the gaps? Kassa thought that the dragonriders would be too busy with their own issues to be bothered. They both agreed that it would be far easier to set up Drum Towers than it would be to lay telegraph lines across the continent. “Besides, there are better uses for the metal,” Kassa pointed out.

The conversation moved on to more intimate topics. Kassa admitted that she wouldn’t mind being placed in one of the newer holds after the Pass. She was hoping to marry soon-she blushed in embarrassment-before she was considered a spinster. Mind you, she had said, she wasn’t sure she could handle six kids as well as her mother had. Maybe four or five, but not six.

Tieran tried to steer the conversation in a different direction before he found himself having to deal with embarrassing issues. He had said that while it was important to increase the number of Pern’s settlers until there were enough people to safely live and protect the Northern Continent, he wasn’t sure that everyone absolutely had to have children.

“Are you nuts?” Kassa replied. “Everyone’s got to have at least four kids or we’ll be wiped out-as we nearly were-by the next plague that hits us.” She narrowed her eyes at him and opened her mouth to continue heatedly, then closed it again with a snap.

Tieran flushed in embarrassment. “That number’s an average. Some people don’t have any, look at the dean…”

Kassa snorted derisively at him. “The dean? She just hasn’t found the right person. I’m sure she’ll have six or more when she gets the chance.”

Tieran was shocked.

Kassa shook her head patronizingly, which further infuriated Tieran, as she was a full two years younger than he.

“Really, Tieran, you need to get out of this tower more,” she said. “However are you going to find a mate if you don’t keep up with current affairs?”

His anger inflamed him to respond. “No one,” he said, pointing to his face, “is going to want me with this.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kassa replied soothingly. “I’ll bet there are plenty of girls out there who are willing to lower their sights.”

At that point Tieran had stalked off, getting as far from her as he could.

Kassa didn’t say anything for the next hour. When she finally spoke again it was only to say to herself, “Storm’s coming. I can feel it.”

Tieran heard her, as he knew she had intended. He was still irritated with her but grateful for the warning; early on it had been established that Kassa had excellent weather sense.

He looked around and saw only a few scattered clouds above. To the west he could see some cumulus clouds building up into larger thunder clouds. He sniffed the air; it was preternaturally clean, as though all the ions had been swept out of it-like shortly before a big storm.

“We should get word from the West Tower soon,” Tieran said to himself, but also loud enough that Kassa could hear him.

Kassa disagreed. “It might slip north of them.”

Tieran was about to turn around and engage her directly in conversation when a loud boom and a rush of cold air heralded the arrival of a dragon. A large, bronze dragon. A halo of condensed air swirled around it as it glided in low for a quick landing between the tower and the College.

Tieran had grabbed the small drum and was darting down the stairs, telling Kassa, “I’ll go!” in an instant.

“Go, go!” Kassa had replied, a broad grin on her face. “I’ll relay.”

Tieran returned the grin with a wave as he darted down the tower’s stairs. As soon as he reached the bottom of the stairs he broke into a steady, loping trot, deftly slinging the small drum over his shoulder without breaking stride.

The bronze dragon was Brianth and the rider was M’hall, Weyrleader of Benden Weyr. There were two other passengers-no, Tieran corrected his assessment as he got closer: one other passenger and a wrapped bundle. The bundle was a body. The passenger was Wind Blossom.

M’hall was helping Wind Blossom down as Tieran arrived. He grabbed the small woman from M’hall’s hands and deftly put her on the ground.

“Get help,” Wind Blossom ordered. “The body must go to the cold room.”

“Body?” Tieran repeated even as he was rapping out a quick staccato on his message drum. It was answered by a rush of people from the College, and the shroud-wrapped figure was quickly carried away, Wind Blossom trotting alongside, snapping instructions.

There was another boom and burst of air, and a second dragon arrived. Tieran had pulled the small drum off his back and banged out his quick message to Kassa before he had identified the new arrival, who landed on his right.

It was M’hall on Brianth! Again. While the new arrival looked somber and time-pressed, the first M’hall was desolate and had tears streaming down his face.

“Don’t do it!” the first M’hall shouted to the other.

Somber M’hall startled at the sound of his own voice coming to him. “You’re from the future?”

The first nodded. “Please, don’t do it. You’ll regret it more than you can possibly imagine.”

“We shouldn’t be talking!” the younger M’hall said. He caught sight of Tieran and told him, “Send for Wind Blossom. Urgent.”

“No!” the other yelled. “Don’t do it!”

“You would make a time paradox?” younger M’hall’s eyes were wide with terror and incomprehension that his future self would even consider such a dangerous suggestion.

The older M’hall’s jaw worked but he was voiceless. Finally, he jumped back onto his Brianth, sobbing, “Go then! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” The older Brianth gave a leap, one powerful downbeat of his wings and vanished between.

“Tieran!” the younger M’hall called to him. Tieran looked up. M’hall was clearly overwhelmed by his future self and dizzy with worry. “Don’t say anything about this until I get back.”

Stunned, Tieran could only nod.

Wind Blossom returned, escorted by a medical trainee. Tieran helped lift her up to M’hall. And for the second time in almost as many minutes, Brianth vanished between.

As though the dragon’s disappearance had been a signal, rain started falling. It went from a trickle to a torrent in no time. Lightning flickered across the sky and thunder boomed repeatedly. Tieran was surprised to realize how dark it had gotten. Dimly, he wondered if time-jumping acted like a lightning rod. He was drenched in seconds.