“What are you doing?” he responded.
She raised the tray she was carrying. “I’m returning my dishes.”
“I’m working late,” he told her.
She walked into the room and put her tray down on one of the student desks. She came up to the blackboard and examined Tieran’s work.
“Is this a diagnostic flowchart?” she asked.
Tieran nodded.
“For what purpose?”
“I’m trying to figure out what could have made the fire-lizards sick,” he told her.
She looked at his chart. “I see you’ve got bacterial and viral, but why the Terran and Pernese? And why not dietary?”
“If it’s a disease caused by poor nutrition, then it’s self-limiting, isn’t it?” Tieran said.
“It is if the missing nutrient can be found,” she agreed. “Like vitamin C to prevent scurvy.” She narrowed her eyes as she followed the flowchart to the next branch. “What’s this about a microscope?”
“If it’s bacterial, you could see the bacteria with a microscope,” Tieran explained. “If you can’t, then it’s viral.”
“But that’s ignoring the fact that secondary infections could be either bacterial or viral,” Emorra observed.
“I’m not trying to make this harder,” Tieran protested, “I’m trying to make it easier.”
Emorra’s lips quirked upward. “If it was easy,” she began, and Tieran joined her in the finish, “then anyone could do it.”
They exchanged grins. Then Emorra shook her head. “I don’t know why you’re bothering,” she told him. “I mean it’s obvious that Mother’s given up.”
Tieran cocked his head at her.
“She’s on a vacation, isn’t she?” Emorra asked.
“Is she?” Tieran asked.
Emorra dismissed the issue with a shake of her head. She looked back at the flowchart, intending to leave Tieran to his own devices, when a sudden thought struck her.
“You know,” she said musingly, “you’re going about this all wrong.”
“I’ll take any help I can get,” Tieran responded feelingly.
“The question isn’t what initial vector started the illness,” she said slowly, testing out the idea as she said it, “but what was the cause of death.”
“It seemed to be some sort of extreme upper respiratory infection or complications therefrom,” Tieran said.
Emorra nodded in agreement. “So, what would be required to survive a severe upper respiratory infection?”
“Lots of antibiotics,” Tieran replied instantly.
“That’s a short-term solution,” Emorra observed.
“Well . . .” Tieran paused, pursing his lips in thought. “The long-term solution is the antibodies built by the immune system.” He frowned. “But, obviously, the immune system didn’t recognize the infection quickly enough and was overwhelmed.”
“So we need to keep the immune system from being overwhelmed,” Emorra said.
“How?” Tieran asked miserably.
“The sea giveth, and the sea taketh away,” Wind Blossom thought wryly. She bundled up her collection from the shore, checking each item carefully as she placed it in her carisak.
In the distance, out on the ocean, she could just make out the group of fins heading away from her. In her mind, she ticked off each of the missing items from her inventory. Some things “lost” in the Crossing were now returned.
Her gait as she negotiated her way back to the Hold was steady, purposeful.
When M’hall came to collect her, he insisted upon helping her with her carisak. After she was firmly mounted on Brianth’s neck, he handed the carisak to her before hoisting himself up.
“Your sak is heavier, I noticed,” he commented as he found his seat. “The Eridani like doing things in threes, don’t they?”
Wind Blossom chuckled. “Yes, they do.”
“I believe that Admiral Benden would have praised their dedication to backup systems and redundancy.”
“If he had known,” Wind Blossom told him, “I’m sure he would have agreed.”
At M’hall’s command, Brianth leapt lightly into the air and, with strong beats, soared high up into the sky before going between.
Bursting once more into existence over the College, M’hall had Brianth commence a lazy spiral toward the landing site.
“So, I take it your vacation was fruitful?” he inquired pleasantly.
“I have found some answers to some of my questions,” Wind Blossom agreed. “I must go back there sometime.”
M’hall raised his eyebrows in surprise. “To get more buried treasure?”
“No,” Wind Blossom responded, shaking her head. “To return it.”
They were met by Emorra and Tieran.
“Hello, Mother,” Emorra said to her. “Did you have a good vacation?”
“Yes, thank you,” Wind Blossom replied, wincing inwardly at the formality of her own tone. Emorra’s face took on a strained look. Trying to smooth things over, Wind Blossom added, “But I missed you.”
“We’ve been busy while you were away,” Tieran told her. Emorra glowered at him.
“I shall be delighted to hear about it,” Wind Blossom replied.
“What are all these things?” Tieran exclaimed in awe when Wind Blossom met him and Emorra in one of the laboratories the next day.
Janir poked his head in curiously. His eyes widened in amazement and he crowded up behind Tieran to get a better view.
“Where did you get these?” he asked excitedly as he started visually cataloging the items. “Are the power packs full?”
He reached forward, longing to touch one of the precious instruments, only to have Wind Blossom bat his hand away. He withdrew with all the alacrity of her onetime student and exchanged rueful looks with Tieran.
“She’s fast,” Tieran muttered to Pern’s head physician.
“She always was,” Janir returned. He looked down at the elderly woman. “Wind Blossom, these are invaluable to us. Where did you get them?”
Wind Blossom shook her head. “I cannot say.” She looked up, shaking a finger at him. “And don’t you think to borrow them, Janir.” As Janir raised his arms in protest, she added, “Remember what happened the last time.”
Janir opened his mouth to object, but Wind Blossom just shook her finger at him again, and with a sigh, he dropped his head resignedly.
Wind Blossom pointed to one of the instruments. “This is a code viewer and sequencer.”
“What’s it tuned to?” Janir asked.
“Pernese genetic code,” Wind Blossom told him. “It was one of the first units we adjusted.”
“What’s it do?” Tieran asked.
“It can read genetic material and sequence it,” Wind Blossom explained. “It can also produce new genetic sequences or alter existing ones.”
“But reading genetic material isn’t good enough, is it?” Emorra asked. “I mean, you have to know what you’re reading, what it means.”
“You need a map,” Janir added in agreement.
Wind Blossom pointed to another, smaller device. “This is a mapper,” she said. “When we built the dragons, we had a fully integrated unit, which in turn was integrated with AIVAS and the Yokohama.”
Tieran looked confused.
“AIVAS—Artificial Intelligence Visual Audio System,” Emorra translated. “A smart computer.”
“Much more,” Janir corrected. “And the Yokohama was the largest of the ships that brought our ancestors to Pern.”
“I’ve seen them,” Tieran said excitedly. “The astronomy students brought a telescope up to the Drum Tower just before dawn one morning.” He shivered at the memory of the three huge starships hovering in orbit above the planet. “The students call them the Dawn Sisters.”
Janir turned back to Wind Blossom. “What are you hoping to do with this equipment?” When she didn’t answer, he persisted, “I thought you’d said that if the fire-lizards came from the fu
ture, then obviously your solution had failed?”
Wind Blossom nodded. “I am thinking,” she told him. “There must be a solution that works.”
“Wouldn’t it just make more sense to leave the equipment for those that need it?” Tieran wondered.
“It would,” Wind Blossom agreed, “if they could learn how to use the equipment in time.”
SIXTEEN
Firestone, dry
Dragons fly.
Firestone, wet
Riders die.
Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 6th Day, Later, AL 508
Kindan’s stomach lurched as Caranth began a sharp descent the moment they came out from between over Benden Weyr. Their drop was so steep that Kindan was pitched forward, hard, against Lorana when Caranth suddenly stretched his wings to cup air and slow them for a landing. Even so, the dragon hit the ground with a jolt.
Lorana was off and rushing toward her weyr before either B’nik or Kindan could move. Kindan followed quickly, with B’nik not far behind.
K’tan was waiting for them in Lorana’s quarters. Arith’s eyes were whirling, and when she saw her rider she gave a happy chirp—which ended in an unmistakable sneeze.
I’m all right, Arith told Lorana over and over as Lorana wrapped her arms around the young dragon’s head. I’m all right.
No you’re not, Lorana chided her gently. But you will be, I promise. We’ll find something. We found something at Fort Weyr.
She looked up at K’tan. “We found something at Fort Weyr,” she said. Kindan raised his eyebrows in surprise—in their haste to get back to the Weyr, they had not even spoken.
“What?” K’tan asked.
“The Records at Fort say that something was built here, at Benden Weyr, just at the start of the First Interval,” B’nik explained. He looked keenly at K’tan. “Some special rooms. Do you know of any such rooms?”
K’tan frowned and shook his head. “There’ve been some cave-ins; perhaps the rooms are buried,” he told them.
“If they’re buried, we’ll dig them up again,” B’nik declared fiercely.
K’tan looked at Lorana. “It could only be a cough . . .”
“Dragons don’t get coughs,” Lorana corrected him in a flat, dead voice.
“It’s only started,” B’nik said. “She’s young—she could fight it off.”
I don’t feel too bad, Arith added comfortingly with a soft croon.
K’tan motioned for Lorana to come to him. She followed and he brought her out of her rooms and into the corridor.
“I know this is hard,” he told her softly. “But you have to understand that your attitude and strength are the best hopes for Arith right now.”
A hand crept up on her shoulder and she turned to see Kindan standing behind her. “He’s right,” the harper said.
Lorana took a deep breath. “I know,” she told them. She squared her shoulders. Kindan tightened his grip reassuringly before dropping his hand back to his side. She turned and went back to Arith.
“I haven’t been giving you enough attention,” she told the young dragon.
You have been doing your work, Arith said staunchly. And you always come when I need you.
Lorana knelt down once more and wrapped her arms around her dragon’s neck.
“I love you,” she said out loud.
I know, Arith responded, firm in her knowledge and wondrously grateful. She nudged Lorana with her head. Go! I’ll be all right.
Lorana pulled back from Arith and looked up into her whirling faceted eyes. “Are you sure?”
You can’t find these rooms while you’re here, can you?
“I’ll check on you every hour,” Lorana promised aloud.
Check on me when I ask, Arith responded.
“You are stubborn,” Lorana chided her dragon.
“I can’t imagine where she learned it,” B’nik remarked teasingly. He stretched out his hand to her. “If you would, Weyrwoman, I believe you can help us in this search.”
Lorana smiled, although her eyes still held a lingering fear, and took the Weyrleader’s hand.
“We are as ready as we’ll ever be,” J’lantir told Dalia as the rest of Ista Weyr’s wingleaders filed out of the Council Room.
“You did an excellent job, J’lantir,” Dalia agreed. “C’rion would have been proud.”
Only three days had passed since the Weyrleader’s death. Dalia had known, of course, the instant that C’rion and Nidanth had been lost. She was still in mourning, but she was Weyrwoman—she would not let down C’rion’s men, nor destroy his legacy.
She had appointed J’lantir as interim Weyrleader. The response of the other Wingleaders had been unanimous support.
J’lantir had swallowed his personal misgivings and had drilled the remaining dragonriders as well as he could in the short time between the Threadfall at South Nerat and today.
“I wish the weather were better,” Dalia told him.
“Or worse,” J’lantir responded. “Then we’d have more time to train.”
“Yes, a cold snap or torrential downpour would be best,” Dalia agreed.
“We must fly the Thread we were given,” J’lantir said resignedly.
The dragonrider who had been sent ahead to abandoned Igen Weyr reported that the weather was gusty, with scattered clouds at fifteen hundred meters.
A lousy height, J’lantir thought to himself as he made his way down to the Weyr’s great Bowl. Dragons could fly up to just over three thousand meters in the daylight—as high as a man could fly and not pass out from lack of oxygen.
With clear skies, dragons could fight Thread all the way down to five hundred meters or less. But with the scattered clouds it would be imperative to flame the Thread before they entered the clouds or risk missing clumps as they fell through.
Some of those clumps of Thread would drown in the water of the clouds but, as the clouds were scattered, it was just as likely that some would survive the descent and burrow into the arid plains around Igen Weyr or—worse—into the lush green shoreline of the Igen coast.
J’lantir climbed onto Lolanth, grabbed and secured the firestone sacks handed up by one of the weyrfolk, and surveyed his wing. The other five wings were already airborne above him—all flying wing light.
One hundred and twenty-four dragons and their riders would face Thread today, less than half of the number that had first flown over Keroon on their first Fall. At least there were enough dragons to be certain that they would get most of the Thread that fell.
J’lantir nodded his thanks to the youngling who handed up his last bag of firestone, made sure that it was securely fastened beside him, and, with one final glance at his riders, gave the arm-pumping gesture to fly.
Dalia looked on from the Bowl below as the dragonriders of Ista Weyr arrayed themselves over the Star Stones and then winked out of sight between to fight Thread. She fought the impulse to bite her lips or cross her arms, knowing that the rest of the Weyr was watching her.
Some riders would not come back this time, just as C’rion had not come back the last time, Dalia knew. She and C’rion—her throat suddenly had a lump in it—had known that these days would come since they first Impressed their dragons.
They had pored over the Records together when C’rion’s Nidanth had first flown Bidenth and he had become Weyrleader. They knew that dragons and their riders would be injured fighting Thread. They knew that dragons and their riders would die fighting Thread. That was the way it had to be, that was the price paid for riding a dragon, that was the price that had to be paid to keep Pern from being utterly destroyed by Thread.
Dalia turned away, looking down from the Star Stones to those around her. Her eyes picked out Jassi coming toward her.
“I’ve got the fellis juice up from the store rooms,” Jassi reported. “And we’ve got enough numbweed on hand.”
“And the sick dragons?”
Jassi grimaced, looking down. “Two are getting worse,” she answered. Then she rai
sed her head and added cheerfully, “But the others seem all right.”
Dalia nodded brusquely. “Very well,” she said. “It will be hours before the Fall is over—let’s see what we can do about dinner.”
“That’s handled,” Jassi said. “But I wasn’t sure about which weyrlings should be sent to bring more firestone during the Fall.”
Dalia changed direction, heading to the weyrling barracks. V’rel, the Weyrlingmaster, had insisted on flying Threadfall, and neither she nor J’lantir could turn down an able dragon and rider, particularly as V’rel and Piyolth were several Turns their junior. “Let’s go see, shall we?”
One hundred and twenty-three dragons joined the watch dragon over Igen Weyr.
“Lousy weather,” J’lantir shouted to B’lon, his wingsecond.
“If only it’d get worse,” B’lon agreed. The clouds below them were as reported—scattered and thin. Above them the sky was obscured by wispy high cirrus clouds. B’lon pointed to them. “Is there any chance that the air’s too cold above and the Thread will freeze?”
J’lantir followed his gaze. “It could be,” he said. “But we shouldn’t count on it.”
A noise from behind them caught their attention.
M’kir has sighted Thread, Lolanth reported, at the same turning his head back to J’lantir, jaws wide and ready for firestone. J’lantir opened a sack and began feeding the stones to Lolanth.
Tell the others, J’lantir responded. He gazed up at the skies, picking out the thin Thread among the wispy clouds above them. This is going to be a mess, he thought.
K’tan caught up with Kindan as evening began. They had seen each other earlier in the day while tending to the injured dragons and working with B’nik in plotting which parts of the Weyr to explore for the Oldtimer Rooms. Since then, Kindan had been off checking out the highest places in the Weyr. Now he looked anything but elated.
“Any luck?” K’tan asked him without any hope.
Kindan shook his head. “No,” he said. “You?”
“I’ve spent more time tending the sick than looking,” K’tan told him. He leaned closer to the harper. “I just wanted to remind you that Ista is about to fly Thread.”
Dragonsblood Page 30
