Anne McCaffrey - Pern 09 - Dragons Dawn

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The Pern Colonial Expedition had reached the most exciting mo-

ment 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 en-

gross 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 mete-

orites 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.

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 head-

quarters 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

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 pre-

ferred 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 qui-

etly. 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 mainte-

nance 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 en-

thusiasm for the same words when they had signed up for the Pern expedi-

tion.

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. Four-

teen 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 destina-

tion.

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

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 conten-

tion.

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

“Atmospheric content as expected. Southern continent temperatures ap-

pear 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 ro-

tated slowly to the east, from night to day. The southern continent’s coast-

line 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

balance. The deep-freeze tanks of the Bahrain contained twenty-five dol-

phins 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 ani-

mals to Pern, permission to use certain of the advanced biogenetic tech-

niques of the Eridanis — mainly mentasynth, gene paring, and chromo-

some 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 mur-

mured to Paul Benden, touching his shoulder in farewell.

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 some-

thing 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 vari-

ous 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 dis-

playing a constantly altering range of microbiology reports, statistics, com-

parisons, 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 an-

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

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 re-

port searching for that particular annotation. “Ah,” he said when he found

it. “Because they resemble airborne barges — squat, fat and full.” He al-

lowed 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

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摘要：

ThePernColonialExpeditionhadreachedthemostexcitingmo-mentofitsfifteen-yearvoyage:thethreecolonyships,theYokohama,theBahrain,andtheBuenosAireswerefinallyapproachingtheirdestination.Inofficesbelowthebridgedeck,specialistseagerlyawaitedupdatesonthereportsofthelong-deadExplorationandEvaluationteamthat,2...

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Anne McCaffrey - Pern 09 - Dragons Dawn

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