Anne McCaffrey - Pern 10 - Chronicles of Pern

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The Chronicles Of Pern
First Fall
Contents
The Survey: P.E.R.N.c
The Dolphins’ Bell
The Ford of Red Hanrahan
The Second Weyr
Rescue Run
THE SURVEY: P.E.R.N.c
It’s the third planet we want in this pernicious system,” Castor said in a totally jaundiced tone, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen.
“How’s the hairpin calc going, Shavva?”
Looking up from her terminal, Shavva screwed up her face for a moment before she spoke. “I’m happy to report that that’ll work
out fine. Pity we can’t have a look at the edge of the system,” she added. “I’d love to have a look at those heavy-weight planets and
the Oort cloud, but that can’t be done when we’ve got to do an entry normal to the ecliptic. As it is, the slingshot will only give us ten
days on the surface.” She cast him an expectant, wry look.
He groaned. “We’ll have to double up again.” At her half-stern, half-sardonic glare, he added, “Fardles, Shavva, after so long
together we all know enough of each other’s specialties to do a fair report.”
“Fair?” Ben Turnien repeated, his quirky eyebrows raised in amazement. “Fair to whom?”
“Damn it, Ben, fair enough to know when a planet’s habitable by humanoids. None of us needs a zoologist anymore to tell us which
beasties are apt to be predatory. And each of us has certainly seen enough strange life-forms and inimical atmospheres and surface
conditions to know when to slap an interdict on a planet.”
There was a taut silence as the four remaining team members each vividly recalled the all-too-recent deaths: Sevvie Asturias, the
paleontologist-medic, and Flora Neveshan, the zoologist-botanist, both lost on the last planet the Exploration and Evaluation team had
visited. Castor had inscribed, in bold letters on the top of that report, D.E. Dead end. Terbo, the zoologist-chemist, had been felled in
a landslide on the first planet of their present survey tour, but as that world had clearly supported some intelligent life, the initials
I.L.F. ended that report. They’d lost Beldona, the second pilot and archeologist, on the third world in the same accident that had
injured Castor: a planet initialed G.O.L.D.I.--good only for large diversified interests. And they’d orbited one that probes had given
them all the information they needed to label it L.A.--lethal, avoid!
To a team that had been together for five missions, the casualties were deeply felt. And this mission had yet to be completed. The
system they had just reached, five planets orbiting the primary Rukbat, was the fifth of the seven to be investigated on their latest
swing through this sector of space.
“We can handle the geology, the biology, and the chemistry,” Castor went on, frowning at the gelicast on his leg. The compound
fractures had not quite healed. “Well, I can do the analysis when you’ve brought appropriate samples back. We might not be able to
do the usual in-depth analysis of all the biota, but we can find the requisite five possible landing sites, regular or serious meteoric
impacts, any gross geological changes, and if there’s a dominant major life-form.”
“Hospitable planets are few enough, but Numero Tres does look very interesting,” Mo Tan Liu remarked in his gentle voice. “I get
good readings on atmosphere and gravity. I think probes are in order.”
“Send ‘em,” Castor said. “Probes we got to spare.”
“We’re in a good trajectory to send off a homer, too, Liu added. “Federated Sentient Planets ought to know about the D.E.
condition of Flora Asturias.” Following the bizarre and perhaps macabre practice of the Exploration and Evaluation Corps, they had
named the last planet after the team personnel lost during that surface survey. “We are obliged to report those and that L.A.
immediately.”
“All right, all right,” Castor said irritably.
“Shall I do the report?” Shawa asked.
“I did it,” Castor replied in a tone that ended discussion. He called up the program, and when the copy was ready, he rolled it up
into a tube to be inserted in the homing capsule. It would reach their mother ship some weeks before their projected return. “They
will want to know we’ve discovered another Oort cloud, too. Is it five or six?”
“Six, with this one. I still don’t buy that space-virus theory,” Ben remarked, relieved to switch to a less depressing topic.
“Number Four System was dead,” Shavva said unequivocally.
“Can’t prove the Oort cloud affected it in any way. Besides,” Ben went on, “the planet was bombarded by meteors and meteorites,
to judge by the craters and the craterites. Shattered the surface and boiled off a good deal of the major oceans. Just like Shaula Three.
That system had an Oort cloud, too.”
“But it had once supported life. We all saw the fossil remains in the cliff faces,” Castor said.
“Like a road sign: Life was here, it has gone hence.” Shavva had been depressed by the landing. Ten days on a dead world had
been nine and a half too many. The atmosphere was barely adequate; to be on the safe side they’d used support systems. A rough
estimate suggested that the damage had been done close to a millennium earlier. “At the beginning of Earth’s Dark Age, this planet
had found the final one.”
“Pity, too. It must have once been a nice world. Great balance of land and water masses,” Castor said.
“I don’t know what could have stripped it so completely,” Ben said.
“You never did like the Hoyle Wickramansingh theory, did you?”
“Has anyone ever found those space-formed viruses? Even a trace in any Oort cloud?” Ben stuck his chin out with a touch of
belligerence. “I won’t buy that space-virus theory, not when a planet is covered with city-sized craters. To have both would be
overkill, and the universe is conservative. One gets you just as dead as the other.”
“I searched the library for data on other stripped planets. Asturias matches up on every particular,” Liu said, his eyes on the screen.
“What particulars there can be, that is!” He rose, stretched, and yawned broadly. “What we really need is one in the process of being
stripped.”
Shavva gave a bark of laughter. “Fat chance of that.”
Liu shrugged. “Something does it. Anyway, I feel that the virus theory would be the rarest probability, while meteors are common,
common, common. Look at what happened in our Earth’s Cretaceous and Tertiary periods. We were just lucky! Probes away,
Captain,” he said formally to Castor. “Now, I’m for something to eat, then I’ll pack the shuttle for the shot.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Shawa said. “I want to be sure we got what we need this time,” she added in a low, angry voice, bitterly
aware that it had been Flora’s own negligence that had cost those two lives. Shavva was now the default leader of this understaffed
team, and she was determined not to repeat previous mistakes.
As a young biologist with latent qualities as a nexialist, she had joined the Exploration and Evaluation Corps for the diversity of
duty and the thrill of being the first human to walk on unexplored planets and catalog new life-forms, but she hadn’t counted on losing
friends in the process. EEC teams developed very close bonds, having to rely on each other’s strengths and weaknesses in dangerous,
stimulating, and testing circumstances no textbook, indeed often no other team reports, could imagine. This was her fourth tour of
duty but the first one punctuated by disasters. Now all the fieldwork would have to be accomplished by three people--herself, Liu,
and Ben--while Castor, still handicapped by his leg injuries, remained on board as the exploratory vessel did its hairpin turn about the
third planet.
Shavva would have to double as botanist on this trip. Fortunately she had learned enough from Flora to be able to determine a fair
amount about the ecology of the plant life--if there were sufficient pollinators, what sort of competition there was for the food crops,
as well as the nutritional possibilities of the native forms, and quite likely what disease agents and possible vectors existed within the
ecology.
Ben, as a geologist with some secondary background in chemistry, could cope with the planet’s basic pulse--its air and landmasses,
magnetic fields, mass-cons, continental plate structure, tidal patterns, temperatures, the general topography, and, especially, any
seismic activity--and evaluate the history of the planetary surface for at least the past million years. If the survey proceeded without
glitches, he’d have a go at the longer-term history, attempting to detect signs of magnetic reversals and to determine if--and
when--there had been any large extinctions.
Liu, as nexialist, would investigate whatever remaining aspects of this planet they had time to consider. That is, if the probes
brought back reports that would make a visit worthwhile. Numero Tres did look promising, but Shavva had discovered that looks
could be very deceiving in this business.
The probe sent back reports that were skeptically regarded as being too good to be true.
“Good balance of land and water masses,” Liu said. “Usual ice caps, mountains, good plains areas Parallels Earth in many respects.
Initial P.E. for starters, Castor.”
“Atmosphere is breathable, slightly above normal in oxygen content: gravity slightly lower at zero-point-nine on the scale,” Ben
contributed. “Considerable volcanism in that chain of islands extending from the southern hemisphere, nothing major at the moment.
Rather a nice little planet, actually.”
“Plenty of green stuff down there,” Shavva said. “What the hell?” she added in puzzlement as the computer began decoding
topography. “Have a gawk at these crazy circles!”
The probe was now on a low-altitude vector, sending back more-detailed sections of the terrain of the southern continent. Clearly
visible were groups of circular patches, like ripples overlapping each other but held frozen on the planet’s surface.
“Ever see anything like this before, Ben?” she asked, fervently regretting the missing Flora Neveshan, with her years of experience
as a xenobotanist.
“Can’t say as I have. Looks like some sort of local fungus on a huge scale. Seems to hit all vegetated areas, not just what appear to
be grasslands.”
“Fairy rings?” Shawa suggested very brightly.
“Ha! What esoteric stuff you been reading recently?” Ben gave her a jaundiced stare.
“Whatever it is, be bloody careful, will you?” Castor demanded bitterly. “We’ve got two more systems to work, and I’m running
out of initials.”
“Thin red line of ‘eroes?” Ben asked, trying to inject some lightness into Castor’s mood. He knew that Castor would forever fault
himself for the deaths of Asturias and Neveshan. He was the most experienced climber of the group and would very likely have
prevented the disaster if he’d been downside. The fact that no one blamed Castor did not assuage his feelings of guilt.
Shavva set the shuttle down on the great plain of the eastern part of the southern hemisphere, several hundred meters from one
cluster of the rippling circles they had observed. She, Ben, and Liu went through the routine landing procedures, confirming
atmosphere, temperature, and wind velocity before exiting, garbed in their cumbersome protective suits. At least they needn’t resort
to face masks and the back-wrenching burden of oxygen canisters. They all drew in deep lungfuls of the fresh air that a stiff breeze
flung at them.
“Good stuff,” Shawa said with a pleased grin. “No L.A., this one.” Suddenly, she felt an obsession for this planet to check out as
habitable. From outer space it had had the look of the old Earth pictured in historical tapes. Such reassurance could be bloody, and
bloodily, deceptive, she reminded herself, but that didn’t keep her from wishing!
The grassy plain was springy underfoot, and their heavy boots released sweet, pungent odors from the bruised vegetation. Silently
they walked over to the first of the ripples, and Ben and Liu hunkered down to eyeball it. Shavva took out a sampling probe and
inserted it deftly into the soil closing the lid as soon as she had retracted it. Liu poked a plasgloved finger into the hole, fiddled with
the dirt that adhered, and dropped the grains carefully back into the hole.
“Funny. Feels like dirt. Common everyday dirt. Grainy. Rough, uneven.”
“The empirical test!” Ben chuckled.
“Let’s get started, guys,” Shawa said. “We’ve only got ten days to do eight people’s work and clear a planet.”
“A snap!” Ben replied, grinning impudently. “I’ll start by switching on my geologist’s brain.” He moved off to the next arc of the
ripple and collected more samples of the discolored ground. “Hey, we’ve got ecological succession here,” he added suddenly,
pointing to portions now speckled with new growth.
Shavva and Liu came to his side to see the promising green tufts.
“Great wind systems on this planet. They’d be strong enough to carry seed as well as dirt,” Shawa remarked, facing into the stiff
breeze. “’Nother few decades and this’ll all be grass, or whatever, again. Well, we’ll see what the samples say. Take some right by
that new growth, will you, Ben? See what, if anything, is aiding the regeneration.”
That first day they concentrated on dirt and vegetation samplings from the plain, moving on to other sites throughout the day,
working from east to west to utilize as much daylight as possible.
They took several deep cores in the rich soils of the southern plains and grasslands and, with more effort, drove rock-sampling
cores. Inland and south they went, to points that had shown possible ore sites, though the initial metallurgy probe readings did not
suggest that the planet had any easily accessible ore or mineral wealth. They made their first nightfall on a vast headland, on the
sands of a great cove.
Marine life seemed to be diverse, with enough interesting variations of exoskeletons and sea vegetation alone to give a marine
biologist a lifetime employment. Liu scooped up samples of the red and green algae and found some interesting fungi on the
shoreline, some with visible movement. Larger marine forms were occasionally visible in the deeper waters of the cove at dusk, a
common feeding time. The explorers spent a pleasant evening taking samples and specimens along the seashore Liu had found
enough dead fronds and branches to build a fire on the sands. Shedding their protective suits, they ate their evening rations around the
fire--occasionally managing to capture various types of insectoids drawn to the bright flames.
“Possibly the pollinators we need,” Liu mused as he peered into the tube of captured insectoids. One had paused in its frantic flight
so that its double wings were visible. “Little buggers. I’d feel a lot better, though, if there were bigger things than these to contend
with. The probe pictures should have shown us some sort of ruminants or grazers on these grasslands.”
“What about those large flying things we saw awhile back?” Ben asked, and then snorted. “They looked like airborne barges, squat
and fat, and full.”
“Yeah, but what do they eat? And what eats them?” Liu asked morosely.
“Maybe we’re between ice ages?” Shawa offered hopefully. She really didn’t want to find fault with the planet, though she knew
that was a totally unprofessional attitude to take-and dangerous, as well. But she couldn’t suppress the feeling of “coming home” that
was beginning to color all her perceptions of this world.
Liu snorted, unconvinced. “Ecology is right for ‘em. They should be here.”
“If they are, we’ll find ‘em. If we don’t. . .” Shavva shrugged philosophically.
The next day they ventured as far as the ice cap in the southern hemisphere, taking samples of the frozen crust and as many layers of
soil as the deep corer could manage to reach. Then they turned to the winter-held north. By then, Liu had become a bit paranoid
about the lack of larger life-forms. So far, all they had seen were some reptiloids, scaled and basking.
“Quite large enough, thank you,” Shavva had remarked, narrowly escaping the attentions of a ten-centimeter-thick,
seven-meter-long example.
They also saw a great many more of Liu’s flying barges.
“Wherries, that’s what they were called,” he said suddenly that afternoon. “Vessels that were used to ferry stuff between the
English isle and the European continent. Wherries, and call ‘em the biggest life-forms seen in the report. Maybe the term’ll stick.”
Liu rarely exercised that EEC team prerogative.
There were two identifiable types of the large avians, with raucous calls and the aggressive manners of predators; brilliantly plumed
smaller fliers, a thousand types of what Shawa called “creepy-crawlies,” both inland and littoral. They had also found eggshells on
southern beaches, shards littering what were apparently sand-buried nests. Of the egg layers, or the previous occupants, there were no
signs.
They did discover interesting fossil remains, a good fifty thousand years dead and gone, in an extensive tar pit; one specimen was
intact enough to expose the ground-down dental machinery for grazing, suggesting that these fossils could have been the ruminants
Liu wished to see. While the short, greenish spiky vegetation looked somewhat like grass, it wasn’t, for it had no silicates, was
visibly triangular in form, and was more blue than green.
“I want to see those grazers now, too,” Liu said firmly. But he was somewhat relieved to find the necessary variety of life-forms at
a different epoch on the planet.
They also located a diamond pipe just below the surface in the major rift valley fault. Rough stones, one as large as Shavva’s fist,
were pried out of the soil. The team kept several as souvenirs; they were not particularly valuable otherwise, for the galaxy had
produced many gemstones more exotic than these, though diamonds remained useful in technology for their durability and strength.
“I find it rather a relief not to have to be constantly on guard,” Ben said on their third night, when Liu began again on the
disappearance theme. “Remember Closto, the L.A. in our last tour? I kept holding my breath, waiting for something else to latch on
to me.”
Liu snorted. “Absence is as ominous as presence, in my tapes.”
“Could have been an axial tilt, you know, and what’s now the ice caps were their homegrounds,” Shawa suggested. “They got
caught in the blizzards and froze. We do have ice cores, which could very well produce tissue and bone fragments.”
“Well, this P.E. has only a fifteen-degree axial tilt; the probes set the magnetic poles very near the ecliptic north and south, maybe
fifteen degrees away from tilt.”
“We’ll know when we get back to the ship and have a chance to study things. Are today’s samples ready to go back to Castor?”
“Yeah, but I wish the fardles he’d sent us back his conclusions. He’s had time.” Liu scowled as he handed his latest containers to
Ben to pack in the case to be launched back to the spacecraft.
“Maybe they all moved north,” Ben said in a spirit of helpfulness.
“To winter?”
“This continent’s not in full summer yet.”
“Well, it’d never get hot enough to fry things, not with the prevailing winds this continent’s got.” Liu refused to be mollified.
On their way north they paused on the largest of a group of islands: basaltic, riddled with caves, bearing the profusion and lush
growth common to tropical climes. They noted several unusual reptilian forms, more properly large herpetoids of truly revolting
appearance.
“I’ve seen uglier ones,” Ben remarked, examining at a safe distance one horny monster, seven centimeters broad and five high,
which waved tentacles and claws in an aggressive manner. They could discern neither mouth nor eyes. The olfactor gave a stench
reading; and the creature’s back was covered with insectoid forms.
“External digestive system?” Shawa suggested, peering at the thing. “And--wow!”
The creature had sped forward suddenly, its nether end now covered with tiny barbs. At the same time, the olfactor reading went off
the scale, and a repellent stench filled the little clearing.
“Look, it backed into that spiny plant,” Ben said, pointing to the little bush. “And got shot in the ass.”
Standing well back and using a long stick, Shavva nudged one of the remaining spines and was rewarded with a second launching.
“Well, a clever plant. Didn’t just let loose in all directions. I wonder what would deactivate it?”
“Cold?” Liu suggested.
“There’s a small one here,” Shavva observed. She sprayed it with the cryo and gave it an exploratory prod. When it did not respond
she packed it in a specimen box.
That evening, as they were readying the day’s tube for Castor, Liu let out a whoop, holding up a glowing specimen tube for the
others to see.
“That growth I found in the big cave. Some sort of luminous variety of mycelium.” He covered it with his hand. “Indeed. Now
you see it--” He opened his hand to let the tube glow again. “Now you don’t.” He closed his hand again, peering through thin cracks
he permitted between two fingers. “Does oxygen trigger the luminosity?”
“You are not going back into the cave tonight, Liu,” Shavva said sternly. “We don’t have the spelunking equipment necessary to
keep you from breaking your damned fool neck.”
He shrugged. “Luminous lichens or organisms are not my forte.” He carefully wrapped the tube in opaque plasfilm. “Don’t want it
to wear itself out before Castor sees it.”
Later that night they were all enticed from their camp by the sound of cheeping and chittering. Parting the lush foliage that
surrounded them, they peered out at an astonishing scene. Graceful creatures, totally different from the awkward avians seen in the
southern hemisphere, were performing aerial acrobatics of astonishing complexity. The setting sun sparkled off green, blue, brown,
bronze, and golden backs, and translucent wings glistened like airborne jewels.
“The seaside egg layers?” Shawa asked Liu in a whisper.
“Quite possibly,” Liu replied softly. “Gorgeous. Look, they’re playing a discernible game. Catch-me-if-you-can!”
For a long time, the three explorers watched the spectacle with delight until the creatures broke off their play as the swift tropical
night darkened the skies.
“Sentient?” Shawa asked, wanting and yet not wanting those beautiful creatures to be the dominant sentient life form of this planet.
“Marginally,” Liu murmured approvingly. “If they’re leaving eggs on a shoreline where storm waters could wash them away,
they’re not possessed of very great intelligence.”
“Just beauty,” Ben said. “Perhaps we’ll find large and related types of the same evolutionary ancestors for you, Liu.”
Liu shrugged diffidently as he turned back to their campfire. “If we do, we do.”
They made notes of what they had witnessed and then turned in for the night. The next day had them examining the reef systems
jutting out from the island, and its smaller companions. A trip to the more tropical eastern peninsula showed them a complicated
system, similar to coral, with fossils of the same thing going right back, Ben estimated, some five hundred million years. At least this
was a viable ecology, not a stalemated tropical-rain-forest dense ecology, with the various elements, so to speak, taking in each
other’s washing. Such transitory ecologies did reinforce Ben’s theory of a recent meteorite storm rather than an ice-age hiatus in
evolution.
The bare circles were planetwide, except at the caps and one small band of the southern hemisphere, and though the survey team had
thoroughly investigated, they could not find the meteorites that might have been the cause. Nor, Ben fretted, were any of the circles
either deep enough or overlapping in the pattern caused by a multiple meteorite impact.
The northern hemisphere, though in part blanketed by thick snows, was duly cored for soil and rock samplings. Mud flats, emitting
the usual dense sulfurous fumes all over the central plain’s vast river delta, produced more regularities than differences, and certainly
a plethora of promising bacteria over which Shavva crowed. Farther inland, up the broad navigable riverway, they found adequate
lodes, of iron, copper, nickel, tin, vanadium, bauxite, and even some germanium, but none of the generous quantities of metals and
minerals that would interest a mining consortium.
On the next-to-last morning of their survey, Ben found gold nuggets in a brash mountain stream.
“A real old-fashioned world,” he remarked, tossing and catching the heavy nuggets in his hand. “Old Earth once had free gold in
streams, too. Another parallel.”
Shavva leaned over and took one that was an almost perfect drop, holding it between thumb and forefinger.
“My loot,” she said, dropping it into her belt pouch.
She found one extremely interesting plant on the upper section of the eastern peninsula: a vigorous tree whose bark when bruised in
the fingers, gave off a pungent smell. That evening, she made an infusion of the bark, sniffing appreciatively of its aroma. Empiric
tests showed that it was not toxic, and her judicious sip of the infusion made her sigh with pleasure.
“Try it, Liu, tastes great!”
Liu regarded the thin dark liquid with suspicion, but he, too, found the odor stimulating to his salivary glands and wet his lips,
smacking to spread the taste. “Hmmm, not bad. Bit watery. Infuse it a bit longer, or reduce the liquid. You might have something
here.”
Ben joined in the sampling, and when Shavva experimented with grinding the bark and filtering hot water through it, he approved
the result.
“A sort of combination of coffee and chocolate, I think, with a spicy aftertaste. Not bad.”
So Shawa harvested a quantity of the bark, and they used it as a beverage for the remaining two days. She even saved enough to
bring back to Castor as a treat.
Though none of the three made mention of the fact, they were all sorry to leave the planet and yet relieved that there had been no
further accidents or untoward circumstances. Barring some unforeseen factor, discovered in the analyses of soil, vegetation, and
biological samples, they were all three quite willing to let Castor initial it P.E.R.N.--parallel Earth, resources negligible. He added a C
in the top corner of the report, indicating that the planet was suitable for colonization.
That is, if any colonial group wanted to settle on a pastoral planet, far off the established trade routes, and about as far from the
center of the Federated Sentient headquarters as one could go in the known galaxy.
THE DOLPHINS’ BELL
When Jim Tillek activated the red-alert recall sequence on the Big Bell at Monaco Bay, Teresa’s pod, with Kibby and Amadeus
leaping and diving right along with her, was there within minutes, Within the hour, the ones led by Aphro, China, and Captiva
arrived--a total of seventy, counting the three youngest calved only that year. Young males and solitaries surged in from all
directions, squee-eeing, clicking, chuffing loudly, and performing incredible aquabatics as they came. Few dolphins had ever heard
that particular sequence on the Big Bell, so they were eager to learn why it had been rung.
“Why ring the red?” Teresa demanded, bobbing her head up in front of Jim, who stood, legs spread for balance, on the rocking float
anchored at the end of Monaco Wharf. Her nose bore the many scratches and scars of age, as well as of an aggressive personality.
She tended to assume the role of Speaker for Dolphins.
The float was broad and wide, nearly the length of the end of the wharf, and was traditionally where the dolphineers held
conferences with pods or individuals. This was also where the dolphins came to report unusual occurrences to the Bay Watch, or for
rare instances when they required medical attention. The end timbers were smoother than the others, due to the dolphins’ habit of
rubbing against them.
Above the float hung the Big Bell, its belfry sturdily attached to a massive six-by-six molded-plastic pylon well footed on the
seafloor below. The chain the dolphins yanked to summon humans now idly slapped against the pylon with the action of the light sea.
“We landfolk have trouble and need dolphin help,” Jim said. He pointed inland, where clouds of white and gray smoke curled
ominously into the sky from two of the three previously dormant volcanoes. “We must leave this place and take from here all that can
be moved. Do the other pods come?”
“Big trouble?” Teresa asked, leisurely swimming beyond the bulk of the wharf to check the direction in which Jim had pointed.
She raised herself high above the water, turning first one, then the other, eye to assess the situation. Her sides showed the rakings of
many years’ contact with both amorous and angry males. “Big smoke. Worse than Young Mountain.”
“Biggest ever,” Jim said, for a moment wishing that the eternal cheerful expression on dolphin faces did not seem so out of place
right now. Not when the colony’s main settlement, with its labs, homes, vital stores, and the work of nearly nine years, was going to
be covered in ash, at the very least, or blown completely to bits if they were very unlucky.
“Where you go?” Teresa reversed her direction and stopped in front of Jim, giving him her complete and seriously cheerful
attention. “Back to sick ocean world?”
“No.” Jim shook his head vigorously. Since the dolphins had passed the fifteen-year journey on the colony ships in cold sleep, they
had had no sense of the passage of time. From an installation in the Atlantic Ocean, they had entered their water-filled travel
accommodations and had not been awakened until they arrived at the waters of Monaco Bay. “We go north.”
Teresa ducked her bottlenose, flinging a spray of water at him as if agreeing. Then, dropping her head in the water, she gave forth
to the members of her pod a rapid series of word noises too fast for Jim to follow, though over the past eight years on Pern, he’d
learned a good deal of dolphin vocabulary.
Kibby glided to one side of Teresa, and Captiva bobbed up on the other; all three regarded Jim earnestly.
“Sandman, Oregon,” Captiva said distinctly, “are in West Flow. They turn, return as fast as the ftux allows.’
Then Aleta and Maximillian abruptly arrived, adroitly avoiding a collision with the others. Pha pushed neatly in, too, as he was
never one to be left out on the periphery.
“Echo from Cass. They speed back. New sun see them here,” Pha said, and blew from his hole to emphasize the importance of his
report.
“Yes, they do have the farthest to come,” Jim said. That pod was based in the waters around Young Mountain, helping the seismic
team. But dolphins could swim all night, and Cass was one of the oldest and most reliable of the females.
The waters around the sea end of the Monaco Wharf facility were now so packed with dolphins that, when some of the dolphineers
arrived, Theo Force remarked dryly that they could probably have walked on dolphins across the wide mouth of Monaco Bay and
never got their feet wet.
Some of the nine dolphineers and seven apprentices actually took longer to arrive than their marine friends, since the humans had to
sled in from their stakeholds. Luckily, both Jim Tillek’s forty-foot sloop, Southern Cross, and Per Pagnesjo’s Perseus yawl were in
port. Anders Sejby had radioed that the Mayflower was under full sail and would be there by dusk, while Pete Veranera thought he’d
have the Maid in on the late-night tide. The Pernese Venturer and Captain Kaarvan had not yet reported in. She was the largest, a
two-masted schooner with a deep draft, and slower than the other four.
Once all the humans reported in, Jim tersely explained that, with one of the volcanoes about to erupt, Landing had to be evacuated
and everyone must help to get as many supplies as possible to safety around Kahrain Head. The larger ships would be taking their
loads as far as Paradise River Hold; although that would be too far for the smaller craft, everything that floated was to be used to shift
material as far as Kahrain.
“We’ve got to transport all that?” Ben Byrne cried in aggrieved tone as he flung an arm toward the wharfside, where enormous
piles of material were being deposited by sleds of all sizes. He was a small, compact man with crisp blond hair nearly white from sun
bleach. His wife, Claire, who worked with him at Paradise River, stood at his side. “There aren’t that many ships of any decent size
and if you think the dolphins can--”
“We’ve only to get it to Kahrain, Ben,” Jim said, laying a steadying hand on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Click! Click!” Teresa managed an ear-piercing shout for attention. “We do that, we do that!” Amadeus, Pha, and Kibby agreed,
nodding vigorously.
“Ye daft finnies, you’d burst yerselves,” Ben cried, incensed, wagging his arms at the dolphins facing him to be quiet.
“We can, we can, we can,” and half the dolphins crowding the end of the wharf heaved themselves up out of the water to tailwalk in
their enthusiasm. Somehow they managed not to crash into the seething mass of podmates who ducked out of the way underwater
with split-second timing. Such antics were repeated by many, all across the waters of the bay.
“Look what you started, Cap’n!” Ben cried in an extravagant show of despair. “Damned fool fin-faces! You wanna burst your
guts?”
Sometimes, Jim Tillek thought, Ben was as uninhibited as any of the whimsically impetuous dolphins he was supposed to
“manage.” The difference between their enthusiasm and the reality of their assistance lay in the fact that all adult dolphins had spent a
period training with human partners, learning to come to the aid of stranded swimmers and sailors and, occasionally, damaged sailing
craft. They were delighted to have a chance to practice on such a scale.
Harnesses from the training sessions were available--and more could be cobbled together--to hitch dolphin teams to any of the
smaller sailing craft. A big yoke already existed, contrived for the ore barge that the dolphins had several times hauled from Drake’s
Lake. But never had the settlers had to call on all the dolphins.
“We’ve known something big was up,” Jan Regan said, her manner much calmer as befit the senior dolphineer. She gave a snort
that was half-laugh. “They’ve been squee-eeing like nutters about underwater changes around here,” she added, flicking her hand at
the crowded bay. “But you know how some of them exaggerate!”
“Hah! With Picchu blowing smoke rings, of course the’d know something’s going to happen,” Ben said, having recovered his
equilibrium. “Question is, how much time do we have before Picchu blows?”
“It isn’t Picchu that’s going to blow,” Jim began as gently as possible. He allowed the startled reaction to subside before he
continued. “It’s Garben.”
“Knew we shouldn’t have named a mountain for that old fart,” Ben muttered.
Jim continued. “More important, Patrice can’t give us a time frame.” That stunned even the solid and unflappable Bernard Shattuck.
“All he can do is warn us when the eruption is imminent.”
“Like how imminent?” Bernard asked soberly.
“An hour or two. The increasing sulfur-to-chlorine ratio means the magma is rising. We’ve two, maybe three days with just sulfur
and ash--”
“The ash I don’t mind. It’s the sulfur that’s so appalling.” Helga Duff said, coughing.
“The real problem is--” Jim paused again. “Monaco is also within range of pyroclastic missile danger.”
“Range of what?” Jan screwed her face up at the technical term. She knew as much as any human could about dolphins, but she
tended to ignore technical jargon.
“Range of what heavy stuff the volcano can throw out at us,” Jim said, almost apologetically.
“Worse than the ash and smoke already coming down?” Efram asked. Although they hadn’t been standing on the wharf that long,
their wet suits were already gray with volcanic ash.
“The big stuff, boulders, all kinds of molten debris. . .”
“But we have Threadfall at Maori Lake this afternoon,” young Gunnar Schultz said, looking totally confused by the conflict of
imperatives.
“We have to get all the materiel we can to Kahrain as soon as possible, and that is the immediate priority, folks. Thread’ll have to
wait its turn,” Jim said with his usual wry humor. “All available craft are to be used, and the call’s gone out to owners to either get
here or appoint a surrogate. So all we have to do is explain to pod leaders what has to be done and the kind of cooperation we need
from them.” He began passing out copies of the evacuation plans that Emily Boll, the colony’s co-leader with Admiral Paul Benden,
had given him forty minutes before. He glanced anxiously overhead, where three heavy sleds seemed about to collide. “Damn ‘em.
Look, read the overall plans while I go organize some air-traffic control.”
The dolphineers dutifully read the evacuation plan, though Jan skimmed ahead to their responsibilities: the stuff building up on the
beach. Loads were all color-coded Red and orange were priority, and red was fragile, for immediate transfer to Kahrain. Yellow
would have to go in a hull of some kind; green and blue were waterproofed and could be towed.
Jim stuck his head out of the control-room window. “Lilienkamp’s sending us drums, wood, lines, and whatever men he can spare
from his Supply Depot to lash rafts together. At least the weather report’s good. Decide which of the dolphins can be trusted to
pull--”
“Any one of ‘em you ask,” Ben said indignantly.
“And we’ll need some sensible dolphs to swim escort on the smaller sail craft. Keeerist, what’s that driver doing?” Leaning his
long frame as far out of the window as he could, Jim began waving both long arms shoreward to ward a heavy sled away from
colliding with two smaller ones that were trying to slide into the tight landing spaces on the strand. “Do the best you can!” he
shouted at his team, and pulled his head back in to restore some order to the traffic heading toward the bay.
“Jan, you, Ef, and me explain,” Ben said. “Bernard, start organizing those red and orange loads for the Cross and the Perseus
already tied up. Let’s get some of the larger small craft in to load. By then the pod leaders’ll know what’s expected and can make
assignments of escorts. You others, start checking with the sail craft, find out their load limits. Try to keep track of what went with
whom--” He broke off, realizing the monumental task ahead of them. “We’ll need some hand recorders . . . You guys get started.
I’ll see if I can liberate us a few ‘corders. There have to be some. . .” His voice trailed off as he climbed up the ladder to the wharf
office.
“Right after we tell the fins what they’re to do, we organize some sea police, huh?” Bernard said.
“Right, man! Right!” Efram said with heartfelt agreement. “Now then, let’s brief the pods. . .”
As they were all suited up, they moved along the length of the float, spotting their individual pod leaders. Then, gesturing to the
dolphins to give them some space, they jumped in. It was the easiest way to impress on individual dolphins their particular tasks.
There was a sudden swirling of water around the dolphineers as the dolphins chose their favorite swimming partners. Despite the
crush, Teresa emerged right by Jan Regan, Kibby by Efram; Ben got splashed by a well-aimed sweep of Amadeus’s right flipper.
“Cut that out, Ammie. This is serious,” Ben said.
“No rough stuff?” Amadeus asked, and clicked in surprise.
“Not today,” Ben said, and gave Ammie an affectionate scratch between the pectorals to take the sting out of the reprimand. Then
he put his whistle in his mouth and blew three sharp notes.
Heads, human and dolphin, turned in his direction. Letting his legs dangle beside Amadeus and resting one hand lightly on the
dolphin’s nose, Ben outlined the problem and what assistance was required.
“Kahrain near,” Teresa said, chuffing energetically from her blowhole.
“You have to make many trips,” Jan said, indicating the growing pile of crates, boxes, and nets of every size and color.
“So?” Kibby responded. “We start.”
Efram grabbed Kibby by the closest pectoral. “We need aisles”--he demonstrated parallels with his arms--“incoming, outgoing. We
need escorts for the smaller ships. We need teams for the bigger rafts and barges.”
“Two, three teams to change to keep speed,” Dart said, nudging Theo Force. “I know who thinks who is strongest. I go get them.
You get harness.” With one of those incredible flips a dolphin body was capable of performing, Dart lived up to her name, arcing
over several bodies and neatly reentering the water. Her disappearing dorsal fin showed the speed at which she was traveling.
“I get harness,” Theo echoed, making a foolish grimace at the others. “I get harness,” she said again, as she swam with confident
strokes to the nearest of the pier ladders. “Why is she always one step ahead of me?”
“ ‘Cause she swims faster,” Toby Duff yelled.
“We, Kibby me, police lanes,” Oregon informed Toby. “Use flag bobbers?”
Jan started to giggle. “Why do we bother telling them anything?” she said.
“Flag buoys coming up,” Toby said, swimming for the ladder nearest the storage sheds where the racing buoys were kept. “Green
for incoming, red for outgoing.”
“There should be enough,” Efram said, following him, “from the winter regattas.”
“These all the ships?” Teresa asked, swishing herself high enough on her tail to look up and down the wharf.
“There should be a dozen or more luggers and sloops coming in from the coastal and downriver stakeholds,” Jan told her. “The
bigger ones can sail right on down to Paradise River, but whatever we get around Kahrain Head’ll be safe enough.”
“Busy, busy,” Teresa said and looked happier than usual. “New thing to do. Good fun.”
Jan grabbed her left fin. “Not fun, Tessa. Not fun!” And she shook her finger in front of Teresa’s left eye. “Dangerous. Hard.
Long hours.”
Teresa’s expression was as close to a diffident shrug as a dolphin could come. “My fun not your fun. This my fun. You keep
afloat. Hear me?”
By the time Jim Tillek had managed to organize air traffic and get some beach wardens into position, the two lanes had been
established with red and green buoys; three teams of the biggest males had been harnessed to the big barge, which had been filled
with fragile red loads and was already under way. The first flotilla of smaller sail craft followed, dolphin-towed out of the congested
harbor area to the point where they could safely hoist canvas on their way to Kahrain. Escort dolphins had been assigned.
“We’re never going to keep track of this stuff,” Ben muttered to Claire. She had organized something to eat for the dolphineers
while her dolphin friend, Tory, was busy with his team, hauling blue and green cargo out to dinghies and other less seaworthy craft.
Even the smaller craft, kayaks, and the big ceremonial canoe were being pressed into service. These would have to be very closely
watched, as they were manned by relatively inexperienced sailors, many of them preteens.
Jim Tillek had seen that they all had emergency jackets and gear, and knew exactly how to call a dolphin to their aid. The supply of
whistles had run out, which worried some of the less competent kids, but Theo Force had Dart demonstrate how fast she could come
to their aid if they merely slapped the water hard with both hands.
“Those clodheaded landlubbers are more trouble than anyone else,” Jim said, striding landward on the wharf, raising his bullhorn to
chew out some Landing residents who were adding household goods to the stack of red priority cargo. Some of the colonists who had
remained at the Landing site as administrators felt they should have certain perks. Well, not in this crisis, they didn’t. His patience
worn out, he strode to the nearest sled, hauled the driver out, and ordered him to put back in what he had just unloaded. When that
was done, Jim flew the sled to be unloaded with the other “space available” cargo at the far end of the strand. Then Jim took the sled,
despite its owner’s voluble complaints, and used it for the rest of the day to be sure goods carted down from Landing went into the
appropriate areas. The sled also gave him sufficient altitude to keep an eye on what was happening everywhere on the Bay.
With a leeward breeze keeping most of the volcanic fumes wafting away from Monaco, Jim was sometimes startled to look inland
and see how steadily the fumaroles on Garben and Picchu emitted clouds of white and gray, and probably noxious gases. He also felt
a pang of near terror as he saw the mass of things to be removed from pyroclastic activity. They’d need a ruddy armada. . . Why
couldn’t they send more stuff by air?
Yet he couldn’t deny that a steady flow of sleds of all sizes gave proof that immense quantities were being flown out. Even the
young dragons had panniers of some kind strapped behind their riders.
Wiping his sooted brow with a kerchief nearly messier than his face, Jim watched the graceful creatures reach a high thermal and
start the long glide down to the Kahrain cove. If they’d only more dragons, more power packs, more ships, more. . .
Someone tugged his arm: Toby Duff directed his attention to a raft that was foundering.
“Damn fool didn’t balance the load,” he began, even as dolphins pushed against sagging barrels and pallets to keep them from
floating off. “I can’t be everywhere. . .” He groaned.
“You’re giving a good impression of it,” Toby remarked at his driest. “Look, under control.”
“But they aren’t bringing it back in to be repacked,” Jim began.
“Use the binocs, Jim. Gunnar’s there. Seems like he has it under control. What I need your advice on is can we cocoon in plastic
some of the red and orange and entrust small loads to younger dolphins who can’t help with the heavier stuff?”
Jim thought, glancing at the barely lowered stack of priority goods. “Better give it a try. Better than having the stuff fried
pyroclastically.”
Toby gave him an uncertain grin, then a genuine laugh, and trotted off to wharfside, jumping into the water to make the necessary
assignments.
All too quickly, the swift tropical dusk descended and there was a scurry to determine how many of the ill-assorted carriers had
made it safely to Kahrain, how many in transit would need lighting or other help, and what, if any, casualties or losses there had been.
To Jim’s amazement, there were only minor casualties human and dolphin: scrapes, bruises, cuts, and the occasional wrenched
muscle; even after Ben continually excused his record taking, they discovered very little loss of common cargo and none of the red or
orange priorities.
Each pod leader reported to Monaco Wharf that they were off to eat and would return at dawn. Not for the first time did Jim and the
dolphineers envy the creatures who could put half their brains to sleep and continue to function perfectly.
Some thoughtful person had put a kettle of stew, loaves of bread, and a pile of biscuits on the long table in the wharf office and, with
little discussion, the hungry served themselves. Then, finding sufficient floor space, they curled up in blankets, old heavy-weather
gear, and whatever else sufficed to keep tired bodies warm. Some of those sleepers were among those settlers lucky enough to have
bonded with one or more fire-lizards, the beautiful creatures mentioned in the EEC Survey report. Now, while their humans slept,
those fire-lizards arranged themselves on the pier their sparkling eyes rivaling the emergency lights up and down the long installation.
The Big Bell roused all the sleepers and brought Jim and Efram stumbling out of the office to see what the problem was. Kibby and
Dart were fighting over who was to pull the chain next.
“Morning, morning, morning” was the chant from several hundred dolphins, as fresh and eager as they had been the day before for
the great new fun their landfriends had discovered to please them.
Jim and Efram groaned, leaning into each other in sleepy incoherence. A seaward breeze made the coming day’s work arduous:
sulfur- and chlorine-tainted air caused eyes to water and irritated throats and nasal passages. The dolphins seemed less affected,
which was a blessing; halfway through that day, most of the human swimmers were forced to use masks and oxygen tanks in the
water and out. Also, there were more emergencies, caused by tired people, stiff-muscled from unaccustomed labors, valiantly trying
to exceed the previous day’s quota.
Skippering the Southern Cross, laden to the scuppers with a cargo of precious medical supplies, Jim spent more time on the com
unit, issuing suggestions and orders, and trying to keep his temper over asinine errors that would never have been so dangerous at any
other time. The sea path between Monaco and Kahrain was a mass--and a mess--of ill-assorted craft, struggling to transport beyond
their capacities. Twice the Cross passed dinghies afloat only by virtue the pairs of dolphins keeping them up on the surface of the
water.
The third morning, Jim summarily ordered all small craft under seven meters out of the water at Kahrain. Most, of their crews he
left behind to help unload the larger ships and the dolphins, who he decided made better, and faster, transporters of small to
medium-sized packets.
“Smart of you, Jim,” Theo Force said that evening when they gathered on board the Cross for the eastward leg. “Kids got a big kick
out of how often ‘their’ dolphins made the trip. They even started snatching tidbits for ‘em as treats. Not that they could catch much
fish with the waters so churned.”
“And my heart wasn’t in my mouth so much,” Claire Byrne said, “thinking of all that could go wrong with those cockleshells.”
“Weather’s disimproving,” Bernard Shattuck remarked.
“Too heavy for the seven-meter hulls?” Jim asked, perusing the lists of cargo still piled on the Monaco strand. The day’s hard work
had shown a definite lowering of the mass.
“With the more experienced crews,” Shattuck said after a thoughtful pause, “but I’d feel happier if they had dolphin escorts.
How’re the dolphs holding up?”
Jim snorted, while Theo managed a weary chuckle.
“Them?” Efram said with utter disgust. “They’re enjoying this game we thought up for their amusement!”
Ben was grinning as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands cradling a hot drink. “Didja hear that the pods seem to have
some sort of competition going between them?”
“Based on what?”
“Weight hauled,” Ben said with a wry grin. “You’ll have noticed’em humping the single packs about? Weighin’ in.”
“No damage, I hope,” Jim said, trying to sound severe, although the whole notion of the competition tickled him. Leave it to the
dolphins! Nature’s born humorists. He wished there’d been otters still alive on Earth when the Pern colony was being organized.
They, too, had been creatures who knew how to amuse themselves with the strangest objects! He sighed. “We can’t afford to lose
anything we’ve been entrusted to get to Kahrain safely.”
“Once we get it all to Kahrain, what happens then, Captain?” Gunnar asked wearily.
“Why then, my hearties, we have time to decide what has to be brought on the fleetest winds and vessels to the north.” There were
sufficient groans to cause him to smile reassuringly. “But with more leisure available to make choices.”
“It’s a fair ol’ haul to the place they’ve chosen in the north,” Anders Sejby said in a neutral tone. He was a big man, phlegmatic in
temperament, but astonishingly agile physically. He had big hands, big feet, broad shoulders, and solid legs that threatened to burst
the seams of his waterproofed trousers. He tended to go bare-chested, and barefooted, but there wasn’t a mariner on the planet that
wouldn’t sail anywhere with him, Jim Tillek included. “Any sort of a pier there? Or do we have to lighter stuff in from the bigger
ships?”
Jim gave him a blank stare. “I dunno. I’ll find out.”
“You mean,” asked Ben, who fired up easily, “we’re busting our nuts doing all this and we’ve got to--”
Jim held up his hand to stem Ben’s indignant protest.
“All will be prepared for us there.”
“Bet it wasn’t until you mentioned it,” Ben said sourly.
“Be not of faint heart, Ben,” Jim said, laying his hand in a benedictory fashion on the dolphineer’s salt-encrusted curls. “By the
time we get there, we’ll have wharf facilities. The good Admiral Benden solemnly promised me.”
Ben snorted, unrepentant.
“Now,” Jim went on, “let’s sort out what we’ve got to move tomorrow.”
Garben moved first. The warning they received gave them a scant two hours and the advice that everything that could leave
Monaco should be gone well before that time limit. Later, no one had any coherent memories of that period. The wharf was a frenzy
of activity; still, neither of the bigger ships, the Cross or the Perseus, was fully loaded when the alarm came. They were sailed far
enough out of the projected danger area. If the wharf--and the cargo--was left when the eruption was over, they would go back in and
finish loading.
Everyone did have memories of Garben’s spectacular eruption, seen at a safe enough distance to be clear of the pyroclastic debris.
It was truly awe-inspiring, and immensely heartbreaking, to see the community that they had achieved in such a short time showered
with ash and burning missiles, then disappearing behind dense gray cloud
“Did everyone get out?” Theo called from the waters on the starboard side of the Cross.
“So we were told,” Jim said. “D’you want to come aboard?”
Theo raised her eyebrows at the already overcrowded sloop.
“Lord, no, Jim. I’m safer with Dart.” On cue, the dolphin surfaced and pushed her fin against the hand Theo idly circled as she trod
water. “See what I mean. . .” Her voice dwindled as the sleek little dolphin propelled her farther from the ship and Monaco Bay.
At last all but a few damaged loads and other debris had been burned or buried by the beach wardens, and Jim allowed the Cross, as
the last ship, to leave Monaco Bay.
“What about the bell?” Ben asked just as the gangplank was being pulled up.
Jim paused, squinting up at the bell. “Leave it. The dolphins get such a kick out of ringing it.”
“Even with no one to hear?”
Jim heaved a sigh. “Frankly, Ben, I don’t have the energy right now to dismantle it.” He looked around at the decks crammed with
lashed-down pallets. “Hell, where would we put a thing as big as that?” Then he shook his head. “We can come back for it. Ezra’ll
be wanting to check the Aivas interface once the volcanoes have settled.” Then he gave the orders to release the lines forward and aft.
“Yeah, we’ll get it next trip.”
He did note the sadness on Ben’s face as the bell, and the wharf, receded from sight. Not even the gay escort of two pods of
dolphins seemed to cheer the man. Paradise River had become Ben’s real home, and now it would have to be abandoned. A lot more
than a bell had been left behind at Landing--and yet the bell seemed to symbolize it all. They sailed on, through the murky, reeking
atmosphere that Garben and Picchu had made of the once-clear air of Monaco Bay.
Kahrain was scarcely better organized than the Bay had been, but there were hot baths and decent food available, and a chance to let
tired bodies sleep until they were truly rested. The evacuation had gone smoothly enough, thanks to Emily Boll’s foresight. The only
casualties had been, unfortunately, one young dragonrider and his bronze dragon who had collided with a sled--or, as Emily put it in
an expressionless voice, attempted to avoid a collision by going between, as the fire-lizards did. The young dragon’s instinct had not
been sufficient to bring them back from wherever between was, and the other young dragonriders were suffering from trauma.
“I told them to take the day off,” she said, clearing her throat authoritatively, ignoring the fact that Sean, de facto leader of the
dragonriders, had told her in no uncertain terms that he and his group would not be available for work until the next day.
“But the dragon actually went between?” Jim asked amazed.
Emily nodded briskly, blinking against a sudden moisture in her eyes. “I saw. . . Duluth do it. He and Marco were there, midair,
one moment, the sled descending on top of them, and then. . . gone!” She cleared her throat again. “So, if we have to find some
good out of the tragedy, there it is. The dragons can do what the fire-lizards can. Now, if their riders can now figure out how to do it
on a. . . safe, return basis, we may yet have our aerial force.”
“Right now, though, it’s the naval forces we must organize,” Paul said, standing up and lighting the screen of his work terminal.
“Fortunately, there’s a good warehouse at Paradise River where we can stash non vital supplies for later runs.”
“So we do use the small craft again?” Per Pagnesjo, captain of the Perseus, asked.
Paul nodded. “For one thing, those sailors are intrinsically valuable in themselves and not just for what we can load on them.” He
turned to the dolphineers. “How are your friends standing up to this?”
Theo gave a bark just as Ben snorted. “It’s a nice new game we’ve figured out for them,” Theo answered.
“Glad someone’s finding some enjoyment out of all this,” Paul said with a grim smile.
“Trust dolphins for that,” Theo said. Her genuine grin turned Paul’s into one less strained. “Well, we don’t need to rush so much to
get to Paradise, do we? That’ll make it easier and safer.”
“We’ll have to use personnel who are not slated for the next Threadfall, though,” Paul added, switching his terminal to another
setting. “We had to let Maori Lake take its chances, but we’ve got to keep Thread burrows to a minimum.”
“Even if we’re abandoning the southern continent?” Theo asked.
“We’re not abandoning the continent, nor entirely removing everyone,” Paul said. “Drake wants to continue; so do the Gallianis,
the Logorides; and the Seminole, Key Largo, and Ierne Island groups. Tarvi’s keeping the mines and the smelters going. Since they
work underground or in the cement block sheds, they’re reasonably safe from Thread, though food resources may have to be
augmented from our supplies.”
“They may have to come north in the end, if we can’t supply them from our stores,” Emily said sadly.
“So. . .” Paul said, briskly bringing the meeting back to the matter at hand. “Joel’s got some imperative supplies that ought to be
shifted immediately north. Kaarvan, your ship has the biggest capacity: Can you undertake that voyage while the other ships
redistribute loads and follow when laden? Desi, can you give him a hand with the manifests?”
“If I get my crew to it now, we can shift and reload cargo and be ready to sail by the evening tide,” Kaarvan replied with a nod, and
left without further comment.
“Desi, I want manifests of every crate and carton you take, red and orange,” Joel Lilienkamp shouted after his assistant, and
received a backhanded wave. “How”--Joel turned to the others, hands upraised in helpless resignation-- “are we going to keep track
of what is where and. . . everything.”
For the first time since Jim Tillek had known the able commissary chief, he saw the energetic man at a loss, overwhelmed by the
magnitude of the task. Joel had had everything so neatly catalogued and organized at Landing: he had always known exactly on what
shelf in what building any particular item was stored. But even his legendary eidetic memory would be unable to cope with the
摘要：

TheChroniclesOfPernFirstFallContentsTheSurvey:P.E.R.N.cTheDolphins’BellTheFordofRedHanrahanTheSecondWeyrRescueRunTHESURVEY:P.E.R.N.cIt’sthethirdplanetwewantinthispernicioussystem,”Castorsaidinatotallyjaundicedtone,hiseyesfixedontheviewscreen.“How’sthehairpincalcgoing,Shavva?”Lookingupfromherterminal...

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