Dragonsblood

by Todd McCaffrey

  “So the dragon from the future can’t be genetically modified,” Mendin declared. He sat back in his chair and looked around at the other Lord Holders triumphantly.

  “That is not necessarily so,” Emorra replied.

  “How so?” Mendin demanded, sitting upright once more.

  “It is possible,” Wind Blossom began, then paused, looking at Emorra for her consent. “It is possible that the genetic modifications were provided by one of us and not used until this future time.”

  M’hall made a thoughtful face. “Are you suggesting that we dragonriders bring one of you forward in time four centuries?”

  “Is that even possible?” Mendin murmured.

  “It is possible,” Wind Blossom conceded with a nod. Then she turned her gaze to M’hall and the Weyrleaders. “I don’t think it is advisable.”

  M’hall gestured for her to enlighten them.

  “You have observed that there is a great deal of physical stress associated with traveling between, particularly between times. I do not think that I could handle such a prolonged strain,” Wind Blossom said. She glanced apologetically at Emorra and Tieran before adding, “And while I don’t doubt their efforts, I believe that neither Tieran nor Emorra would be up to the scientific challenge.”

  She paused to give Tieran and Emorra a chance to demur. When they remained silent, she went on. “Also, there is the fact that the equipment and knowledge base we need are here, now, at the College and may not be available four centuries in the future.”

  M’hall stroked his chin, nodding. “Even with what the dragons could carry, I imagine there could always be one important thing that would be left behind.”

  “And it would be a one-way trip,” Tieran pointed out. The others looked at him. “We couldn’t risk accidentally bringing the illness back in time with us.”

  Mendin threw up his hands, leaning forward again in his chair. “So it’s impossible, then.” Tieran turned to Mendin and the other Holders. “I think we should move on to the next agenda item—the disposition of the remaining stonecutters.”

  “I believe that I have the agenda,” Emorra said blandly. Mendin flushed and then gestured angrily at her to proceed.

  “The fact remains that there are signs of genetic manipulation,” Wind Blossom spoke out. “If we believe that our descendants could not have done this unaided, and we agree that we cannot journey forward in time to aid them, then it is clear that we must choose—must, indeed, have already chosen—a third course.”

  Mendin glared at the old geneticist and only brought his emotions under control by firm exertion of will. “With all due respect,” he said, though none could be heard in his tone, “did you not say that your results were preliminary?”

  Wind Blossom nodded.

  “And you conducted these tests yourself?”

  Again, Wind Blossom nodded.

  “It is a fact that you are the oldest person now living on Pern,” Mendin noted. “Could it be possible that you were mistaken?”

  Roland, Southern Boll’s Lord Holder, who had been puzzling something silently, suddenly piped up, “How did you figure this out? I thought we’d lost all our technology!”

  “We did,” Wind Blossom agreed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as though recollection pained her. “Many of our finest instruments were lost in a storm when we crossed from Landing.” She looked directly at Mendin. “Including most of the equipment specifically tuned to manipulate Pernese genetic code.” She glanced over at Malon and M’hall. “It was only after the quarantine of the fire-lizards that a chance comment by M’hall caused me to wonder if some of the equipment might have survived.”

  The other Lord Holders exchanged surprised looks.

  “I was lucky enough to retrieve some useful equipment off the shores of Tillek Hold,” Wind Blossom continued.

  “And power packs, too?” Mendin asked, mentally upping the amount of stonecutting he could do.

  Wind Blossom shook her head. “These units all have their own internal, nonremovable power supplies. They are all highly-specialized equipment of Eridani origin.”

  Janir cleared his throat and asked in a small voice, “Could this equipment have helped us in the Fever Year?”

  Wind Blossom pursed her lips and shook her head sadly. “It was only tuned to the Pernese genetic code,” she told him. “We used it to help us design the dragons.”

  “But that leaves us no nearer to solving your conundrum,” Mendin said.

  “I do not agree,” Wind Blossom said. “I believe that we have evidence not only that we will do something but exactly what we will do.”

  “And that would be?” Roland asked.

  “It is clear to me that we must come up with a way to preserve our equipment and knowledge in such a way as to help our descendants,” she replied.

  “You would have to not only provide them with the equipment but teach them how to use it,” Mendin declared angrily.

  “That is what we at the College are supposed to do,” Emorra replied evenly.

  TWENTY

  Impression:

  Mind to mind

  Heart to heart

  Breath for breath.

  Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 22nd Day, AL 508

  It was still dark outside, but Benden Weyr’s Bowl was filled with the activity of dragons and riders preparing for Fall. The air in the Bowl was filled with predawn fog, wisping up in swaths through the dark.

  Lorana was both surprised and pleased at the reception she received from rider and dragon. Beside her, she could feel Ketan’s renewed mourning as he experienced the Weyr preparing for the first Fall he wouldn’t be flying.

  “Healer,” B’nik called softly out of the darkness. He stepped closer, emerging from the foggy dark.

  “Weyrleader,” Ketan replied politely.

  B’nik, discarding any thought of commiseration, stepped close to clasp the healer on the shoulder. “I hope you won’t have much work when we get back.”

  Ketan smiled. “So do I,” he said. “Fly safe.”

  In the darkness a dragon coughed. Lorana lurched against Ketan and straightened, mumbling an apology.

  “Perhaps you should still be resting,” B’nik said to her, his voice full of concern.

  “I’m all right, I just lost my footing,” she lied. “Besides, I wanted to offer my help. M’tal thought that my ability to speak to any dragon might be useful.”

  “It would be very useful,” B’nik agreed immediately, surprised at her offer. “I—I didn’t think that you’d—”

  “I would be happy to help,” Lorana told him firmly.

  “Then I shall happily accept your help,” B’nik replied cheerfully.

  “Retanth says that all is ready,” Lorana said.

  “Tell him to have the Weyr assemble up by the Star Stones,” B’nik replied. “Hopefully there’ll be no fog up there.”

  “The watch dragon reports that the air is clear and the sun is just visible on the horizon.”

  “Excellent!” B’nik said, already seeing the value of Lorana’s abilities. The one thing neither he nor M’tal could figure out was how to direct the wings and keep in contact with the Weyr at the same time. He turned back to his dragon. “Caranth, let’s ride.”

  “Good Fall, Weyrleader,” Lorana called after him. She and Ketan could not quite make out his parting wave in the growing light.

  “So,” Ketan said when the last of the dragons had cleared the Bowl, “suppose you tell me which new dragon has the sickness?”

  “Caranth,” Lorana replied mournfully.

  “Are you sure you have the coordinates right?” B’nik asked his dragon anxiously as they prepared to guide the Weyr between to Threadfall over Bitra.

  I am sure, Caranth returned unflappably. B’nik was reassured by his dragon’s calm manner but still toyed with the idea of asking M’tal to have Gaminth guide the Weyr to the Fall. I am just coughing, not confused.

  “Very well,” B’nik said, letting out
a deep sigh. “Let’s go, Caranth!”

  Following the visual image from the Weyrleader, one hundred and seventy-four fighting dragons went between.

  Lorana didn’t realize that she had tensed up until she felt Caranth’s calm report of the arrival of the Weyr over Bitra—and then she found herself gasping in a deep lungful of fresh air.

  Ketan gave her a surprised look, then nodded in realization. “You were worried about Caranth?”

  “B’nik was worried about Caranth,” Lorana said. “Caranth seemed fine to me. Sick but still clearheaded, able to fly. Eager, even.”

  Ketan cocked his head at her in curiosity. “Do I gather that if you were worried about Caranth, you might have stopped him from bringing the Weyr between?”

  Lorana allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her lips. “I might.”

  “Lorana,” Ketan began, cautiously choosing his words, “you do understand that the Weyrleader is responsible for the fighting dragons, don’t you?”

  Lorana cocked her head at him. “Are you asking whether I know my place in the Weyr, Healer?”

  Ketan pursed his lips uncomfortably. “I doubt if anyone knows your place just now,” he said judiciously.

  “I agree,” she said with a small nod. “But I think it would be wrong, don’t you, if I knew that Caranth was too sick to give good coordinates not to stop him.” A small crease appeared between her brows. “What would happen if Caranth gave bad coordinates and the Weyr followed him?”

  Ketan shuddered and his face went white. “They would be lost between.”

  “Oh,” Lorana said, her eyes going wide. Ketan’s expression answered her question better than words.

  B’nik was bone-tired and bone-cold when, six hours later, Caranth relayed that the sweepriders had reported the end of the Fall.

  “Send the other wings back to the Weyr,” he told J’tol, “and have half our wing check for burrows.”

  J’tol waved in acknowledgment and veered off, his wingmen following in close formation.

  B’nik was glad that he had listened to M’tal’s advice and had kept his wing in reserve during the fighting. He had been able to quickly order his riders to fill gaps in other wings when needed—which had not been as often as he’d feared.

  M’tal sends his congratulations, Caranth relayed.

  Tell him thank you, B’nik responded, grinning unabashedly. While he hated the reason for it, he had to admit that it really was nice to have an ex-Weyrleader available and willing to give him honest praise when he earned it.

  Let’s go chat with the Lord Holder, he added, his grin disappearing as he imagined the sour expression of Gadran, Bitra’s aging Lord. Even if no burrows were found, he was sure that Gadran would find some reason to moan or bicker.

  J’tol reports three deep burrows in the northern valley, Caranth told him. He says they’ll have to fire the forests to contain them.

  “Is something wrong?” Gadran asked, taking in B’nik’s worried expression.

  “I’m afraid there is,” B’nik told him. “We fought the Fall as best we could, but my sweepriders report that three burrows are well established in the valley north of here.”

  “Well established?” Gadran echoed, licking his lips nervously and peering to the north, as if expecting Thread to crest the ridge at any moment. “How well established?”

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to fire the valley to contain it.”

  “Fire the valley?” Gadran looked crestfallen. “All those trees?”

  “The trees are what has let the burrows establish themselves so rapidly,” B’nik explained.

  J’tol wants to know if they can fire the valley now, Caranth relayed, with a note of anxiety.

  “Tell J’tol to fire the valley,” B’nik answered aloud.

  “What?” Gadran shouted. “I did not give you permission—”

  “I could not wait,” B’nik replied. “The burrows were spreading too rapidly.”

  The first wisps of smoke started to rise from the valley to the north, the wind carrying it southward.

  “There hasn’t been rain here in months,” Gadran said quickly. “There’s a danger that the fire might spread into this valley.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a danger we’ll have to risk,” B’nik said. “I would prefer to lose a valley to fire far more than lose a Hold to Thread.”

  “It’s not your decision to make!” Gadran snarled.

  “On the contrary, as Weyrleader, it is absolutely my decision to make,” B’nik replied, simmering with anger. He wondered how often M’tal had cursed this fool Holder and hoped that his heir would have more sense.

  He gave the Lord Holder a curt nod. “I have to attend to the injured,” he said, turning back to his dragon and mounting before Gadran could respond.

  “No, I’m afraid Gadran’s always been like that,” M’tal said when B’nik approached him that night at dinner.

  “What about Gadran?” J’tol called, striding into the Living Cavern, knocking soot off his riding gear. “He was red-faced and screaming when I left him. Is there more already?”

  B’nik shot his wingsecond a look of alarm.

  J’tol grimaced in response. “The fires got out of control; the winds up there were vicious,” he said. “We had to set backfires on the slopes above Bitra Hold itself before they were contained.”

  “I should have stayed,” B’nik groaned.

  “What would you have done?” M’tal asked calmly. He nodded to J’tol. “J’tol’s worked with fires before and shown his ability. I doubt anyone could have done better.”

  B’nik gave J’tol a consoling look and nodded. “You’re right,” he said to M’tal. “All the same,” he added with a grin for his wingsecond, “I could have spared you his ravings.”

  A chorus of dragon coughs echoed in from the Bowl outside. All conversation stopped.

  J’tol waved a dismissive hand at the noise. “Some of that’s our dragons—they’ve got smoke in their lungs,” he assured the others. “It’ll clear out soon enough.”

  Lorana gave B’nik a probing look and raised her eyebrow inquiringly. B’nik returned her look with confusion until, with a sudden start, he realized that she knew about Caranth.

  “There are more important things to consider,” she said to him. She paused to give him a chance to respond and continued only after it was clear that he would not speak. She gestured to Kindan. “Kindan says that he’s discovered the words of his song. Did he tell you?”

  B’nik shook his head. “We haven’t had time to talk until now.”

  “And you shouldn’t be talking, you should be eating,” Tullea quipped, seating herself beside him. With a glare at Lorana, she urged B’nik to eat his dinner. “How was the Fall?”

  B’nik found himself with a mouthful at her urging, desperately trying to swallow in order to answer her question.

  M’tal took pity on him. “The Fall was not bad and was well flown.” He nodded to B’nik. “We lost seven, all the same, and another eighteen were injured.”

  “There are only five wings fit to fly,” B’nik added.

  “It won’t be long,” Kindan murmured to himself.

  Tullea heard him all the same. “It won’t be long before what, Harper?” she demanded.

  Kindan shifted uneasily in his seat. “It won’t be long before there will be no dragons to fight Thread,” he told her softly. He turned to B’nik. “Which is why I think it’s vital to get the miners back to find a way beyond that second door in the Oldtimer room, or another way into wherever that door goes.”

  “And kill more dragons?” Tullea asked scornfully. She gestured to Lorana. “Would you have more people sacrifice their loves and sanity?”

  “Would you lose all the dragons of Pern?” Lorana asked in response. Tullea stared at her.

  “We cannot say what lies beyond those doors,” Lorana told the group. “But if we don’t find out, we will have denied ourselves any chance of curing the dragons.”

  “Ho
w do you know?” Tullea protested.

  “I don’t,” Lorana admitted. “But think about it—those rooms were built for a reason. They were built with Oldtimer skills—to what purpose?”

  “To create the dragons,” Tullea replied, waving her hand dismissively. “Everyone knows that the Oldtimers created them from the fire-lizards.”

  “But they created them in the Southern Continent and fled north,” Kindan remarked. “These rooms would not be where they made the dragons. In fact, since Benden was the second Weyr founded, these rooms would not have been made until long after our ancestors moved north.”

  M’tal, J’tol, and B’nik looked thoughtful.

  “All the miners’ hammering will disturb Minith,” Tullea protested. “I won’t permit that!”

  “She’s not ready to lay her clutch yet,” Ketan observed. “If the noise bothers her, you could move the queen’s quarters to the northern side of the Bowl. There’s a nice set of quarters with a connection into the Hatching Grounds—that might prove useful for when you want to visit.”

  Tullea looked momentarily interested in the proposition, then brushed it aside. “What makes you so sure that these rooms have the cure?” she demanded of Lorana.

  “I don’t know,” Lorana replied honestly. She chewed her lip hesitantly, then glanced at Kindan. “Although if that song, ‘Wind Blossom’s Song,’ was meant for our times, then there would have to be a reason that I was to come to Benden Weyr,” she added. “And those rooms are the most obvious reason, aren’t they?”

  B’nik looked troubled. Lorana caught his gaze. “How many more dragons will die?” she asked him pointedly. He flinched.

  “Will this Weyr be emptied of all dragons?” She turned to the others. “ ‘Dragonmen must fly when Thread is in the sky,’ ” she quoted. Shaking her head, Lorana continued, “I don’t see any other way to cure this sickness. I’ve tried—and I know Ketan has tried—every remedy we’ve ever heard of that could help. This sickness is new to dragons. I think that without help from the past, all the dragons of Pern will perish.”