All the Weyrs of Pern (13 page)

Looking about for reassurance, the Istan hesitated, until the Harper shooed him forward. The others stared at the glass-smith for his audacity. Part of one page crumbled off even as he placed it over the lighted panel. His journeyman rushed forward and, with the air of a man greatly daring, shoved the missing corner up against the broken end.

Instantly the screen lit up with an image of the much damaged drawing. Magically an unseen point connected up the missing lines and while the watchers gasped in wonder, the diagram became entire. From the printer slot emerged a sheet, which the dazzled journeyman took at Aivas’s suggestion.

“Look! Look! Finer than the best draftsman we have could render it!” the excited man exclaimed.

“Next page, please,” Aivas said, and the glass-smith, with some fumbling, managed to comply.

Very shortly the missing notes and explanations had been restored, and everyone in the room had had a chance to see the reconstructed sheets.

“Have you any queries regarding the manufacture of barrel, focusing devices, or lenses?” Aivas asked politely.

There were one or two questions from the journeyman; his master was too dazed to be coherent.

“If some should arise during manufacture—” Aivas finished.

“During what?” the journeyman was startled into asking by the unfamiliar word.

“During the making, either send your question to Master Robinton or return for additional explanations or further demonstration.”

It was easy then for Robinton to move the group out of the room and speed them on their way down the hall.

“That took ten minutes,” Aivas said in a low tone. “A useful disposition of time.”

“Have you been advised to appoint me your aide?” the Masterharper asked in an amused tone.

“Your impartiality is legend, Master Robinton, and your scrupulous sense of fair play has just been demonstrated. Master Esselin’s definition of priority is noticeably skewed toward rank. The glass-smith’s need of stored information was indeed a priority that ought to have been immediately scheduled when he arrived early this morning. Master Esselin ignored him.”

“He did?” Robinton was annoyed.

“If you will see to it that he does not exceed his very limited authority, considerable future ill-feeling will be avoided.”

“I will see to that immediately, Aivas.”

“If you should be unwilling to act in this capacity, perhaps D’ram, the bronze dragonrider, would assist. He, also, is held in the highest regard by peer group, Hall, and Hold. Is it true that he came forward in time four hundred Turns to fight Thread? That he has already spent a good portion of his life in that onerous task?”

“That is correct, Aivas.”

“This generation, and his, are amazing, Master Robinton.” Though the words were spoken levelly, the tone of admiration was unmistakable, and Robinton squared his shoulders proudly.

“We are of one mind in that.” Then, brusquely, Robinton added, “As your aide, Master Aivas, I’ll just set Master Esselin straight on the matter of assigning priorities without consultation. You may be sure he will obey you as promptly as he does myself or the Weyrleaders.”

Back in the hall, Robinton cut short all of Master Esselin’s tedious explanations and apologies. He found D’ram in the room where Piemur, Jancis, Jaxom, and Benelek were clattering away at their lessons on the small screens. They were each working on different projects, he could see; he recognized that Jancis was somehow replicating the diagram that Aivas had shown the miners.

“Come on, Master Robinton,” Piemur said, looking up from his screen. “I fixed a station for you to experiment with.”

Robinton held up his hands and backed away. “No, no, I’ve appointed myself aide to Master Aivas for the afternoon. You cannot believe how stupid Esselin is.”

“Ha! Yes, I can!” Piemur said emphatically.

“He’s as thick as two short planks,” Benelek grumbled. “And he doesn’t like any of us coming and going as we need to.”

“I don’t have any trouble,” Jancis said, but her eyes danced with mischief. “All I have to do is give him a cup of klah or something to eat from the tray when I bring it in.”

“And that’s another score I’m going to settle with ol’ Master fuddy-duddy Esselin,” Piemur said heatedly. “You are
not
a kitchen drudge. Does he never see the Master tab on your collar? Doesn’t he know you’re Fandarel’s granddaughter and top of your own Craft?”

“Oh, I think he will,” Jaxom remarked without looking up from his board, his fingers flying across it. “I caught his paternal act this morning, and I reminded him that the proper form of address for Jancis is Mastersmith. You know, I don’t think he had noticed the collar tabs.”

“That’s no excuse,” Piemur retorted, likely to fume until he himself had settled the score with the old man.

“Perhaps Master Esselin should go back to his archives,” D’ram said. “That’s what he’s supposed to be doing.”

“And about all he’s good for,” Piemur muttered.

“However, since someone must take over his current responsibility, I think I shall appoint myself in his place.”

“A marvelous notion, D’ram,” Robinton said while the others let out a cheer. “Actually, Aivas had already recommended you in that capacity. He’s heard that you are a well-respected and scrupulously honest character. He doesn’t know you as well as I do, of course.” When D’ram glanced apprehensively at him, Robinton broke into a teasing grin. “In fact, I think we should inveigle Lytol up here, too. Or would three honest men be too much for the job?”

“There can never be enough honest men,” Jaxom said firmly, looking up from his screen. “I think the challenge would be good for Lytol.” His expression reflected a deep concern for his aging guardian. “The pair of you already look the better for some proper use of your long experience. And there
ought
to be someone in charge who’s got the sense he was born with.”

“I second that,” a voice said from the doorway. In walked Mastersmith Hamian. “I had to elbow the old fool aside to get back in here. I see what Sharra meant when she said you were all wrapped up in this, Jaxom,” he added, tolerantly grinning at his sister’s mate before he nodded courteously to the others in the room. “I didn’t want to cause undue consternation among my peers earlier, Master Robinton, but would Master Aivas be able to tell any of us—me, because I’m dead keen to know—how the ancestors made their durable plastics?”

“Hurrah!” Piemur and Jancis cheered together. And Piemur jumped from his stool and thumped Hamian’s back.

The big smith from Southern Hold was not as tall or as massive as Master Fandarel, but he was solid enough to absorb Piemur’s hearty pounding without giving an inch. He grinned at his friend, his large and even teeth white in his tanned face. “Glad someone approves. Do you?” He looked directly at the Harper.

Robinton looked inquiringly at D’ram. “And thus we make the first test of our authority?”

“I’d say Hamian is exactly the right man to try something so new—new to us at least,” D’ram said, nodding.

“So it’s now up to him who knows,” Robinton said, and jerked his head towards Aivas’s room. “Let’s ask.”

All but Benelek traipsed along to hear what Aivas would say. Robinton beckoned for Hamian to stand squarely in front of the screen, then had to prod him when the big smith suddenly found it difficult to frame the question.

“Ask him. He hasn’t bitten anyone,” Robinton said.

“Yet,” Piemur added, pretending to be worried.

“Ahem, Master Aivas . . .” Hamian faltered again.

“You are volunteering to learn how to make silicate-based plastics such as your ancestors used in building materials, Master Hamian?”

Hamian just nodded, his eyebrows raised in comical surprise. “How’d he know that?” he asked in a low aside to the Harper.

“He’s got long ears,” Robinton replied, amused.

“Incorrect, Master Robinton,” Aivas said. “This facility has far more sensitive receptors than ears, Master Hamian, and since the door to the adjacent room was open, the conversation was audible. To reiterate, you wish, Master Hamian, to learn how to produce the plastics your ancestors used.”

Hamian squared himself in front of the screen, throwing his head up. “Yes, Master Aivas, that is my wish. There are sufficient of my peers eager to improve the quality of iron, steel, brass, and copper, but, having seen the durability of the ancients’ plastic materials, I would like to specialize in them. It is my belief that this could be as important a material to us as it was to our ancestors.”

“The manufacture of plastics was a highly refined skill in your ancestors’ time. Different polymers produced different end products that could be pliable, semimalleable, or rigid, depending on the chemical formulae. As surface petroleum was discovered near Drake’s Lake, there is no reason you cannot revive organic plastic manufacture. However, you will have to understand considerably more chemistry than is currently part of your Mastery training. The manufacture itself can be defined as a continuous mass-solution process. Two units were left in the Catherine Caves by Joel Lilienkamp.”

“Lilienkamp?” Piemur cried, pivoting to point both forefingers at Jancis, who also cried, “Lilcamp?”

“Who
was
Joel Lilienkamp?” Piemur asked Aivas.

“The Expedition’s supply officer: the person who preserved so many artifacts in the Catherine Caves.”

“Jayge just
has
to be a descendant,” Piemur crowed, and then abruptly apologized for his interruption.

“The two large polymerizing units are not marked as having been protectively packaged. Therefore they will have suffered decay and are unlikely to be operative. But they can be used as templates. You will learn much in the reconstruction, Master Hamian, and have more to learn in the chemistry and physics experiments that you will be set.”

Hamian’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “My pleasure, Master Aivas, my pleasure.” He rubbed his big callused hands together in eagerness. “When do I start?”

“First, you must find the prototype models in the cave.” Aivas’s screen lit up with the pictures of two thick cubes with a variety of curious extrusions. “These are what you must find. They will be heavy and cumbersome to move.”

“I’ve moved odder and heavier objects, Master Aivas.”

A paper illustrating the necessary objects extruded from the slot, and Piemur handed it to the Southern smith.

“You will require a workshop in which to disassemble them and decide what materials you have readily available with which to assemble a modern model. It is advisable that you not be the only one to study these basic sciences: The manufacture of suitable polymers will require a considerable team of workers trained in chemistry and physics.”

Hamian smiled ruefully. “Study will obviously be necessary, just to understand the unfamiliar words you’re using.”

“I think it’s safe to say,” Master Robinton put in, glancing pointedly at Piemur and Jancis, “that you will have at least three or four more students in your class, Aivas. I’m sure, Hamian, that you will want some members of your own Hall trained, as well.”

“I’ve one or two likely fellows in mind, that’s certain,” Hamian replied. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled. “My thanks, Master Aivas.”

“Acknowledged, Master Hamian.”

“How’d you escape Toric?” Piemur asked softly, masking his words behind one hand.

“Escape doesn’t enter into this, Piemur.” Again Hamian said with a droll grimace, “I’m my own master. I’ve organized Southern’s mines to produce with or without me leaning on anyone. Now I shall broaden my own horizons, as Toric did his. My thanks, Master Robinton, D’ram. I know where the caves are. I’ll start right away.” And he strode purposefully out of the room and down the hall.

As soon as the smith had turned the corner, Master Esselin ducked out of one of the sleeping rooms on the corridor, his expression aggrieved.

“Master Robinton, I told that smith he wasn’t to—”

“Master Esselin . . .” Robinton adopted his most charming manner as he put an arm around the man’s fleshy shoulders and turned him around. D’ram closed in on the other side, so that Esselin was inexorably led toward the entrance hall. “I do believe that you have been most shamefully treated lately.”

“I?” Esselin’s fretful look turned to surprise as he laid one plump hand on his chest. “Yes, Master Robinton, when bullies like that Southern smith pay absolutely no attention to my orders . . .”

“You’re quite right, Master Esselin. Most shameful, and I think your good nature in suspending your invaluable archival contributions to this site has been woefully abused. Therefore, it has been decided that Weyrleader D’ram, Lord Warder Lytol, and myself should relieve you of this onerous duty and let you get back to your own responsibilities.”

“Oh, but, Master Robinton . . .” Esselin would have slowed his pace if the other two had let him. “I didn’t mean to imply that I was
unwilling
. . .”

“You have been willingness itself,” D’ram said, shaking his head. “And all to your credit, Master Esselin, but fair’s fair, and you’ve been more than kind to officiate. We will now take over from you.”

Master Esselin continued his protests all the way out the door and down the walk to the path that led to the Archive complex. Gently but firmly Weyrleader and Harper gave him a final push, smiling and nodding and totally ignoring his repeated demurrals.

“There!” D’ram said once they were back in the building. He brushed his hands together in satisfaction. “I’ll take the first watch, Robinton.” He turned to one of the guards. “I’m in charge now. What’s your name?”

“Gayton, sir.”

“I’d take it kindly, Gayton, if you’d fetch something cool to drink from the kitchens. Bring enough for all of us here. And no, Robinton, he is not going to bring you any wine quite yet. You’ll have to have a cool head when you stand your watch, you know.”

“Why, you old coot!” Robinton exclaimed. “My head remains cool no matter how much wine I take. The very notion.”

“Take yourself off, Robinton.” Grinning, D’ram shooed him away. “Get into mischief somewhere else.”

“Mischief?” The Harper grumbled with mock indignation, but just then they both heard a triumphant shout from Piemur, so he hurried along to see what had occurred.