The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall

by Anne McCaffrey

  “No, is for you, dushka,” Sonja said, giving her daughter a hard kiss on her cheek in farewell. “We are proud to have a queen rider daughter. Keep her safe, Alaranth!”

  With her many-faceted eyes gleaming in the shadows cast by Telgar’s high mountain peaks, Alaranth turned her head and lowered her forequarters to the ground, as much to aid her rider to mount as to acknowledge the parting.

  Who else is to keep you safe? Alaranth said as she turned and dropped off the ledge into the valley below.

  Torene laughed at her phrasing, the speed of their descent snatching the sounds away. You sound just like my mother!

  We go now to Benden Weyr?

  Torene squeezed her eyes, which had filled slightly with tears of pride at the grand sound of the name, and then concentrated on the image of the double-cratered bowl—the bowl of Benden Weyr.

  Yes!

  She was certain that all that klah and porridge would turn to ice in her belly, but then they were out in the warm spring sunlight, gliding down the Weyr toward the lake.

  Good morning to you! Torene recognized Brianth’s voice though she didn’t see him below, nor any sign of Mihall.

  He’s on the rim behind us, sunning, Alaranth told her, well pleased that she and Torene had started their own errand earlier than this pair.

  Torene’s mouth felt dry as Alaranth swung back to the upper crater and lost altitude. She had a view of Brianth, sunning himself on the heights. Backwinging, Alaranth landed neatly on the surface, the breeze from her pinions making the gravel rattle. A man’s head peered out from the nearby opening to what Torene thought would be the Hatching Ground. Mihall still wore his flying gear, so he couldn’t have been here long, Torene thought.

  He didn’t rush, but his stride covered the distance between them so that he was at her side when she reached the ground.

  “You’ve been busy this morning, I see.” He nodded at the tube.

  Keeping a stern grip on her tongue, she smiled pleasantly. “Their daybreak, not ours,” she said, opening the tube.

  He looked into the tube’s contents and whistled, grinning down at her with approval. That was the first time she had seen him smile so openly, and she wondered why he didn’t more often. It would have improved his reputation.

  Then she could see his fingers twitching, eager to see every sheet she had brought. Was that why he had gotten here so early? How could he have been certain she’d do her errand so promptly?

  Brianth told him we’d left.

  This time she was careful to keep her immediate response to herself. Had Brianth slept with one eye open?

  The watchdragon will speak to anyone who asks politely. This came from Brianth, and although she knew dragons couldn’t laugh, there was amusement of that quality in the bronze’s tone.

  “Here,” Torene said, perversely irritated now by both rider and dragon. Why did Mihall have the ability to disturb her with so many conflicting emotions? She tapped the tube so the roll would fall out.

  Mihall was that much quicker and had the films in his hands before she could catch them.

  “It’s less windy inside here,” he said, impatient to unroll the sheets but not willing to risk their damage.

  When she got inside the vaulted chamber, she saw that he had been there long enough to make a small fire, set far enough in the shelter of the front wall to be protected from the wind, and secure in a neat circle of stones. A klah pot balanced close enough to keep its contents hot. A bulging sack was propped up against the wall, along with an opaque sheet of plastic wrapped around a number of finished plastic shafts.

  “The klah’s ready if you’d like a cup,” he said, noting her surprise. “If not, help me put the table together. It’s easier with two.”

  Torene shook her head at the first offer and started to untie the bundle. When assembled, the table was exactly the same size as the largest of the replicated elevations. Mihall produced pushpins and a narrow strip of plastic. He worked deftly, and before she knew it, one full set of the drawings was secured to the table with the plastic strip holding down the top edges so that the diagrams could be flipped over without being torn.

  “You are handy,” she said, pleased and somewhat amused by his preparations.

  “I know the largest size that replicator can print,” he said, shrugging off her implied compliment. “Ah, this is the one I wanted to see.” He turned to the side elevations of the upper crater.

  There are more coming now! Brianth and Alaranth said almost in unison.

  “About time,” Torene and Mihall said, also in chorus. Catching each other’s eyes, they both laughed: blue dominated the gray in the bronze rider’s eyes.

  For Torene, that marked the beginning of the most intense period of activity she had ever experienced, even when she was first learning how to care for Alaranth. David Caterel had borrowed Ozzie from Telgar, although the old prospector insisted that everything he and Cobber had discovered in these craters was already written up or symbolized on the plasfilm they had in their possession.

  “We used some of those first uglies Wind Blossom bred to check out the tunnels,” he said, tapping a joint-disfigured finger on the drawings. “X marks spots you don’t go. ’S’all here. Took her”—he pointed at Torene—”and her, him, him,” he added, indicating Uloa, N’klas, and D’vid, “through every one of ’em, up and down, and the ones in between. The ‘between’ you get to when you walk,” he commented, favoring David Caterel with a droll eye.

  “Had you anything better to do today?” David asked, grinning. “You can sit here, drink all the klah . . .”

  “You didn’t think to bring any beer, didja? Prefer beer.”

  “In fact, I did, knowing your preference,” David said, and began to haul large bottles from each of his thigh and jacket pockets.

  “Good man.” Ozzie took one, broke the seal, took a long pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sun-riddled hand and sighed with deep appreciation. At last he looked up at David again. “I’ll tell ya if ya do anythin’ wrong,” he assured them. “That one”—and he pointed to Torene again—”knows most of ’em anyway, so she can lead you. I’ll just stay here in case ya go wrong. Then I’ll flndja.”

  Smiles were carefully concealed from the wiry old man as David turned purposefully to Torene.

  “So, what do you want to see first?” she asked, holding her hands out in compliance.

  “Everything,” David said. “Starting with here and where can we put the hypocaust to keep the sands warm.”

  “This way, lords and ladies,” Torene said impishly, remembering the phrases from the stories her father had told her as a child. There were always lords and ladies in Volodya Ostrovsky’s bedtime tales.

  By noontime, they had climbed about, or been flown by obliging dragons to, every cave, niche, nook, and cranny in the eastern side of the upper crater. They paused to eat, and review their notes and the diagrams, and then, with only slightly diminished zeal, explored the western side, including the sites where Torene had thought ground access was possible. The plasfilm that had been pristine that morning showed all kinds of marks and new legends in the margins. Lists of materials urgently needed were stuck in under the top rail.

  By the time darkness fell, not only was everyone tired, scratched, and bruised from clambering over, under, and past unforgiving stone, but also full of intimate knowledge of their proposed home.

  The next day queen riders, Wingleaders, and -seconds held conferences with Ierne’s representatives to see what materials would be needed to start work on the access tunnel.

  Though they were not asked, the dragons insisted on helping dig once the stonecutters had excised the cliff face of the proposed access tunnel. David Caterel tried to stop them.

  “You’re fighting dragons, not digging dragons,” he said, scowling at his own Polenth. “Torene, Uloa, Jean, speak to your queens.”

  “Sternly?” Jean asked, grinning back and smearing the mud on her face as she mopped sweat.
A shovel handle leaned against her.

  This will be our home, too, Alaranth and Greteth said, and the bronzes bugled agreement.

  “Think you got outvoted,” Uloa said. “It’s only because you’re one of the first and Sean fussed so about doing carrier duty.”

  “This is different,” Jean said, replacing gloves preparatory to attacking the rubble again. “This is for us!”

  The dragons gave another bugle, and David, shaking his head, surrendered. There was no question that dragon assistance lightened the task. Ozzie was on hand, too, “to make sure the echoes were accurate,” he said. But he carried out his supervision from a sunny spot on a convenient boulder, puffing away at his beer.

  Torene was not the only rider who had brought sleeping furs, spare clothes, and what food she could wangle from Tarrie’s kitchen. She had dumped her things in one of the smaller caves that she could climb to if Alaranth was asleep. It was three times the size of her accommodation at Fort—palatial in comparison. Alaranth thoroughly approved of the ledge in front, which got the morning sun.

  By pooling their food, those who stayed on overnight managed quite a satisfactory meal. Despite being tired, some of the bronze and brown riders excused themselves afterward.

  “Wonder where they’re going?” Uloa asked.

  “Not where, not even why,” Jean said, groaning, “but how do they have the energy to go at all! Fresh fruit would go nice for breakfast.”

  “Did any of them check for Threadfall in the south?” Torene asked.

  “Mihall did,” R’bert said, offering round the klah pot. Jean rolled her eyes and Uloa sighed, stretching wearily.

  “D’you think he’ll bring back a hot bath?” she asked.

  “That would be heaven,” Jean said. “What did Ozzie say about the possibility of tapping into some thermals here?”

  “He said that it was possible if there was enough pipeline left from doing Tillek,” Torene said, thinking longingly of a hot bath herself.

  We could go back to Fort? Alaranth suggested.

  I don’t think I have muscles enough to climb up to your back Torene replied.

  She was half-asleep when the riders returned. Not only had they brought fresh fruit and several braces of chickens, but each dragon had a fat bullock or cow struggling in his claws. These were deposited down by the lake, where they bawled out their terror for hours before finally settling.

  “Where’d you find the chickens?” Jean asked, eyes wide with delighted surprise.

  “They take shelter in the old caves, the Catherine caves, I think they were called,” Mihall said.

  “Yes, they were,” Jean said as she watched him untie the chickens’ legs. Squawking, each released fowl ran off into the bowl. “We’ve nothing to feed them with.”

  “I think I threw some crusts and heels onto the compost heap,” Torene said, and got up.

  Mihall caught her by the shoulder. “If it’s there, they’ll find it on their own. What’s the matter?” he added as he saw her wince.

  “My shoulder’s stiff.”

  “Whose isn’t?” Uloa said, groaning and rubbing her own shoulder.

  “Didn’t one of you think to bring some numbweed?” Mihall asked with a grin.

  A widespread groan answered the question: the remedy was so obvious! Jean stiffly began to get to her feet. “My pack’s nearest.”

  Mihall reached out to prevent her. “Where? Let me get it.”

  “Oh, would you? I’m in the third cave on the left on the first level. It’s an easy climb.”

  When Mihall returned with the numbweed, they took turns rubbing the salve into abused muscles. Somehow—and she couldn’t reject the courtesy without sounding uncivil—Mihall managed to be available to work on Torene’s shoulders. Then she was much too grateful for the sure, firm touch of his massaging fingers as he worked the salve in.

  “Thanks, Mihall,” she said, rotating shoulder blades that no longer ached.

  “Just take it easy tomorrow or you’ll be back to me again,” he said, and turned to Genteelly, who was waiting for similar ministrations.

  Because of the massage she slept easier that night—once she tuned out the bawling of the cattle. The next day, at an appropriate hour, she asked Polenth to have David bring along a big jar of the numbweed when they returned from Fort to Benden.

  In effect, they now worked two shifts: those staying at Benden did the first one, then took a rest break when the Fort-based contingent arrived, fresh. The four Benden wings, excused from Threadfall at Fort, began to catch the eastern Falls, to see how they could protect the newly named Benden Hold property. A nearby source of phosphine-bearing rock was indicated on the survey maps, and David sent a work group of blue and brown riders to begin to stockpile the all-important firestone.

  A team arrived from Tarvi Telgar to set up the hypocaust system in the Hatching Ground, so the campers moved their belongings across the bowl to what would be the living quarters. The first hearth and its chimney were built against an outside wall. Ozzie and Svenda Bonneau plumbed for and found a thermal vent, and Fulmar Stone supplied the pump and instructed his apprentices in setting the pipes that would supply the individual weyrs as well as the main living accommodations.

  More cattle and other types of herd beasts that had managed to survive Threadfall in the south were added to the herd that occupied the lake end of the craters. The chickens laid, and it became a regular early-morning exercise to find where, in the sands, the eggs had been secreted. Some were left to the broody hens, but others supplied the cooks. Julie, the fourth queen rider for Benden Weyr, arrived from Big Island on her Rementh, who had finally recovered from wing scoring. Julie, who was still in a gelicast for the broken leg she’d incurred trying to dismount in a hurry to tend to her queen, announced that she’d act as domestic manager.

  Then Captain Kaarvan and the Pernese Venturer dropped anchor at the mouth of Benden River, and the promised assistance from Ierne broke trail to be the first to make use of the access tunnel. The workers they supplied included masons and carpenters, and soon individual caves became proper weyrs, with partitions between dragon and rider accommodations, and even private bathrooms.

  Work was also done on what would be the quarters of the two Weyrleaders, the large room that would be used for private conferences, and one below that which could be an office for the Weyrleaders.

  No one minded the hard work and the long hours, because they were building for their own comfort as well as that of generations to come. So they built well and carefully.

  When the Benden weyrfolk decided that sufficient provision for them had been made, they and their dragons flew down to the Hold, which was progressing more slowly, and used the skills they had learned to help the holders settle into their new accommodation.

  The only break the Benden riders took was to attend the Hatching at Fort. That was always a glad occasion for dragonriders and could not be missed, especially when most of the sixteen hatchlings had been assigned to Benden Weyr. That provoked a complaint from F’mar, in the name of Telgar Weyr, although work on that facility had not even started.

  “The next clutch will go to you, F’mar, especially as you’ve no place to put them yet but here at Fort,” Sean said dismissively.

  “Young Fulmar better stop hassling Sean,” Jean murmured to the other Benden queen riders. “Especially if he keeps on acting like he’s already Weyrleader. That’s a long way from being decided.”

  “But someone has to be in charge, sort of, don’t they?” Torene asked. “I mean, David . . .”

  “David Caterel has the right,” Jean said firmly. “You’ve no complaints, have you?” She eyed Torene speculatively.

  “Me? No. He listens to any objections, anyway,” she said, once again made conscious of the fact that although no one said anything to the point of her being Benden’s Weyrwoman, everyone knew, and tended to turn to her for decisions and opinions.

  Working shoulder to shoulder, day after day, with the bron
ze and brown riders had given Torene a good chance to get to know them all. She liked most of them, so she supposed Alaranth would have the final say. Of the younger riders, N’klas, L’ren, T’mas, and D’vid kept as much in her company as possible. David Caterel was always courteous to her, but he treated all the women riders the same way, even Julie, whom his Polenth had last flown. Mihall had a knack of appearing when she was in trouble—like when the cutter jammed, or when she was trying to roll a heavy boulder out of the way. It got so she almost expected him to be there when she needed a hand. Somewhat to her chagrin, he never lingered, but returned to whatever task he had interrupted to help her. Meanwhile, the Weyrleaders’ quarters remained unoccupied.

  It was Mihall who cried “Get the queens away!” while people were finishing their midday meal. He came pounding into the lower cavern, straight up to Torene. He caught her hand and, pulling her to her feet, urged her to action. “Get your queens out of here, Jean, Uloa. Where’s Julie gone?”

  Licking the fingers of her right hand, which were sticky from peeling red fruit, Torene did not resist Mihall’s urgent tugging.

  “How could she go into heat without me noticing?” she cried. She had been keeping such a close watch on Alaranth—or so she had thought.

  “Today, because she’s been lounging in the sun,” Mihall said, and turned her by the hand he held so that she was facing the right way. He pointed. “She’s more than just gold right now.”

  Torene inhaled sharply: Alaranth, stretching legs and wings in a manner that Torene instantly identified as sensual, was gleaming a bright gold that had nothing to do with clean skin and sunlight. Mihall jerked round as Jean, Uloa, and Julie came pelting out of the lower cavern in flying jackets too large for them and helmets that were just as obviously borrowed. No time to get their own riding gear. Throwing anxious glances over their shoulders at the luminous Alaranth, the three riders scrambled aboard their own dragons.

  “Look!” Mihall swiveled Torene about again so that she could see the male dragons beginning to gather on the Rim, their eyes taking on the avid orange of arousal. Their riders were converging on Mihall and Torene, and suddenly she was the focus of their awakened sensuality. Despite herself, she recoiled, tearing her hand free of Mihall’s grip. His eyes had turned an intense blue. “Remember,” Mihall said then, “don’t let her—”