All the Weyrs of Pern (55 page)

“I’m glad we’re able to keep the
Yokohama
,” Piemur said. “I’ve gotten rather fond of this old girl.” He let his fingers trail along the console.

“She has served long and well,” Robinton said, sighing deeply.

“Why don’t you write a ballad about her, Piemur?” Jancis suggested.

“You know, I think I will!”

As the last one entering the lift, Piemur palmed off the bridge lights.

Jaxom heard about the second expedition from N’ton, who dropped in to Ruatha Hall two days after the Red Star explosion. N’ton had been on the
Buenos Aires
with half a dozen of his wingleaders.

“I feel an affinity to that little ship,” N’ton said, with a wry smile. “I’ll be sorry to see her go.”

“I wonder why she needs to,” Jaxom said. “Surely the solar panels . . .”

“Aivas said that there have been too many corrections and the panels can’t handle them.”

“Hmm, that’s quite possible.”

“He also recommended doing it while we’re still accustomed to working in weightlessness. There is, I might add,” N’ton said with a broad grin, “great rejoicing among the riders of browns, blues, and greens. At that, they know that there are only two hundred and some suits available, so they’ll have to draw lots. But that’s fair enough.”

“Let’s hope the helmets are with the right suits this time.”

“Oh, we made sure of that.” N’ton rolled his eyes. “What a mess that was! I tried on twenty helmets before I found one that would attach snugly to the collar. Then I had to get the wingleaders to check every rider to be sure all the bloody things fitted properly. Some riders were just cramming helmets on any old way.”

“The important thing is that everyone did get rigged out and we got where we were supposed to go.”

N’ton regarded him for such a long moment that Jaxom wondered if the Fort Weyrleader had somehow guessed what had happened. Considering his disoriented bronze riders, a man as intelligent as N’ton might extrapolate the truth. As long as Jaxom didn’t admit it, N’ton would be kept guessing.

“Maybe that’s what happened to those disoriented riders,” Jaxom went on as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Maybe they had badly fitting helmets and lost air.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” N’ton replied. “You know, that would certainly explain a lot.”

Jaxom nodded in agreement, saying nothing more.

“F’lar’s not best pleased to have to wait, yet again, to be sure the blastings did the trick,” N’ton went on.

“Aivas was evidently satisfied.”

“Yes, but he always sounds certain.”

“Everything he’s sounded certain about has worked just as he said. He’s never prevaricated. I don’t think an AI facility can.”

“You’d know better than I.” N’ton grinned at Jaxom over his wineglass. “We certainly can’t fault Hold and Hall, then, for disbelief if the Benden Weyrleader is still skeptical.”

“Again, Aivas has been right so often we have to trust him this time.” Jaxom had a whimsical desire to confide in N’ton that he knew, incontrovertibly, that Aivas’s great Plan had worked, at least as far as the orbit of the Red Star was concerned. That he had seen it with his own eyes—fifty Turns in the future.

“As he trusted our dragons?”

“Well, he did, in the end, didn’t he?” Jaxom replied. “No, N’ton, don’t fret. It’ll be as Aivas has predicted. You wait, you’ll see.”

“Ah, but F’lar might not. And he’s the one who wants to know for certain, or he will not have kept that promise!”

Maybe, Jaxom thought, he could just reassure F’lar.

I wouldn’t
, Ruth said.
You’d have to explain everything to him then.

Not necessarily
, Jaxom replied.

Ruth’s silence indicated complete disagreement.

“So,” N’ton went on, “now that we’ve solved the world’s problems, what do you intend doing with all that spare time you’ve got?”

“What spare time, N’ton? I’ve only just scraped the surface of the information in Aivas’s files. I was in the process of organizing Hold affairs before I resume my studies—at an easier pace, now that the urgency is over.”

“We’ve Threadfall in two days. Are you and Ruth rested enough to join us?”

“I’d better, what with all these misconceptions about the end of Thread.”

“Indeed!” From that succinct but heartfelt comment, Jaxom knew that N’ton had been heavily criticized for letting Thread get through the Fort Weyr wings.

“I’ll be there!” Jaxom promised.

“Master Robinton, it is good to see you,” Aivas said as the Harper entered.

“I’ve been meaning to come for the last week,” Robinton remarked with a droll smile. Even that short walk down the corridor had taken more breath than he had in his body.

“You are well?”

Robinton laughed softly and eased himself into the chair he had occupied for so many hours in the recent past. “Can’t fool you, can I?”

“No.”

Robinton sighed and stroked Zair, curled asleep on his shoulder. “I did forgive them, then, you know,” he began slowly, so his words would not come out at the end of a gasp, “at the trial. I’m not so sure now that I would.”

“The effects of inappropriate fellis administration?”

“Yes, I must assume so.”

“You have not consulted Master Oldive?” Aivas’s tone was sharp.

Robinton waved one hand, dismissing the advice. “He has enough to do, teaching his healers all the new techniques he learned while doing your work. That will take him the rest of his life.”

“You must consult—”

“Why? You can produce no cures for worn-out human parts, can you, Aivas?” When there was silence, Robinton went on, still stroking Zair’s soft body. “Neither Zair nor I will recover from that abduction. Sometimes, I think he stays out of spite.”

“Or love of you, Master Robinton?”

The Harper had never heard that particular tone from Aivas. “Quite likely, for they can be exceedingly loyal, these fire-lizards.”

Robinton had his breath back now, and being in this room brought back some of the excitement of the early days of discovery. He felt at ease here in the Aivas room as he did not at Cove Hold, especially when Lytol and D’ram kept treating him like an invalid. Which, he had to admit, he was. He heard the chatter of students changing classes in the hall.

“The classes continue?” he asked, well pleased that they did.

“The classes continue,” Aivas said, using that soft, almost rueful tone that had surprised the Harper before. “The machines now harbor all the information this world will need to build a better future.”

“The future which you have given them.”

“The priorities for this facility have now been met.”

“That’s true enough,” Robinton said, smiling.

“This facility now has no further function.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Aivas,” Robinton said somewhat sharply. “You’ve just gotten your students to the point where they know enough to argue with you!”

“And to resent the superiority of this facility. No, Master Robinton, the task is done. Now it is wise to let them seek their own way forward. They have the intelligence and a great spirit. Their ancestors can rightfully be proud of them.”

“Are you?”

“They have worked hard and well. That is in itself a reward and an end.”

“You know, I believe you’re right.”

“ ‘To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven,’ Master Robinton”.

“That is poetic, Aivas.”

There was one of those pauses that Robinton always thought was the Aivas equivalent of a smile.

“From the greatest book ever written by Mankind, Master Robinton. You may find the entire quotation in the files. The time has been accomplished. This system is going down. Farewell, Masterharper of Pern. Amen.”

Robinton sat straight up in his chair, fingers on the pressure plates, though he hadn’t a single positive idea of how he could avert what Aivas was about to do. He half turned to the Hall, to call for help, but no one who had the knowledge—Jaxom, Piemur, Jancis, Fandarel, D’ram, or Lytol—was near enough at hand.

The screen that had paraded so much knowledge and issued so many commands and diagrams and plans was suddenly blank, lifeless. In the right-hand corner, a single line blinked.

“ ‘And a time to every purpose under heaven,’ ” Robinton murmured, his throat almost too tight for him to speak. He felt incredibly tired, overwhelmingly sleepy. “Yes, how very true. How splendidly true. And what a wonderful time it has been!”

Unable to resist the lethargy that spread from his extremities, he laid his head down on the inactive pressure plate, one hand holding Zair in the curve of his neck, and closed his eyes, his long season over, his purpose, too, accomplished.

D’ram found them there, for Zair had breathed his last as well, following the Harper as selflessly as any dragon followed his rider into death.

Tiroth lifted his head, his keening alerting all those at Landing and, indeed, broadcasting to every Weyr, every dragon, and every rider on Pern, and throughout the Halls and Holds, from mountain to plain, from sea to sea on both continents.

D’ram was so tear-blinded that he did not notice the opacity of the screen, or read the blinking message.

In Ruatha Hold, Ruth gave out a bellow of anguish that had everyone in the Great Hall rushing to the door.

The Harper! The Harper!

Jaxom didn’t think. He grabbed Sharra by the hand and propelled her down the steps to where Ruth had reared, head back, wings extended.

“Jaxom!” she exclaimed.

“The Harper! Something’s happened to the Harper!”

She needed no more urging. They scrambled astride the white dragon.

“We need Oldive for this, Ruth,” Jaxom said. “Take us first to the Healer Hall.”

They emerged almost immediately in the central court of the Hall, Ruth just barely managing to avoid setting down on anyone. Oldive, jacket flapping from one hand, his medical case in the other, was limping down the stairs.

I told him!
Ruth said.

Just then the Fort Hold dragon began to keen, and swirling storms of fire-lizards, ululating in weird descant, flashed in and out of the court.

“What has happened to the Harper?” Oldive demanded, handing his case up to Sharra and struggling into his jacket. “Neither of you has a jacket!”

“Don’t worry about us.” Jaxom sat, leaning down to grab Oldive’s arm and haul him up.
Is it Landing? Or Cove Hold?
he asked Ruth.

Landing!

“Take us there! We must be in time!”

Neither Jaxom nor Sharra even noticed the dread chill of
between
in that anxious trip. Dragons were arriving from all directions, so Ruth, ducking low, skimmed the tops of the houses and landed in front of the Aivas building, once again missing collisions with those on the ground rushing in response to the emergency.

It is too late!
Ruth said, and folded his wings over his head.

“It can’t be too late! Move aside, let us through. Let Oldive through!” Jaxom pushed their way through, one hand hauling the Masterhealer along beside him, the limping Oldive somehow keeping up with him. “Make way here. Make way!”

At the doorway, he came to an abrupt stop. Piemur, Jancis, D’ram, and Lytol stood around the chair, the Harper’s silver-haired pate visible where it rested against the back. Choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm him, Jaxom slowly approached, moving to one side so that he could see. The Harper looked as if he were merely sleeping. Zair, gray with death, curled against his neck.

“He just—went—to—sleep,” Piemur said brokenly. “He’s not even warm anymore.”

“I thought he was just asleep,” D’ram said, “the last time I looked in. I never thought . . .” Hand to his face, he turned away.

“Aivas!”
Jaxom roared. “Aivas, why didn’t you call someone? You must have been aware—”

“Look,” Sharra said, touching his arm and then pointing to the screen and the blinking message there.

“ ‘And a time for every purpose under heaven’? What is that supposed to mean, Aivas? Aivas!”

Only then did Jaxom realize the difference in the screen, as lifeless as it had been the very first time he had entered the room. “Aivas?”

He pressed a “restore” sequence. Then, cursing at fingers that fumbled, he tried other codes, but got no response.

“Piemur? Jancis? What do we do?”

Sharra grabbed his trembling hands and held them, her tearing eyes bright with the knowledge that he could not accept.

“Aivas has gone, too,” she said, her voice rough. “See the smile on Master Robinton’s face? Just as you and I have seen him smile so many times. The message was for him as it is there for us.”

“We’ll go back, we’ll go back to when he was still alive—” Jaxom began, reaching for Master Oldive and heading toward the door. If he and Ruth could time it . . . F’lar and Lessa stood in the doorway. He didn’t care if they knew he meant to time it.

Oldive grabbed his arm, shaking his head, his eyes blurred with tears. “We could do nothing for him, Jaxom. ‘A time for every purpose under heaven,’ Jaxom. And it was time for the Harper.”

“He wouldn’t let us tell anyone,” Sharra said to Jaxom, “how serious his condition was.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Oldive murmured, peering up at him, his long face grooved with sorrow. “His heart was badly strained by the abduction. This was a kind ending, Jaxom, no matter how abrupt and unexpected.”

“I know Robinton wasn’t well,” Jaxom went on, shaking his head, tears coursing down his cheeks. “But I don’t understand about Aivas, too.”

“He tells us plainly enough,” D’ram said, having recovered his composure. He pointed to the message. “He has served his purpose in helping us destroy Thread. You will come to realize just how wise Aivas was in this. We were beginning to count on him too heavily.”

“Machines can’t die!” Jaxom chewed the words out resentfully.

“The knowledge he gave us will not,” F’lar said, and stood aside to let Menolly and Sebell enter the room. “Now let us all honor Masterharper Robinton.”

The day was inappropriately beautiful when the Masterharper, wrapped in a harper-blue shroud, was laid to rest in the beautiful blue-green waters of his beloved Cove Hold. Master Idarolan had dispatched his fastest ship and came a-dragonback to captain it himself. Master Alemi, with his sloop from Paradise River, and the small ketches that fished in Monaco Bay, assembled to accommodate the many people who would escort Master Robinton to his resting place.