Энн Маккефри: The Second Weyr

“We leave it up to the queens.” He surprised them all by making a gracious bow to Sorka. “And we’ll leave which queen up to chance, as well. Chance plays a greater part in our affairs than you may be aware, but I feel the Weyr has profited by random choice, and we will continue this. Therefore, the first queen in each new Weyr to rise to mate will decide which rider will be Weyrleader!”

That announcement met with a stunned silence, which was broken by quiet murmuring. Torene was even more surprised than most. She didn’t know which other queens had been assigned along with her, but she was suddenly very sure that somehow the draw had been arranged so that she, and Alaranth, would go east. For Alaranth, of all the twenty fertile queens, would undoubtedly be the next one to rise to mate. Was that what Sean had meant when he had said Torene’s ability to hear all dragons was an asset? How long had he been planning to form new Weyrs?

She shot a quick glance at the Weyrleaders, but they were not looking in her direction.

Am I right, Faranth? Torene asked, breaking her self imposed rule never to initiate a conversation with another’s dragon.

You can hear all of us, Faranth said. It would be wise to have you over there. You will be a very good Weyrwoman. Sorka thinks so, and so do Carenath and Sean. Be easy!

As if she possibly could at a moment like this! Chance, indeed! Torene stared fiercely at Sorka, wanting to catch the Weyrwoman’s eye, but Sorka was leaning across the table to talk to Tarrie and Nora.

“So, those of you who have to remain here with Sorka and myself can be excused. I think the new Weyrfolk ought to have a bit of a gather and find out who goes where. Big Islanders, assemble at the far right tables; Telgar, these in the middle; and east coast on my left.”

As Sean pointed, his eyes at last met Torene’s. His expression did not change-except for the slight tilt of one eyebrow. So she could read more into this public exhibition of “random choice”? But how could he have arranged it? The odds against were four to one.

She was startled out of her reverie when F’mar leaned down, lips to her ear.

“I would have liked to have you as my Weyrwoman, Rene,” he murmured. Before she could remark on his arrogance, being so sure that he would end up Telgar’s Weyrleader, he had moved to the center tables.

“Sour grapes?” N’klas asked, jerking his thumb at F’mar’s retreating back.

“No, no sour grapes,” she said, with a not too saccharine smile. “He’s got as good a chance as anyone to make Weyrleader at Telgar. See-” She pointed at Arna, Nya, and Sigurd already seated at the head of one of the Telgar tables.

She welcomed Uloa with a happy cry, and then Jean, Greteth’s rider, only to be overcome with chagrin. Uloa and Jean would know that Alaranth would be the first queen assigned there to rise to mate. So did Julie, for her queen had just clutched and wouldn’t rise for months. Torene’s thoughts must have been transparent, for Uloa leaned close to her.

“And why not Alaranth?” Uloa murmured. “Better you than me. You’re young enough to cope.”

“My sentiments entirely,” Jean added quietly, then raised her voice. “N’klas, pass the beer pitcher, will you? Who else have we got for Wingleaders?” She looked about as riders shifted to the appropriate tables. “Besides you, N’klas. Hello, there, Jess. You’re one of us? Great.”

Torene glanced shyly at the older bronze Wingleader. She hadn’t had the chance to get to know him, but she’d never heard unfavorable reports. She saw David Caterel making his way to them. He and Polenth were of the original seventeen dragonriders. He had always been pleasant to her, but the look he gave her now made her blush. He knew. Young Boris Pahlevi, who had risen quickly to the rank of Wingleader on Gesilith, was also on his way over. And behind him. . . Torene blinked, but the lithe redheaded figure was still that of Mihall, Brianth’s rider, and the Weyrleaders’ oldest son.

Well, she thought, an odd numbing sensation running over her, he was one of the best Wingleaders. Why should she resent him being in her Weyr? Silly! It’s not your Weyr, yet, m’girl. He gave her a sharp nod as he stopped a little behind N’klas, reversed a chair, and sat, leaning his arms on the back of it. He took the mug of beer passed to him but only sipped politely.

Wingseconds and some of the other wingriders ranged casually near their leaders, chatting among themselves.

“Well, well, and well,” Uloa said, grinning, her black eyes snapping with wry amusement. “David, your Polenth is the oldest dragon-do you wish to take charge of this first meeting of us new Weyrmates?”

“Why should I, when you’re doing so well, Uloa?” he replied good-humoredly and endured a bit of teasing from his wingmates. “Anyway, you’ve seen more of our new Weyr than I have.”

“Shouldn’t all of us go there now, to see what needs doing?” asked Jess Kaiden, whose bronze, Hallath, came from the same hatching as Uloa’s queen.

“Not now,” Uloa said, amused, “as it’s past midnight there and we wouldn’t see much.”

“We go when it’s daylight then,” Jess said with a shrug.

“All of us?” asked one of the blue riders seated near David. Torene didn’t know his name. That was one detail she’d have to remedy.

Martin, who rides Dagmath, Alaranth said.

“Yes, all of us,” David replied, “since all of us will share the making of this Weyr.”

“Does it have to stay known as the east coast Weyr?” Boris asked in some disgust. “What a mouthful!”

“See it first, name it later,” Jean said. “I’ve only been there once myself.”

“Just how much help will we get from the settlers?” N’klas asked, shooting Torene a quick look. Both were aware of how much work would be required to make the place livable.

“I think we’ll have to ask Sean that,” David replied.

“ ‘Rene, you got that film on you?” N’klas asked, turning to her.

Torene felt herself flush. She ducked her head on the pretext of opening the thigh pocket where she kept the plasfilm and recovered her composure somewhat by the time she could spread it out on the table in front of her. Everyone began to press in to have a look. David, who was tallest of those nearby, took it and held it up high enough for more to see.

“Shaded areas show the echo spaces inside,” N’klas said. “Some only need to be broken out. And Torene spotted where we can put a ground-level access tunnel.” Craning his head and stretching out one arm, he pointed out the various features. “Hatching ground, bigger’n Fort’s-plenty of ground-level caverns for support staff, kitchens, weyrling barracks, queens’ quarters, and there’re tunnels underground. One to a cavern big enough for us to put hydroponics. . . .”

“If we do our job properly, we’ll get supplied by the holders we protect,” David Caterel said. N’klas was not the only one whose mouth dropped open in surprise. “That’s the plan which has just now been accepted by all holders.” David grinned. “That’s what allows us to decentralize the fighting force. The Holds we protect will tithe to support the local Weyr. That way Fort won’t be overburdened. We won’t always be able to sneak south for food, especially after Ierne is abandoned. Their fire-lizards have done a great job to help the wings we’ve sent there. But they’ll be leaving, too. We’ve got to let the grubs dig in and spread. A good start’s been made at Key Largo, Seminole, and Ierne, but it’s a long-term process.”

There were a few wry smiles at the understatement. Everyone knew that it would take several hundred years for grubs-the anti-Thread organism that Ted Tubberman had bioengineered-to spread across the Southern Continent in sufficient density to make ordinary vegetation less vulnerable to destruction by those deadly spores. And only once the new life-form was well-enough established in the south could colonies of it be transferred north.