Ezra raised a warning hand, his expression wary. “Mind you, they can’t get close to the planet! We’ve lost seven probes. Could be mines, could be missiles – but they blow up.”
“Whoever goes will know exactly what and how big the risks are,” Paul said.
“There’s risk enough in just going up,” Ezra said gloomily.
“I hate to sound fatuous, but surely there’s one pilot who’d take the challenge to save this world,” Paul added.
Drake Bonneau was approached first. He thought the scheme was feasible, but he worried about the risk of a shuttle that had certainly deteriorated from eight years’ disuse. He then pointed out that he was married with responsibilities, and that there were other pilots equally as qualified. Paul and Emily did not argue with him.
“Marriage and dependent children will be the excuse of practically everyone,” Paul told their private counselors, Ezra, Jim, and Zi Ongola, who had been permitted four hours of work a day by his reluctant medical advisers. “The only one still unattached is Nabhi Nabol.”
“He’s a clever enough pilot,” Ongola said thoughtfully, “though not exactly the type of man on whom the future of an entire planet should ride. However, exactly the type if the reward could be made attractive enough for him to take the risk.”
“How?” Emily asked skeptically.
Nabhi had already been reprimanded a dozen times and served Cherry Duff’s sentences for social misdemeanors such as being caught “drunk and disorderly,” several work delinquencies, and one “lewd advance.” Lately he had somewhat redeemed himself by being a good squadron leader, and was much admired by the young men he led .
“He’s a contractor,” Ongola said. “If he should be offered, say, a charterer’s stake rights, I think he might well go for it. He’s griped about the disparity in land holdings often enough. That could sweeten him. He also fancies himself as a crack pilot.
“We’ve got some very good young pilots,” Jim began.
“Who have had no experience in space with a shuttle. ‘ Ongola dismissed that notion. “Though it might be a good idea to choose one to go as copilot and give them the feel. But I’d rather trust Nabhi than a complete space novice.”
“If we suggest that he was also our second choice, rather than our last one . . .” Emily remarked.
“We’d better get on with it, what ever we do,” Ezra said. I can’t keep stalling questions. We need data and we need a sample of the stuff in that trail. Then we’ll know for certain what our future is.
Bargaining with Nabhi began that afternoon. He sneered at the flattery and the appeal to his competence and demanded to know just how much the trip was worth in terms of a holding and other rights. When he demanded the entire province of Cibola, Paul and Emily settled down to their task. When Nabhi insisted on being granted charterer status, they agreed with sufficient reluctance to satisfy the man that he was ahead in the bargaining.
Then Emily nonchalantly mentioned that Big Island was now untenanted. She and Paul managed to suppress their relief when he immediately seized on the notion of occupying Avril’s former property.
Nabhi said that he wanted the shuttle he had used during the ferrying operation and he specified the personnel who were, under his supervision, to handle the Moth’s recommissioning. He waved aside the fact that all the people he named were already heavily involved in crucial projects. He would only make the trip if he was satisfied that the long-disused shuttle checked out technically. But the other inducements were his immediately.
He then demanded Bart Lemos as his copilot, with the condition that Bart, too, would be given charterer status. Paul and Emily found that particularly unpalatable, but agreed reluctantly.
Nabol’s attitude toward both admiral and governor immediately altered, becoming so arrogant and pompous that Emily had to struggle to contain her dislike of the man. His smile of triumph was only one degree less than a full sneer as he left their office with the signed charterer’s warrant. Then he commandeered one of the speed shuttles, although it was needed for an imminent Threadfall, and went to inspect his new acquisition.
The admiral and the governor formally announced the venture, its aims, and its personnel. The news managed to outweigh every other topic of interest with one exception: the transfer of the twenty-seven mature eggs to their artificial hatching ground.
The full veterinary contingent assisted the biologists in that maneuver. Sorka Hanrahan and Sean Connell, in their capacities as advanced veterinary apprentices, had also done some of the early analysis and tedious documentation for the project, working under Kitti Ping’s close supervision. It didn’t take long to accomplish the transfer, but Sorka noticed that the amount of dithering was aggravating her lover. But the project meant more to him than his exasperation with worried biologists, and he suppressed his irritation. Finally the eggs were placed to the complete satisfaction of Wind Blossom, Pol, and Bay: in a double circle, seventeen on the inner ring, twenty on the outer, with the warm sand banked high around them to imitate the natural environment of dragonets.
“The whole thing could have been done in a third of the time,” Sean muttered darkly to Sorka. “So much fuss is bad for the eggs.” He scowled at the precise circles.
“They’re much bigger than I thought they’d be,” Sorka said after a moment’s silence.
“Much bigger than they thought they’d be,” Sean said in a scoffing tone. “I suppose we’re lucky that so many survived to this stage – a credit to Kit Ping, considering all that had to be done to create them.”
Sorka knew that it meant as much to Sean to be a part of the project as it did to her. They had, after all, been the first to discover one of the wild nests. Eager but tired, she was balancing on one of the edging timbers, keeping her feet off the uncomfortably warm sands of the artificial hatching ground.
Although the transfer was complete, the helpers had not yet dispersed. Wind Blossom, Pol, and Bay were deep in discussions with Phas, the admiral, and the governor, who had taken an official part in the removal. Sorka thought that Emily Boll particularly looked drawn and exhausted, but her smile remained warm and genuine. They, too seemed reluctant to leave.
Most of the Landing population of dragonets had been in and out of the Hatching Ground, darting up to the rafters and vying to find roosting room. They seemed content to watch; none of them had been bold enough to examine the eggs closely. Sorka interpreted their little chirps as reverent, awed.
“Would they know what these are?” she asked Sean softly.
“Do we?” Sean retorted with an amused snort. He had both arms folded across his chest; he unlaced one to point to the nearest egg. “That’s the biggest. I wonder if it’s one of the golds. I’ve lost track of which was put where in that dance we just did. There were more males than females among the ones lost, and Lili’s opened book on which of us get what.”
Sorka gave the egg a long speculative look. She thought about whether or not it was a gold, and then decided, somewhat arbitrarily in her own mind, that no, it was not. It was a bronze. She did not tell Sean her conclusion. Sean tended to debate such issues, and that moment, surveying the first clutch of “dragons,” was not a moment to spoil. She sighed.
Dragonets had become as important to her as horses. She readily admitted that Sean could make his fair behave better than she could hers. He could and did discipline his for effective use during Threadfall. But she knew that she understood any of them – hers, his, and those impressed by anyone else on Pern – better than he did, especially when they were injured fighting Thread. Or maybe her sensitivity, developed over the last couple of months along with her pregnancy, tended toward maternal caring. The doctor had said she was in excellent health and had found nothing in her physical profile to suggest problems. She could continue riding as long as she felt comfortable in the saddle.
“You’ll know when you can’t ride anymore,” he had told her with a grin. “And you’ll have to curtail ground crew at five months. Th
at’s no time for you to be swinging the weight of a flame-thrower about for hours on end.”
Sorka had not yet found the proper moment to inform Sean of his impending fatherhood. She fretted about his reaction. They had saved enough work credits to make the Killarney holding a substantial one, but not with Thread falling. Sean had not even mentioned Killarney, since the third Fall, but that did not mean he did not think about it. She saw the faraway look in his eyes from time to time.
She had thought he would mention Killarney when his father returned Cricket from his stud duties. But he had not. With everyone working double jobs just to keep essential services going, very few people had time to consider private concerns. Sean and Sorka spent what leisure moments they had keeping their horses fit, riding them out beyond the swath of destruction for an hour’s grazing.
The main door opened to admit one of the security engineers, and there was an instant reaction from the gallery of winged watchers. Sean chuckled softly. “They don’t need a security system in here,” he murmured to Sorka. “C’mon, love, we’ve got surgery in five minutes.”
With backward glances at the circles of mottled eggs, the two apprentices reluctantly went back to work. As they crossed one of the alleys, they had a clear view of the donks slowly moving the shuttle Moth, into takeoff position.
“D’you think they’ll make it?” Sorka asked Sean.
“They’ve been busy enough,” he replied sourly. Neither Nabhi Nabol nor Bart Lemos had made himself popular since the sudden rise to charterer rank. “Still, I wouldn’t be in their shoes for anything!”
She giggled. “Spacer Yvonne. You’ve never told me, Sean, did that help you on the drop?”
He gave her face a long and searching look, a slight smile tugging at his lips. Then he put his arm about her and hauled her into his side. “All I could think about was proving to you I wasn’t scared. But, by Jays, I was!” Then his expression changed and he halted, turning her roughly to him, both hands feeling across her stomach and pulling the bulky shipsuit taut across her body. He glared accusingly at her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re pregnant?”
“Well, it’s only just been confirmed,” she said defiantly.
“Does everyone else know but me?” He was furious with her; for the first time in their years together, he was mad at her. His eyes were flashing and his hands rested hard across her thickening waistline.
“No one knows except the doctor, and he doesn’t have to ground me for another three months.” She pulled defensively at one hand to make him release her. “But there’s Killarney and I know you think about it . . .”
“Your mother knows?”
“When do I have a chance to see her? She’s minding half of Landing’s babies, as well as my latest brother. You’re the only other one who knows.”
“Sometimes you baffle me, Sorka,” Sean said, his anger abating. He shook his head. “Why wait to tell me? Killarney’s a long way off in our future now. We’re committed here. I thought you understood that.” He put both hands on her shoulders and gave her a stern shake. “I’ve wanted to be the father of your children. I want you to have only mine. I want it to be now, too, Sorka love, but I didn’t think I had the right to ask you to bring a child into the world the way it is.” His voice fell into the special tender tone he always used when they were making love.
“No, it’s the best time to have a child. Something for both of us to have,” she said. She did not add “in case,” but he knew what she was thinking and tightened his grip on her. His eyes compelled hers to look at him. The fury had been replaced by resolution.
“Immediately after surgery, we’re going before Cherry Duff. This is going to be a two-parent child, or my name’s not Sean Connell!”
Sorka burst out laughing and did not stop until they reached the surgery shed.
Ongola had ended up as arbiter on the reconditioning of the space shuttle Moth. Nabhi Nabol had been driving the refit crew demented, interrupting them at critical moments of repair, demanding to know if that circuit or this segment of hull had been checked. Despite the fact that he had a good working knowledge of the complexities of a shuttle, he delayed more than he assisted. The shuttle Mayfly lying next to the Moth had been sectioned off into offices for Ongola, Fulmar, and Nabhi, with a half-dozen comm lines so that Ongola could handle other commitments while on hand at the shuttle. His office was festooned with probe pics and survey maps, as well as with the various launch windows open to Nabhi. Nabhi would often come and stand broodingly staring at the orbits, picking at his lower lip. Ongola ignored him.
The basic condition of the Moth had been surprisingly good: there had been practically no perishing of interior circuits or lines. But everything had to be double-checked. In that Ongola agreed with Nabhi. It put quite a burden on Fulmar’s engineering team, but that was not where he disagreed with the autocratic Nabhi.
“I wouldn’t care what he asked me to do,” Fulmar told Ongola, “if he’d only ask politely. You’d think he was doing me a favor. Are you sure he’s as good a driver as he thinks he is?”
“He is good,” Ongola reluctantly admitted.
“I’d’ve preferred the mission in Bonneau’s hands,” Fulmar replied, shaking his head sadly. “But with that big stake, kids and all, I can’t fault his refusal. It’s just that – ” He broke off, raising his big, work stained hands in a helpless gesture.
The mission has got to succeed, Fulmar,” Ongola said, giving the man an encouraging clout on the shoulder. “And you’re the best man to see that it does.”
In the thirteenth week after Threadfall, the pattern suddenly shifted. As the squadrons reached the projected site, which was mainly over unoccupied lands, only the top of the squadron saw the leading edge. It was well north of their position: the gray shimmering stain on the horizon was all too easily identified.
“Hell and damnation!” Theo Force cried, ramming a call through to Ongola at Landing. “The damned stuff’s shifted north, Zi. We’ll need reinforcements.”
“Give me the coordinates,” Ongola said, issuing crisp orders and gesturing to Jake to get in touch with Dieter or Boris. “Go for it. We’ll scramble another squadron or two to help. I’ll alert Drake.”
Boris was found, and made some quick calculations. It’s going to hit Calusa and Bordeaux. It seems to have shifted north by five degrees. That doesn’t make sense. Why on earth would it shift so suddenly?”
There was no answer to his question. Ongola rang off. “Have you the week’s roster there, Jake? Check where Kwan is today. I’ll call Chuck Havers at Calusa.”
Sue Havers answered the phone. After her initial shock at the news, she rallied. “We’ve several hours then, don’t we? And it could just miss us? I hope so. I don’t know where Chuck is working today. Thank you, Zi. And,” she added, her voice less assured, “are you calling Mary Tubberman, or should I warn her?”
“We’ll send Ned along.” Ongola disconnected.
Shunning was very hard on the relatives. Ned was entitled to assist his mother and his younger brothers and sister in fighting Thread. If he chose also to assist his father in the emergency, there would be only family to witness it. Tubberman had been quick to clad his buildings with metal, so his stake was as safe as those precautions could make it. He would get no other help.
Ongola then contacted Drake and ordered him to avoid the Tubbermans’ stake. Drake at first protested that they couldn’t leave any Thread on any ground, shunned or not.
“Ned can protect that much with his mother’s help, Drake, but we cannot assist Ted Tubberman.”
“But it’s Thread, man.”
“That’s an order, man,” Ongola replied in a steely tone.
“Gotcha!”
Ongola then informed Paul Benden and Emily Boll of the pattern’s alteration.
“Ezra will say that proves intelligence directs Fall,” Fall remarked to Emily as they conferred.
“It’s heads we lose, tails we lose, as far as I can see,”
Emily replied, heaving a sigh.
“It’s as well we don’t have to wait long to find out.” Paul nodded toward the grid where the Moth was undergoing the final countdown. None of the technicians had been allowed to scramble for additional support squadrons. Their assignments on the shuttle had just become all-important.
Following the courtesy now well established, Drake Bonner checked in at the Havers’ stakehold on his way back from end of Fall which had just tipped Bordeaux across the Jordan River. He landed within sight of the Tubbermans’ larger home.
“Ned and Mary were out with flame-throwers,” Chuck told the squadron leader, “and then, for some insane reason, Ted drove them back into the house. There couldn’t have been much damage, or we’d have seen results.”
“Well, you’re all right here,” Drake said heartily.
“The ground crew arrived well in advance. But does anyone know why the pattern’s shifted?” Sue asked. Weary with fighting, she needed some spark of reassurance.
“No,” Drake replied cheerfully, “but we’ll probably be told!”
He accepted a cup of the refreshing fruit drink that the oldest Havers girl brought him and his crew, then said good-bye. Drake had obeyed Ongola’s order to bypass the Tubberman stake during Fall, but after what the Havers had said about Ted, he was curious. In his opinion, all thread had to be destroyed, even if it fell on a shunned homesite. Thread did not care about human conflicts it ate. Drake did not want to see a little burrow get started because of man-made restrictions.
Therefore, as he took off, he made a leisurely turn right over the Tubberman property. He saw Ned standing on the green patch surrounding the house. Ned waved and gesticulated rather wildly, at which point Drake felt obliged to follow orders and turn northwest towards Landing.
He was having a quick bite to eat in the dining hall when Ned Tubberman found him.
Dragons Dawn Page 31
