The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall (11 page)

Paul’s expression turned grim. There were few family groups in the Fort Hold that had not suffered losses in the debilitating fever that had hit the already distressed colonists. The old, the very young, and pregnant women had been the most vulnerable, and before the frantic medical team could develop a vaccine, the disease had run its course, leaving nearly four thousand dead. Nevertheless, the living had been immunized against a resurgence. Though all possible vectors—food, ventilation, allergies, inadvertent toxic substances from the hydroponics unit—had been examined, the trigger for its onset remained a mystery.

The fever had caused another problem: a large number of orphaned children between eight and twelve years. These had to be fostered, and although there had been no shortage of volunteers, a certain amount of reshuffling had had to occur to find psychologically suitable matches of adult and child.

“Those who leave here
must
go to properly surveyed and explored . . . premises.” Paul gave a mirthless laugh, and Red grinned wryly back at him: “premises” seemed an overstatement to describe the primitive cave dwellings. “Pierre and his crowd were lucky to find such a network at—” Paul dropped his eyelids briefly, still finding it hard to make casual mention of his longtime colleague. “Boll.”

“We’re lucky Tarvi and Sallah explored so much of this region when they did,” Red added ingenuously, giving Paul time to recover from the tension that had suddenly contracted the muscles in his face. “You also don’t need to lose too many of the valuable skills from a central facility. Fort should remain the primary teaching headquarters.” Red was referring to the warren of caves adjacent to the main Fort, where the medics had originally set up isolation wards for the fever victims. Three years on, the wards had become classrooms, workshops, and dormitories, somewhat relieving the crowding in the Hold.

“So,” Paul said with more vigor, “who’s going with you? Those grandchildren of yours?” He managed a small smile: Red and Mairi had more of their second generation underfoot than their first. Sorka seemed to have a baby almost every year, despite arduous riding in the queens’ wing. Red and Mairi fostered the five of them, leaving the dragonriders with less to worry about while coping with the insidious Fall and training the young dragons. Michael, nine years old and the eldest, spent every moment he could up at the Weyr, often illegally borrowing a mount from his grandfather’s remuda to make the uphill trip. His red hair matched his temperament and tenacity.

“No,” Red replied, slightly rueful but more relieved Mairi had enough on her hands, supervising their own fosterlings, as well as looking after their son Brian’s four, to allow his wife, Jair, to continue her mechanical-engineer training under Fulmar Stone. “Not when our going to the new place meant Michael would have too far to go to visit whenever he can sneak away.” Red chuckled. The boy was dragon-mad, and his father wouldn’t let him stand as a candidate until he reached his twelfth birthday. “There’s supervision for them now at the Weyr if Sorka’s busy. And schooling.”

The Weyr, now housing five hundred and twenty dragons after nine years of enthusiastic breeding by the eleven queens of the first two hatchings and, more lately, Faranth’s first daughter, had asked for additional personnel to help with the domestic tasks the riders had little time to manage. Some of the older fosterlings had moved up the mountain, along with enough families and single adults to perform necessary tasks.

Though it was not common knowledge, the Weyr supplied its needs by judicious hunting in the southern continent. Sorka often sent Michael back to Fort with a sack of fresh fruit and a haunch or two of beef tied to the back of his saddle.

“We’ve singles, fosterlings, and enough mature couples with full training.” Red handed over his list. He’d carefully screened those picked to accompany him and Mairi for compatibility, as well as for useful skills. “I’d like your permission to draft more of the trainees when they’ve passed their tests. I would, of course, in the future be willing to take in any who show a knack for animal husbandry or agriculture.”

“You and Mairi have been splendid in sharing the caring.” Indeed, Mairi would have taken in as many fosterlings as she could, but common sense dictated a limit to the time she could spare for each grieving preadolescent. “So you are taking the entire regiment?”

Red grinned at the nickname his expanded family had been given. “Mairi’s always had a touch with young folk, and she’d feel she was abandoning them just when they’ve got over their bereavement. I can certainly use them all.”

Paul ran one finger down the list, which had been written on a thin width of gray paper that had already been recycled several times. The precious remaining plassheets were now used only for special documents. Some personal computers were still in use, thanks to the production of generators from the junked shuttles and other spares, but people had lost the habit of using them as short-term record processors.

Red’s list included four veterinary students, but there were more than enough experienced practitioners and apprentices in the Hold to leave it amply staffed. Red himself would complete their training and qualify them. Mar Dook’s second son, Kes, had been well trained in agronomy by his father, and he was bringing his young family; young Akis Andriadus had just qualified as a general practitioner, and his wife, Kolya Logorides, had studied gynecology and midwifery, so that would provide the new Hold with the medical support it would need, though Mairi could certainly manage most minor medical emergencies. Ilsa Langsam had just qualified as a primary teacher: she would have more than enough pupils. Max and Emily Schultz were two of the oldest fostered, plus two Wangs and two Brennans; in the fosterings, siblings had been kept together wherever possible, so there were also three very young Coatls and two Cervanteses. Among the fosterlings, there seemed to be at least one representative from every ethnic group, and Paul wondered if Red had done that on purpose. But all the general skills that would be needed seemed covered in those choices: metalworking and engineering, as well as teaching, agronomy, and medical.

“Hundred and forty-one all totaled, huh?” Paul said. “And a good cross section. What are you springing loose from Joel, since you’ve the foresight to bring one of his kids?”

“Turn the sheet over,” Red said, amused. The “foresight” of attaching young Buck was not moving his father an inch in terms of what he’d allocate a new settlement.

“Stingy, ain’t he?” Paul said with a snort.

“Cautious with community property and ever aware of the charge of nepotism.”

Paul continued reading, then looked up in surprise. “An airlock door? What’re you going to use that for?” he demanded.

“Well, it isn’t being used for anything else, and it’ll make an impressive entrance: also impregnable,” Red said. “I took the dimensions last time I was down in the storage cellars. Ivan and Peter Chernoff dissected the frame panel, too, which fits in the opening as if meant to be there. Seated it in some of that hull-patching compound Joel couldn’t find another use for. Peter even rescued the floor and ceiling bar holders. A spin of the airlock wheel, and we can drive home the lock bars top and bottom so that nothing can get past that door once it’s closed. Cos Melvinah called it a neat bit of psychological reinforcement.”

Paul nodded in appreciation. “Good job of recycling materials, too. I will miss you, Red,” he said, then paused.

“But you won’t miss having to arbitrate the disputes in the beast hold,” Red finished for him with a grin.

There were constant quarrels over who had what space in the low caverns that housed the colonists’ animals, and who got what fodder. Red had been waging a clever and diplomatic war with the Gallianis and the Logorides, the other major breeders. During the frequent breakdowns of the overworked grass incubators, the Hanrahan family had fed their animals their own bread rations and scrounged the shoreline—some distance from the safety of the Hold—for the seaweed that could be dried and shredded into a fodder the horses would eat.

“They can’t complain when your exodus leaves them with a lot more space.”

“No, but they’ll agitate to try and bring up more of the stock they had to leave behind,” Red said with some acerbity.

Paul shook his head. “No transport. There’s no one will get Jim Tillek to bring his precious
Cross
out of that watery cavern he’s stored it in. And, with Per and Kaarvan gone fishing most weeks . . .” Paul shrugged. “I see you’re requisitioning the use of five sled-wagons? How long will you need them?”

With almost no power packs left to run the airsleds, many had been stripped to hulls and fitted with wheels as ground vehicles. The smaller ones were useful for hauling stone from excavations within the Hold. The bigger ones were too wide for more than the well-traveled road down to the sea, but they were capacious and had even survived—better than the goods they’d been carrying—unexpected long drops down mountainsides.

“Who else is moving out, Paul?” Red asked. Rumors were rampant, but so far his party was the only one he knew of that was actually asking for a final clearance.

“Zi Ongola’d like to try that western peninsula.” Paul went to the map and tapped the marker on the tip of the landmass.

“Good on him. No wonder I couldn’t get any more of the Duffs to come with me. We’ll bring the wagons back as soon as we’ve finished using them. And I’ll loan out the oxen teams I’ve trained, if that’ll help Zi.”

“It certainly would, and I know he’ll thank you when I pass the information on.”

“He’s got the longer haul.”

“He’s also got to find a passable way through the High Ranges,” Paul said with a sigh. “The cave system’s satisfactory where he wishes to settle. The way there is not. We might be able to bore a tunnel, if necessary. Plenty of hydroelectric sites.”

Red knew that Paul would miss Zi Ongola, who had been his second officer and close friend since the two had served together in the Cygnus Campaign. Red was a little surprised that Zi would leave, but he’d be a good leader, and pressures in the Fort had to be reduced. Many dissident voices were quieted only because the admiral was universally admired and the justice of his regime respected as fair and equable.

Most of the problems afflicting the Hold were due to the cramped conditions. The “good” years when the colony was starting up had allowed people freedom and scope, which they treasured all the more now that it had been denied them by the terrible fall of Thread. During the first few years when Fort Hold had protected them, gratitude for that haven had overcome the discomforts and inconveniences, but as the birthrate soared and the stony corridors resounded with the cries of fretful babies, tempers had begun to rise.

The establishment of South Boll had been the first major attempt to relieve the congestion, and so far it was successful—for those who had resettled at the new holding under Pierre de Courcis’s leadership. But exploring appropriate premises was time-consuming, and with Thread continuing to fall, any outbound journeys had to be carefully timed and safe layover shelters built along the way. Then some caves were found to be either waterless or too small to shelter enough people to be worth development.

“Yes, Zi’s got a big job ahead of him, yet we must make the attempts if this colony is to succeed. Threadfall won’t last forever!” Paul brought one hand down with a hard slap on his armrest. “By all that’s holy, Hanrahan, we’ll still make Pern
ours,
with everyone owning his or her own place, no matter what rains down on us!”

“Of course we will, Paul. And we Hanrahans will hold our place! And multiply. You can be sure of that!” Red said, grinning smugly. Mairi had just weaned their latest and, he hoped, last child. She’d told Red she wanted to have a dozen offspring, but the repeated pregnancies were beginning to take their toll on her.

“For Mairi’s sake, I hope you have too much to do for any more of that.” There was a twinkle in Paul’s eye as he regarded the veterinarian. “How many have you fathered now?”

Red waved his hand, his grin broader. “Nine’s enough to insure our genes will continue. Ryan’s the last I’ll permit her, and I made sure of no more to come.”

Benden gave a snort. “Especially when your sons and daughters are like to pass you out in production figures in a year or two.”

“Well, Mairi’s good with children. She genuinely likes them in all stages of their development. More than I do,” Red added with some acerbity.

“Got a name for this Hold of yours?”

Red made a disclaiming sound. “Hell, Paul, I’ve been so busy with plans, lists, and contingencies, naming’s a detail I haven’t given much thought to. We’ll think of something appropriate, Mairi and the rest of us.”

Paul Benden rose then, made an effort to straighten the slump of his shoulders, and held out his hand. “Good luck, Red. We’ll miss you here . . .”

“Ha! You’ll be glad to see the backsides of us. And so will the Logorides and the Gallianis.”

Benden gave a genuine laugh. Despite the fact that breeding had clearly had to be kept to an absolute minimum, the Logorides and Gallianis had felt themselves constantly deprived by the restrictions. Pierre de Courcis had taken nine of the scions of the two large families, and a substantial number of their cattle, when he went south to settle Boll, but the two senior men continued to grieve for the “marvelous fine bloodlines and stock” they’d had to leave behind at their southern stakeholds.

“They enjoyed freedom far longer than most of us. It was harder to give it all up,” Benden said in oblique apology.

Red cocked his head briefly to one side. “Who hasn’t given up a lot—to stay alive!”

Paul wrapped Red’s hand in both of his and gave it one final hard shake. “When do you plan to go?”

“Sean says we’ve got three full clear days come Tuesday. We’ll be organized and ready by then.”

“So soon?” Benden’s tone was almost wistful.

“On a good horse, Admiral,” Red said, unable to resist teasing the former naval man, “you could ride the distance in two days. Be good for you to get away now and again.”