The Chronicles Of Pern: First Fall

The ford of Red Hanrahan

"Look, I know that, Paul," Red Hanrahan said; irritably brushing his shaggy mop of silver-shot red hair back from his forehead. "We waste less keeping it all central. And my having supplies doesn't mean I won't share ‘em whenever necessary."

It occurred to Paul Benden that most of the male residents of the vast Fort Hold were in need of haircuts—except, of course, the young dragonriders, now over five hundred strong in their Weyr. They cropped theirs to a stubble: easier to wear under the hide helmets they'd adopted. But there couldn't be that much of a shortage of scissors, could there?

Then, annoyed at the increasing tendency of his mind to go wandering off on tangents, he jerked his attention back to what Red was saying.

"But the fact remains that most of the horses are infected with thrush from having to stand on soggy wet bedding that we don't have the resources to change, and they are acutely in need of regular exercise, which they can't get here. The cave structure at the place I've found is sandy-floored, much easier to keep clean, and big enough so I can have an indoor exercise area for those days when Thread keeps us immured."

"And…" Paul tried again, for he hadn't been able to complete a sentence since Red had desperately launched into his rationale for moving out of the Fort Hold.

"I've checked with Sean. We won't be a burden on him and the Weyr. Thread has never—yet—" Red gave a rueful smile, which made him look slightly less haggard. "—come right over the place I've found. And," he added, waggling a finger as Paul opened his mouth, "Cobber and Ozzie have thoroughly explored the tunnel system shown on the echo survey with Wind Blossom's little photosensitive uglies, so the dangerous tunnels are blocked off. We've got a small hydroelectric system using one of the nearby streams, and Boris Pahlevi has plotted out the most efficient way to use the rock cutters and the borers. Cecilia Rado's given us plans to enlarge and improve the main chamber and give us a lot of apartments in the facade. We'll use the cut stone for housing along the base of the cliff, just as you've done here, so we'll have workshops as well as separate quarters"—and Red emphasized that aspect by enunciating each syllable—"to accommodate the families coming with us. That's the biggest incentive in moving out, Paul." He gave a convulsive shudder. "I know we've all had to cram in together for mutual support and safety. But enough is enough. Especially in my profession. I'm losing the best breeding years of my mares' lives. And, now that we've got the dried seaweed to add protein and fiber, we can get by with just the one feed-maker."

Paul held up both hands. "Let me get a word in edge-wise, will you, Red?" He grinned. "I have no objections to you moving out."

"You don't?" Red was genuinely surprised. "But I thought… ."

Paul Benden indulged in a rare laugh, which made the big vet realize how much Paul had altered in the past nine years. Unsurprising, when one thought how many burdens he had assumed since Emily Boll's death from fever three years earlier. Paul rose and went to the wall in his office that was covered with survey maps taken by the probes as the colony ships had moved into their parking orbit. The areas explored by various teams showed the symbols of metals and minerals discovered; red marked the cave sites with rough sketches of the tunnel systems made from the probe echo system. Three enlargements depicted the immense, sprawling Fort Hold; the old crater, Fort Weyr, which the dragonriders inhabited; and the newest human habitation at Boll, founded the summer before.

"I won't let anyone make an ill-advised move, Red, just to get away from here, but decentralization is essential." Red knew that Benden feared another of the lightning-swift fevers that had decimated the Hold three years before. "We must begin to establish autonomous and self-sufficient units. That's part of the Charter I'm determined we must implement. On the other hand, with Threadfall a constant menace, I must limit new settlements to those that won't overtax the dragons during a Fall. We can't even consider expanding unless they can give aerial protection. I won't risk any more precious lives—not after the most recent plague."

Paul's expression turned grim. There were few family groups in the Fort Hold that had not suffered losses in the debilitating fever that had hit the already distressed colonists. The old, the very young, and pregnant women had been the most vulnerable, and before the frantic medical team could develop a vaccine, the disease had run its course, leaving nearly four thousand dead. Nevertheless, the living had been immunized against a resurgence. Though all possible vectors—food, ventilation, allergies, inadvertent toxic substances from the hydroponics unit—had been examined, the trigger for its onset remained a mystery.

The fever had caused another problem: a large number of orphaned children between eight and twelve years. These had to be fostered, and although there had been no shortage of volunteers, a certain amount of reshuffling had had to occur to find psychologically suitable matches of adult and child.

"Those who leave here must go to properly surveyed and explored… premises." Paul gave a mirthless laugh, and Red grinned wryly back at him: "premises" seemed an overstatement to describe the primitive cave dwellings. "Pierre and his crowd were lucky to find such a network at—" Paul dropped his eyelids briefly, still finding it hard to make casual mention of his longtime colleague. "Boll."

"We're lucky Tarvi and Sallah explored so much of the region when they did," Red added ingenuously, giving Paul time to recover from the tension that had suddenly contracted the muscles in his face. "You also don't need to lose too many of the valuable skills from a central facility. Fort should remain the primary teaching headquarters." Red was referring to the warren of caves adjacent to the main Fort, where the medics had originally set up isolation wards for the fever victims. Three years on, the wards had become classrooms, workshops, and dormitories, some-what relieving the crowding in the Hold.

"So," Paul said with more vigor, "who's going with you? Those grandchildren of yours?" He managed a small smile: Red and Mairi had more of their second generation underfoot than their first. Sorka seemed to have a baby most every year, despite arduous riding in the queens' wing. Red and Mairi fostered the five of them, leaving the dragonriders with less to worry about while coping with the insidious Fall and training the young dragons. Michael, nine years old and the eldest, spent every moment he could up at the Weyr, often illegally borrowing a mount from his grandfather's remuda to make the uphill trip. His red hair matched his temperament and tenacity.

"No," Red replied, slightly rueful but more relieved. Mairi had enough on her hands, supervising their own fosterlings, as well as looking after their son Brian's four, to allow his wife, Jair, to continue her mechanical-engineer training under Fulmar Stone. "Not when our going to the new place meant Michael would have too far to go to visit whenever he can sneak away." Red chuckled. The boy was dragon-mad, and his father wouldn't let him stand as a candidate until he reached his twelfth birthday. "There's supervision for them now at the Weyr if Sorka's busy. And schooling."

The Weyr, now housing five hundred and twenty dragons after nine years of enthusiastic breeding by the eleven queens of the first two hatchings and, more lately, Faranth's first daughter, had asked for additional personnel to help with the domestic tasks the riders had little time to manage. Some of the older fosterlings had moved up the mountain, along with enough families and single adults to perform necessary tasks.

Though it was not common knowledge, the Weyr supplied its needs by judicious hunting in the southern continent. Sorka often sent Michael back to Fort with a sack of fresh fruit and a haunch or two of beef tied to the back of his saddle.

"We've singles, fosterlings, and enough mature couples with full training." Red handed over his list. He'd carefully screened those picked to accompany him and Mairi for compatibility, as well as for useful skills. "I'd like your permission to draft more of the trainees when they've passed their tests. I would, of course, in the future be willing to take in any who show a knack for animal husbandry or agriculture."

"You and Mairi have been splendid in sharing the caring." Indeed, Mairi would have taken in as many fosterlings as she could, but common sense dictated a limit to the time she could spare for each grieving preadolescent. "So you are taking the entire regiment?"

Red grinned at the nickname his expanded family had been given. "Mairi's always had a touch with young folk, and she'd feel she was abandoning them just when they've got over their bereavement. I can certainly use them all."

Paul ran one finger down the list, which had been written on a thin width of gray paper that had already been recycled several times. The precious remaining plassheets were now used only for special documents. Some personal computers were still in use, thanks to the production of generators from the junked shuttles and other spares, but people had lost the habit of using them as short-term record processors.

Red's list included four veterinary students, but there were more than enough experienced practitioners and apprentices in the Hold to leave it amply staffed. Red himself would complete their training and quality them. Mar Dook's second son, Kes, had been well trained in agronomy by his father, and he was bringing his young family; young Akis Andriadus had just qualified as a general practitioner, and his wife, Kolya Logorides, had studied gynecology and midwifery, so that would provide the new Hold with the medical support it would need, though Mairi could certainly manage most minor medical emergencies. Ilsa Langsam had just qualified as a primary teacher: she would have more than enough pupils. Max and Emily Schultz were two of the oldest fostered, plus two Wangs and two Brennans; in the fosterings, siblings had been kept together wherever possible, so there were also three very young Coatls and two Cervanteses. Among the fosterlings, there seemed to be at least one representative from every ethnic group, and Paul wondered if Red had done that on purpose. But all the general skills that would be needed seemed covered in those choices: metalworking and engineering, as well as teaching, agronomy, and medical.

"Hundred and forty-one all totaled, huh?" Paul said. "And a good cross section. What are you springing loose from Joel, since you've the foresight to bring one of his kids?"

"Turn the sheet over," Red said, amused. The "foresight" of attaching young Buck was not moving his father an inch in terms of what he'd allocate a new settlement.

"Stingy, ain't he?" Paul said with a snort.

"Cautious with community property and ever aware of the charge of nepotism."

Paul continued reading, then looked up in surprise. "An airlock door? What're you going to use that for?" he demanded.

"Well, it isn't being used for anything else, and it'll make an impressive entrance: also impregnable," Red said. "I took the dimensions last time I was down in the storage cellars. Ivan and Peter Chernoff dissected the frame panel, too, which fits in the opening as if meant to be there. Seated it in some of that hull-patching compound Joel couldn't find another use for. Peter even rescued the floor and ceiling bar holders. A spin of the airlock wheel, and we can drive home the lock bars top and bottom so that nothing can get past that door once it's closed. Cos Melvinah called it a neat bit of psychological reinforcement."

Paul nodded in appreciation. "Good job of recycling materials, too. I will miss you, Red," he said, then paused.

"But you won't miss having to arbitrate the disputes in the beast hold," Red finished for him with a grin.

There were constant quarrels over who had what space in the low caverns that housed the colonists' animals, and who got what fodder. Red had been waging a clever and diplomatic war with the Gallianis and the Logorides, the other major breeders. During the frequent breakdowns of the overworked grass incubators, the Hanrahan family had fed their animals their own bread rations and scrounged the shoreline-some distance from the safety of the Hold—for the seaweed that could be dried and shredded into a fodder the horses would eat.

"They can't complain when your exodus leaves them with a lot more space."

"No, but they'll agitate to try and bring up more of the stock they had to leave behind," Red said with some acerbity.

Paul shook his head. "No transport. There's no one will get Jim Tillek to bring his precious Cross out of that watery cavern he's stored it in. And, with Per and Kaarvan gone fishing most weeks…" Paul shrugged. "I see you're requisitioning the use of five sled-wagons? How long will you need them?"

With almost no power packs left to run the airsleds, many had been stripped to hulls and fitted with wheels as ground vehicles. The smaller ones were useful for hauling stone from excavations within the Hold. The bigger ones were too wide for more than the well-traveled road down to the sea, but they were capacious and had even survived—better than the goods they'd been carrying—unexpected long drops down mountainsides.

"Who else is moving out, Paul?" Red asked. Rumors were rampant, but so far his party was the only one he knew of that was actually asking for a final clearance.

"Zi Ongola'd like to try that western peninsula." Paul went to the map and tapped the marker on the tip of the landmass.

"Good on him. No wonder I couldn't get any more of the Duffs to come with me. We'll bring the wagons back as soon as we've finished using them. And I'll loan out the oxen teams I've trained, if that'll help Zi."

"It certainly would, and I know he'll thank you when I pass the information on."

"He's got the longer haul."

"He's also got to find a passable way through the High Ranges," Paul said with a sigh. "The cave system's satisfactory where he wishes to settle. The way there is not. We might be able to bore a tunnel, if necessary. Plenty of hydroelectric sites."

Red knew that Paul would miss Zi Ongola, who had been his second officer and close friend since the two had served together in the Cygnus Campaign. Red was a little surprised that Zi would leave, but he'd be a good leader, and pressures in the Fort had to be reduced. Many dissident voices were quieted only because the admiral was universally admired and the justice of his regime respected as fair and equable.

Most of the problems afflicting the Hold were due to the cramped conditions. The "good" years when the colony was starting up had allowed people freedom and scope, which they treasured all the more now that it had been denied them by the terrible fall of Thread. During the first few years when Fort Hold had protected them, gratitude for that haven had overcome the discomforts and inconveniences, but as the birthrate soared and the stony corridors resounded with the cries of fretful babies, tempers had begun to rise.

The establishment of South Boll had been the first major attempt to relieve the congestion, and so far it was successful—for those who had resettled at the new holding under Pierre de Courcis's leadership. But exploring appropriate premises was time-consuming, and with Thread continuing to fall, any outbound journeys had to be carefully timed and safe layover shelters built along the way. Then some caves were found to be either waterless or too small to shelter enough people to be worth development.

"Yes, Zi's got a big job ahead of him, yet we must make the attempts if this colony is to succeed. Threadfall won't last forever!" Paul brought one hand down with a hard slap on his armrest. "By all that's holy, Hanrahan, we'll still make Pern ours, with everyone owning his or her own place, no matter what rains down on us!"

"Of course we will, Paul. And we Hanrahans will hold our place! And multiply. You can be sure of that!" Red said, grinning smugly. Mairi had just weaned their latest and, he hoped, last child. She'd told Red she wanted to have a dozen offspring, but the repeated pregnancies were beginning to take their toll on her.

"For Mairi's sake, I hope you have too much to do for any more of that." There was a twinkle in Paul's eye as he regarded the veterinarian. "How many have you fathered now?"

Red waved his hand, his grin broader. "Nine's enough to insure our genes will continue. Ryan's the last I'll permit her, and I made sure of no more to come."

Benden gave a snort. "Especially when your sons and daughters are like to pass you out in production figures in a year or two."

"Well, Mairi's good with children. She genuinely likes them in all stages of their development. More than I do," Red added with some acerbity.

"Got a name for this Hold of yours?"

Red made a disclaiming sound. "Hell, Paul, I've been so busy with plans, lists, and contingencies, naming's a detail I haven't given much thought to. We'll think of something appropriate, Mairi and the rest of us."

Paul Benden rose then, made an effort to straighten the slump of his shoulders, and held out his hand. "Good luck Red. We'll miss you here…"

"Ha! You'll be glad to see the backsides of us. And so will the Logorides and the Gallianis."

Benden gave a genuine laugh. Despite the fact that breeding had clearly had to be kept to an absolute minimum, the Logorides and Gallianis had felt themselves constantly deprived by the restrictions. Pierre de Courcis had taken nine of the scions of the two large families, and a substantial number of their cattle, when he went south to settle Boll, but the two senior men continued to grieve for the "marvelous fine bloodlines and stock" they'd had to leave behind at their southern stakeholds.

"They enjoyed freedom far longer than most of us. It was harder to give it all up," Benden said in oblique apology.

Red cocked his head briefly to one side. "Who hasn't given up a lot—to stay alive!"

Paul wrapped Red's hand in both of his and gave it one final hard shake. "When do you plan to go?"

"Sean says we've got three full clear days come Tuesday. We'll be organized and ready by then."

"So soon?" Benden's tone was almost wistful.

"On a good horse, Admiral," Red said, unable to resist teasing the former naval man, "you could ride the distance in two days. Be good for you to get away now and again."

"I've never even got as far south as Boll, and that's nearer."

" ‘Tisn't, with those hills to climb," Red protested. "I'll send you a special hand-engraved invitation, Paul Benden, and you'll come for the good of your sanity! I'll sic Sean and Sorka on you. A-dragonback's the shortest way to come," he added as he paused at the door.

Benden laughed. "You talk Sean into letting someone else ride his precious Carenath and I'll come!"

"Good!" Red gave a brief sharp nod and grinned. "Then we'll show you what we've done with the new Hold when we've done it!"

Nearly a third of the Hold's population managed to be on hand when the Hanrahans' expedition moved off. Every passenger-carrying animal was laden as well with some bundle or other. The sleds were carefully packed; the largest, with the Hold door, was drawn by six teams of oxen, beasts Red had carefully picked for their docility and trained for such work. He'd bred them himself from a genetic pattern Kitti Ping had produced for him: slightly adjusting weight, strengthening bone, thickening hide, and enlarging both heart and lungs to encourage a disease– and fatigue-resistant hardy animal, much stronger and more adaptable than the Terran beasts that had been brought in vitro.

Safely stored in an insulated crate were the special fertilized eggs with which Red Hanrahan hoped to develop varieties of equines more suitable to Pern's needs: a heavy-weight animal of Percheron proportions for the plow; a swift, lean racing type that could carry messengers long distances on little fodder; and a comfortable riding animal, a pacer like the ancient Paso Fino, which had been a mountain breed of great agility and endurance, and, more important, possessing the easiest possible long-distance riding gait.

He would make his Hold the place where all others would come to buy their burden beasts and racers. His most private dream was of founding a racehorse line to rival that which Earth had once possessed. There was no reason, once Thread had passed, that they couldn't revive the sport of kings. The practical could coexist with the exotic. Let Caesar Galliani develop meat animals if that was his passion, but Red would go for horses.

Now, astride his bay stallion, King, the best of the fine animals he had bred from the fertilized ova he had brought with him, Red ranged up and down the line, encouraging his people and rectifying small errors in the order.

He had positioned one of the heavier sleds to break trail, with teams of his strongest youths to widen the way whenever necessary. The way north through the main Fort valley was easy enough, but soon they would come to the less-traveled ground. Not that he didn't know the track like the back of his hand, he'd been up and down it so often, but a lot of it wasn't geared for wide traffic.

There were people waiting for them, too, at the new premises: the four fostered youngsters who were old enough to help; Egend Raghir and David Jacobsen, who were supervising the mechanical apparatus in the Hold; Madeleine Messurier, in charge of the domestic arrangements; and Maurice de Broglie, who, along with Ozzie and Cobber on loan from the specialists' work pool, was still checking rock formations and the tunnels. Soon they would move on to investigate other possible sites for holdings.

As soon as the wagon train was around the bend and Fort was out of sight, Red sent his fire-lizard, Snapper, to Maddie to announce that they were on their way. Useful creatures, the fire-lizards, though there seemed to be fewer of them about these days.

Sorka said it was because they were going back to their native sands in the South to lay their eggs. The little golden queens, being more responsible, remained to see them safely hatched before coming back to their humans. The green females laid their eggs and then forgot about the matter and, being shatter-witted, probably forgot that they had once had human friends. Sorka's Duke remained faithful, as did Sean's two browns and Snapper, another brown. Slowly, though, there were fewer and fewer of the winsome creatures in and out of Fort Hold.

"They may mind the cold and dreary winters more than we do," Sorka suggested. "We could go back to Landing and see if there're any clutches about to hatch."

Red had caught Sean's frown. The lad—and Red corrected himself with a private grin, because "lad" no longer applied to this confident adult—Sean, rider of bronze Carenath, was known as the Weyrleader. And, if he had certain traits of the martinet, they were needed to shape up his growing dragonrider contingent. In any case, his orders were strictly obeyed and, to Red's thinking, were sensibly formulated. There would be little spare time for the dragon-riders to go looking for fire-lizard nests. In fact, they had made only one return journey.

When Ezra Keroon had been fretful with the fever that racked him, Sean had very willingly gone back to Landing on Carenath. Sean had returned—almost as soon as he'd left, Sorka had remarked—to reassure the old captain that the Aivas building, which Ezra had so carefully shielded with shuttle tiles against Garben's eruption, remained intact and unscathed. Later Sean had reported more fully to Paul that the old settlement was just so many mounds under a thick carpet of gray volcanic ash. However, the knowledge that the interface with the Yokohama was still intact had soothed the querulous Ezra, and he'd gratefully subsided into a sleep from which he never woke: another victim of the undiagnosed fever.

The new place could quite easily be named after Ezra Keroon, Red thought. Certainly the man had been one of the heroes of the Evacuation—in fact, the last man to leave Landing, bar the admiral and Joel Lilienkamp. And even before the trip to Pern, he'd been a hero of the Nathi War, too. Yes, it wouldn't be a bad thing to name his Hold "Keroon." Or "Kerry." That was a good way to keep long-lost but well-loved places, or people, alive.

A request for his presence at the head of the caravan interrupted his ruminations. His mind back to the journey at hand, Red cantered King to see what the problem was.

They made camp the first night where Red had often done so, in a rocky clearing by one of the streams that fed into the bigger Fort River. All the stock was hungry enough to munch happily on the dried shredded seaweed that some of the fussier eaters tended to refuse.

A campfire is a cheerful affair, even when made of dried animal dung. Someone had contrived a solution that, when used to immerse the dung, replaced any lingering unpleasant odors with that of apple wood. The nutritious dinner stew was even seasoned appealingly so that, if you didn't think about the fact that it had been processed from offal, seaweed, and wild herbs and grains, you could relish the meal. Red was too hungry to be the least bit finicky, and let the hard travel bread soften in the leftover juices.

Snapper returned with a note from Maddie attached his leg.

The welkin will ring when we sight you. River's high with last week's rain. Don't let the sleds bog down. M.

Mairi had made their bed under one of the sleds. She had insisted that her bones required a certain amount of padding. Red wouldn't admit that his own did, too, and was grateful to lie down with only her and Snapper near him. He was thinking of the absolute wealth of three good-sized rooms at. . . Keroon Hold—naw, that didn't sound right—just for Mairi and himself.

The morning brought an unexpected delay. Some of the beasts, mainly those hauling sleds, had to be treated for harness galls. The harness had been new, but Red had thought it had been softened enough not to rub. Mairi dug about in their household belongings and brought out some well-cured sheep fleeces and some of the cotton that she had saved from the last crop at Landing. Red first applied the numbweed salve that was now in everyone's first-aid kit, then padded the abraded spots to prevent further friction. They also redistributed the lighter items from the sleds of the galled teams to ease their burden, and Red himself made certain that all harnesses were flexible enough and fitted perfectly. One thing sure, Red announced: He'd personally inspect every strap of harness that evening after it had been cleaned.

The delay cost them several hours, but when they finally moved out, it was in good heart, with smiles on faces that had grown unused to smiling. Almost, Red thought, as if the sheer joy of being out on their own, away from the burden of so much imprivacy—was that a word? he wondered, but it sounded exactly right—outweighed any minor snag. He was relieved and glad for many reasons to see this attitude adjustment. Considerable hard work would still be needed to complete the new place and make it livable, not to mention comfortable. For a while, there'd be other inconveniences and makeshifts. While they carved out their new habitation from the basic cavern system, everything would be covered with stone dust. He had brought as many masks as Joel would allow him, but there weren't enough for more than the people right at the work site. And rock dust had an insidious habit of permeating and clinging to objects well away from the actual excavation. Mairi had complained about the state of Red's clothing after his first long stay at the Hold cave.

He hoped that Max Schultz had managed to get his gang to finish the stud fencing. Red had paid his next-to-last credits to have the plastic extruded for enough posts and rails to provide paddocks. He wanted barn-sour animals to spend as much time as possible out-of-doors, even if it would be awhile before any grass could get started. There wouldn't be that much time to exercise horses at first, but they did have stables and byres inside the immense low cavern that would hold all the beasts. Turn-out paddocks were essential. He'd get Deccie Foley, who had a knack for teaching animals, to train the dogs with a certain call or whistle to round up the animals so that just one person would be needed to help the dogs get them all in under cover when Thread fell.

Toward afternoon a drizzle began—proper rain, not Thread, though for a moment the grayness of the sky over the western range almost caused a few hearts to stop. But Thread always moved from east to west. Red had prudently built into the eastern face of his precipice, so that every window would give a view of the direction that danger came from.

To make up lost time, they ate a quick lunch while they watered the animals at one of the many streams they had to cross. Maybe he should put something about streams in the name of the place. His land had almost as many as Fort did, since this eastern side of the High Ranges drained well into the sea.

A wet nighttime camp meant cold food again, though Mairi contrived enough of a fire under the high sled to boil water for hot drinks all around. She also managed to heat enough warm water to soap and soften the harnesses, which Red personally checked. He also inspected every one of the burden beasts, just to be sure no new wounds had developed.

Despite the wet chill damp of the early-spring rain, Red was asleep beside Mairi almost as soon as he got himself comfortable. Snapper coiled between their warm bodies, as protected from the cold and wet as he could get, and Red wondered how much longer the little fire-lizard would remain faithful in this inclement land.

The rain was heavier the next day. Mairi insisted they have a hot porridge in their bellies to keep out the chill, and quantities of hot klah were made for the thermoses. The availability of the warming beverage did make the difference during that very long cold day.

The trace, for it certainly couldn't be called a trail, was more mud than dirt now and further slowed them down. Despite that, by the time light was fading from the sky, Red knew they were not that far from the river he had chosen as the border for his stake—the river that Maddie had warned him had risen. The ford they were to cross was a wide basin where the river spread out over a shale rocky bottom.

He ordered lanterns lit. The mycelium luminescence with which Ju Adjai Benden had been experimenting cast sufficient light in an enclosed space, but suitable shielding to make it useful outside hadn't yet been developed.

"We've reached the river, Dad," Brian yowled from the darkness ahead. "And it's in spate."

Red groaned. He'd wanted to make the crossing as much because the land on the other side was his as because the farther bank was a better site for an overnight camp. He briefly considered waiting for daylight, but discarded the idea almost immediately. The flatter land on this side of the river was already under an inch or so of water. If the river was this high now, then by morning the water would be too high for the wheels of the smaller sleds. They might float away downstream if they got loose. And this was the best ford within klicks—if he could find it in the murky darkness.

Now, so close to his own private place, he was loath to let high water bar his way.

He borrowed a lantern from one of the smaller carts and trotted through the mud to the front of the caravan. Reining King in beside Brian, he looked glumly at the swiftly moving surface of the swollen river. Rising up in his stirrups and holding the lantern high over his head, he peered to his left, trying to find the cairn of stones he had placed to mark the upper edge of the ford.

"Under water, too, damn it," he muttered.

"Would we have to worry about an undercurrent here, Dad?" Brian asked, pointing to a large branch floating serenely—and quickly—past them.

"If it gets too high, that's a possibility. By tomorrow, it will definitely be high enough to cause us problems with those lower-loadbed sleds. Damn it, we've got to try tonight or we might spend days here, just in sight of our destination!"

"Let's give it a go then, Dad," Brian said firmly. "I'll try to the right. After all, I have been across this ford a couple of times. And Cloudy's a good swimmer."

He kneed his gray into the water, but the animal, head down, snorting at the rushing flow, was not as eager to go forward as his rider had boasted.

"Don't push him, Bri, " Red shouted. "Horse's got sense. I'll look to the left. If I could see the rocks… Ah!" His high-held lantern showed the bulge of water surging over an obstacle just below the surface, and he kneed King forward. A brave horse under any circumstances, the stallion stepped in and moved smartly out, Red legging him to the left as the ford took a diagonal slant across the river. The bank on the far side was too dark to make out, and since the water was high on this side, the incline there might be submerged, as well.

As King waded confidently forward, the water not up to his knees yet, Red pondered the wisdom of crossing now, tonight, in the dark. Yet, if they found the ford, they could make a safe passage—and be on their own land! But floating sleds might haul the burden beasts off their feet. Rope the sleds, then, and have riders alongside to keep the sleds within the ford. King walked on, and through his horse's body, Red knew that the stallion had stepped onto the rocky shale base of the ford.

"Thataboy, King, that's a good lad!" Red encouraged his mount, trying to peer ahead in the feeble light of the lantern. Oh, for a power torch! The ones allotted to his operation were naturally all up at the cliff premises, their clear beams penetrating the stygian darkness of the tunnel complex.

"Brian! Follow me!" Red called, swinging his arm in a wide circle so that the light color of his waterproof gear would be visible in the darkness. In moments, Cloudy's light head and body came out of the night, splashing as he cantered forward.

"We need the power beams that are up at the Hold to get us across tonight," Red said. "As soon as we reach the other side, I want you to go hell fer leather and bring ‘em back. Bring anyone still awake, too. We'll need all the help we can get. And ropes, and those great horses Kes has been using to break ground."

"Whoa, Dad. I get the drift," Brian replied, laughing.

The water was over King's knees suddenly, and the horse tossed his head in surprise. Red looked over his shoulder, trying to gauge their angle from the bank, but they were about halfway across and neither bank was clearly visible now.

"I'll put a lantern where we entered," Red told himself, "and another where we emerge. The beams will give a broad enough swath to light the ford itself adequately. At least we'll see where we should be going." King pulled to the right; Red corrected him and was instantly in water to his own knees. King gave two plunges leftward and, snorting mightily, was back on the shale footing. The horse gave an offended snort as if criticizing his rider's directions. "All right, boy, you know which way to go, so go! I didn't do so well, did I?" Affectionately he slapped the stallion's muscled crest, letting the reins slip through his fingers. God, that river was cold! Ice melt, as well as the rain.

Behind him, Brian avoided a similar mishap. One more time, just where the shale bank ended, the water surged up to caress Red's stirruped feet, but then they were obviously ascending the slope out of the river, splashing through fetlock-high water.

Standing in his stirrups, Red swung the lantern, ki-yiing their success. Brian added his own yodels of triumph.

"D'you know the way to the Hold from here, son?" Red asked, slightly anxious. Brian had not made the trip all that often, and in the dark, most landmarks would be obscured. "Here, better take my lantern." He leaned over toward Brian.

"Look, Dad, you'll need that as a beacon."

"I'd rather you had it and got safely to the Hold. Off with you, and trust Cloudy."

"Don't I always!" Brian said, bringing Cloudy up beside King to take the lantern. "Whoops! Got it!" And with that he trotted off to the left, up the gentle incline.

Red watched him for a long moment before he set King back into the water, heading directly for the lanterns on the other side. With those lights to guide him, the going was much easier this time. Mairi again had foreseen the need for small fires, more cheerful than effective as light sources but certainly beacons in the dismal night. Red oversaw the dividing up of the available lanterns, then had a steel pole pounded into the water's edge by his marker cairn. One lantern was securely fastened at its top, a second one hooked at man height, and a heavy rope tied at waist height for those on foot to grab.

That preparation completed, Red fastened the other end of the rope around the saddle horn and coiled it carefully to play out across the river. Mounting King once more, he took up three more lanterns and two more poles, and led other lantern-carrying riders back into the river. He positioned the riders at intervals; they would hold up the lanterns to guide the others, and would also be available to give assistance as required. When he reached the far bank, he hammered in another pole, hooked on the lantern, and tied the end of the rope in one of those clever hitches mariner Jim Tillek had once shown him.

Then he walked King to where he thought the right-hand edge of the ford should be and kneed him into the water—right up to his own waist. King lurched mightily out of that hole and back onto the shale, shaking himself as if annoyed at his immersion. Red clamped his teeth against the cold of that dunking. Fortunately he'd managed to keep the lantern from being doused. He walked King back up the shale footing to the bank, where he stabbed the last pole into the ground and settled the final lantern. That would give them beacons enough—if no one panicked. The ford was just wide enough to accommodate the largest sled. Even one of the team putting a foot wrong could result in disaster.

He cantered King back across the ford, more an act of bravado than common sense, for he knew King was tiring. Mairi was right there as he emerged from the water.

"Not another step do you go, Red Peter Hanrahan, until you've something warm in your stomach to take away the chill of that water! I heard you splashing about." She handed him a cup, and he was glad enough of it as the klah spread through him and down into his belly. He managed to suppress a shudder as the cool rain-laden breeze blew across his sodden breeches.

He handed her the cup with thanks and then, rising in his stirrups, addressed the group waiting to hear his decision.

"Listen up, folks. We'd best make the crossing tonight. The river's rising fast with what I bloody well know is ice melt as well as today's rain. Right now the ford's no higher than King's knees, if you keep to it and head on the left diagonal to the far shore and the left-hand lantern. The ford itself is shale, so the minute you feel your mount moving into something softer, get back on the hard stuff. Now, let's get moving. Those of you leading packhorses move out first. Tie them on the far bank and then bring your mounts to form a very careful line on the right-hand side of the ford. Watch that hole I fell into. It's a cold one!"

He trotted King down the line to the various carts and gave them their travel orders, leaving the heavy sleds till last, for they'd need the most help.

Shouts from the river told him there were minor troubles, but each time he turned King to go investigate, he heard reassurances that the crisis was over.

Once the lead horses, the other pack animals, and four of the carts had gotten safely across, and there were sufficient riders marking the ford's boundaries, he sent the loose animals across. The dogs nearly caused a commotion, and several had to be roped to safety when they were in danger of being caught by the current. The goats were the worst. They seemed to want to go for a long swim. So Red asked everyone with fire-lizards to keep the goats in line. Snapper dove at the bell nanny, clipping her on her right ear to turn her to the left. That got her back on line, and the others followed, urged on by attendant fire-lizards.

Suddenly, without any warning, and before the goats had started climbing out on the far side, Snapper and the other fire-lizards let out a racket of dreadful sounds and disappeared.

"What the hell?" Red said, totally surprised and vastly irritated by the abrupt abandonment. Snapper had always been reliable… He pushed King forward to deflect the lead nanny from yet another wayward plunge and was relieved to get the little herd safely out of the river.

By then, help had arrived from the Hold and he was distracted from the fire-lizard desertions by the need to organize the final stages of the crossing. Madeleine Messurier had sent along hot soup and some sort of hot bread filled with one of her spicy concoctions. It didn't take much persuasion from Brian and the Hold reinforcements to convince Red to pause long enough to eat. Especially as once the powerful beacons were in place they shone the clear path across the now perceptibly higher water, foaming in its hurry to reach the sea, many long klicks to the east. Red knew that he'd miss the sight and sound of the sea near him, but feasible "premises" had not presented themselves nearer the coast. He'd always lived in sight of an ocean, but that was a small price to pay for what he'd have here. But first he'd have to get everyone across that churning river.

A shiver ran up his spine, despite the warm food in his guts: he was wet through and through, and he had already begun to feel the stallion's tiredness in his occasional stumble and slide in the mire. He counted on the great heart, of the horse and his own determination to last as long as they still had people and stock to get past this ford.

The first yoke of the three pairs harnessed to the largest sled balked at being asked to enter dark waters, though the beams lit their way as clearly as the sun. The drivers energetically cracked their whips overhead; two men used prods; and a few hauled at the nose rings of the stubborn oxen. Aggravated by the stupidity and aware that the river was deepening by the minute, Red ordered the animals blindfolded, but that old trick wasn't having any effect with the water swirling about their knees and reinforcing their sense of danger. He was trying to think what else might motivate them, damning Snapper's disappearance when the fire-lizard might have repeated his successful motivation of the goats, when there was a commotion on the far bank horses whinnying and bucking while their startled rider tried to calm them. The cattle lowed in such panic that there could be only one cause of such widespread reaction.

Peering above, into the drizzling night sky while King cavorted wildly, Red just barely made out the shape of a dragon overhead, the bronze hide faintly illuminated by the dying campfires.

"Sean!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, reining King into as small a circle as he could to keep him from bolting.

"Sorry, Red," Sean's voice replied from somewhere overhead.

Still circling King, though it took a lot of strength to hold the frightened stallion with one hand, Red made a megaphone of the other. "Don't be sorry. Be useful! Get behind this stubborn team and get them moving across the ford. We haven't got all night and the river's rising."

"Get out of my way, then," Sean's voice drifted down to him. "At the count of ten…" The instruction dwindled away into the night.

"Okay, fellows," Red yelled to the men in front of the team. "Sean's going to dragonize them. Be prepared for a rough ride. And somehow keep ‘em left. At all costs, keep ‘em left!"

Keeping a tight hold on the reins, he eased the pressure on King's bit and kneed him toward the cairn, facing the horse toward the river, away from the sight of an incoming dragon. He was just in time, for out of the darkness of the drizzle came a huge shape, low and headed right for the reluctant team.

The smell of dragon was almost sufficient in itself—the yoke bawled in fright and plunged forward, away from the skyborne terror.

Sean must have the eyes of a cat, Red thought, for he'd sent Carenath over at just the angle that made the oxen head straight across the ford. Despite the load the beasts hauled, they didn't stop when they reached the other side, stampeding through those on the far bank until Red wondered if this had been such a clever maneuver after all.

"We'll land upwind of you, Red, so I can talk," Sean's voice said faintly out of the murk. King began to buck and rear, though not as earnestly as before.

Maybe it was the distance, the murkiness of the night, but Sean's tone sounded odd. Red dismissed the thought as he concentrated on finishing up the work at hand. Maybe he was a grandfather… again.

Now only the smaller of the two big sleds was left to make the crossing. Fortunately the animals were still keyed up by the recent appearance of a dragon overhead and were eager to get as far away from it as possible. But once they got in the water, what Red had feared occurred. The river level was now above the wheels and the sled, for all the weight in it, began to float. The yoked beasts were pulled off balance and only the quickness of the left-hand guide-liners kept the sled from drifting downriver. As it was, the ropes had to be kept taut all the long way across the ford until the wheels once more took the weight and the sled was hauled above the river's current.

At last Red urged a tired and reluctant King back across the ford to meet with Sean and to help Mairi put out the fires. Sean was already giving her a hand. Mairi's piebald mare, tied to a rock, stood as placid as always, unconcerned by the proximity to a dragon.

"Thanks, Sean," Red said, holding out his hand to his son-in-law. A sandy hand gripped his, and Sean's face was briefly visible before he scuffed wet sand over the fire. "Had about run out of options to get those stupid damn-fool oxen across."

"Well, fear's a mighty mover." Sean's voice definitely sounded odd, choked, but with no more light to illuminate his face, Red had no inkling as to what might be wrong.

Just then, Mairi joined them. "How come you arrived so fortuitously?" she asked. "There's nothing wrong with Sorka, is there?"

Although Sorka, queen Faranth's rider, was pregnant again, she generally had no more trouble with parturition than her mother did.

"Oh, no no," Sean said quickly, raising his hand to dispel her anxiety. "We came to welcome you to the new Hold, but you hadn't arrived yet. Maddie said you'd sent for help at the ford. I sort of figured Carenath might be some help."

Red laughed wearily, blotting his wet face on an already soaking kerchief. "Where'd you stash him? A dragon's hard to hide even on a rainy night."

"Carenath?" Sean called. There was a vague hint of amusement in his voice, which only partially reassured Red. "Show Red and Mairi where you are." Barely fifty meters away a sudden blue-green light appeared in the darkness, glistening and slightly whirling: the faceted eyes of a dragon. Red tightened his hand on King's reins, but the tired horse's head hung down too low for him to see the gleaming eyes. "Thanks, Car!" And the jewel-clear light disappeared.

"Is he standing there with his eyes closed?" Mairi asked

"No, he's raised a wing to shield," Sean said, again using that almost lifeless tone. "You should be just able to make ‘em out behind the wing membrane."

"Oh, yes, so I can," Mairi said, sounding delighted.

"Look, Red, one of the reasons I came was to be sure you had gotten there safely. We expect Threadfall over this area tomorrow morning fairly early, and I didn't want you caught out in it."

Red sighed. With all the problems of fording the river, he had just been considering staying here the rest of the night and starting out fresh in the morning.

"You're not that far," Sean said encouragingly.

"I know, son, I know." Red paused, to give Sean a chance to speak whatever was clearly on his mind and bothering him. He had a very good relationship with his son-in-law, and he wanted nothing to jeopardize it.

"Is your Snapper back yet?" Sean asked.

"What's happened at the Weyr?" Mairi said, immediately clasping Sean's arm and peering up into his face. "Don't lie to me…"

Sean ducked his head, lifting his free arm to rub his face. "No reason to lie." Now both could hear the roughness in his voice.

Mairi embraced the bronze rider. "Tell us, Sean," she said in her gentlest voice, lifting an edge of her kerchief to dry his cheeks.

Red altered his stance, moving nearer the Weyrleader.

"Alianne died in childbirth," Sean said, tears now making runnels down his cheeks. "We couldn't stop the bleeding. I went for Basil."

"Ooooh," Mairi said in the soft expression of true empathy.

"That's not all of it." Sean sniffed, rubbing his nose and eyes, giving way to the misery he had bottled up. "Chereth… went… between. Like Duluth and Marco.

"Oh, Sean love…" Mairi brought his head down to her shoulder. Red put his arm across the rider's bowed shoulders.

There had been many injuries, some serious enough to end the fighting abilities of six dragons, but only four deaths: actually an astounding record, of which Sean as Weyrleader had every right to be proud. But the loss of a queen magnified the tragedy. No wonder Snapper and the others had disappeared. They had gone to the Weyr to mourn.

Red and Mairi were quietly comforting, allowing Sean to express a grief he had probably suppressed until now.

"I'll come if I can be of any help, "Mairi said with a quick query at Red, who nodded approval.

Sean raised his head, sniffed, and then blew his nose on a handkerchief he hauled out of a jacket pocket. "Thanks, Marri, but we'll come through. It was just such a shock. It's one thing to lose a fighting dragon, but. . . ." His voice trailed off.

"We understand, dear."

"So nothing would do Sorka but that I checked to be sure you were all right, too. I admit to getting a fright when I didn't see you at the Hold. . ." Sean managed a wry smile.

Red put a hand on Sean's shoulder and gave it an affectionate squeeze, which he hoped expressed both his sympathy and appreciation. "And you've Thread to fly tomorrow," he said with deep regret. People needed time to mourn.

"Best thing that could happen, actually," Sean said, mopping his eyes once more before he put away the handkerchief.

"Yes, I suspect you're right about that," Mairi said slowly.

"Off with you now, son," Red said, giving Sean a gentle shove toward Carenath. "You were more than good to check up on us and give those oxen the inducement they needed. Soon's Mairi and I get across, we'll push on. We'll be under cover tomorrow, so don't worry about us." Then another thought struck Red. "You've enough ground crew for Fall tomorrow?"

Sean gave his father-in-law a wry smile. "As I understand it, Red, this river marks the boundary between Fort Hold and your place. You're not obliged to ground-crew… if any of you were up to it. Just push on and get under cover tonight. That's the best way to help Sorka and me!"

"We'll do just that," Mairi said, handing over a well-wrapped sleeping Ryan to Sean while she mounted Pie.

"So this is my son's youngest uncle," he said, pushing back the blanket to peer at the little face.

"Definitely his youngest," Red said. "Hand him up to me," he added as he swung up on the stallion. "King's that bit higher above the water, Mair. You'll get a soaking as it is."

Mairi gave a little laugh. "Not if I hike my knees up," she said. "Give my dearest love to Sorka, will you, Sean? And our deepest sympathy to all at the Weyr."

"I will indeed, Mairi. And… my thanks!"

The Weyrleader stepped aside then as she kicked her mare forward. The piebald was one of those rare placid beasts and stepped from land to cold water with neither hesitation nor so much as a twitch of her well-shaped ears when water swirled around her fetlocks and then up to her knees.

"We all grieve with the Weyr, Sean," Red said, raising his hand in farewell. Looking over his shoulder, he saw Carenath uncover his brilliant eyes as Sean returned to him, sorrow displayed by the droop im his broad shoulders. Red sighed.

Then he couldn't help but notice how closely King was following the mare, needing no urging at all to wade into the river once more. The stallion stretched his neck out to sniff at her tail, which she clamped tightly to her rump as she picked up her legs into a splashing trot. Red grinned as he felt the sprightly lift in the tired stallion's step, pursuing a mare who was apparently about to come into season. And this year, Red thought, he could breed every mare he had!

As the swifter current of the still-rising river tugged avidly at the stallion's legs, Red held his son more tightly in the crook of his arm. He could see that Mairi had brought her knees up nearly to her chin as the water rose up the mare's side, but Pie kept her footing and trotted sturdily forward. Red heaved a sigh of relief in unison with King when they climbed the far bank for the last time.

"Let's leave Sean's news until tomorrow, Mairi, " he said before they reached the others.

"Yes, of course. Hearts are weary enough without being sorrowful, too. And I don't want anything to spoil our arrival." Then, after a brief pause, she said, "Is that selfish of me, Peter?" She only used his Christian name when she was uncertain.

"No, kind. We've had sadness in full measure. We can wait to add this one."

With those from the Hold to share the tasks of the weary travelers, Red let himself be persuaded to sit on one of the carts and lead King from the back of it. In the darkness, he even permitted himself to lie back. But the cart seemed full of crates and parcels of hard edges, pointed corners, and non-yielding surfaces. He twisted and pushed and finally formed a backrest that wouldn't dislocate a rib or poke his kidneys too hard. He regretted that he hadn't paused long enough to find some dry clothes, but he wrapped himself in the blanket Mairi had thrust at him, and that kept the chill off. Snapper reappeared and burrowed into his shoulder, wrapping his tail around Red's neck, and Red stroked the little beast, sensing its sorrow and need to be comforted. But soon enough, Red hadn't the energy for more caresses and, instead, propped his head against the lithe warm body, a substitute pillow so soothing that, despite every good intention, Red Hanrahan was fast asleep when the cart pulled into the brightly lit circle in front of his Hold. "Mairi was all for leaving you asleep in the cart," Brian told him when the wail of a tired child roused him, "but it's only got two wheels and we'd nothing to prop it with."

Futilely Red roared at everyone for depriving him of the sight of a triumphal entry, but he resisted every effort to get him inside and to his bed until he had seen all his livestock safely ensconced in "a proper-style barn."

"Sean said there's Thread across the river tomorrow morning early," he told those who tried to get him to go to bed, "and he's usually right about where it'll fall, but I want everything under cover. Just in case for once he'd be wrong!" And he stormed down to the animal hold.

Half of the beasts were already down on the sandy flooring, fast asleep, while others dozed as they stood. Red made straight for King's stallion box at one end of the equine stabling. The horse, dark eyes glittering in the soft light, whufffled slightly and then closed his eyes.

"Even the horse has more sense…" Mairi began in as close to a scolding tone as she had ever used on him.

"I had to see ‘em, Mair," Red muttered wearily. "I had to see ‘em safe where I've seen them in my mind ever since I knew this place was right for us.

"And righter for them," she said, steering him out of the cavern and toward the Hold proper.

She half pulled him up the ramp to the as yet wide-open entrance—but only after he had made sure that the big sled-wagon carrying the door had been parked nearby-and into their Hold.

"And if you think you're going to prowl about and see if we've made any progress during your absence," Maddie said, fists planted on her belt, "you've another think coming. Furthermore, Ozzie has offered his rubber mallet to knock you out if you don't get straight to your quarters and sleep!"

His quarters, for now, were currently the office to the left of the main entrance, and he reeled slightly in that direction. Candlelight showed him that the room had been altered—and he grabbed at the doorframe to steady himself, his tired mind trying to cope with the difference.

"Well, a bed big enough for both you and Mairi wouldn't fit in here with all your clutter," Maddie said, "so we moved that next door. Now, that there is a next door." She gave him a push and Mairi, still holding his hand, got him into the room.

The door was closed firmly and then Mairi was opening jacket and shirt, deftly pulling the sleeves off him before she pushed him backward to the bed. Out of a marriage-long habit, he lifted one leg so she could remove first one, then the other boot as he managed with fumbling fingers to undo his belt and trousers.

A long time later, he woke.

He roared at first, annoyed that he had been deceived and cosseted when there was so much to be done, but Brian pretended to take umbrage that his own father wouldn't trust him to see to the care of his precious stock. Mairi set before him a steaming mug of klah and fresh bread with—his eyes gleamed at the sight—a knob of butter he wouldn't have to share with anyone. So he forgave the conspiracy and demanded to know if people were settling in: if they weren't, he'd have their complaints that very evening.

A communal kitchen, with everyone taking turns at food preparation for the main meal, had been established, and the main hall, bare though it was, was large enough to seat five times the numbers that sat at the trestle tables that night.

Before the meat was served, Red Hanrahan rose from his seat at the T junction of the two long tables.

"Many of you may already know from your fire-lizards that Alianne, gold Chereth's rider, died in childbirth and her dragon soon after." He paused to let those who hadn't known absorb the shock of such a loss. "We will all stand and have a moment's silence in tribute to them."

While the announcement put a damper on the beginnig of what would have been a more convivial evening, by the time the splendid cakes Madeleine had made for the occasion were brought in, most people had recovered.

"You don't think of the dragons as being that attached to their riders," Kes Dook remarked, just down the table from Red. "I mean, I know the Impression is lifelong… but the queen was so young. Surely someone else could have taken over?"

"Not as we understand it," Red said, toying with his mug of quikal. He did miss a decent drop of wine and wondered if Rene Mallibeau would ever find his south-facing slopes to grow the precious vines still tended in the hydroponics shed. "Once Impression is made, that's it, and the dragon is unable to function without that special human partner."

"But the Weyr keeps looking for likely candidates. Surely one of them could have filled in," Kes continued.

"Perhaps it all happened too fast," Betty Sopers suggested, her eyes red. She'd known Alianne very well." So few women die in childbirth…" She looked hopefully down the table to the two medics.

Kolya looked properly sympathetic, while Akis Andriadus nodded his head encouragingly.

"I haven't heard what went wrong with Alianne, " Koya said. "She's—she had two children, but I'll certainly ask for a report."

"And I've had nine," Mairi said in a no-nonsense tone, "so don't you be fretting, Betty Sopers."

"Especially if you aren't even preggers," Jess Patrick said, with a slightly hopeful leer, for he was quite friendly with his fellow student.

"Of course I'm not," she replied firmly, although a blush colored her face under her tan. Then her expression clouded. "But she was so young and dragons are so… strong."

"I'm delighted to hear that opinion expressed in this hold," Red said firmly. "Without the dragons and those who ride them, we wouldn't be here today."

"How did Sean get those bullocks to move?" Kes asked. "It was too bloody dark to see anything by then."

Red laughed, glad to be able to turn the evening's conversation to a lighter vein. "The oxen may be stubborn, but stupid they're not. They made tracks as fast as they could from the dragon behind them!"

"How did Sean get them to go in the right direction then?" Peter Chernoff asked. "I could barely keep up with them, much less keep them left or right."

"As I said, Sean was behind them, but slightly to their right, so of course they stampeded left," Red replied. "And we are here, safe and sound. Pat, son, run get my fiddle and your mother's bodhran. D'you know where your flute is, Akis? I know your dad taught you."

"I've got a good jug," Ozzie said, and rose from the table as Pat, getting explicit directions from his mother on where to find the instruments, ran from the hall, Akis following.

It took no time at all to clear and dismantle the tables and set the chairs and benches along the walls and provide a happy ending to the first official day in Red Hanrahan's Hold.

The next morning was different. Red was up at first light, rousing Betty, Jess, Fyodor, and Deccie to feed the animals. By the time they returned to the kitchen, Licia Dook, Emily Schultz, and Sal Wang were starting breakfast under the watchful eyes of Madeleine.

With breakfast eaten and a fresh mug of klah, Red called a meeting of the various supervisors and discussed the day's priorities. That set the pattern for the spring weeks to come, establishing pastures, crops, and garden, but still making the most use of the heavy equipment that would improve and enlarge the cave system. Hanrahan had never shirked hard work and did as much time on the stonecutters or the borer—the hardest of the machines to use—as he did in the fields or the breeding yard. He could and did leave a lot of the general management of his precious stock to Brian, Jess, and Betty, with whichever fosterlings could be spared from building. But he was sensible that reasonable rest and relaxation were as vital as a good day's work.

Even that he used somewhat to his own advantage, since he made outings to map the holding a special treat—certainly a change from the unremitting labor of turning a cliff into a human habitation or the sheer drudgery of plowing, sowing, and weeding. First he had to be assured by the Weyr that there were a few safe days in hand; then he set directions and goals for his teams. The extent of his legitimate stake, combined with the acreage of those who had joined him in the enterprise, added up to a considerable hunk of real estate, as Brian put it. Now what had been delineated on probe cartographic surveys had to be thoroughly explored, posted, and assessed for potential.

In form, the Hold land was slightly pie-shaped, the most northern point the thinnest part of the wedge, and the high and very cold mountain tarn lake the blunt point. The holding widened out from the lake, bordered on both sides by river: on the southern side, the river they had so perilously crossed; on the northeast, the next large one, two days' steady ride from the first riverine boundary. Red needed to know how many more possible cave sites were available for when his present population multiplied itself out of these facilities.

With material excised from the interior, stone cottages were to be erected along the foot of the ramp all the way to the animal accommodations. In his master plan, those ultimately would be workshops for the various crafts needed in a large and prospering community.

He was fond of Brian, got along well with him, and hoped to do the same with the younger ones, but his sons would need land of their own, where the da wasn't sitting over every decision. And the stake was large enough to support many separate establishments. There should be room for future generations to expand, too. When this Fall was past, even though Red might not live to see that glorious time, his kin could spread out, all over the Hold. In his mind's eye, Red saw that even more clearly now, as magnificent a dream as he had ever envisioned when he and Mairi had decided to join the Pern colony.

So, whenever possible, he sent scouts out to find what other riches—accommodation being the main one – the stake could provide. Sometimes he went himself to check on possible ore sites, for they'd need more coal than the one seam they'd found nearby to run the hypocaust system that Egend had devised for warming the living quarters of caves.

Egend was an ingenious engineer. He'd been successful at Fort Weyr in drilling into the old, still-hot magma chamber that provided delightful quantities of heat, especially for the hardening of dragon eggs on the sandy floor of the Hatching Ground. It had taken the dragons weeks of hard work hauling in the appropriate sands from the beaches near Boll, but the Weyr now had an approximation of the conditions Kitti Ping had felt the dragons would require. Not that there hadn't been clutches successfully hatched on makeshift warm beds, but the sand flooring appealed to the queens. Like the babies appearing so continuously at Fort, dragon eggs seemed to be continually in one stage of maturity or another at the Weyr.

Whenever his duties had permitted him, Red had attended the happy occasions of Hatchings, but Mairi managed to get to them all, and was quite an expert on what color dragon would emerge from what shell.

Egend had seen no problem in heating Red's Hold by hypocaust and such hearths as could safely be extended up to the heights. He had unearthed some solar paneling among Joel's supplies, which would do for heating water. There was nothing like a good bath to soothe a body after a hard day's work. And, after having to put up with other people's dirt and grime for so long, having a bath, much less clean clothes when one wanted them, was a real luxury in the new Hold, made possible by the use of the solar panels.

Of Red's fostered youngsters, young Ali Arthied had studied enough engineering under his father that he could set up and monitor that system with Jonti Greene's assistance. They were very clever in adapting and contriving mechanicals, that pair. He planned to send both back to sit their exams with Fulmar Stone, who had been monitoring their studies.

Educating the young had become a race between the jobs that had to be done to survive and the studies that had to be done to keep skills from dying out.

Well, maybe, Red thought as he rose the morning they were finally going to hang the airlock door, when that chore was done, they could stop moving at such a hectic pace. Success in their first year here was crucial for many reasons, not the least of which was proving it could be done expeditiously. Grass was up in three of the seeded paddocks; the first shoots of alfalfa, the last of his seed allowance, were pushing through the assiduously fertilized earth. The fruit trees, puny as they were, had been planted in the walled orchard, which could be covered against Threadfall by translucent plastic sheets. The vegetable garden, also walled, was coming on with few failures, and the rows could be quickly covered with plastic shields.

It was a bright, sunny spring morning, too, Red was happy to notice: auspicious, especially since he had coaxed Paul Benden and a few other special guests from the Fort to gather for this momentous occasion—the Dooring of…

"Scorch it," Red swore under his breath as he jammed his feet into his steel-capped work boots. He still didn't have the right-sounding name for the place.

Mairi hadn't been at all in favor of naming the place Keroon, or even Kerry, which he had thought she'd go for.

"Oh, it should be something of us, or ours," she'd said, her face screwed up as she tried to express what she mean.

"Hanrahan Hold?" he'd asked, almost facetiously.

"Good heavens, no. That smacks of lord of the manor." Then she'd given him one of her sly sideways grins. "Though you are, you know. Lord of all this…" She'd gestured broadly through the deep-set window of their upstairs bedroom.

The day they had moved their bed from his old office which immediately became his office again, to the three-room suite that had been carved out of the cliff face—that had been her day. He was not likely to forget the joy on her face as she had directed Brian and Simon just where her heirloom chest—once more glued together since its dismemberment for the Second Crossing—should be placd. When she'd seen it settled exactly where she wanted it, she'd given such a happy, contented sigh. Then she shooed everyone out so she could polish it to a soft gleam.

She was so long at that task that Maureen ended up feeding her baby brother.

"That's not like Ma," she told her father as she cuddled Ryan in the crook of her arm.

"It is today, Maureen," Red replied, swirling the last of the klah around in his cup before he drained it. "Settling that chest means this place is definitely your mother's home now."

"First thing Ma asked for when we landed here was glue to put the chest together," Brian told his much younger sister, and winked at his father.

"Apart from the stones we stand on, that's the oldest object in this Hold, " Red remarked in a sentimental tone. "Cherished for generations in your mother's family…"

"And doubtless for generations here," Brian added with an understanding grin. "So, when are we getting the front door installed, Dad?"

"The invitations have been accepted," his father said, "so let's get the hoists set up."

Now everything was ready—and at last the great door was to be hung! Red had new trousers hiding the work boots, and a fine new shirt over which Mairi insisted he wear one of the leather jerkuns that had been adopted as useful work apparel.

"At least until that thing is in place. We've ever so much spare hide," she'd said, "but no time to set up Maddie's big looms yet, so spare the cloth and wear the jerkin."

Today, too, Sean and Sorka, with their newest son would join the celebrations. A dragon or two might come in useful bringing in guests, though not in a million years would Red ask that a dragon be employed in any task but the one it had been bred to do. He knew how bitter Sean had been when all the dragons could do was carry things from one place to another. Of course, that was before they had learned to fly between and chew the firestone that made Thread-charring flame. Sean might be a tad arrogant over his present high position, but Red would not fault him. He and the other young dragonriders risked hideous death and many injuries to keep Thread from ravaging this one area of Pern that humans could survive in. And more power to the lad—no, the man that Sean had become—he was a true leader of his riders and a fine manager of the new species. The night that Alianne and Chereth had died had been the only time Sean had revealed any of the burden of responsibility he had undertaken. In one sense, Sean's emotion had been a sign of real maturity in Red's eyes: a man had the right to tears of grief, no blame attached. Red genuinely admired Sean for that. But then, he had always admired Sean, even when he'd been an unknown quantity as the wild and young proud possessor of two brown fire-lizards.

Tantalizing odors of the beef and sheep roasting over the glowing coals in the barbecue pits wafted across the rough road that led past the fields to the front of the Hold. Red could hear the fuss from the open kitchen doors and windows as Mairi, Maureen, and most of the fosterlings were pressed into service to prepare the feast for those who would gather here to set the door in the portal.

The mechanicals to perform that setting were already in place, awaiting the arrival of the guests; the hoist, securely supported, jutted from the window directly above, and the chains were already attached to the door to lift it out of the sled-wagon. The durasteel had been well rubbed with fine steel wool, removing the minor scrapes acquired during its first occupation. Red wondered briefly which shuttle it had been taken from. He hadn't asked Joel Lilienkamp, too relieved to get the door released to him to irritate the old man with a minor detail. He'd say it was from the Eusijan, the shuttle in which Sallah Telgar and Barr Hamil had piloted the Hanrahans down to the surface of their new home. Who could argue with him? The shuttles had all been the same in design.

Suddenly a bronze fire-lizard came streaking in through the opening, chittering wildly at him. Snapper appeared and the two conferred. The bronze then approached Red, who held out his arm for the creature to land. Snapper popped to his shoulder, overseeing any attentions from a stranger. Chittering again, the bronze held up one foot, and Red could see that a message capsule was tied to it.

He carefully untied it, thanking the fire-lizard.

Where the hell's this ford you told us to take? PB

Red laughed, sensing the frustration in the bold writing of the terse note. He poked his head out the window. "Someone saddle King for me. Paul can't find my ford."

By the time he got downstairs, King was saddled and waiting—along with ten other mounts and their riders.

"Should we bring a boat to make him feel at home?" Brian asked, grinning as he swayed easily with Cloudy's excited cavortings.

"No, let's just make tracks and get him here, or the day'll be done with no door in place," Red said, swinging up into his saddle.

"And no feast tonight either, if my front door's not in place, Peter Hanrahan," Mairi yelled from the kitchen door.

"Let's go then, lads, or we go hungry!" The moment Red eased the reins, King took off, and the others were showered by the pebbles the eager stallion kicked up behind him.

The ford was an hour's distance on a fast horse, four hours' travel by wagon or cart. As he rode, Red hoped that his guests' horses were still fresh enough to make the return journey at a decent speed. Maybe Paul had been practicing riding. Gorghe Logorides had bred a beast similar to a walking horse, but though the animals were easy to sit, they were plainsbred. Red's Paso Fino types would be more useful here in the hilly North.

They paused only once to give the horses a breather—and surprised the party on the other side of the ford by their sudden appearance.

"Ahoy, there, Admiral Benden, be ye bogged down by a mere river?" Red shouted through cupped hands. Beneath him, King blew vigorously through his nostrils, but he was in such good condition that he was only slightly sweaty from the run and his breath rate quickly returned to normal.

"Ahoy yourself," Paul bellowed back, getting to his feet. "How're we expected to get across that?" He pointed disgustedly at the swirling current of muddy water that separated them.

"I told you to look for the cairn and line up the poles," Red shouted back, pointing to the right and then indicating the plainly visible—to him—steel pole on his side of the bank. "Spare me from spacemen who need a bloody computer to navigate and a blinking beacon to guide them. Hi, there, Ju, Zi!" he added, noticing Paul's wife and the big dark man among the nine or ten others who now joined the admiral where he stood just short of swirling water.

Speaking loudly enough for his voice to carry across the ford, Paul directed some of his party to find the alleged cairn and pole of Hanrahan's. The river was high from the rains the previous week, but not quite as high as it had been the night Red had gotten his party across.

"River's a bit high, isn't it, Dad?" Brian said, a little anxiously. "Could the cairn have come down?"

"I hope not. You did cement it, didn't you, when you returned the sleds?"

"Sure did, and put my initials on it, but there's growth now along the bank on that side. Maybe it's hidden." Brian started to urge Cloudy forward.

"Well, we're just wasting time," Red said, and kneed King forward, pressuring him just slightly to get him to yield left to the exact center of where Red knew the ford was. "Guess we'll just have to lead the blind into the kingdom of the sighted."

As he entered the water, he heard Brian's chuckle, and a surreptitious glance over his shoulder showed that his escort had fanned out in a phalanx as wide as the ford. The water was not quite to King's knees as the big horse pranced across, all too eager to make a show of his stallion self.

"I found it!" one of Paul's party cried, planting his foot on the top of the cairn.

"Hiding your precious landmarks, are you?" Paul roared. "The arrogance of you, walking on the water like that!" He stood hands on his hips, grinning with sardonic good humor as the welcoming party splashed up to him.

Leaning down, Red reached for Paul's hand and gripped it firmly. "Well, the river's running muddier'n usual, or you'd have seen the shale that makes fording possible right here," he said. He motioned for Brian to go check the cairn and the pole.

"You could at least have painted it," Paul suggested as his mount, one of Caesar Galliani's lean-legged, ribby walking horses, was led forward by one of Caesar's girls. She was giving King the once-over, too, and grinned up at Red.

"I'll add it to my list of chores," Red said, grinning, "and maybe build the cairn higher so no one can miss it."

The Galliani girl, whose name escaped Red, gave Paul a leg up, checking the girth and deftly slipping the stirrup on the admiral's foot when she was finished.

"You got here so fast, you can't be far away?" Paul's remark had a tinge of hope in it.

"Not at the rate I usually ride," Red said with a slightly malicious grin. "But even at a steady pace, we're not more than an hour and a bit away. Had a comfortable ride?"

It was clear to Red that Paul was not really riding into his saddle as one accustomed to the exercise. As the bay gelding stepped out into the very smooth flowing pace that was his natural stride, the admiral winced slightly and eased his butt. Riding would never be more than a necessary evil for Benden. Still, he had come, so Red made no disparaging remarks. Zi Ongola looked more comfortable on horseback, and so did Ju Adjai Benden. In fact, she looked downright pleased, glancing about her, taking in the lay of the land.

Cecilia Rado had come along to see how Red had translated her architectural drawings. Balding and slightly tubby Arkady Sturt and the lean and grizzled Francesco Vasseloe were also in the party, and Red decided he knew who was joining Zi Ongola in settling the western peninsula. Three of the numerous Duff offspring and two more young Schultzes made up the rest of the expedition.

Even at a gentler return pace, the imposing facade of the Hold was soon in sight, its stone blending from an orange to an orangy red. Indeed, Red had planned the sweep of the road with just that view in mind and listened with real pride to the complimentary remarks from all sides about the distinctive orangy red of the cliff face.

Then the Galliani girl drew up beside him, sitting on a rather fractious little chestnut mare

"Dad sent me along as a spy," she said. "I'm Terry, case you need to know."

"You're welcome, Terry, and spy all you like, " Red said, grinning amiably down at her.

"That stallion's one of Sean's Cricket's produce, isn't he?" she asked, her eyes feasting on the superb conformation and easy forward movement that came effortlessly from King's shoulder.

"He is."

"This weed is all Dad would let me have," she said with disgust. "He's such a pain sometimes."

"He's your father," Red said a little severely, though he sympathized with the girl, noting the mare's jarring trot.

"That is all too true," she said, unrebuked, "but, if a person's got a few ideas of her own to try, isn't this planet big enough for differences?" Her tone was plaintive.

"Going with Zi Ongola?"

She nodded. "I'd like to. He'll need a tougher horse than we breed." Once again she admired King and the others that had been ridden out from the Hold. "You may well have a customer in Zi." She gave him another grin and circled around to fall back beside Cecilia.

Baths can wait, Mairi," Paul Benden repeated firmly when Mairi again tried to insist that he ease his sore muscles immediately. "I'd rather do the lot after we've seen that damned door in place. The klah'll do me till then." So he sipped from his mug and was even persuaded to eat some of the freshly baked sweets that the fosterlings were passing around.

Tables had already been set up outside with klah and a variety of snack and finger foods, chilled and hot. The roasting meats were a good advertisement for the feasting to come.

"Mairi, now we've all got travel dust out of our mouths," Cecilia said, "why don't you give me and Ju the five-credit tour while the muscles do their mite?"

"We'll give a shout before we shut you in," Red said jovially as he was showing Paul, Zi, and Fran Vasseloe the preparations that had been made, and how cleverly Peter Chernoff had set the lock frame into the stone of the portal. Once he glanced toward the position of the sun and Paul sent him a querying look.

"Sorka and Sean said they'd be here to watch the Dooring and join us in the feast. And…" Red paused, looking from Ongola to Benden. "Once we get producing, I plan to send the Weyr a tithe of all we grow and make. They've enough to do without having to forage for food, as well.

"Ah, yes." Paul rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting anyone's glance. "As it is now, they often bring us fresh meat and fruit when they've had to go south to feed the dragons. I don't know how much longer the Ierne Islanders can hold out, but"—Paul grinned wryly—"as you all know, it's meant the difference."

"Tell me, Paul," Red said, leaning over conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling, "is it Ierne Island produce they get, or some of the stock the Logorides and Gallianis had to let loose?"

"Well, now, you know, I've never asked," Paul replied, regarding Red with a very bland expression.

"Still and all, they shouldn't have to scrounge for provisions," Red said. "The Hold should supply the Weyr that protects it."

"I shall tithe from my holding, as well," Ongola said, his deep voice making his words a solemn vow.

"Alianne's death has certainly made all in Fort aware that we're asking a great deal from these young men and women," Paul went on, "and they've met the challenge magnificently. I had a chance to discuss support personnel with Sean, and he's suggested that we send him some of the older fosterlings to take over maintenance and domestic chores. They'd be available, too, as candidates for the new eggs. I got Joel to spring loose enough supplies so additional personnel won't be a burden on the Weyr's resources. They've got space, we've got too many warm bodies…" He gave a wry smile. "Alianne's mother is staying on, to help rear the grandchildren. She's widowed and says the place needs a firm hand in its domestic management. The queen riders really don't have enough time, especially if they've a broody queen."

"Seems to me one queen or another's broody all the time," Red said with a chuckle.

"Which also means the dragon population is growing large enough to protect four Holds," Paul said, with justifiable pride. "Maybe more, if the ‘premises' are feasible. Telgar says he'd like to be closer to the ore lodes in the eastern mountain range. He's done as much as he can to improve the warrens of the Fort." He kept his voice level and added a smile at his use of the word "warrens."

Red wondered if his leaving, and Ongola's projected Hold, was causing more, or less, dissension in Fort.

"I think you and Ongola have given hope and inspiration. Despite Joel's concern over dwindling supplies, a lot of his inventory are items that will not be in demand again," Paul said with a wry grin. "We're stepping down to a lower level of technology, based on what is available to us here, not what we once had. That was, after all, the purpose of this colony. You've made it, so did Pierre, on a minimum of basics, and look what you've achieved." Paul gestured to the imposing facade behind him. "No, it's definitely time to stop huddling in Fort and move out. I'd like to see more evidence of courage in our people after the trauma of Threadfall and the dreadful loss of lives in the Fever Year."

"I think there're more than just Sean and Sorka coming," Ongola said, shielding his eyes with one big hand as he looked upward.

Everyone had to crane their necks to see dragons, gold, bronze, brown, blue, and green, settling themselves on the top of the Hold cliff-careful, Red hoped, to avoid the solar-panel installation.

"The more the merrier," Red said, laughing. "They make a brave sight there, don't they?"

"But they've no riders," Zi remarked.

"Didn't want to scare your beasts again, Red, " said Sean, emerging from the Hold, Sorka beside him, one arm crooked about her latest son. Behind them sauntered more riders. "We wanted to do you honor, and half a Wing seemed an appropriate escort."

Mairi and those she had taken inside the Hold were the last to emerge.

"They took the stairs down," she said in a distracted fashion, determined to wrest her grandson from his mother's arm, "so now I know why you insisted on carving steps all the way up, Red. It wasn't just to service the solar panels." She turned to Cecilia. "But we'd just got the stories cleaned up when he cut those steps and dust sifted all over again. Oh, isn't he a love, Sorka? What have you named him?"

"Ezremil," Sean said, slightly accenting the first vowel. It took a moment for people to register the fact that he had joined the names of two of the colony's heroes.

Tears came to Mairi's eyes. "Oh, what a splendid notion!"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" Ju Benden choked on a sob before she managed a laugh. "Much better than encumbering the poor lad with Ezra or Keroon or even Emile. We ought to use more such truly Pernese-style names."

Paul put an arm about his wife's shoulders, smiling fondly down at her. "We could really dispense with Surnames altogether. Ezremil of Fort Weyr! Ryan of—" Paul turned on Red. "What are you naming this place?"

Red shrugged. "It'll come to us. The right name will come to us. Now, can we get this door into position?"

With the dragons safely out of the sight of any animals, Red sent Brian to get the bullocks whose mighty thews would haul the airlock door up to the opening. That was the signal for everyone to gather in front of the Hold Red could see Mairi keeping an eye on the young toddlers, one of Brian's being the sort that got into everything first and, when scolded, would reply that no one had said he couldn't.

Authoritative cracks of the bullwhips started four yokes of oxen moving forward, with men at each wide head, to steady them up. Slowly, the heavy metal door rose from the sled. When it hung free, the men whom Peter Chernoff had chosen to help turned it sideways so that the hinges could be aligned. A very audible clunk indicated contact

"Hold!" Peter Chernoff said, raising both hands, and the oxen were halted in their tracks. The open clamps of the hinges were then shut, each with its own separate metallic clink. "Ease up!"

The oxen were backed, first one step, then another, taking the weight slowly off the hoist chains.

A loud hurray burst from the breathless onlookers.

"Hold that, too," Peter shouted. "We gotta be sure it"—and as he spoke, he leaned against the great door—"closes." Obediently the former airlock swung in with such ease that one man had to jump out of its way. Simultaneously Peter grabbed the beveled edge with a restraining hand and was dragged forward one step. Bracing himself he stopped the door from closing completely.

A second cheer went up. Peter, wiping sweat from his forehead, turned with an engaging grin and a sweeping bow to Red.

"My lord of the Hold, will you complete the ceremonial closing?"

Grabbing Mairi by the hand, and waiting only until she had time to pass Ezremil back to his mother, Red strode up the ramp to the imposing metal door. Then they both inspected Peter's handiwork. He had done well, adapting the thick airlock door to domestic purposes. Keeping Thread out was now as important a function as keeping atmosphere in had once been. Red nodded to Mairi, who put her hand over his on the interior wheel, and they both pulled the door to. With a powerful spin, Red turned the wheel and heard the bars thud home in their floor and ceiling sockets. The Hold was now closed!

"Wouldn't they be surprised if we didn't open it?" Red asked, embracing Mairi's still slender form against him.

"Yes, and I'd be furious, because I wouldn't get any of that succulent meat we've been roasting since midnight!" Mairi stood on tiptoe and kissed her husband.

"A very good point…" He gave an equally powerful reverse swing on the locking wheel and the bars slid free. Red gave the door a push. "Well, at least that devil of a grandson won't be able to open this door." He gave a heftier shove, and the door swung silently open.

He and Mairi strode forward to applause. He was briefly startled when the dragons on the heights added their deep voices to human cheers.

"Admiral, Commander, Weyrleaders, one and all, be welcome to—" He stopped short, a grin suddenly broadening across his face as inspiration seized him. "Be welcome to the Hold of Red's Ford. In the old language, Rua Atha."

"Ruatha!" Mairi called out in her clear voice, her eyes looking up to his for his approval of that elision. "Oh, that's a splendid name, Rua Hanrahan!"

"To Ruatha Hold!" he shouted.

"To Ruatha Hold!" was the roar of acceptance. And, for the first time on the heights of Ruatha Hold, the dragons of Pern lifted their heads and bugled in rejoicing!