All the Weyrs of Pern (7 page)

“And I’m related to the admiral?” Toronas asked, rather more humble in his request than Oterel. “Our earliest Records are impossible to decipher.”

As the Lord Holders awaited Aivas’s reply, Menolly noticed Wansor’s discreet departure.

“It is entirely possible,” Aivas said, “even likely that you are a direct descendant. Four children were recorded to the marriage of Paul Benden and Ju Adjai. Perhaps if you bring in your Records at some later date, they can be deciphered. A program is available that utilizes a special light which can often restore lost words and phrases.”

Enthralled, Menolly listened as Aivas dealt with both Sigomal and Warbret, as cleverly and in as personal a fashion, catering to their self-images.

Then Jancis, Piemur, and Benelek hovered uncertainly in the doorway, each clutching several sheets. Piemur rattled his to get Sebell’s attention; the Masterharper deferentially told the Lord Holders that Aivas must be consulted again and politely gestured for them to leave.

Oterel grumbled, but Sigomal rose readily enough and took the old Tillek Lord by the arm. “It’s stifling in here, Oterel. Far too stuffy for comfort. I don’t know about you, but I intend to search out those Records and then see what this Aivas thing can tell me. Come along now.”

“He manipulates them like so many string-dolls,” Menolly told her mate in an undertone after he had escorted the Lord Holders into the hallway.

“Master Robinton had advised that tact and flattery might be required,” Aivas replied. “Especially for those who cannot be accommodated with a lengthy interview.”

“How did you hear me?” Menolly asked, dismayed that Aivas had overheard her whisper.

“Master Menolly, you are sitting beside a receptor. Whispers are clearly audible.”

She caught Sebell’s amused glance. He might have warned her about that.

“Don’t distract Aivas, Menolly,” Piemur said, arranging his papers on the plate.

“Master Menolly is not a distraction,” Aivas said mildly. “Next page please, Piemur.”

“Could you really read those old moldy Records?” Menolly asked.

“The attempt should be made. The ink that was used to write the Records you were kind enough to bring last night is of an indelible type that will yield to certain techniques available to this facility. Outside manual assistance will be needed, however, to prepare the documents before they can be scanned. That is a project which has been put on hold.”

“On hold?” Menolly was delighted by the unusual but descriptive phrase. “How explanatory!”

Then she heard the sounds of movement in the hall and saw a file of people, laden with cartons, striding purposefully toward her. She saw F’lessan and F’nor among them.

“I’d better leave,” she said reluctantly.

“Hang about,” Sebell told her.

“You seem to be bringing the cave here. Wouldn’t it have been easier to move Aivas to the caves?” she asked.

“Negatory,” Aivas said in as sharp a tone as Menolly had yet heard him utter. “This installation must remain in its present position, or it cannot access
Yokohama
.”

“I was being facetious, Aivas,” Menolly said penitently, and rolled her eyes at Sebell.

As the dragonriders came in, Menolly moved to N’ton’s earlier position against the wall and watched as carton after carton was displayed to Aivas, to be either dismissed or sent into the rooms where others were attempting to construct the devices that would permit wider access to Aivas’s facilities. None of the dragonriders seemed at all surprised to see her there, and F’lessan’s grin had lost nothing of his usual impudence in the presence of Aivas. But then the son of F’lar and Lessa took nothing very seriously except his dragon, Golanth. Mirrim followed close on T’gellan’s heels; the two from the Eastern Weyr were never far apart since they had declared themselves weyrmates. Mirrim had certainly bloomed and relaxed in the warmth of his preference, Menolly reflected.

“I didn’t see you here earlier,” Mirrim said in an aside to Menolly while waiting for her burden to be assessed by Aivas.

“Oh, I arrived here late last night with the Records of this Pass,” Menolly replied. “Then Lessa grabbed me for some drudgery.” She extended her strong hands, her callused fingers still showing water-wrinkles.

Mirrim rolled her eyes. “I’m just as glad we got in on the fetch-and-carry end of things. Let’s compare notes later, huh? I’d better go,” she added with a smug grin, “T’gellan’s waving at me.” She hefted the carton over to Aivas’s screen.

When Aivas had delivered a verdict and the riders had left, Sebell gestured for the Craftmasters to come in and be introduced. Again they were all courteously, if briefly, addressed, and Aivas issued the request to see their craft Records. When they had left, Menolly slipped over to Sebell.

“How on earth will Aivas find time to look at so many Records?” she asked, whispering in his ear.

“He doesn’t need sleep, only power,” Sebell replied. “If we can supply that when the solar panels falter, he’ll go on all day and night. You don’t sleep, do you, Aivas?”

“This facility operates as long as it has sufficient power to do so. Sleep is a human requirement.”

Sebell winked at Menolly.

“And you have none?” she demanded, jamming her fists into her belt as she faced the screen squarely.

“This facility is programmed to give optimum use at human convenience.”

“Do I hear a tinge of apology in your tone, Aivas?” she asked.

“This facility is programmed not to give offense.”

Menolly had to chuckle. Later she realized that that was when she began to accept Aivas as an individual entity and not as an awesome relic of her ancestors’ contrivance.

“Menolly?” the Masterharper called from the far end of the corridor, which was, for the first time, empty of importunate visitors. “Is Sebell there with you?”

Sebell moved to where he could be seen.

“Take over from him, will you, Menolly?” Robinton asked. “We’ve got enough here for a conference.”

Sebell put his hand on Menolly’s upper arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You saw how I conducted the encounters,” he said. “If anyone else shows up, just introduce them.”

“That didn’t work last night when Piemur tried it,” Menolly said.

Sebell grinned, squeezing her arm again. “Master Robinton and F’lar worked out a necessary alteration in the protocol.”

“Another new word?”

“Aivas’s for convention or courtesy.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “You won’t be missing anything in the conference, you know.”

“I do, and I’m relieved not to have to sit through another one,” she called after him as he hurried down the hall to Master Robinton. Sebell knew how she hated formal ceremonies. Or would they now be called protocols? She smiled to herself, then realized that she was alone with Aivas.

“Aivas, would you be able to give me an example of ancestral music?”

“Vocal, instrumental, orchestral?”

“Vocal,” Menolly replied without hesitation, promising herself that she would hear the other categories, too, when there was a chance.

“Classical, ancient, or modern; contemporary folk or popular; with or without instrumental accompaniment?”

“Anything, while we’ve got a free moment.”

“Anything is too vague a category. Specify.”

“Vocal, popular, with instruments.”

“This was recorded at the Landing celebration.” And suddenly the room was filled with music. Menolly immediately identified several of the instruments: a gitar, a fiddle, and something with a pipelike sound; and then voices, untrained but enthusiastic and musical. The melody was hauntingly familiar to her; the words, though clearly sung, were not. The quality of the sound, however, was incredible. These voices and instruments had not been heard for centuries, and yet the sounds were as unblurred by time as if the musicians were present. When the song ended, she couldn’t speak for the wonder of it.

“Was that not satisfactory, Master Menolly?”

She shook herself. “It was immensely and incredibly satisfying. I know that tune, too. What did the . . . settlers”—yes, she thought, Lessa was right to call them by that less intimidating noun—“call it?”

“ ‘Home on the Range.’ It is classified as American Western folk music. Several variations were included when the music library was installed in the memory banks.”

She would have asked for more, but Piemur came striding into the room carrying a strange contraption, a thin wide ribbon of colored strings hanging from one side. The front of it resembled part of the Aivas worktop, a series of depressions in five ordered ranks under a dark sheet of what looked to be more plastic.

“Kindly hold it over the view panel, Piemur. Level with your head, please.” There was a long pause for assessment. “It seems to be correctly assembled. A final check will be its installation and activation, but that must wait on a power source and connections to this board. How is Master Terry progressing with the wiring?”

“I don’t know. He’s in another room. I’ll just go and check for you. Here, Menolly, hang on to this. I don’t want to risk dropping it.” With an encouraging grin, Piemur deposited his load in her arms and half ran down the corridor.

“Why do you have that?” Jancis asked, arriving with a similar object in her hands.

Menolly told her and watched while Jancis repeated Piemur’s antics. Right behind her came Benelek, Lord Groghe’s clever son, who was now a smith journeyman. Fandarel had found him so extremely inventive that Menolly was not at all surprised to see him taking an active part here.

When Aivas had approved their efforts, Benelek wanted to know when they could hook up.

“When there is power available. So, Journeyman Benelek, you may as well assemble another keyboard while you’re waiting,” Aivas replied. “Ten are possible with the parts in hand. Two need replacement screens, if the Glassmaster will oblige.”

“I really do not understand how you would be able to handle twelve people at once, Aivas,” Menolly said.

“You play more than one instrument, do you not? That is, if this facility has properly understood the training practices of your Hall.”

“I do, but not all at once.”

“There is in this facility many parts, each of which can operate separately and simultaneously.”

Silently Menolly considered that concept, unsure how to respond. Then, just when it would have begun to seem rude for her to remain quiet, Master Terry came trotting down the corridor, loops of material strung all over him.

3

D
OWN THE HALL
, in the refurbished conference room, seven Lord Holders, eight Craftmasters, eight Weyrleaders, and four Weyrwomen were assembled in an extraordinary meeting. Harper Journeyman Tagetarl had been brought in to take full notes of the proceedings.

F’lar stood up to take charge, though everyone could see that Master Robinton would have been happy to officiate. There were those who thought the Harper had not looked so animated and vigorous in many a Turn, and assumed that the rumors of his decline must have been vastly exaggerated. Note was also taken that the Weyrleaders looked less haggard, almost cheerful—even optimistic.

“I believe you’ve all been introduced to Aivas,” F’lar began.

Lord Corman of Igen snorted. “Introduced? To a talking wall?”

“It is much more than a talking wall,” Robinton said tartly, glaring at Corman, who rolled his eyes at the Harper’s unexpected vehemence and nudged Lord Bargen of High Reaches Hold beside him.

“Considerably more than just a wall,” F’lar said. “Aivas is an intelligent entity, constructed by our ancestors who first settled this planet. It contains the information which our ancestors needed and used. Valuable knowledge which can teach us how to improve Hold, Hall, and Weyr.” He took a deep breath. “And destroy Thread completely.”

“That I’ll believe when I see it,” Corman replied with a disbelieving snort.

“I promised you that, Lord Corman, at the beginning of this Pass, and now I can fulfill that promise!”

“With a wall’s help?”

“Yes, with this wall’s help,” Robinton replied, his voice intense with conviction as he glared angrily at the Holder.

“You wouldn’t be so skeptical if you’d been here yesterday and heard Aivas!” Larad said, jumping to his feet, his tone trembling with controlled anger. Corman recoiled in surprise.

“With all due respect, F’lar, Robinton, Larad,” Warbret said appeasingly, “we’ve been called down here so frequently to see useless hulks, empty buildings, and caves bulging with shards and artifacts that I personally didn’t think anything could be that urgent this time. I do find it very odd in you, Weyrleader, to be taken in by talking walls spouting archaic legends.”

Robinton rose up out of his seat, bellowing such a protest that Warbret regarded him with amazement. “Gullible? Warbret, I, Robinton of Cove Hold, may be old but I cannot be considered gullible . . .”

“Nor I,” Fandarel added, also on his feet and looming over the incredulous Holders. “This is not a
wall,
Lord Corman.” The scorn in the usually equable Mastersmith’s manner made everyone stare at him. “This machine, this Aivas, was so efficiently and beautifully crafted by our ancestors that it has survived centuries and still functions.
That
is more than the best any present crafthall can do!” He jerked his big head to emphasize his respect. “Make no further insult on our intelligence or integrity, Lord Corman. You may not choose to believe in Aivas but most assuredly, I”—and he thumped his chest with his massive thumb—“Fandarel, Mastercraftsman, do!”

Corman subsided in bewilderment.

“So why have you called this session, then?” Warbret asked.

“Out of courtesy. So you’d all be made aware of the importance of this find as soon as possible,” Lessa snapped. “I’m not letting the Weyrs open to any charge of duplicity or hiding away valuable artifacts.”

“My dear Weyrwoman,” Warbret began placatingly.

“Well, maybe not you, Warbret,” Lord Groghe intervened, “but I could name some . . .” He left his words hanging. “You weren’t here, so you didn’t listen, as I did, and I’m no more gullible than Robinton, F’lar, or Fandarel. But if this Aivas thing really can rid us of Thread, I’m all for giving it every assistance.”

“If it can do that,” Corman challenged, “then why didn’t it do it for our ancestors?”

“Yes, why didn’t it?” Toronas of Benden asked.

“Because two erupting volcanoes altered their plans,” F’lar replied with great patience. “Landing—which is what our ancestors called this place—had to be evacuated. No one returned from the North to find out what Aivas might have learned.”

“Oh.” With that, Toronas subsided.

“I didn’t mean offense, F’lar,” Warbret said reasonably. “I just think you’re all jumping to conclusions on very flimsy evidence that this Aivas apparatus can do the half of what you think it can.”

“Aivas has already proved to me,” Fandarel said, his rumbling voice overpowering the others, “that it can restore information that has been lost to my Craft over the last millennium: information that will improve not just my Craft but conditions throughout Pern. You know very well, Lord Warbret, that the depredations of time have rendered many Records illegible. And that many of the conveniences which were our heritage from our ancestors have begun to fail. Further, Aivas has given me plans for a far more efficient power system. One so efficient,” the Mastersmith added, pointing a thick forefinger at the Igen Lord Holder, “that your Hold could be kept cool even at high noon at the height of the summer by the current of your river.”

“Really? I can’t say I’d mind that,” Corman admitted, but his skepticism remained. “And just supposing,” he added in a sly voice, glancing sideways at F’lar, “this Aivas
does
help you get rid of Thread, what will dragonriders do for occupation?”

“We’ll worry about that when we have destroyed Thread.”

“So you have some doubts yourself, Weyrleader?” Corman asked quickly.

“I said
when
, Lord Corman,” F’lar said in a grating tone. “Are you arguing with our eagerness to dispense with accepting your tithes?” The Weyrleader’s expression was sardonic.

“No, I mean, we’ve willingly tithed this Fall . . .” Corman floundered briefly and threw up his hands, recalling the time when he had not willingly supported Benden Weyr.

“And just how will this talking wall of yours destroy Thread, Weyrleader?” Masterglass-smith Norist demanded, his cheeks red with more than the broken capillaries from facing his hearths. “By blowing up the Red Star?”

Larad leaned across the table toward Norist, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Does it matter how it is achieved if it is, Master Norist, so long as there is never another Pass?”

“May I live to see that day,” Corman said in a facetious tone.

“I intend to.” F’lar’s voice and expression were steely with determination. “Now, if we have settled the question as to why at least the dragonriders feel Aivas is important . . .”

“Dragonriders are
not
the only ones, F’lar,” Fandarel said, bringing his heavy fist firmly down on the table, rattling everything on it.

“Nor Mastercraftsmen,” Lord Asgenar added staunchly.

“I, too,” Groghe said when Corman snorted. “Sometimes you can be sharding hard to convince, Corman. You’ll change your mind when you’ve
heard
Aivas. You’re not that much of a fool.”

“Enough!” F’lar took charge again. “The purpose of this meeting is to apprise you of the discovery of Aivas and its inescapable value to Pern as a whole. Which we have done to those of you who bothered to come. Further, I trust you other Weyrleaders—” F’lar scanned the seven present. “—will join Benden in making full use of the Aivas.”

“Now listen here, F’lar. You can’t arbitrarily decide something that’s going to effect Hold, Hall, and Weyr until everyone’s had a chance to see for themselves,” Corman began, glancing at Warbret and Bargen to support him. “I think this ought to be taken up at the Holders’ quarterly meeting—which isn’t that far off now.”

“Holders may decide for themselves,” F’lar said.

“And Craftmasters,” Norist put in, his expression forbidding. His glare rested longest on Fandarel.

“Decisions on who uses the Aivas ought not to be delayed,” F’lar said.

“C’mon, F’lar,” Groghe said. “You haven’t waited on anything. Scrambling about caves in the dark, hauling in apprentices and journeymen from all over the continent to resurrect bits and bobs of strange gear.” He held up a hand when he saw F’lar’s concerned expression. “Not that I, personally, don’t agree with you, Weyrleader. Deciding anything at the Holders’ Quarterlies can try the patience of a dragon. However, I did see and hear Aivas.” He turned slightly in his seat toward the other Lord Holders. “The device is amazing, and I am convinced of its value!”

“There was a time, Corman,” F’lar said, with a slight smile that reminded the Lord Holder of another occasion when the Benden Weyrleader had faced the massed and armed disapproval of the Lord Holders and bested them, “when you and all the other Lord Holders urgently required me to put an end to Threadfall. Surely you want me to get on with that task as swiftly as possible?”

“You’ve done exactly as you ought,” Groghe said, daring Corman to protest.

“Indeed you have, Weyrleader,” Toronas agreed. F’lar found the new Benden Holder a vast improvement on the previous one, Lord Raid.

“However,” the Weyrleader went on, “it is painfully obvious that we have lost most of the skills our ancestors had. We must relearn them, with Aivas’s guidance, so that we can indeed remove forever from this planet the menace of Threadfall.” F’lar looked from Norist to Corman to Warbret and then other Lord Holders, who had not taken part in the argument. “Isn’t it sensible to start on the program as soon as possible? To restore what we have lost?”

“And you expect all of us to take our orders from this Aivas?” Norist asked sarcastically. He had been exceedingly reticent when Aivas had queried him about his Craft.

“Master Norist,” Fandarel began in his slow deliberate way, “if there are opportunities to improve our Craft skills, surely it is incumbent on us to do so?”

“What that Aivas suggested I do in the Craft which I have Mastered, and efficiently, for the past thirty Turns, goes against every established procedure of my Hall!” Norist wasn’t going to give an inch.

“Including the now illegible ones in your oldest Records?” Master Robinton asked gently. “And here is Master Fandarel, fretting to get on with the restoration of an ancestral power station, quite willing to accept new principles from Aivas.”

Something akin to a sneer curled Norist’s thick, scarred lip. “We all know that Master Fandarel is endlessly fiddling about with gadgets and gimmicks.”

“Always efficient ones,” Master Fandarel replied, ignoring the disparagement. “I can plainly see that every Craft can benefit from the knowledge stored in Aivas. This morning Bendarek was given invaluable advice on how to improve his paper, Aivas called it, and speed up its production. Very simple, but Bendarek immediately saw the possibilities and has gone back to Lemos to develop this much more efficient method. That’s why he’s not here.”

“You and Bendarek,” Norist said, a flick of his fingers dismissing the newest Mastercraftsman’s products, “may exercise your prerogatives. I prefer to concentrate on maintaining the high standards of my Halls without dissipating effort on frivolous pursuits.”

“You don’t, however,” Lord Asgenar said, with a droll grin, “object to making use of the frivolous pursuits of other crafthalls. Such as the load of sheets delivered to you last month. Bendarek expects to be able to increase production of paper”—Asgenar grinned more broadly—“so that no one will be kept waiting for supplies.”

“Glass is glass, made of sand, potash, and red lead,” Norist stated stubbornly. “You can’t improve on it.”

“But Aivas suggested ways to do just that,” Master Robinton said at his most reasonable and persuasive.

“I’ve wasted enough time here already.” Norist stood up and stalked off down the hall.

“Damned fool,” Asgenar muttered under his breath.

“Back to the important point, F’lar,” Warbret said, leaning forward across the table to the Weyrleaders. “The possibility of eliminating Thread. Just how does this Aivas propose to go about this? F’nor didn’t have much luck when he tried.”

Remembering how close F’nor had come to dying in his attempt to go
between
to the Red Star itself, F’lar stared at him for a moment, then collected himself and went on. “Lord Warbret, until you have first listened to and seen the history Aivas has to tell you, you will not appreciate how much we will have to learn before we can even understand his explanations of what we have to do.”

“And Aivas’s showing and telling beggars my poor skill,” Robinton said with unusual humility. “For he was there! He knew our ancestors. He was created on the planet of our forebears! He witnessed and recorded events which have become our myths and legends.” His voice rang with such feeling that there was a moment of respectful silence.

“Yes, you and Lord Corman should hear Aivas before you dismiss the gift we have been offered,” Lessa added softly but just as fervently.

“Mind you, I’m not against going along with your course of action,” Warbret said, after a moment, “if it can help us eradicate Thread. And if you say, Weyrwoman, that we should hold our decision until we’ve heard this Aivas speak, when will that be possible?”

“Hopefully, later today,” F’lar replied.

“The batteries should be in place now,” Fandarel reminded him, “but I must go. Aivas is going to need much more power. And I will see that he gets it.” He rose and stood there for a moment, surveying the gathering. “Some of us will be called upon to change the ways and patterns of a lifetime, which is not an easy thing to do, but the benefits will more than compensate for that effort. We have endured enough of Thread. Now we have the chance to eradicate this menace, and we must grasp it firmly in both hands and succeed! Facenden,” he said, turning to his journeyman, “stay in my stead and report to me later.”

Then he left, his heavy steps audible down the short corridor.

“I think this meeting has gone on long enough, too,” Corman said. “Do as you wish, Weyrleader. You generally do anyhow.” But this time his comment held no rancor. “Just see that there is a full report of these activities for the quarterly Convocation.”

He also got to his feet, nudging Bargen to join him. But the High Reaches Lord Holder only regarded him thoughtfully and did not rise.

“Will you not stay to hear the history, Corman?” Robinton asked.