Anne McCaffrey - Dragonquest

“I think someone else must have tried to discover that before,” she said wearily. “And we still have Thread.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he countered in such a savage tone that he began to cough, an exercise which painfully contracted the injured muscles across his waist.

Instantly Lessa was at his side, offering him distilled wine, sweetened and laced with fellis fruit juice.

“I want F’nor,” he said petulantly.

Lessa looked down at him for the coughing spasm had left him limp.

“If we can pry him away from Brekke.”

F’lar’s lips set in a thin line.

“You mean, only you, F’lar, Benden Weyrleader, can flout tradition?” she asked.

“That isn’t . . .”

“If it’s your pet project you’re worrying about, I had N’ton secure Thread . . .”

“N’ton?” F’lar’s eyes flew open in surprise.

“Yes. He’s a good lad and, from what I heard at Fort Weyr last night, very deft in being exactly where he is needed, unobtrusively.”

“And . . . ?”

“And? Well, when the next queen at Fort Weyr rises, he’ll undoubtedly take the Leadership. Which is what you intended, isn’t it?”

“I don’t mean that. I mean, the Thread.”

Lessa felt her guts turn over at the memory. “As you thought, the grubs rose to the surface the instant we put the Thread in. Very shortly there was no more Thread.”

F’lar’s eyes shone and he parted his lips in a triumphant smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

At that, Lessa jammed both fists against her waist and awarded him one of her sternest looks. “Because there have been a few other things to occupy my mind and time. This is not something we can discuss in open session, after all. Why, if even such loyal riders as . . .”

“What did N’ton say? Does he fully understand what I’m trying to do?”

Lessa eyed her Weyrmate thoughtfully. “Yes, he does, which is why I chose him to substitute for F’nor.”

That seemed to relieve F’lar, for he leaned back against the pillows with a deep sigh and closed his eyes. “He’s a good choice. For more than Fort Weyrleadership. He’d carry on. That’s what we need the most, Lessa. Men who think, who can carry on. That’s what happened before.” His eyes flew open, shadowed with a vague fear and a definite worry. “What time is it at Fort Weyr now?”

Lessa made a rapid calculation. “Dawn’s about four hours away.”

“Oh. I want N’ton here as soon as possible.”

“No wait a minute, F’lar, he’s a Fort rider . . .”

F’lar grabbed for her hand, pulling her down to him. “Don’t you see,” he demanded, his voice hoarse, his urgency frightening, “he’s got to know. Know everything I plan. Then, if something happens . . .”

Lessa stared at him, not comprehending. Then she was both furious with him for frightening her, irritated with his self-pity, and terrified that he might indeed be fatally ill.

“F’lar, get a grip on yourself, man,” she said, half-angry, half-teasing; he felt so hot.

He flung himself back down on the bed, tossing his head from side to side.

“This is what happened before. I know it. I don’t care what he says, get F’nor here.”

Lioth is coming and a green from Telgar, Mnementh announced.

Lessa took consolation from the fact that Mnementh didn’t seem the least bit distressed by F’lar’s ravings.

F’lar gave a startled cry, glaring accusingly at Lessa.

“Don’t look at me. I didn’t send for N’ton. It isn’t even dawn there yet.”

The green is a messenger and the man he bears is very excited, Mnementh reported, and he sounded mildly curious.

Ramoth, who had taken herself to the Hatching Ground after Lessa awakened, rumbled a challenge to bronze Lioth. N’ton came striding down the passageway, accompanied by Wansor, certainly the last person Lessa expected to see. The rotund little man’s face was flushed with excitement, his eyes sparkling despite red rims and bloodshot whites.

“Oh, Weyrlady, this is the most exciting news imaginable. Really exciting!” Wansor babbled, shaking the large leaf under her nose. She had an impression of circles. Then Wansor saw F’lar. All the excitement drained out of his face as he realized that the Weyrleader was a very sick man. “Sir, I had no idea – I wouldn’t have presumed . . .”

“Nonsense, man,” F’lar said irritably. “What brings you? What have you there? Let me see. You’ve found a coordinate for the dragons?”

Wansor seemed so uncertain about proceeding that Lessa took charge, guiding the man to the bed.

“What’s this leaf mean? Ah, this is Pern, and that is the Red Star, but what are these other circles you’re marked?”

“I’m not certain I know, my lady, but I discovered them while scanning the heavens last night – or this morning. The Red Star is not the only globe above us. There is this one, too, which became visible toward morning, didn’t it, N’ton?”

The young bronze rider nodded solemnly but there was a gleam of amusement in his blue eyes for the glassman’s manner of exposition. “And very faintly, but still visible as a sphere, is this third heavenly neighbor, to our northeast, low on the horizon. Then, directly south – it was N’ton’s notion to look all around – we found this larger globe with the most unusual cluster of objects moving with visible speed about it. Why, the skies around Pern are crowded!” Wansor’s dismay was so ludicrous that Lessa had to stifle her giggle.

F’lar took the leaf from the glassman and began to study it while Lessa pushed Wansor onto the stool by the sick man.

F’lar tapped the circles thoughtfully as though this tactile contact made them more real.

“And there are four stars in the skies?”

“Indeed there are many more, Weyrleader,” Wansor replied. “But only these,” and his stained forefinger pointed to the three newly discovered neighbors, “appear so far as globes in the distance-viewer. The others are merely bright points of light as stars have always been. One must assume then, that these three are also controlled by our sun, and pass around it, even as we do. For I do not see how they could escape the force that tethers us and the Red Star to the sun – a force we know to be tremendous . . .”

F’lar looked up from the rude sketches, a terrible expression on his face.

“If these are so near, then does Thread really come from the Red Star?”

“Oh dear, oh dear,” moaned Wansor softly and began caressing his fingertips with his thumbs in little fluttery gestures.

“Nonsense,” said Lessa so confidently that the three men glanced at her in surprise. “Let’s not make more complications than we already have. The ancients who knew enough to make that distance-viewer definitely stipulate the Red Star as the origin of Thread. If it were one of these others, they’d have said so. It is when the Red Star approaches Pern that we have Thread.”

“In that drawing in the Council Room at Fort Weyr there is a diagram of globes on circular routes,” N’ton said thoughtfully. “Only there are six circles and,” his eyes widened suddenly; he glanced quickly down at the sheet in Wansor’s hand, “. . . one of them, the next to the last, has clusters of smaller satellites.”

“Well, then, except that we’ve seen it with our own eyes, what’s all the worry?” demanded Lessa, grabbing up the klah pitcher and mugs to serve the newcomers. “We’ve only just discovered for ourselves what the ancients knew and inscribed on that wall.”

“Only now,” N’ton said softly, “we know what that design means.”

Lessa shot him a long look and nearly flooded Wansor’s cup.

“Indeed. The actual experience is the knowing, N’ton.”