The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “And always in the same place!”

  “I see you did profit by your classes,” the Harper said, beaming at both of them. “Now, I’ve asked Master Fandarel if we could prevail on Master Wansor to visit here for a few days. Why, might I ask, are you two grinning as if you’d eaten all the bubbly pies at a gather?”

  Piemur’s grin deepened at this reference to his apprentice pastime.

  “I don’t think anyone on Pern would refuse to come here, given the whisper of an invitation,” he said.

  “Does Master Wansor have his new far-viewer finished?” Jaxom asked.

  “I certainly hope that he does . . .”

  “Master Robinton . . .” Brekke stood in the doorway, a curious expression on her face.

  “Brekke,” the Harper held up a warning hand, “if you have come to tell me that I have to rest, or drink a potion of your making, I beg you, don’t! I have far too much to do.”

  “All I have is a message which Kimi has just brought from Sebell,” she said, handing him the small tube.

  “Oh!”

  “As to your resting, I’ve only to watch Zair to know when that’s necessary!” Her glance, as she turned to leave the study, fell on Jaxom and Piemur. There was no doubt in Jaxom’s mind that he and Piemur were under tacit orders not to overstrain the Harper’s strength.

  Master Robinton raised his eyebrows in surprise as he read the message. “Oh, dear. Toric was invaded by a shipload of holders’ sons last evening. Sebell feels he should wait till they’ve settled into temporary quarters.” He chuckled and, when he saw the expressions of Jaxom and Piemur, then added, “I infer that all did not progress as smoothly as the holder boys could wish!”

  Piemur snorted, with the contempt born of his Turns’ exploring and his knowledge of Toric and his Hold’s accommodations.

  “Once you can go between, Jaxom,” Robinton continued, “our investigation can proceed more rapidly. I’ve in mind to set you and the girls out as teams.”

  “Harper and Holder?” Jaxom asked, seizing the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

  “Harper and Holder? Oh, yes, of course. Piemur, you and Menolly have worked well together, I know. So Sharra can go with Jaxom. Now . . .” Oblivious to the sharp look Piemur gave Jaxom, the man went on. “One sees things from the air in a perspective not always possible at ground level. The reverse, of course, applies. So any exploration should involve both methods. Jaxom, Piemur knows what I’m looking for . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Traces of the original habitation of this continent. I can’t for the life of me imagine why our long-dead ancestors left this fruitful and beautiful continent for the colder, duller North, but I assume that they had good reasons. The oldest of our Records states: When man came to Pern, he established a good Hold in the South. We used to think,” the Harper smiled apologetically for that error, “that Fort Hold was meant, since it is south in the Northern Continent. But that particular document goes on to state ambiguously: but found it necessary to move north to shield. That never made any sense, but so many of the old Records have deteriorated past deciphering, much less coherence.

  “Well, then Toric discovered an iron mine, worked in the open fashion. And N’ton and I sighted unnatural formations set in a mountainside which, when we had finally reached the spot on foot, were clearly mine shafts.

  “If the ancients had been long enough in the Southern Continent to discover ore and mine it, there must be other traces of their habitation somewhere here in the South.”

  “In hot weather and rainy forest, nothing survives very long,” Jaxom said. “D’ram built a shelter here a scant twenty-five Turns back and not much remains of it. And what F’lessan and I stumbled on in Benden Weyr had been sealed up, protected from weather.”

  “Nothing,” Piemur said emphatically, “could dent, scratch or mar the pit supports we found in that mine. And not even the best stoneman can carve through solid rock like cheese. Yet the ancients did.”

  “We have found some traces. There must be more.”

  Jaxom had never heard the Harper so adamant, but he couldn’t suppress a sigh as he glanced at the size of the map before him.

  “I know, Jaxom, the scope is daunting, but what a triumph when we find the place. Or places!” Master Robinton’s eyes shone with anticipation. “Now,” he went on briskly, “once Jaxom is pronounced fit enough to fly between, we will progress southward, using that symmetrical mountain as our guide. Any objections?” The man barely waited for an answer. “Piemur will start out on the ground with Stupid. Menolly can accompany him, if she wishes, or can wait for Jaxom to take her and Sharra on Ruth to the secondary camp. While the girls survey the immediate vicinity, which I understand has not been done, you, Jaxom, can fly ahead with Ruth to set up another camp to which you can fly between the next day. And so on.

  “I think you must have been drilled at Fort Weyr,” the Harper said, looking at Jaxom, “to be able to observe and distinguish ground formations from the air? However, I want to impress on you both that though this is a joint effort, Piemur is far more experienced, Jaxom, and you will please bear this in mind when problems occur. And send me your reports for this . . .” he tapped the chart, “every evening! Off with you both, now, and organize your equipment and supplies. And your partners!”

  Though explaining the situation to Menolly and Sharra and organizing their supplies and equipment took very little time, the explorers did not leave Cove Hold that day.

  Master Oldive arrived on Lioth with N’ton and was lavishly welcomed by the Harper, more sedately by Brekke and Sharra, and with some reservations by Jaxom. Robinton immediately insisted on showing the Healer the beautiful new hold before, as Robinton expressed it, Oldive had to see his old carcass.

  “He’s not fooling Master Oldive,” Sharra said, her rich voice for Jaxom’s ear alone as they watched the Harper striding vigorously about the holding, Master Oldive murmuring appropriate comments. “Not one fingertip is he fooling the Healer.”

  “That’s a relief,” Jaxom said. “Otherwise the Harper’ll be coming with us.”

  “Not between, he won’t.”

  “No, he’d ride Stupid.”

  Sharra laughed, but her amusement ended as they both watched the Healer firmly steer the Harper into his sleeping quarters and quietly close the door.

  “No,” Sharra said, shaking her head slowly, “Master Robinton wasn’t fooling Master Oldive!”

  Jaxom was very glad he didn’t have to try to fool the Master Healer when it came his turn to be examined. The ordeal for, him was brief—a few questions, Master Oldive’s inspection of his eyes, tapping on his chest, listening to his heart and the pleased smile on the Healer’s mobile face gave Jaxom the favorable verdict.

  “Master Robinton will be all right, too, won’t he, Master Oldive?” Jaxom couldn’t resist asking.

  When the Harper had emerged from his room, he had been too quiet, rather thoughtful, and the bounce had gone out of his step. Menolly had poured him a cup of wine which he had accepted with a wistful smile and a deep sigh.

  “Of course, Master Robinton will be all right,” Master Oldive said. “He’s much improved. But,” the Healer held up one long forefinger, “he must learn to pace himself, conserve his energy and ration his strength or he will bring on another attack. You young people can assist, with your strong legs and stouter hearts, without seeming to curtail his activities.”

  “Indeed we will. In fact, we do!”

  “Good. Continue and he will soon be completely recovered. If he keeps in mind the lesson he learned from this seizure.” Master Oldive glanced through the open window, mopping his forehead a little. “This beautiful place was a grand idea.” He favored Jaxom with a sly smile. “The heat makes the Harper drowsy midday and forces him to rest. The prospects on all sides delight the eyes, and the scent of the air pleases the nose. How I envy you this spot, Lord Jaxom.”

  The beauties of Cove Hold had evidently worked their charm on
the Masterharper as well, for he had recovered his good spirits even before the arrival of Master Fandarel and Master Wansor from Telgar. Robinton’s delight was doubled when Fandarel and Wansor proudly exhibited the new distance-viewer that had occupied the Starsmith’s time for the past half-Turn. The instrument, a tube as long as Fandarel’s arm, and thick enough so that he needed two hands to surround it, was carefully encased in leather, with a curious eye-piece set, not on its end where Jaxom thought it ought to be, but on its side.

  Master Robinton commented on that variation as well, and Wansor muttered something about reflective and refracting, ocular and objective and that this was the arrangement he thought best for the purposes of viewing distant objects. Whereas the instrument found in Benden Weyr made small things larger, the principles employed here were somewhat similar.

  “That is neither here nor there but we are very pleased to use the new far-viewer in Cove Hold,” Wansor went on, mopping his brow for he’d been so busy explaining his new device that he’d not bothered to remove his wherhide flying clothes.

  Master Robinton winked at Menolly and Sharra and the two girls divested the lecturing Starsmith of his outer garments while he explained, almost oblivious to their assistance, that this was his first visit to the Southern Continent and yes, he had of course heard of the aberrant behavior of the three stars known as the Dawn Sisters. Until recently he had put the anomaly down to the inexperience of the observers. But, with Master Robinton himself noting their peculiarities, Wansor felt justified in bringing his precious instrument to the South to investigate the matter himself. Stars did not remain in fixed positions in the sky. All his equations, not to mention such experienced observers such as N’ton and Lord Larad, had verified this characteristic. Furthermore the Records handed down from the ancients, though they were in a shocking state, mentioned that the stars undeniably followed a pattern of movement. Stars obeyed laws. Therefore when three stars had been observed to be in defiance of these natural laws, there had to be some explanation. He was hoping to find it this evening.

  Not without a good deal of discussion, the site for this viewing was placed on the slight elevation of the stony eastern tip of Cove Hold, beyond the spot where the roasting and baking pits had been dug. Master Fandarel drafted Piemur and Jaxom to help him erect a frame on which he placed a swivel to mount the new viewer. Wansor, naturally, supervised this project until he was so in the Smith’s way that the good man sat his Craftmaster on the edge of the promontory, near the trees, where he had a full view of all the activities but was no longer in his way. By the time the frame had been completed, Master Wansor was fast asleep, his head cushioned on his hands, snoring in a soft rhythm.

  Finger against his lips to indicate the little man was not to be disturbed, Fandarel led Jaxom and Piemur back to the main beach. They all took a refreshing swim before joining the others in the afternoon rest. Rather than miss a single moment of the dusky display of the Sisters, everyone ate on the promontory. Master Idarolan brought out his ship’s viewer, and the Smith quickly constructed a second frame from the materials left over from making Wansor’s.

  Sunset, which had previously come upon them all too quickly, seemed delayed and delayed. Jaxom thought that if Wansor adjusted either the viewer or his bench, or his position on the bench, one more time, he would probably display some aberrant behavior of his own. Even the dragons who’d been playing in the water as if the sport had just been invented, were sprawled quietly on the beach, the fire-lizards sleeping about Ruth or perched on their friends’ shoulders.

  The sun finally went down, spreading its brilliant after-colors across the western horizon. As the eastern sky darkened, Wansor put his eye to his instrument, let out a startled cry and nearly fell backward off his bench.

  “It can’t be. There is no possible logical explanation for such an arrangement.” He righted himself and looked once again through the viewer, making delicate adjustments to the focus.

  Master Idarolan had his eye pressed to his own viewer. “I see only the Dawn Sisters in their usual alignment. Just as they have always been.”

  “But they can’t be. They are close together. Stars do not congregate so closely. They are always far distant.”

  “Here, let me have a look, man.” The Smith was almost dancing in eagerness to have a glimpse through the instrument. Wansor reluctantly gave way to him, repeating the impossibility of what he had just seen.

  “N’ton, your eyes are younger!” The Seaman passed his viewer to the bronze rider, who quickly accepted it.

  “I see three round objects!” Fandarel announced in a booming voice. “Round metallic objects. Manmade objects. Those are not stars, Wansor,” he said, looking at the distressed Starsmith, “those are things!”

  Robinton, almost shoving the Smith’s bulk to one side, bent his eye to the viewer, gasping.

  “They are round. They do shine. As metal does. Not as stars do.”

  “One thing sure,” Piemur said irreverently in the awed silence, “you have now found traces of our ancestors in the South, Master Robinton.”

  “Your observation is eminently correct,” the Harper said in such a curiously muffled tone Jaxom wasn’t certain if the man was suppressing laughter or anger, “but not at all what I had in mind and you know it!”

  Everyone was given a chance to peer through Wansor’s device, since Master Idarolan’s was not powerful enough. Everyone concurred with Fandarel’s verdict: the so-called Dawn Sisters were not stars. Equally indisputable was that they were round, metallic objects that apparently hung in a stationary position in the sky. Even the moons had been observed to turn a different side to Pern in the course of their regular cycles.

  F’lar and Lessa as well as F’nor were asked to come with all urgency before the nightly appearance of the Dawn Sisters was over. Lessa’s irritation at such a summons evaporated when she saw the phenomenon. F’lar and F’nor monopolized the instrument for the short space of time that the peculiar objects remained visible in the slowly darkening sky.

  When Wansor was seen trying to work equations in the sand, Jaxom and Piemur hurriedly brought out a table and some drawing tools. The Starsmith wrote furiously for some minutes and then studied the result he’d achieved as if this presented a more inscrutable puzzle. Bewildered, he asked Fandarel and N’ton to check his figures for error.

  “If there’s no error, what is your conclusion, Master Wansor?” F’lar asked him.

  “Those . . . those things are stationary. They stay in the same position over Pern all the time. As if they were following the planet.”

  “That would prove, would it not,” Robinton said, unperturbed, “that they are manmade.”

  “My conclusion precisely,” but Wansor did not appear to be reassured. “They were made to stay where they are all the time.”

  “And we can’t get from here to there,” F’nor said in a regretful murmur.

  “Don’t you dare, F’nor,” Brekke said with such fervor that F’lar and the Harper chuckled.

  “They were made to stay there,” Piemur began, “but they couldn’t have been made here, could they, Master Fandarel?”

  “I doubt it. The Records give us hints of many marvelous things made by men but no mention was ever made of stationary stars.”

  “But the Records say that men came to Pern . . .” Piemur looked at the Harper for confirmation. “Perhaps they used those things to travel from some other place, some other world, to get here. To Pern!”

  “With all the worlds in the heavens to choose from,” Brekke began, breaking the thoughtful silence that followed Piemur’s conclusion, “had they no better place to come to than Pern?”

  “If you’d seen as much of it as I have lately,” Piemur said, his spirit undaunted for any appreciable length of time, “you’d know that Pern’s not all that bad a world . . . if you ignore the danger of Thread!”

  “Some of us never can,” F’lar replied in a wry tone.

  Menolly gave Piemur a sharp
jab in the ribs, but F’lar only laughed when Piemur suddenly realized the tactlessness of his remark.

  “This is a most amazing development,” Robinton said, his eyes sweeping the night sky as if more mysteries were to be revealed. “To see the very vehicles that brought our ancestors to this world.”

  “A good topic for some quiet reflections, eh, Master Robinton?” Oldive asked, with a sly grin on his face and an emphasis on the quiet.

  The Harper made an impatient dismissal of that suggestion.

  “Well, sir, you could hardly go there,” the Healer said.

  “I cannot,” Master Robinton agreed. Then startling everyone, he suddenly thrust his right arm in the direction of the Three Sisters. “Zair, the round objects in the sky? Can you go there?”

  Jaxom held his breath, felt the rigidity of Menolly’s body beside him and knew she wasn’t breathing either. He heard Brekke’s sharp, quickly muffled cry. Everyone watched Zair.

  The little bronze stretched his head toward Robinton’s lips and made a soft quizzical noise in his throat.

  “Zair? The Dawn Sisters?” Robinton repeated his words. “Would you go there?”

  Now Zair cocked his head at his friend, clearly not understanding what was asked of him.

  “Zair? The Red Star?”

  The effect of that question was instantaneous. Zair vanished with a squawk of angry fear, and the fire-lizards nestling by Ruth woke and followed his lead.

  “That does seem to answer both questions,” F’lar said.

  “What does Ruth say?” Menolly whispered in Jaxom’s ear.

  “About the Dawn Sisters? Or Zair?”

  “Either.”

  “He’s been asleep,” Jaxom replied after consulting his dragon.

  “He would be!”

  “So? What did Beauty image before she winked out?”

  “Nothing!”

  Despite an evening of earnest debate and discussion, the humans solved nothing either. Robinton and Wansor would probably have kept the conversation up all night if Master Oldive hadn’t slipped something into Robinton’s wine. No one had actually seen him, but one moment Master Robinton was arguing forcefully with Wansor, the next he had wilted at the table. No sooner was his head down than he began to snore.