Dragonseye Part 1

Dragonseye.

by Anne McCaffrey.

Prologue.

Rukbat, in the Sagittarian sector, was a golden o-type star.

It had five planets, two asteroid belts, and a stray planet it had attracted and held in recent millennia. When men first settled on Rukbat's third planet and called it Pern, they had taken little notice of the stranger planet, swinging around its adopted primary in a wildly erratic orbit - until the desperate path of the wanderer brought it close to its stepsister at perihelion.

When such aspects were harmonious, and not distorted by conjunctions with other planets in the system, the wanderer brought in a life form which sought to bridge the s.p.a.ce gap to the more temperate and hospitable planet.

The initial losses the colonists suffered from the voracious mycorrhizoid organism that fell on them were staggering.

They had divorced themselves from their home planet, Earth, and had cannibalized the colony s.h.i.+ps, the Yokohama, the Bahrain and the Buenos Aires, so they would have to improvise with what they had.

Their first need was an aerial defense against the Thread, as they named this menace. Using highly sophisticated bio-engineering techniques, they developed a specialized variant of a Pernese life form which had two unusual, and useful, characteristics: the so-called fire-lizards could digest a phosphine bearing rock in one of their two stomachs and, belching forth the resultant gas, create a fiery breath which reduced Thread to harmless char. The second of their unusual qualities were the ability to teleport and an empathy which allowed limited understanding with humans. The bio-engineered "dragons" - so called because they resembled the Earth's mythical creatures - were paired at hatching with an empathic human, forming a symbiotic relations.h.i.+p of unusual depth and mutual respect.

The colonists moved to the northern continent to seek shelter from the insidious Thread in the cave systems which were called holds.

The dragons and their riders came, too, housing themselves in old volcanic craters or Weyrs.

The First Pa.s.s of Thread lasted nearly fifty years and what scientific information the colonists were able to gather indicated that Thread would be a cyclic problem, occurring every two hundred and fifty years as the path of the wanderer once again approached Pern.

During this interval, the dragons multiplied and each successive generation became a little larger than the last, although optimum level would take many, many more generations to reach. And the humans spread out across the northern continent, creating holds to live in, and halls in which to train young people in skills and professions. Sometimes folks even forgot that they lived on a threatened planet.

However, in both Holds and Weyrs, there were ma.s.ses of reports, journals, maps and charts to remind the Lords and Weyrleaders of the problem: and much advice to a.s.sist their descendants when next the rogue planet approached Pern and how to prepare for the incursion.

This is what happened two hundred and fifty-seven years later.

Early Autumn at Fort's Gather

Dragons in squadrons wove, and interwove sky trails, diving and climbing in wings, each precisely separated by the minimum safety distance so that occasionally the watchers thought they saw an uninterrupted line of dragons as the close order drill continued.

The skies above Fort Hold, the oldest of the human settlements on the northern continent, were brilliantly clear on this early autumn day: that special sort of clarity and depth of color that their ancestors in the New England sector of the North American continent would have instantly identified.

The sun gleamed on healthy dragon hides and intensified the golden queen dragons who flew at the lowest level, sometimes seeming to touch the tops of the nearby mountains as they circled Fort. It was a sight to behold, and always brought a thrill of pride to those who watched the display: with one or two exceptions.

"Well, that's done for now," said Chalkin, Lord Holder of Bitra, the first to lower his eyes, though the fly-past was not yet over.

He rotated his neck and smoothed the skin where the decorative embroidered border of his best tunic had scratched the skin. Actually, he had had a few heart-stopping moments during some of the maneuvers, but he would never mention that aloud. The dragon riders were far too full of themselves as it was, without pandering to their egos and an inflated sense of importance: constantly appearing at his Hold and handing him lists of what hadn't been done and must be done before Threadfall. Chalkin snorted. Just how many people were taken in with all this twaddle? The storms last year had been unusually hard, but then that wasn't in itself unexpectable, so why were hard storms supposed to be a prelude to a Pa.s.s?

Winter meant storms.

And this preoccupation with the volcanoes going off. They did periodically anyway, sort of a natural phenomenon, if he remembered his science orientation correctly. So what if three or four were active right now? That did not necessarily have to do with the proximity of a spatial neighbor! And he was not going to require guards to freeze themselves keeping an easterly watch for the d.a.m.ned planet. Especially as every other Hold was also on the alert. So what if it orbited near Pern? That didn't necessarily mean it was close enough to be dangerous, no matter how the ancients had gone on about cyclical incursions.

The dragons were just one more of the settlers' weird experiments, altering an avian species to take the place of the aircraft they had once had. He'd seen the air sled which the Telgar Foundry treasured as an exhibit: a vehicle much more convenient to fly in than aboard a dragon where one had to endure the black-cold of teleportation. He shuddered. He had no liking for that sort of ultimate cold, even if it avoided the fatigue of overland travel. Surely in all those records the College was mustering folks to copy, there were other materials that could be subst.i.tuted for whatever the ancients had used to power the vehicles? Why hadn't some bright lad found the answer before the last of the air sleds deteriorated completely? Why didn't the brainy ones develop a new type of air-worthy vessel? A vessel that didn't expect to be thanked for doing its duty!

He glanced down at the wide roadway where the gather tables and stalls were set up. His were empty; even his gamesters were watching the sight. He'd have a word with them later. They should have been able to keep some customers at the various games of chance even with the dragon rider display. Surely everyone had seen that by now.

Still, the races had gone well and, with every one of the wager-takers his operators, he'd have made a tidy profit from his percentage of the bets.

As he made his way back to his seat, he saw that wine chillers had been placed at every table. He rubbed his be ringed fingers together in antic.i.p.ation, the black Istan diamonds flas.h.i.+ng as they caught sunlight. The wine was the only reason he had been willing to come to this Gathering; and he'd half suspected Hegmon of some prevarication in the matter. An effervescent wine, like the champagne one heard about from old Earth, was to have its debut. And, of course, the food would be marvelous too, even if the wine should not live up to its advance notice. Paulin, Fort Hold's Lord, had lured one of the best chefs on the continent to his kitchens and the evening meal was sure to be good: if it didn't turn sour in his stomach while he sat through the obligatory meeting afterwards. Chalkin had bid for the man's services, but Chrislee had spurned Bitra's offer and that refusal had long rankled in Chalkin's mind.

The Bitran Holder mentally ran through possible excuses for leaving right after dinner: one plausible enough to be accepted by the others. This close to putative Threadfall, he had to be careful of alienating the wrong people. If he left before the dinner... but then he wouldn't have a chance to sample this champagne-style wine, and he was determined to.

He'd taken the trouble to go to Hegmon's Benden vineyard, with the clear intention of buying cases of the vintage. But Hegmon had refused to see him. Oh, his eldest son had been apologetic - something about a critical time in the process requiring Hegmon's presence in the caverns - but the upshot was that Chalkin couldn't even get his name put down on the purchase list for the sparkling wine. Since Benden Weyr was likely to get the lion's share of it, Chalkin had to keep in good with the Benden Weyrleaders so that, at the Hatching which was due to occur in another few weeks, he'd be invited and could drink as much of their allotment of wines as he could.

More than one way to skin a wherry!

He paused to twirl one of the bottles in its ice nest. Almost perfectly chilled. Riders must have brought the ice in from the High Reaches for Paulin. Whenever he needed some, he couldn't find a rider willing to do him, Bitra's Lord Holder, such a simple service. Humph!

But of course, certain Bloodlines always got preferential treatment.

Rank didn't mean as much as it should, that was certain!

He was surrept.i.tiously inspecting the label of a bottle when there was a sudden, startled intake of fearful breaths from the watchers, instantly followed by a wild cheer. Looking up, he saw he had just missed some sort of dangerous maneuver Ah, yes, they'd done another mid-air rescue. He saw a bronze dragon veering from under a blue who was miming a wounded wing: both riders now safely aboard the bronze's neck. Quite likely that Telgar Weyrleader who was such a dare-devil.

Cheers were now punctuated with applause and some banging of drums from the bandsmen on their podium down on the wide courtyard that spread out from the steps to the Hold down to the two right-angled annexes. Once again, both the infirmary and the teachers' college were being enlarged, if the scaffolding was a reliable indication. Chalkin snorted, for the buildings were being extended outward, wide open to any Thread which was purportedly supposed to start falling again. They really ought to be consistent! Of course, tunneling into the cliff would take more time than building outside. But too many folks preached one thing and practiced another.

Chalkin grunted to himself, wondering acidly if the architects had got Weyrleader approval for the design. Thread! He snorted again and wished that Paulin, chatting so cozily with the two Benden Holders as he and his wife escorted them back to the head table, would hurry up.

He was dying to sample the bubbly white.

Rattling his fingers on the table, he awaited the return of his host and the opening of the tempting bottles in the cooler.

K'vin, bronze Charanth's rider, put his lips close to the ear of the young blue rider sitting in front of him.

"Next time wait for my signal!" he said.

P'tero only grinned, giving him a backward glance, his bright blue eyes merry.

"Knew you'd catch me", he bellowed back. "Too many people watching to let me swing and give Weyr secrets away!" Then P'tero waved encouragingly at Ormonth, who was now flying anxiously at Charanth's wingtip. Though unseen from the ground, the safety-tethers still linked the blue rider to his dragon. P'tero unbuckled his end of the straps and they dangled free.

"Lucky you that I was looking up just then!" K'vin said so harshly that the brash lad flushed to his ear tips. "Look at the fright you've given Ormonth!" And he gestured towards the blue, his hide flus.h.i.+ng in mottled spots from his recent scare.

P'tero yelled something else which K'vin didn't catch so he leaned forward, putting his right ear nearer the blue rider's mouth.

"I was in no danger," P'tero repeated. "I used brand-new straps and he watched me braid 'em".

"Hah!" As every rider knew, dragons had gaps in their ability to correlate cause and effect. So Ormonth would scarcely have connected the new straps with his rider's perfect safety.

"Oh, thanks," the rider added as K'vin snapped one of his own straps to P'tero's belt. Not that they would be doing more than landing, but K'vin wished to make a point of safety to P'tero.

While K'vin approved of courage, he did not appreciate recklessness, especially if it endangered a dragon this close to the beginning of Threadfall. Careful supervision had kept his Weyr from losing any dragon partners and he intended to maintain that record.

Spilling off his blue before K'vin had pa.s.sed the word was taking a totally unnecessary risk. Fortunately, K'vin had seen P'tero dive.

His heart had lurched in his chest, even if he knew P'tero was equipped with the especially heavy and long harness as a fail-safe. Even if he and Charanth had not accurately judged the mid-air rescue, those long straps would have saved the blue rider from falling to his death.

Today's maneuver had been precipitous instead of well-executed.

And, if Charanth had not been as adept on the wing, P'tero might be nursing broken ankles or severe bruising as a result of his folly.

No matter how broad, those safety straps really jerked a man about in mid-air.

P'tero still showed no remorse. K'vin only hoped that the stunt produced the effect the love-struck P'tero wished. His mate would have been watching, heart in mouth, no doubt, and P'tero would reap the harvest of such fear some time this evening. K'vin wished that more girls were available to Impress green dragons. It made that facet of Weyrleaders.h.i.+p considerably easier to deal with. There were still a few, of course, but with parents keenly interested in applying for more land by setting up cot holds for married children, fewer and fewer girls were encouraged to stand on the Hatching Grounds. While being a dragon rider didn't prevent a girl from having children, if that's what she wanted, it did prevent them from owning land. Still, grandchildren, even the Weyrborn, could claim land. Though, in actual fact, more Weyrborn preferred to stay in the Weyr even if they didn't Impress.

The dragons who had taken part in the ma.s.s fly-by were now landing their riders in the wide road beyond the court.

Then they leaped up again to find a spot in which to enjoy the last of the warm autumnal sun. Many made for the adjoining cliffs as s.p.a.ce on Fort's heights filled up on either side of the solar panels.

Dragons could be trusted not to tread on what remained of the priceless installations. Fort's were the oldest, of course, and two banks had been lost last winter to the unseasonably fierce storms. Fort, being the largest as well as the oldest northern installation, needed all its arrays in full working order to supply heat for its warren of corridors, power for air circulation units and what equipment still worked. Fortunately a huge stockpile of panels had been made during the first big wave of constructing new Weyrs and Holds. There would be enough for generations.

Weyrleaders sought their tables on the upper level with Lord Holders and Professionals, while riders joined whatever company they preferred at tables set up on the huge expanse of the outer ap.r.o.n. Not a sprout of vegetation anywhere on that plaza surface, K'vin noticed with approval. S'nan, Fort's Weyrleader, had always been fussy and rightly so.

The musicians had struck up sprightly music and couples were already dancing on the wooden floor set over the cobbles. Beyond the dance square were the stalls, tents and tables where goods were being sold or exchanged. There'd been brisk business all day, especially for items needed during the winter months when there would be fewer big Gathers.

The various Craftsmen would be pleased, and there'd be less for the dragons to haul back.

Charanth was now circling over the annexes which had been started to increase living s.p.a.ce for both Pern's main infirmary research facility and teacher training. The dormitories were also going to house volunteers who were a.s.siduously trying to save the records, damaged during last spring when water had leaked down the walls of the vast storage caverns under Fort. Riders had offered to spend as much time as possible from their training schedules to help in the project.

Everyone who had a legible script was acceptable, and Lord Paulin had done a bang-up job in making the copyists comfortable. The other Holds had contributed material and work forces.

The exterior buildings of the College were designed to be Threadproof, with high peaked roofs of Telgar slate and gutters which led into underground cisterns where errant Thread would be drowned.

All the Craftsmen involved, including those destined to inhabit the facility, would have preferred to enlarge the cave system, but there had been two serious collapses of caverns and the mining engineers had vetoed interior expansion for fear of undermining the whole cliff-side.

Even the mutant, blunt-winged, flightless photo-sensitive watchwhers had refused to go on further subterranean explorations which, their handlers insisted meant dangers human eyes couldn't see. So build they did: stout walls more than two and a half meters thick at ground level, tapering to just under two meters under the roof. With the iron mines at Telgar going full blast, the necessary structural beams to support such weight had posed no problem.

The new quarters were to be finished within the month.

Even today there had been a work force, though they had taken a break to watch the aerial display and would finish in time for the evening meal and entertainment.

Charanth landed gracefully, with Ormonth right beside him so that P'tero could remove the tethering safety straps before they could be noticed. As he was doing so, M'leng, green Sith's rider, came up to him, scolding him for "putting my heart in my mouth like that!" And he proceeded to berate P'tero far more viciously than his Weyrleader would.

K'vin grinned to himself, especially as he saw how penitent P'tero became under such a harangue. K'vin rolled up his riding straps and tied them to the harness ring.

"Enjoy the sun, my friend," he said, slapping Charanth on the wide shoulder.

I will. Meranath is already there, the bronze dragon said, his tone slightly smug as he executed a powerful upward leap, showering his rider with grit.

Charanth's att.i.tude towards his mate, Meranath, amused, and pleased, his rider. No-one had expected K'vin to accede to Telgar's Weyrleaders.h.i.+p when it fell open after B'ner's death nine months before. Who would have expected that the st.u.r.dy rider, just into his sixth decade, had had any heart problems? But that is what the medics said killed him. So, when Meranath was ready to mate again, Telgar's senior Weyrwoman, Zulaya, had called for an open flight, leaving it to the dragons to decide on the next Leader. She'd insisted that she had no personal preference. She had been sincerely attached to B'ner and was probably still grieving for him. There had certainly been no lack of suitors.

K'vin had sent Charanth aloft in the mating flight because all the Telgar Weyr wing leaders were expected to take part, as well as bronze riders from the other Weyrs. He had no real wish to lead a Weyr into a Pa.s.s; he considered himself too young for such responsibilities. He had observed from B'ner that the normal duties of an Interval were bad enough, but to know that a high percentage of your fellow-riders would be injured, or killed, that the lives of so many people rested on your expertise and endurance was too much to contemplate. Some nights, now, he was racked by terrifying dreams, and Threadfall hadn't even started.

On the occasions when he was in Zulaya's bed, she had been understanding and calmly rea.s.suring.

"B'ner worried, too, if that's any consolation, Kev," she said, using his old nickname and soothing back sweat-curled hair as he trembled with reaction. "He had nightmares, too. Comes with the t.i.tle. As a rule, the morning after a nightmare, B'ner'd go over Sean's notes. I figure he had to have memorized them."

"I've seen you do the same thing. You'll do well, Kev, when push comes to shove. I know it." Zulaya could sound so sure of something, but then she was nearly a decade his senior and had had more experience as a Weyrleader. Sometimes her intuition was downright uncanny: she could accurately predict the size of clutches, the distribution of the colors, the s.e.x of babies born in the Weyr and, occasionally, even the type of weather in the future. But then, she was Fort Weyrbred, a linear descendant of one of the First Riders, Aliana Zuleita, and knew things. It was odd how the golden queens always seemed to prefer women from outside the Weyrs, but sometimes a queen had a mind of her own and chose a Weyrbred woman in spite of what had become custom.

However, just like his predecessor, he constantly reviewed accounts of the individual Falls, how they differed, how you could tell from the Leading Edge of Fall that this would be an odd one. Most often the accounts were dry statements of fact, but the prosaic language did not disguise the presence of great courage: especially as those first riders had to figure out how to cope with Thread, easy or hard.

The fact that he was a several times great-nephew of Sorka Connell, the First Weyrwoman - and Zulaya pointed this out more than once - const.i.tuted a secondary and subtle rea.s.surance to the entire Weyr.

"Maybe that's why Meranath let Charanth catch her," Zulaya said, her face dead serious but her eyes dancing.

"Had you, I mean... did you think of me... I mean...", K'vin tried to summon appropriate words two weeks after that momentous flight. He had been overwhelmed by her response to him that night. But afterwards she had seemed very casual in her dealings with him, and she did not always invite him into her quarters, despite the fact that their dragons were inseparable.

"Who thinks at all during a mating flight? But I do believe I'm glad that Charanth was so clever. If there is anything in heredity, having a distant great-nephew of Fort Weyr's First Weyrwoman - AND from a family that has put many acceptable candidates on the Hatching Grounds - as Telgar's Weyrleader gives us all a boost."

"I'm not my many times great-aunt, Zulaya", She chuckled.

"Fortunately, or you wouldn't be Weyrleader, but blood will tell!" Zulaya had a disconcerting directness but gave him no real hint how she - the woman, not the Weyrwoman - personally felt towards him. She was kind, helpful, made constructive suggestions when they discussed training programs but so impersonal, that K'vin had to decide that she hadn't really got over B'ner's death yet.

He himself was obscurely comforted that his distant great aunt had managed to survive Fall, and he would attempt to do the same. As, he was sure, would his two siblings and four cousins who were also dragonriders, though no others were Weyrleaders. Yet. Still, if his being of the Ruathan Bloodline which had produced Sorka, M'hall, M'dani, Sorana and Mairian offered rea.s.surance to his Weyr, he'd reinforce that at every turn during the Pa.s.s.

Now, at probably the last large Gather Pern would enjoy wider Threadfree skies for the next fifty years, he watched his Weyrwoman leave the group of Telgar holders she had been talking to and stride towards him across the open Courtyard.

Zulaya was tall for a woman, long-legged - all the better for bestriding a dragon's neck. He was a full head taller than she was, which she said she liked in him: B'ner had been just her height. It was her coloring that fascinated K'vin: the inky-black curly hair that, once freed of the flying helmet, tumbled down below her waist.

The hair framed a wide, high cheek-boned face, set off the beige of her smooth skin and large, l.u.s.trous eyes that were nearly black; a wide and sensual mouth above a strong chin gave her face strength and purpose which reinforced her authority with anyone. She strode, unlike some of the hold women who minced along, her steel-rimmed boot heels noisy on the flagstones, her arms swinging at her sides. She'd had time to put a long, slitted skirt over her riding gear and it opened as she walked, showing a well-formed leg in the leather pants and high boots.

She'd turned the high riding-boot cuffs down over her calves and the red fur made a nice accent to her costume, echoed in the fur trim of her cuffs and collar which she had opened. As usual, she wore the sapphire pendant she had inherited as the eldest female of her Blood.

"So, did P'tero win M'leng's undying affection with that stunt?" she demanded, an edge to her voice. They've gone off together and she looked in the direction of the two riders who were headed towards the temporary tents along the row of cots.

"You might have a word with both later. They're afraid of you," K'vin said, grinning.

"For that piece of stupidity, I'll make them more afraid," she said briskly, hopping a step to match his stride. "You really should learn how to scowl menacingly." She glanced up at K'vin and then shook her head, sighing sadly. She had once teased him that he was far too handsome to ever look genuinely threatening, with the Hanrahan red hair, blue eyes and freckles. "No, you just don't have the face for it. Be that as it may, Meranath's going to give out to Sith for allowing a blue to put himself in danger."

"Get 'em where it hurts," K'vin said, nodding, because Meranath was even more effective as a deterrent with the dragons than any human could be, even the dragon's own rider. d.a.m.ned fool stunt!

"However," and now Zulaya cleared her throat, "the Telgarians thought it was Just marvelous!" she added in a gus.h.i.+ng tone. "Especially since they won't get much chance to see the dive in real action." Now she grimaced.

"Well, at least Telgarians believe," K'vin said.

"Who doesn't?" Zulaya demanded, looking up at him.