The Dragonriders of Pern

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Red has always meant danger, a convention we undoubtedly learned from the ancients,” he said. “Green we will therefore try first!” His thick forefinger hesitated a moment longer and then stabbed at the green button.

  At first nothing happened. Jaxom felt a clenching, like a cold hand on his guts, the prelude to intense disappointment.

  “No, look, it’s opening!” Piemur’s keen eyes caught the first barely perceptible widening of the crack.

  “It’s old,” the Smith said reverently. “A very old mechanism,” he added as they all heard the faint protest of movement.

  Slowly the door moved inward and then, astonishingly, it moved sideways, into the hull of the ship. A whoosh of rank air sent them reeling and gasping backward. When they looked again, the door was fully retracted, sunlight streaming onto flooring, darker than the ship’s hull but, when the Smith rapped it with his knuckles, apparently made of the same peculiar material.

  “Wait!” Fandarel restrained the others from entering. “Give fresh air a chance to circulate. Did anyone think to bring glows?”

  “There’re some at the Cove,” Jaxom said, reaching for his flying gear and jamming his helmet on his head as he raced to Ruth. He never did bother to belt up and the frigid moment of between was a shocking cooler after the exertions of digging. He got as many glow baskets as he could carry. On his return, he realized no one seemed to have moved in his brief absence. Awe of the unknown beyond that great entrance had restrained them. Awe and perhaps, Jaxom decided, a reluctance to repeat the disappointment of the Plateau.

  “Well, we will never know anything standing out here like numbwits,” Robinton said, taking a glow basket from Jaxom and unshielding it as he strode forward into the ship.

  It was mete, Jaxom thought, as he passed out the other baskets, that the Masterharper should have the honor of entering first. Fandarel, F’lar, F’nor and Lessa walked abreast through the opening. Jaxom grinned at Piemur and Menolly as they fell in behind.

  Another great door, with a circular wheel for locking thick bars to ceiling and floor, lay open and inviting. Master Fandarel was making inarticulate noises of praise and awe as he touched the walls and peered at what looked to be control levers and more colored circles. As they penetrated farther, they came upon two more doors, an open one on the left and one closed on their right which would lead, Fandarel was certain, to the rear, tube-encircled end of the vehicle. How could tubes make a cumbersome, snub-winged thing like this fly? He simply had to bring Benelek here, if no one else was to see it.

  They all turned to the left and entered a long narrow corridor, their boots making muffled noises on the non-metallic floor.

  “More of the substance they used for pit supports, I think,” Fandarel said, kneeling and pressing his fingers against the floor. “Ha, what was in these?” he asked, fingering brackets which were empty now. “Fascinating. And no dust.”

  “No air or wind to carry it in here for who knows how long,” F’lar remarked in a quiet tone. “As in those rooms we discovered in Benden Weyr.”

  They moved along a corridor of doors, some open, some closed. None locked, for Piemur and Jaxom were able to peer into the emptied cubicles. Holes in the flooring and on the inside walls proved that there had been fittings.

  “All of you, come here!” came the excited voice of the Harper, who had prowled ahead.

  “No, here!” F’nor called from farther beyond the Harper. “Here’s where they must have controlled the ship!”

  “No, F’nor, this is important to us!”

  And F’lar seconded the Harper’s vibrant claim.

  As everyone gathered about the two, their glow baskets adding to the illumination, it was clear what had arrested their attention. The walls were covered with maps. In great detail, the familiar contours of Northern Pern and the not-so-familiar Southern Continent, all of it in its immensity, had been drawn eradicably on the wall.

  With a sound—half-moan, half-shout—Piemur touched the map, tracing with his forefinger the coast which he had so arduously tramped, but which was only a small portion of the total shoreline.

  “Look, Master Idarolan can sail almost to the Eastern Barrier Range . . . and it’s not the same range I saw in the west. And . . .”

  “Now what would this map represent?” F’nor asked, interrupting Piemur’s excited comments. He was standing to one side, his glow basket lighting another chart of Pern. The outlines were the same, but the bands of different colors covered the familiar contours in puzzling configurations. The seas were depicted with varying shades of blue.

  “That would indicate the depth of the water,” Menolly said, running her fingers along what she knew was the Nerat Deep, here colored a deep blue. “Look, here are arrows to indicate the Great South Current. And here’s the Western Stream.”

  “If that is so,” the Harper said slowly, “then this ought to indicate the height of the land? No. For here where there should be mountains in Crom, Fort, Benden and Telgar, the color is the same as this part of the Telgar Plains. Most puzzling. Whatever could this have meant to the ancients?” He glanced from Northern to Southern spheres. “And none of that shade except this little bit here on the underside of the world. Perplexing. I shall have to study this!” He felt along the edges of the map, but it was evidently drawn on the wall itself.

  “Here’s one for Master Wansor’s eyes,” Fandarel said, apparently so engrossed, in the section he was studying that he hadn’t attended Robinton’s words.

  Piemur and Jaxom turned their glows toward the Smith.

  “A star map!” the young Harper cried.

  “Not quite,” the Smith said.

  “Is it a map of our stars?” Jaxom asked.

  The Smith’s big finger touched the largest circle, a brilliant orange with licking flames jagging out from its circumference.

  “This is our sun. This must be the Red Star.” His finger described the orbit about the sun which had been designated for the wanderer. He now touched the third, very small, round world. “This is our Pern!” He grinned at the others, for the humble size of their world.

  “What’s this then?” Piemur asked, putting his finger on a dark-colored world on the other side of the sun, away from the other planets and their described lines of orbit.

  “I don’t know. It ought to be on this side of the sun, as the other planets are!”

  “And what do these lines mean?” Jaxom asked, having traced the arrowed lines from the bottom of the chart to the Red Star and then off the edge of the chart on the far right.

  “Fascinating,” was all the Mastersmith would allow, rubbing his chin as he stared at the enigmatic drawings.

  “I prefer this map,” Lessa said, smiling with a great deal of satisfaction at the two continents.

  “You do?” F’lar asked, turning from his examination of the star map. “Ah, yes, I take your point,” he said as he watched her hand cover the western section. Then he laughed. “Yes, I quite agree, Lessa. Very instructive.”

  “How can that be?” Piemur asked with some scorn. “It’s not accurate. Look,” he pointed, “there’s no sea volcanoes beyond the Plateau cliffs. And there’s far too much shore in this section of the South. And no Great Bay. It doesn’t go like that. I know. I’ve walked it.”

  “No, the map isn’t accurate anymore,” the Harper said before Lessa could level a criticism at Piemur. “Notice Tillek. There’s a good deal more of the northern peninsula than there should be. And no mark for the volcano on the south shore.” Then he added with a deep smile, “But I suspect the map was accurate, when it was drawn!”

  “Of course,” Lessa said in a cry of triumph. “All the Passes, each one stressing our poor world, caused upheaval and destruction . . .”

  “See, this spur of land, where the Dragon Stones are now?” Menolly cried. “My great-grandsire remembers the land falling into the sea!”

  “No matter that there have been minor changes,” Fandarel said, dismissing these casually, �
�the maps are superb discoveries.” He frowned again at the one with the anomalous shadings. “That shade of brown designates our first settlements in the North. See, Fort Hold, then Ruatha, Benden, Telgar,” he looked at F’lar and Lessa, “and the Weyrs. They all are placed in this same coloration. Is that what it means, perhaps? Places where people could settle?”

  “But they settled the Plateau first of all, and it’s not that same brown,” Piemur said, disgruntled.

  “We must seek Master Wansor’s opinion. And Master Nicat’s.”

  “I’d like to see Benelek look over the controls by the doors and perhaps investigate the rear of the ship,” F’nor said.

  “My dear brown rider,” the Smith said, “Benelek is very clever with mechanical things but these . . .” His broad gesture indicated that the highly advanced technology on the ship was well beyond his apprentice’s skill.

  “Perhaps one day, we will know enough to fathom all the ships’ mysteries,” F’lar said, smiling with intense pleasure as he tapped the maps. “But these . . . are current and exceedingly valuable to us, and Pern.” He paused to grin at Master Robinton, who nodded his head in comprehension, and Lessa, who continued to smile, her eyes dancing with a mischief only the three seemed to share. “And, for the time being, no mention is to be made of them!” He was stern now, and held up his hand when Fandarel began to protest. “A short time only, Fandarel. I have very good reason. Wansor must certainly see these equations and drawings. And Benelek can puzzle what he may. As he talks only to inanimate objects, he’s no risk to the necessary secrecy I feel we must impose on these ships. Menolly and Piemur are harperbound, and you’ve already proved your discretion and abilities, Jaxom.” F’lar’s glance, direct and intense, caused Jaxom an inner pang because he was certain then that the Benden Weyrleader did know of his episode with the dratted egg. “There’s going to be quite enough to confuse Hold, Craft, and Weyr on that Plateau without adding these riddles.” His eyes went back to the broad expanse of the Southern Continent and, as he shook his head slowly, his smile and those of the Harper and Lessa increased. Suddenly a shocked expression crossed his face, and he looked up. “Toric! He said he’d be here today, to help excavate.”

  “Yes, and N’ton was to collect me,” Fandarel said, “but not for an hour yet or more. I was dragged from my couch by F’nor . . .”

  “And Southern is in Telgar’s time area. Good! However, I want a copy of this map. Which of you three can we best spare today?” he asked.

  “Jaxom!” the Harper said quickly. “He copies neatly and when the rider came for Sharra last evening, Jaxom had gone to Ruatha. Besides, it is wise to keep Ruth apart. The local fire-lizards will bear him company here and not chatter to Toric’s trio.”

  The matter was quickly decided and Jaxom left with copying materials and all the glows. A screen of branches was contrived to hide the opening from any chance observer. Ruth was asked to entice the local fire-lizards to him and hopefully get them to nap. Because the morning’s exertions had tired Ruth, he was quite willing to curl up in the sun and sleep. The others departed to Cove Hold and Jaxom began to copy this peculiarly significant map.

  As he worked, he tried to figure out why it had so pleased the Weyrleaders and Master Robinton. To be sure, it was a gift to know the extent of Southern without having to walk it all.

  Was that it? Of course. Toric didn’t know how large the Southern Continent was! And now the Weyrleaders did. Jaxom regarded the Hold peninsula, estimating how much Toric and his holdless men had managed to explore. Never could Toric, even with his Hold swollen by younger sons from every Hold and cothold in Northern Pern, explore this vast continent. Why, even if he tried to Hold as far as the Western Range in the south, to the Great Bay in the west . . . Jaxom smiled, so pleased with his deduction that he nearly smeared the line he was drawing. Should he mark in the Great Bay as they now knew it, or copy the old map faithfully? Yes, it was this one that mattered. And when Toric finally saw it . . . Jaxom chuckled, imagining with intense pleasure the chagrin which Toric would feel at first sight.

  CHAPTER XXI

  Next Day at the Mountain, Cove Hold, and the

  Southern Hatching Ground, 15.10.21

  “I know what was originally conceded to Toric,” Robinton was saying to the Benden Weyrleaders as they sat drinking klah at Cove Hold.

  “To Hold what he had acquired when the Oldtimers left the Southern Weyr,” F’lar amended. “The purist would argue that, as the Oldtimers have not indeed all passed between, Toric may continue to extend his Holding.”

  “Or secure the loyalty of others in Holding?” Robinton remarked.

  Lessa stared at him, absorbing his meaning. “Was that why he was amenable to settling so many holdless men?” She looked indignant for a moment and then laughed. “Toric is a man we shall have to watch these next Turns. I’d no idea he’d prove so ambitious.”

  “Farsighted, too,” Robinton said in a dry tone. “He achieves as much by gratitude as by possession.”

  “Gratitude has a tendency to sour,” F’lar said.

  “He’s not fool enough to rely on that alone,” Lessa said with a rueful expression then looked about her, puzzled. “Did I see Sharra at all this morning?”

  “No, a rider collected her last evening. There’s illness at—oh!” The Harper’s eyes widened to emphasize his surprised dismay. “Now there’s no fool like an old one. It never occurred to me to doubt that message. Yes, he’d use Sharra, and his other sisters. He has several daughters as well to bind men to him. Jaxom will react to this situation, I think.”

  “I hope so,” Lessa said with some asperity. “I rather approve of Sharra as a match. If this is not a simple case of his being grateful for her nursing . . .” She clucked her tongue at the mention of gratitude.

  Robinton laughed. “Brekke feels, and so does Menolly, that the attachment is sincere on both sides. I’m delighted you agree. I’ve been daily hoping he would ask me to officiate. Especially in view of today’s reflections. By the way, only it isn’t exactly by the way but to our point, Jaxom went back to Ruatha Hold last evening. He approached Lytol on the subject of his confirmation as Lord Holder.”

  “Did he?” F’lar was as pleased as his weyrmate. “Prompted by Sharra? Or by Toric’s not-too-subtle jibing yesterday?”

  “I missed far too much not being permitted to go to the Plateau yesterday,” the Harper said irritably. “What jibing?”

  The bugling of Ramoth and Mnementh outside effectively prevented further discussion.

  “N’ton’s here, with Master Nicat and Wansor,” F’lar said. He turned to Robinton and Lessa as he rose. “Shall we just let matters proceed naturally?”

  “That’s usually best,” Robinton said.

  Lessa smiled cryptically as she strode toward the door.

  N’ton had brought three journeymen miners as well as their Master. F’nor arrived immediately thereafter with Wansor, Benelek and two young apprentices apparently chosen for their generous size. Without waiting for Toric to appear with D’ram, they all went between to the Plateau, landing as close to Nicat’s little mound as possible. Daylight provided the answer to its function—numerals and letters paraded as design across the far end, and rather fascinating animals, large and small and bearing no resemblance to anything walking Pern’s surface, marched across the two long walls.

  “A harper’s room, for the very young learning first Teaching Songs and Ballads,” the Harper said, not nearly as disappointed as the others since the building applied to his Craft.

  “Well, then,” Benelek added and, turning on his heel, pointed to the mound immediately on the left. “This is where the advanced students would be. If, of course,” he sounded dubious, “the ancients followed a logical sequence and progressed to the right in any circular formation.” He executed a curt bow to the Weyrleaders and the three Craftmasters and, gesturing to one of the apprentices, marched decisively out, picked a shovel from the pile and proceeded to cut the grass from
the inner end of the chosen mound.

  Lessa, waiting until Benelek was out of hearing, gave way to laughter. “And if the ancients disappoint him, will he bother with any more mysteries?”

  “It’s time to unearth my large mound today,” F’lar said, trying to imitate Benelek’s decisiveness as he gestured the others to pick up tools and join him.

  Bearing in mind that the entrances tended to be on the short ends, they abandoned F’lar’s original trench on the roof. Ramoth and Mnementh obligingly shifted enormous mounds of the curious gray-black soil from the center of the end. The entrance was shortly revealed as a door, large enough to admit a green dragon, sliding on rails; a smaller opening pierced one corner. “Man size,” F’lar said. It opened on hinges that were not of metal, a fact which delighted and puzzled Masters Nicat and Fandarel. Just as they opened the small door, Jaxom and Ruth arrived. No sooner had they landed on the mound’s top, than three more dragons burst into the air.

  “D’ram,” Lessa said, “and two Benden browns that went south to help.”

  “Sorry to take so long, Master Robinton,” Jaxom said, handing the Harper a meat roll as if it were of no moment. “Good morning, Lessa. What was in Nicat’s building?”

  The Harper tucked the roll carefully in his belt pouch, pleased with Jaxom’s dissembling. “A children’s hall. Go take a look.”

  “Could I have a word with you, Master Robinton? Unless . . .” Jaxom waved his hands toward the mound and the little door hanging so invitingly open.

  “I can wait until the air is cleared out,” Robinton said, having noticed the tense look in Jaxom’s eyes and his air of polite entreaty. He moved with the young man to one side of the others. “Yes?”

  “Sharra is being restrained at Southern by her brother,” Jaxom said in a low voice that did not reveal his agitation.

  “However did you find that out?” Robinton asked, glancing up at the circling bronze that bore the Southerner.

  “She told Ruth. Toric has plans for her to marry one of his new holders. He considers the Northern lordlings useless!” There was a dangerous glint in Jaxom’s eyes and a sternness to his features which, for the first time since Robinton had known the lad, gave him the look of his father, Fax, a resemblance which afforded Robinton some small pleasure.