Dragonsblood (51 page)

retain this knowledge.”

Emorra shook her head. “I doubt it, Weyrleader,” she said. “Even now there

are only three people in this room who can answer my question: myself, my

mother, and Tieran.”

“What about Janir, surely he knows this!” Mendin objected.

Janir shook his head. “I know a little about terrestrial genetics, but I

specialize in human medicine.”

“Statistically, if only three people know something now,” Emorra said, “then

there is a very high likelihood that that knowledge will not survive into the

next generation, let alone four centuries from now.”

“So the dragon from the future
can’t
be genetically modified,” Mendin

declared. He sat back in his chair and looked around at the other Lord

Holders triumphantly.

“That is not necessarily so,” Emorra replied.

“How so?” Mendin demanded, sitting upright once more.

“It is possible,” Wind Blossom began, then paused, looking at Emorra for

her consent. “It is possible that the genetic modifications were provided by

one of us and not used until this future time.”

M’hall made a thoughtful face. “Are you suggesting that we dragonriders

bring one of you forward in time four centuries?”

“Is that even possible?” Mendin murmured.

“It is possible,” Wind Blossom conceded with a nod. Then she turned her

gaze to M’hall and the Weyrleaders. “I don’t think it is advisable.”

M’hall gestured for her to enlighten them.

“You have observed that there is a great deal of physical stress associated

with traveling
between,
particularly
between
times. I do not think that I could

handle such a prolonged strain,” Wind Blossom said. She glanced

apologetically at Emorra and Tieran before adding, “And while I don’t doubt

their efforts, I believe that neither Tieran nor Emorra would be up to the

scientific challenge.”

She paused to give Tieran and Emorra a chance to demur. When they

remained silent, she went on. “Also, there is the fact that the equipment and

knowledge base we need are here, now, at the College and may not be

available four centuries in the future.”

M’hall stroked his chin, nodding. “Even with what the dragons could carry, I

imagine there could always be one important thing that would be left

behind.”

“And it would be a one-way trip,” Tieran pointed out. The others looked at

him. “We couldn’t risk accidentally bringing the illness back in time with us.”

Mendin threw up his hands, leaning forward again in his chair. “So it’s

impossible, then.” Tieran turned to Mendin and the other Holders. “I think

we should move on to the next agenda item—the disposition of the

remaining stonecutters.”

“I believe that I have the agenda,” Emorra said blandly. Mendin flushed and

then gestured angrily at her to proceed.

“The fact remains that there are signs of genetic manipulation,” Wind

Blossom spoke out. “If we believe that our descendants could not have

done this unaided, and we agree that we cannot journey forward in time to

aid them, then it is clear that we must choose—must, indeed, have already

chosen—a third course.”

Mendin glared at the old geneticist and only brought his emotions under

control by firm exertion of will. “With all due respect,” he said, though none

could be heard in his tone, “did you not say that your results were

preliminary?”

Wind Blossom nodded.

“And you conducted these tests yourself?”

Again, Wind Blossom nodded.

“It is a fact that you are the oldest person now living on Pern,” Mendin

noted. “Could it be possible that you were mistaken?”

Roland, Southern Boll’s Lord Holder, who had been puzzling something

silently, suddenly piped up, “How did you figure this out? I thought we’d lost

all our technology!”

“We did,” Wind Blossom agreed. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as

though recollection pained her. “Many of our finest instruments were lost in

a storm when we crossed from Landing.” She looked directly at Mendin.

“Including most of the equipment specifically tuned to manipulate Pernese

genetic code.” She glanced over at Malon and M’hall. “It was only after the

quarantine of the fire-lizards that a chance comment by M’hall caused me to

wonder if some of the equipment might have survived.”

The other Lord Holders exchanged surprised looks.

“I was lucky enough to retrieve some useful equipment off the shores of

Tillek Hold,” Wind Blossom continued.

“And power packs, too?” Mendin asked, mentally upping the amount of

stonecutting he could do.

Wind Blossom shook her head. “These units all have their own internal,

nonremovable power supplies. They are all highly-specialized equipment of

Eridani origin.”

Janir cleared his throat and asked in a small voice, “Could this equipment

have helped us in the Fever Year?”

Wind Blossom pursed her lips and shook her head sadly. “It was only tuned

to the Pernese genetic code,” she told him. “We used it to help us design

the dragons.”

“But that leaves us no nearer to solving your conundrum,” Mendin said.

“I do not agree,” Wind Blossom said. “I believe that we have evidence not

only that we
will
do something but exactly
what
we will do.”

“And that would be?” Roland asked.

“It is clear to me that we must come up with a way to preserve our

equipment and knowledge in such a way as to help our descendants,” she

replied.

“You would have to not only provide them with the equipment but teach

them how to use it,” Mendin declared angrily.

“That
is
what we at the College are supposed to do,” Emorra replied

evenly.

TWENTY

Impression:

Mind to mind

Heart to heart

Breath for breath.

Benden Weyr, Third Pass, 22nd Day, AL 508

It was still dark outside, but Benden Weyr’s Bowl was filled with the activity

of dragons and riders preparing for Fall. The air in the Bowl was filled with

predawn fog, wisping up in swaths through the dark.

Lorana was both surprised and pleased at the reception she received from

rider and dragon. Beside her, she could feel Ketan’s renewed mourning as

he experienced the Weyr preparing for the first Fall he wouldn’t be flying.

“Healer,” B’nik called softly out of the darkness. He stepped closer,

emerging from the foggy dark.

“Weyrleader,” Ketan replied politely.

B’nik, discarding any thought of commiseration, stepped close to clasp the

healer on the shoulder. “I hope you won’t have much work when we get

back.”

Ketan smiled. “So do I,” he said. “Fly safe.”

In the darkness a dragon coughed. Lorana lurched against Ketan and

straightened, mumbling an apology.

“Perhaps you should still be resting,” B’nik said to her, his voice full of

concern.

“I’m all right, I just lost my footing,” she lied. “Besides, I wanted to offer my

help. M’tal thought that my ability to speak to any dragon might be useful.”

“It would be very useful,” B’nik agreed immediately, surprised at her offer.

“I—I didn’t think that you’d—”

“I would be happy to help,” Lorana told him firmly.

“Then I shall happily accept your help,” B’nik replied cheerfully.

“Retanth says that all is ready,” Lorana said.

“Tell him to have the Weyr assemble up by the Star Stones,” B’nik replied.

“Hopefully there’ll be no fog up there.”

“The watch dragon reports that the air is clear and the sun is just visible on

the horizon.”

“Excellent!” B’nik said, already seeing the value of Lorana’s abilities. The

one thing neither he nor M’tal could figure out was how to direct the wings

and keep in contact with the Weyr at the same time. He turned back to his

dragon. “Caranth, let’s ride.”

“Good Fall, Weyrleader,” Lorana called after him. She and Ketan could not

quite make out his parting wave in the growing light.

“So,” Ketan said when the last of the dragons had cleared the Bowl,

“suppose you tell me which new dragon has the sickness?”

“Caranth,” Lorana replied mournfully.

“Are you sure you have the coordinates right?” B’nik asked his dragon

anxiously as they prepared to guide the Weyr
between
to Threadfall over

Bitra.

I am sure,
Caranth returned unflappably. B’nik was reassured by his

dragon’s calm manner but still toyed with the idea of asking M’tal to have

Gaminth guide the Weyr to the Fall.
I am just coughing, not confused.

“Very well,” B’nik said, letting out a deep sigh. “Let’s go, Caranth!”

Following the visual image from the Weyrleader, one hundred and

seventy-four fighting dragons went
between.

Lorana didn’t realize that she had tensed up until she felt Caranth’s calm

report of the arrival of the Weyr over Bitra—and then she found herself

gasping in a deep lungful of fresh air.

Ketan gave her a surprised look, then nodded in realization. “You were

worried about Caranth?”

“B’nik was worried about Caranth,” Lorana said. “Caranth seemed fine to

me. Sick but still clearheaded, able to fly. Eager, even.”

Ketan cocked his head at her in curiosity. “Do I gather that if
you
were

worried about Caranth, you might have stopped him from bringing the

Weyr
between
?”

Lorana allowed a ghost of a smile to cross her lips. “I might.”

“Lorana,” Ketan began, cautiously choosing his words, “you
do
understand

that the Weyrleader is responsible for the fighting dragons, don’t you?”

Lorana cocked her head at him. “Are you asking whether I know my place in

the Weyr, Healer?”

Ketan pursed his lips uncomfortably. “I doubt if anyone knows your place

just now,” he said judiciously.

“I agree,” she said with a small nod. “But I think it would be wrong, don’t

you, if I knew that Caranth was too sick to give good coordinates not to stop

him.” A small crease appeared between her brows. “What
would
happen if

Caranth gave bad coordinates and the Weyr followed him?”

Ketan shuddered and his face went white. “They would be lost
between.
”

“Oh,” Lorana said, her eyes going wide. Ketan’s expression answered her

question better than words.

B’nik was bone-tired and bone-cold when, six hours later, Caranth relayed

that the sweepriders had reported the end of the Fall.

“Send the other wings back to the Weyr,” he told J’tol, “and have half our

wing check for burrows.”

J’tol waved in acknowledgment and veered off, his wingmen following in

close formation.

B’nik was glad that he had listened to M’tal’s advice and had kept his wing in

reserve during the fighting. He had been able to quickly order his riders to

fill gaps in other wings when needed—which had not been as often as he’d

feared.

M’tal sends his congratulations,
Caranth relayed.

Tell him thank you,
B’nik responded, grinning unabashedly. While he hated

the reason for it, he had to admit that it really
was
nice to have an

ex-Weyrleader available and willing to give him honest praise when he

earned it.

Let’s go chat with the Lord Holder,
he added, his grin disappearing as he

imagined the sour expression of Gadran, Bitra’s aging Lord. Even if no

burrows were found, he was sure that Gadran would find some reason to

moan or bicker.

J’tol reports three deep burrows in the northern valley,
Caranth told him.

He says they’ll have to fire the forests to contain them.

“Is something wrong?” Gadran asked, taking in B’nik’s worried expression.

“I’m afraid there is,” B’nik told him. “We fought the Fall as best we could,

but my sweepriders report that three burrows are well established in the

valley north of here.”

“Well established?” Gadran echoed, licking his lips nervously and peering

to the north, as if expecting Thread to crest the ridge at any moment. “How

well established?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to fire the valley to contain it.”

“Fire the valley?” Gadran looked crestfallen. “All those trees?”

“The trees are what has let the burrows establish themselves so rapidly,”

B’nik explained.

J’tol wants to know if they can fire the valley
now, Caranth relayed, with a

note of anxiety.

“Tell J’tol to fire the valley,” B’nik answered aloud.

“What?” Gadran shouted. “I did not give you permission—”

“I could not wait,” B’nik replied. “The burrows were spreading too rapidly.”

The first wisps of smoke started to rise from the valley to the north, the wind

carrying it southward.

“There hasn’t been rain here in months,” Gadran said quickly. “There’s a

danger that the fire might spread into this valley.”

“I’m afraid that’s a danger we’ll have to risk,” B’nik said. “I would prefer to

lose a valley to fire far more than lose a Hold to Thread.”

“It’s not your decision to make!” Gadran snarled.

“On the contrary, as Weyrleader, it is absolutely
my
decision to make,”

B’nik replied, simmering with anger. He wondered how often M’tal had

cursed this fool Holder and hoped that his heir would have more sense.