Anne McCaffrey - Pern 09 - Dragonsdawn

VIP免费

2024-12-18 1 0 620.71KB 205 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Dragons Dawn

by: Anne McCaffrey

PART ONE

Landing

"Probe reports coming through, sir," Sallah Telgar announced without taking

her eyes from the flickering lights on her terminal.

"On the screen, please, Mister Telgar," Admiral Paul Benden replied.

Beside him, leaning against his command chair, Emily Boll kept her eyes

steadily on the sunlit planet, scarcely aware of the activity around her.

The Pern Colonial Expedition had reached the most exciting moment of its

fifteen-year voyage: the three colony ships, the Yokohama, the Bahrain, and

the Buenos Aires were finally approaching their destination. In offices below

the bridge deck, specialists eagerly awaited updates on the reports of the

long-dead Exploration and Evaluation team that, 200 years earlier, had

recommended Rukbat's third planet for colonization.

The long journey to the Sagittarian Sector had gone without a hitch, the

only excitement being the surprise when the Oort cloud encircling the Rukbat

system had been sighted. That phenomenon had continued to engross some of the

space and scientific personnel, but Paul Benden had lost interest when Ezra

Keroon, captain of the Bahrain and the expedition's astronomer, had assured

him that the nebulous mass of deep-frozen meteorites was no more than an

astronomical curiosity. They would keep an eye on it, Ezra had said, but

although some comets might form and spin from its depths, he doubted that they

would pose a serious threat to either the three colony ships or the planet the

ships were fast approaching. After all, the Exploration and Evaluation team

had not mentioned any unusual incidence of meteor strikes on the surface of

Pern. "Screening probe reports, sir," Sallah confirmed, "on two and five."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Admiral Benden smile slightly.

"This is sort of anticlimactic, isn't it?" Paul murmured to Emily Boll

as the latest reports flashed onto the screens.

Arms folded across her chest, she hadn't moved since the probes had been

launched, except for an occasional twiddling of fingers along her upper arms.

She lifted her right eyebrow in a cynical twitch and kept her eyes on the

screen.

"Oh, I don't know. It's one more procedure which gets us nearer the

surface. Of course," she added dryly, "we're sort of stuck with whatever's

reported, but I expect we can cope."

"We'll have to, won't we?" Paul Benden replied a trifle grimly.

The Trip was one-way -- it had to be, considering the cost of getting

over six thousand colonists and supplies to such an out-of-the-way sector of

the galaxy. Once they reached Pern the fuel left in the great transport ships

would be enough only to achieve and maintain synchronous orbit above their

destination while people and cargo were shuttled down to the surface. To be

sure, they had homing capsules that would reach the headquarters of the

Federated Sentient Planets in a mere five years, but to a retired naval

tactician like Paul Benden, a fragile homing capsule did not offer much in the

way of an effective backup. The Pern expedition was composed of committed and

resourceful people who had chosen to eschew the high-tech societies of the

Federated Sentient Planets. They expected to manage on their own. And though

their destination in the Rukbat system was rich enough in ores and minerals to

support an agriculturally based society, it was poor enough and far enough

from the center of the galaxy that it should escape the greed of the

technocrats.

"Only a little while longer, Paul," Emily murmured, her voice reaching

his ears alone, "and we'll both be able to lay down the weary load."

He grinned up at her, knowing that it had been as difficult for her as

it had been for him to escape the blandishments of technocrats who had not

wished to lose two such charismatic war heroes: the admiral who had prevailed

in the Cygni Space Battle, and the governor-heroine of First Centauri. But no

one could deny that the two were the ideal leaders for the Pern expedition.

"Speaking of loads," she went on more loudly, "I'd better be there to

referee my team now the reports are coming in. I suppose specialists have to

consider their own disciplines the most important ones, but such

contentiousness!" She stifled a groan, then grinned, her blue eyes twinkling

in her rather homely face. "Just a few more days of talking, and it'll be

action stations, Admiral."

She knew him well. He hated the interminable debate over minor points

that seemed to obsess those in charge of the landing operation. He preferred

to make quick decisions and implement them immediately, instead of talking

them to death.

"You're more patient with your teams than I am," the admiral said

quietly. The last two months, as the three ships had decelerated into the

Rukbat system, had been made tedious with meetings and discussions which

seemed to Paul to be nit-picking over procedures that had been thoroughly

thrashed out seventeen years before in the planning stages of the venture.

Most of the 2900 colonists on the Yokohama had passed the entire journey

in deep sleep. Personnel essential to the operation and maintenance of the

three great ships had stood five-year watches. Paul Benden had elected to

stand the first and last five-year periods. Emily Boll had been revived

shortly before the rest of the environmental specialists, who had spent their

time railing at the superficiality of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps

report. She saw no point in reminding them of their enthusiasm for the same

words when they had signed up for the Pern expedition.

Paul continued to absorb the display information, eyes flicking from one

screen to another, absently rubbing the thumb of his left hand across three

fingers. Though not the sort of man Emily was attracted to, Paul Benden was

undeniably handsome, and Emily much preferred him with his hair grown out of

the spaceman's crop that had been his trademark. She thought that the thick

blond mass softened the strong features: the blunt nose, the forceful jaw, and

the wide thin-lipped mouth, just then pulled slightly to the left in a little

smile.The trip had done him good: he looked fit and well able to face the

rigors of their next few months. Emily remembered how terribly thin he had

been at the official ceremony commemorating his brilliant victory at Cygnus,

where he and the Purple Sector Fleet had turned the tide of war against the

Nathis. Legend said that he had remained awake and on duty for the entire

seventy hours of the crucial battle. Emily believed it. She had done

something of the sort herself during the height of the Nathis attack on her

planet. There were many things a person could do if pushed, she knew from

experience. She expected that one paid for such physical abuses later on in

life, but Benden, well into his sixth decade, looked vigorously healthy. And

she certainly felt no diminution of her own energies. Fourteen years of deep

sleep seemed to have cured the terrible fatigue that had been the inevitable

result of her defense of First Centauri.

And what a world they were now approaching! Emily sighed, still unable

to look away from the main screen for more than a second. She knew that all

those on duty on the bridge, along with those of the previous watch who had

not left, were totally bemused by the magnificent sight of their destination.

Who had named it Pern, she did not recall -- quite probably the single

letters blazoned across the published report had stood for something else

entirely -- but it was Pern officially, and it was theirs. They were on an

equatorial heading; as she watched, the planet's lazy rotation hid the

northern continent and the spine of mountains up its coast, while the western

desert of the southern landmass was revealed. The dominant topographical

feature was the wide expanse of ocean, slightly greener than that of old

Earth, with a ring of islands splattered across it. The atmosphere was

currently decorated with the swirling cloud curl of a low-pressure area moving

rapidly northeast. What a beautiful, beautiful world! She sighed again and

caught Paul's quick glance. She smiled back at him without really taking her

eyes from the screen.

A beautiful world! And theirs! By all the Holies, this time we won't

botch it! she assured herself fervently. With all that magnificent,

productive land, the old imperatives don't apply. No, she added in private

cynicism, people are already discovering new ones. She thought of the

friction she had sensed between the charterers, who had raised the staggering

credits needed to finance the Pern expedition, and the contractors, the

specialists hired to round out the basic skills required for the undertaking.

Each could end up with a largeous amount of land or mineral rights on this new

world, but the fact that the charterers would get first choice was a bone of

contention.

Differences! Why did there always have to be distinctions, arrogantly

displayed as superiorities, or derided as inferiorities? Everyone would have

the same opportunity, no matter how many stake acres they could claim as

charterer or had been granted as contractor. On Pern, it would truly be up to

the individual to succeed, to prove his claim and to manage as much land as he

and his cared for. That would be the catholic distinction. Once we've

landed, everyone will be too bloody busy to fret over "differences," she

consoled herself, and watched in fascination as a second low-pressure area

began to spin down from the hidden north across the sea. If the two weather

systems melded, there would be a tremendous storm over the eastern curve of

the oceanic islands.

"Looking good," Commander Ongola murmured in his deep, sad bass voice.

Emily had not seen him smile once in the six months she had been awake. Paul

had told her that Ongola's wife, children, and entire family had been

vaporized when the Nathi had attacked their service colony; Paul had

specifically requested him to join the expedition. Stationed at the science

desk, Ongola was monitoring the meteorology and atmospherics displays.

"Atmospheric content as expected. Southern continent temperatures appear to

be normal for this late winter season. Northern continent enjoying

considerable precipitation due to low-pressure air masses. Analyses and

temperatures consistent with EEC report."

The first probe was doing a high-altitude circumnavigation in a pattern

that would allow it to photograph the entire planet. The second, taking a

low-level course, could reexamine any portion required. The third probe was

programmed for topographical features.

"Probes four and six have landed, sir. Five is on hold,'' Sallah went

on, as she interpreted the new lights that had begun to flash. "Scuttlebugs

deployed."

"Show them on the screens, Mister Telgar," the admiral said. She

transferred the displays to screens three, four, and six.

Pern's image continued to dominate the main screen as the planet rotated

slowly to the east, from night to day. The southern continent's coastline was

day-lit; the spinal range of mountains and the tracks of several rivers were

visible. The thermal scan was showing the effect of daylight on the late

winter season of the southern continent.

Probe scuttlebugs had been landed at three not-yet-visible specific

points in the southern hemisphere and were relaying updates on current

conditions and terrain. The southern continent had always been favored as the

landing site the survey-team report mentioned the more clement weather

patterns on the high plateaus; a wider variety of plant life, some of it

edible by humans; eminently suitable farmland; and good harbors for the tough

siliplex fishing vessels that existed as numbered pieces in the holds of the

Buenos Aires and the Bahrain. The seas of Pern teemed with aquatic life, and

at least a few of the species could be safely consumed by humans. The marine

biologists had high hopes of populating the bays and estuaries with Terran

piscine types without harming the present ecological balance. The deep-freeze

tanks of the Bahrain contained twenty-five dolphins who had volunteered to

come along. Pern's seas were eminently suitable for the support of the

intelligent mammals, who enjoyed sea-shepherding as well as the opportunity to

see new worlds.

Soil analyses had indicated that Terran cereals and legumes, which had

already adapted well to Centauran soil, should flourish on Pern, a necessity

as the native grasses were unsuitable for Terran animals. One of the first

tasks facing the agronomists would he to plant fodder crops to sustain the

variety of herbivores and ruminants that had been brought as fertilized ova

from the Animal Reproduction Banks of Terra.

In order that the colonists could ensure the adaptability of Terran

animals to Pern, permission to use certain of the advanced biogenetic

techniques of the Eridanis -- mainly mentasynth, gene paring, and chromosome

enhancements -- had been grudgingly granted. Even though Pern was in an

isolated area of the galaxy, the Federated Sentient Planets wanted no further

disasters like the bio-alts, which had aroused the strong Pure Human Life

Group.Emily Boll repressed a shudder. Those memories belonged to the past.

Displayed on the screen in front of her was the future -- had best get down

and help the specialists organize it. "I've dallied long enough," she

murmured to Paul Benden, touching his shoulder in farewell.

Paul pulled his gaze from the screen and smiled at her, giving her hand

a friendly pat. "Eat first!" He waggled a stern finger at her. "You keep

forgetting we're not rationed on board the Yoko. " She gave him a startled

look. "I will. I promise."

"The next few weeks are going to be rough."

Hmm, but so stimulating!" Her blue eyes twinkled. Then her stomach

audibly rumbled. "Gotcha, Admiral." She winked again and left.

He watched her as she walked to the nearest exit off the bridge, a lean,

almost bony woman, with gray and naturally wavy hair which she wore shoulder

length. What Paul liked most about her was her wiry strength, both moral and

physical, which was combined with a ruthlessness that sometimes startled him.

She had tremendous personal vitality -- just being in her presence gave one's

spirits a lift. Together they would make something of their new world.

He looked back to the main screen and the enthralling vista of Pern.

The large lounge had been set up as an office for the heads of the various

teams of exobiology, agronomy, botany, and ecology, along with six

representatives of the professional farmers, who were still a bit groggy from

their term in deep sleep. The room was ringed by multiple screens displaying

a constantly altering range of microbiology reports, statistics, comparisons,

and analyses. There was much debate going on. Those hunched over desk

monitors, busily collating reports, tried to ignore the tension emanating from

the departmental heads who occupied the very center of the room in a tight

knot, each one with an eye out for the screens displaying reports on his or

her specialty.

Mar Dook, head agronomist, was a small man whose Earth Asiatic ancestry

was evident in features, skin tone, and physiology: he was wiry, lean, and

slightly bowed in the shoulders, but his black eyes gleamed with eager

intelligence and the excitement of the challenge.

"The schedule has long been decided, my dear colleagues. We're in the

first wave down. The probes do not contradict any of the information we

already have. The dirt and vegetation samples match. There's some sort of

red and green algae reported along the shoreline.

Marine life has been sighted by the sea probe. One of the low probes has

caught a comforting variety of insects, which the EEC also found. The aerial

fax that came up with that flyer reported -- what did the team call them? --

wherries."

"Why 'wherries'?" Phas Radamanth asked. He scrolled through the report

searching for that particular annotation. "Ah," he said when he found it.

"Because they resemble airborne barges -- squat, fat and full." He allowed

himself a little smile for the whimsy of that long-dead team.

"Yeah, but I don't see mention of any other predators," Kwan Marceau

said, his rather high forehead creased, as usual, with a frown.

"There's sure to be something that eats them," Phas replied confidently.

"Or they eat each other," Mar Dook suggested. He received a stern frown

from Kwan. Suddenly Mar Dook pointed excitedly to a new fax coming up on one

screen. "Ah, look! The scuttlebug got a reptiloid. Rather a large specimen,

ten centimeters thick and seven meters long. There's your wherry eater,

Kwan.""Another scuttle has just run through a puddle of excretal matter,

semiliquid, which contains intestinal parasites and bacteria," Pol Nietro

said, hurriedly tagging the report for later reference. "There do seem to be

plenty of wormlike soil dwellers, too. rather a significant variety, if you

ask me. Worms like nematodes, insectoids, mites that really wouldn't be out

of place in a Terran compost heap. Ted, here's something for you: plants like

our mycorrhizas -- tree fungi. Speaking of that, I wonder where the EEC team

found that luminous mycelium."

Ted Tubberman, one of the colony botanists, gave a contemptuous snort.

He was a big man, not carrying any extra flesh after nearly fifteen years in

deep sleep, who tended to be overbearing. "Luminous organisms are usually

found in deep caves, Nietro, as they use their light to attract their victims,

generally insects. The mycelium reported by that team was in a cave system on

that large island south of the northern continent. This planet seems to have

a considerable number of cave systems. Why weren't any scuttles scheduled for

subterranean investigations?" he asked in an aggrieved tone.

"There were only so many available, Ted," Mar Dook said placatingly.

"Ah, look! Now, this is what I've been waiting for," Kwan said his

usually solemn face lighting up as he bent until his nose almost touched the

small screen before him. "There are reef systems. And yes, a balanced if

fragile marine ecology along the ring islands. I'm much encouraged. Possibly

those polka dots they saw are from a meteorite storm."

Ted dismissed that instantly. "No. No impact, and the formation of new

growth does not parallel that sort of phenomenon. I intend looking into that

problem the first moment I can."

"What we have to do first," Mar Dook said, his tone gently reproving,

"is select the appropriate sites, plow, test, and, where necessary, introduce

the symbiotic bacteria and fungi, even beetles needed for pastureland."

"But we still don't know which landing site will be chosen." Ted's face

was flushed with irritation.

"The three that are now being surveyed are much of a muchness," Mar Dook

replied with a tolerant smile. He found Tubberman's petulant restlessness

tedious. "All three give us ample scope for experimental and control fields.

Our basic tasks will be the same no matter where we land. The essential point

is not to miss this first vital growing season."

"The brood animals must be revived as soon as possible." Pol Nietro

said. The head zoologist was as eager as everyone else to plunge into the

practical work ahead. "And reliance on the alfalfa trays for fodder is not

going to adjust their digestions to a new environment. We must begin as we

mean to go on, and let Pern supply our needs."

There was a murmur of assent to his statement.

"The only new factor in these reports," Phas Radamanth, the

xenobiologist, said encouragingly, without turning his eyes from his screens,

"is the density of vegetation. We may have to clear more than we thought in

the forty-five south eleven site. See here -- " He gestured to the disparate

images. "Where the EEC pic showed sparse ground cover, we now have heavy

vegetation, some of it of respectable size."

"There should be at least that, after two-hundred-odd years," Ted

Tubberman said irritably. "I never was happy about the barrenness Smacked of

a depauperate ecology. Hey, most of those circular features are overgrown.

Felicia, run up the EEC pics that correspond. He bent his big frame to peer

over her shoulder at the double screen below the probe broadcast. "See, those

circles are barely discernible. The team was right about botanical

succession. And that isn't a grassoid. If that's mutant vegetation . . ."

He trailed off, shaking his head and jutting his chin out. He had loudly and

frequently insisted that the success of Pern as a colony would depend on

botanical health.

"I, too, am happier to see succession, but according to the EEC reports,

it's -- " Mar Dook began.

"Shove the EEC reports. They didn't tell us the half of what we really

need to know," Ted exclaimed. "Survey, they called it. Quick dip at the

trot. No depth to it at all. The most superficial survey I've ever read."

"I quite agree," said the calm voice of Emily Boll, who had entered

while the botanist was ranting. "The initial EEC report does seem to have

been less than complete now that we can compare it to our new home. But the

most crucial, salient points were covered for us. We know what we needed to

know, and the FSP was quite happy to turn the planet over to us because it

certainly doesn't have anything to interest them. And it's not a planet that

the syndicates would fight over. Which is why we were allowed to have it. I

think we have to be grateful to that team, not critical." Her smile swept

everyone in the crowded room. "The important elements -- atmosphere, water,

arable soil, ores, minerals, bacteria, insects, marine life -- are all

present, and Pern is eminently suitable for human habitation. The gaps, the

in-depth investigations that report did not contain, are what we shall spend a

lifetime filling in. A challenge for each and every one of us, and our

children!" Her low-pitched voice rang in the crowded room. "Let's not worry

at this very late date about what we weren't told. We'll find the answers soon

enough. Let's concentrate now on the great work we have to begin in just two

days' time. We're ready for any surprises Pern might have for us. Now, Mar

Dook, have you seen anything in the updates to suggest we must alter the

schedule?"

"Nothing," Mar Dook replied, warily glancing at Ted Tubberman, who was

frowning at Emily Boll. "But those soil and vegetable matter samples would

occupy us usefully."

"I'm sure they would." Emily grinned broadly at him. "We'll be busy

enough -- ah, here's the information you need. And what a bumper crop to

digest."

"We still don't know where we're landing," Ted complained.

"The admiral is discussing that right now, Ted, Emily replied equably.

"We'll be among the first to know."

Agronomists were to be in the first shuttle loads to reach the surface,

for it was vital to the colony's future to break land for crops as soon as

possible. Even while the engineers were setting up the landing grids,

agronomists would be plowing fields, and Ted Tubberman and his group would be

setting up sheds and seeding the precious soil brought from Earth. Pat

Hempenstall would set up a control shed using indigenous dirt, to see if Earth

or colonial variants would thrive unassisted in an alien soil. Sufficient

packaged organisms had also been brought to introduce symbiotic bacteria.

"I will be very glad," Pol Nietro murmured, "if the reports confirm

those insectoids, winged and subterranean, reported by the EEC team. If they

should prove sufficient to do the work of dung beetles and flies on our

Terran-style detritus, agronomy will be off to a good start. We've got to get

nutrients back into the soil and introduce the rumen bacteria, protozoans, and

yeasts for our cows, sheep, goats and horses so they'll thrive."

"If not, Pol," Emily replied, "we can ask Kitti to work a bit of

micro-magic and rearrange innards that can deal with what Pern has to offer."

She smiled with great deference at the tiny lady seated in the center of the

little cluster.

"Soil samples coming up," Ju Adjai said into the pause. "And here's

vegetable mash for you, Ted. Get your teeth in that."

Tubberman launched himself to the position next to Felicia, his big

fingers nimble and accurate over the keyboard.

In moments the rattling of keys, punctuated by assorted mutters and

other monosyllables of concentration, filled the room. Emily and Kit Ping

exchanged glances tinged with amused condescension for the vagaries of their

younger colleagues. Kit Ping then turned her eyes back to the main screen and

continued her contemplation of the world they were rapidly approaching.

As Emily sat down at her workspace, she wondered how under the suns the

expedition had lucked out enough to include the most eminent geneticist in the

Federated Sentient Planets -- the only human who had ever been trained by the

Eridanis. Emily had only seen pics of the altered humans who had made the

first abortive mission to Eridani. She suppressed a shudder. Pern wouldn't

ever require that kind of abominable tinkering. Maybe that's why Kit Ping was

willing to come to the edge of the galaxy -- to end what had already been a

long and incredible life in a quiet backwater where she, too, could practice

selective amnesia. There were many on the colony's roll who had come to

forget what they had seen and done.

The grassoid on that eastern landing site is going to be hell to cut

through," Ted Tubberman said, scowling. "High boron content. It'll dull

cutting edges and foul gear."

"It'd cushion the landing," Pat Hempenstall said with a chuckle.

"Our landing craft have landed safely on far more inhospitable terrain

than that," Emily reminded the others.

"Felicia, run a comparison on the botanical succession around those

crazy polka dots," Ted Tubberman went on, staring at his own screens.

"There's something about that configuration that still bothers me. The

phenomenon is all over the planet. And I'd be happier if we could get an

opinion from that geologist whiz, Tarzan -- " He paused.

Tarvi Andiyar," Felicia supplied, accustomed to Ted's memory lapses.

"Well, memo him to meet me when he's revived. Damn it, Mar, how can we

function with only half the specialists awake?"

We're doing fine, Ted. Pern is coming up roses for us. Not a joggle

off the report data."

"That's almost worrying," Pol Nietro said blandly.

Tubberman snorted, Mar Dook shrugged, and Kitti Ping smiled.

Admiral Benden's chrono tingled against his wrist, reminding him that it was

time for his own meeting.

Commander Ongola, take the conn." Reluctantly, his eyes focusing on the

main screen until the access panel of the exit closed, Paul left the bridge.

The corridors of the great colony ship were becoming more crowded by the

hour, Paul noticed as he made his way to the wardroom. Newly revived people,

clutching the handrails, were jerkily exercising stiff limbs and trying to

focus body and mind on the suddenly hazardous task of remaining upright. The

old Yoko would be packed tighter than reserve rations while colonists awaited

their turn to reach the surface. But with the promise of the freedom of a

whole new world as the reward of patience, the crowding could be endured.

Having paid close attention to the various probe reports, Paul had

already decided which of the three recommended landing sites he would choose.

Naturally he would accord his staff and the other two captains the courtesy of

a hearing, but the obvious choice was the vast plateau below a group of strato

volcanoes. The current weather there was clement, and the nearly level

expanse was adequate to accommodate all six shuttles. The updates had only

confirmed a tentative preference made seventeen years ago when he had first

studied the EEC reports. He had never anticipated much difficulty with

landing; it was a smooth and accident-free debarkation that caused him

anxiety. There was no rescue backup hovering solicitously in the skies over

Pern, nor disaster teams on its surface.

In organizing the debarkation, Paul had chosen as flight officer Fulman

Stone, a man who had served with him throughout the Cygnus campaign. For the

past two weeks, Fulmar's crews had been all over the Yoko's three shuttle

vehicles and the admiral's gig, ensuring that there would be no malfunction

after fifteen years in the cold storage of the flight deck. The Yoko's twelve

pilots, under Kenjo Fusaiyuki, had gone through rigorous simulator drills well

spiced with the most bizarre landing emergencies. Most of the pilots had been

combat fighters, and were fit and fully experienced at extricating themselves

from tricky situations, but none had quite the record of Kenjo Fusaiyuki.

Some of the less experienced shuttle pilots complained about Kenjo's methods;

Paul Benden had courteously listened to the complaints -- and ignored them.

Paul had been surprised and flattered when Kenjo had signed up with the

expedition. Somehow, he had thought the man would have signed on to an

exploratory unit where he could continue to fly as long as his reflexes

lasted. Then Paul remembered that Kenjo was a cyborg, with a prosthetic left

leg. After the war, the Exploration and Evaluation Corps had had their choice

of experienced, whole personnel, and cyborgs had been shunted into

administrative positions. Automatically, Paul made his left hand into a fist,

his thumb rubbing against the knuckles of the three replacement fingers which

had always worked as well as his natural ones. But there was still no feeling

in the pseudoflesh. Consciously, he relaxed the hand, certain once again that

he could hear a subtle plastic squeak in the joints and the wrist.

He turned his mind to real problems, like the debarkation ahead, knowing

that unforeseeable delays or foul-ups could stall the entire operation as

cargo and passengers began to flow from the orbiting ships. He had appointed

good men as supercargoes: Joel Lilienkamp as surface coordinator, and Desi

Arthied on the Yoko. Ezra and Jim, of the Bahrain and Buenos Aires, were

equally confident in their own debarkation personnel, but one minor hitch

could cause endless rescheduling. The trick would be to keep everything

moving.

The admiral turned starboard off the main corridor and reached the

wardroom. Once again, he hoped that the meeting would not drag on. As he

raised his hand to brush the access panel, he could see that he had arrived

with two minutes to spare before the other two captains screened in. First

there would be the brief formality of Ezra Keroon, as fleet astrogator,

confirming the exact ETA at their parking orbit, and then the landing site

would be chosen.

"The betting's eleven to four now, Lili," Paul heard Drake Bonneau

saying to Joel as the access panel to his wardroom whooshed open.

"For or against?" Paul asked, grinning as he entered. Those present,

led by Kenjo's example, shot to their feet, despite Paul's dismissing gesture.

He took in the two blank screens which in precisely ninety-five seconds would

reveal the faces of Ezra Keroon and Jim Tillek, and to the center one where

Pern swam tranquilly in the black ocean of space.

"There're some civilians don't think Desi and me can make the deadline,

Paul," Joel answered with a smug wink at Arthied, who nodded solemnly. Not a

tall man, Lilienkamp was chunkily built; he had an engaging monkey face,

framed with graying dark hair that curled tightly against his skull. His

personality was ebullient, volatile and could be caustic. His quick wits

included an eidetic memory that allowed him to keep track of not only any bet

he made, for how much and with whom and what odds, but every parcel, package,

crate, and canister in his keeping. Desi Arthied, his second-in-command,

often found his superior's levity a trial, but he respected Lilienkamp's

abilities. It would be Desi's job to shift the cargo that Joel designated to

the loading decks and on board the shuttles.

"Civilians? Who don't know you very well, do they?" Paul asked dryly,

taking his seat and smiling noncommittally at Avril Bitra, who had been in

charge of the simulation exercises. Ambition had hardened her. He wished

that he had not spent so much of his waking time during the voyage involved

with the sultry brunette, but she was stunning. Soon they would all be too

busy for personal relationships. More and more attractive young women were

appearing in the corridors. He wanted one of them to want to marry Paul

Benden, not " the admiral." Just then, the two screens lit up, the right-hand

one displaying Ezra Keroon's saturnine countenance, with his distinctive

fringe of gray hair, and the left showing Jim Keroon, his square face wearing

his usual cheerful expression.

"G'day, Paul," he said, just ahead of Ezra's more formal salute.

"Admiral," Ezra said solemnly. "I beg to report that we have maintained

our programmed course to the minute. Estimated arrival to parking orbit is

now forty-six hours, thirty-three minutes, and twenty seconds. No deviations

anticipated at this point in time."

"Very good, Captain," Paul said, returning the salute. "Any problems?"

Both captains reported that their revival programs were continuing

without incident and that their shuttles were ready for launch once orbit had

been achieved.

"Now that we know when, the matter of where is open for discussion,"

Paul said, leaning back in his chair to signal that comment was invited.

"So, tell us, Paul," Joel Lilienkamp said with his usual disregard for

protocol, "where're we landing?" All through the Nathi War, Joel's

impertinence had amused Paul Benden at a time when amusement was scarce, and

he had consistently proved himself a near miraculous scavenger. His impudence

caused Ezra Keroon to frown, but Jim Tillek chuckled.

"What are the odds, Lili?" he asked, his expression sly.

"Let us discuss the matter without prejudice," Paul suggested wryly.

"The three sites recommended by the EEC team have now all been probed. If you

will refer to the chart, the sites are at thirty south by thirteen point

thirty, forty-five south by eleven, and forty-seven south by four point seven

five.""There's really only one, Admiral, from my point of view," Drake Bonneau

interrupted excitedly, jabbing his finger at Paul's own choice, the strato

site. "Scuttlebug scans say it's almost as level as if it had been graded for

us, and broad enough to accommodate all six shuttles. The site at forty-five

south eleven is waterlogged right now, and the western one is too far from the

ocean. Temperature readings are near freezing."

Paul saw Kenjo's nod of agreement. He glanced at the two screens.

Ezra's growing bald spot was evident as he bent to consult his notes;

unconsciously, Paul smoothed back his own thick hair.

"That thirty south is nearer sea for me," Jim Keroon remarked amiably.

"Good harbor about fifty klicks away. River's navigable, too." Keroon's

interest in sailing vessels was exceeded only by his love of dolphins.

Accessibility to open water would be a high factor in his choice.

"Good heights for observatory and met stations all right," Ezra replied,

"though we've no real criterion from those reports about climatology. Don't

fancy settling that close to volcanoes myself."

"A point, Ezra, but -- " Paul paused to screen the relevant data for a

quick scan. "No seismic readings were recorded, so I don't see volcanic

activity as an immediate problem. We can have Patrice de Broglie do a survey.

Ah, yes, no seismic readings from the EEC, so even the one that has erupted

has been dormant for well over two hundred years. And the weather and general

conditions on the other two sites do mitigate against them."

"Hmm, so they do. Doesn't look from a met point of view as if the

conditions at either will improve in two days," Ezra conceded.

"Hell, we don't have to stay where we land," Drake exclaimed.

"Unless there's some freak weather brewing up," Jim Keroon said, which

I'm sure the met boys will be able to spot, let's settle on the thirty-south

site. That's the one the EEC team favored, anyhow. Besides, the scuttlebugs

say it's got a thick ground cover, That should cushion the shock when you

bounce, Drake."

"Bounce?" Drake's gray eyes widened at the mild jibe. "Captain Keroon,

I haven't bounced a landing since my first solo."

"Very well, then, gentlemen, have we settled on our landing site? Paul

asked. Ezra and Jim nodded. "Relevant updates and detailed charts will be in

your hands by 2200 hours."

"Well, Joel," Jim Keroon said, his sly grin broadening, "didja win?

"Me, Captain?" Joel's expression was that of injured innocence.'' "I

never bet on a sure thing."

"Any other problems to raise at this point, Captains?" Paul paused

courteously, looking from one screen to the other.

"All ahead go, Paul, now I know I'll land this bucket in her parking

space on time," Jim said, "and where to send my shuttle." He waved a casual

salute toward Ezra and then his screen blacked out.

"Good evening, Admiral," Ezra said more formally. His image faded.

"Is that all now, Paul?" Joel asked.

We've got the time and the place," Paul replied, "but that's a tough

timetable you've set, Joel. Can you keep it?"

"There's a lot of money says he will, Admiral," Drake Bonneau quipped.

"Why do you think it took me so long to load the Yoko, Admiral; Joel

Lilienkamp replied with a wide grin. "I knew I'd have to unload it all

fifteen years later. You'll see." He winked at Desi, whose expression showed

the faintest hint of skepticism.

"Then, gentlemen," the admiral said, standing up, "I'll be in my cabin

if any problems do arise."

As he swung out of the wardroom, Paul heard Joel asking for bets on how

soon knowledge of the landing site would circulate the Yoko.

Avril's throaty voice replied. "those odds, Lili." Then the door panel

whooshed shut.

Morale was high. Paul hoped that Emily's meeting had been as

satisfactory. Seventeen years of planning and organization were about to be

put to the test.

On the deep-sleep decks of all three colony ships, the medics were working

double shifts to arouse the fifty-five hundred or so colonists. Technicians

and specialists were being revived in order of the usefulness to the landing

operation, but Admiral Benden and Governor Boll had been insistent that

everyone be awake by the time the three ships achieved their temporarily

programmed parking position in a stable Lagrangian orbit, sixty degrees ahead

of the larger moon, in the L-5 spot. Once the three great ships had been

cleared of passengers and cargo, there would be no more chance to view Pern

from outer space.

Sallah Telgar, coming off duty from her watch on the bridge decided that

she had had quite enough space travel for one lifetime. As the only surviving

dependent of serving officers, she had spent her childhood being shunted from

one service post to another. When she had lost both parents, she had been

eligible to sign on as a charter member of the colony. War compensations had

permitted her to acquire a substantial number of stake acres on Pern, which

she could claim once the colony had become solidly established. Above all

other considerations, Sallah yearned to set herself down in one place and stay

there for the rest of her natural life. She was quite content that that place

be Pern.

As she exited bridge territory for the main corridors, she was surprised

to see so many people about. For nearly five years she had had a cabin to

herself. The cabin was not spacious even for single occupancy, and with three

sharing, it offered no privacy at all. Not eager to return, Sallah made for

the off-duty lounge, where she could get something to eat and continue

planet-gazing, courtesy of the lounge's large screen.

At the lounge entrance, Sallah hauled up sharp, surprised at how few

seats were available. In the brief moments it took her to collect food from

the dispensers, her options were narrowed down to one: a wall-counter seat

well to the port side of the big room, with a slightly distorted view of Pern.

Sallah shrugged diffidently. Like an addict, she would take any view

she could get of Pern. However, as she slipped into the seat, she realized

that her nearest neighbors were also the people she least liked on board the

Yokohama: Avril Bitra, Bart Lemos, and Nabhi Nabol. They were seated with

three men she did not know, whose collar tabs identified them as mason,

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

DragonsDawnby:AnneMcCaffreyCopyright1988PARTONELanding"Probereportscomingthrough,sir,"SallahTelgarannouncedwithouttakinghereyesfromtheflickeringlightsonherterminal."Onthescreen,please,MisterTelgar,"AdmiralPaulBendenreplied.Besidehim,leaningagainsthiscommandchair,EmilyBollkepthereyessteadilyonthesunl...

展开>> 收起<<

Anne McCaffrey - Pern 09 - Dragonsdawn.pdf

共205页,预览41页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Anne McCaffrey - Pern 09 - Dragonsdawn

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: