“Kitti programmed the heavier males, but I believe they’re to carry sperm for the entire range. The greens will be the smallest, the fighters; the blues sturdier, with more staying power; the browns sort of anchor fighters with even more endurance. They’ll have to fight four to six hours, remember! The bronzes are leaders and the golds . . .”
Waiting at home to be egg-carriers.”
Pol gave Emily a long look, his tired face reflecting astonishment at her sarcasm.
“In the wild, greens don’t have a good maternal instincts. The golds do,” Bay put in, giving the governor an odd glance. “Kitti ping kept as much natural instinct as possible. Or so her program reads.”
“There!” Nabhi said, leaning back from the console, his swarthy face intense with an inner satisfaction. “Kenjo wasn’t the only one who could save fuel.”
Bart stared at him, surprised and confused. “Save it for what Nabhi?” He spoke more sharply than he meant to, but he had been wound up with tension that would not ease. It was not that he didn’t trust Nabhi as a pilot – Nabhi was a good driver, or Bart would not have been talked into participating in the insane venture, not for the choicest land on Pern.
“To maneuver,” Nabhi said. His mocking grin did nothing to ease Bart’s disquiet.
“Where? You’re not . . . you wouldn’t be mad enough to try to land on the farking planet?” Bart clawed at the release straps, but Nabhi’s indolent gesture of negation aborted the effort.
“No way. I came to get the pods or whatever.” His smile then broadened, and Bart was amazed at the humor in it. “Our course is basically the same one Avril took.” He turned his head and looked directly at his copilot.
“So?”
“They said the gig blew up.” Nabhi’s smile was pure malice. “Turn on the screens. There might be some interesting flotsam. Diamonds and gold nuggets and whatever else Avril took with her. No one needs to know what else we scooped up out of space. And it sure beats mining the stuff ourselves.”
By midnight Pol and Bay decided to examine the remaining eggs and slowly did the rounds. Wooden platforms had been brought out for the candidates to rest on, since the heat in the sand was enervating. None of the chosen was willing to forgo the chance at impressing a hatchling by leaving the Ground.
When the two biologists returned, Pol was shaking his head and Bay looked drawn. She went immediately to Wind Blossom and touched her arm.
“The rest of the first group show no signs of life. But already the outcome is better than projected. We detected viable signs in the others. We can but wait. They were not all conceived at the same time.”
Wind Blossom remained an unmoving statue.
Sean nudged Sorka in the ribs to wake her up. She had fallen asleep leaning against him, her cheek against his upper arm. She was instantly alert and aware of her surroundings. Sean pointed to the biggest of the eggs, which sat almost directly in front of them. He had taken that position at the outset, and finally, after his long vigil, the egg was rocking slightly.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Nearly dawn. There’s been no other movement. But listen to the dragonets. Listen to Blaze. She’ll have no throat left!”
They had noted their own dragonets early during that long day, and Sorka had taken heart from their constant choral encouragement’s.
“That egg over there has been moving spasmodically for the last two hours,” he said in a quiet tone. “The one beyond it rocked for a while, but it’s stopped completely.”
Sorka tried to contain a yawn, then gave in to the compulsion and felt better for it. She wanted to stretch, but another candidate was draped over her legs, fast asleep. Beyond, the other candidates began to wake.
At some point while Sorka had been dozing, the admiral and the governor had left. Pol and Bay were leaning into each other, and Kwan’s head was on his chest, arms limp in his lap. Wind Blossom had apparently not moved since she had taken up her watch.
“She’s uncanny,” Sorka said, turning away from the geneticist.
A single great crack startled everyone, and the egg before them parted into two ragged halves. The bronze hatchling walked out imperiously, lifted his head, and made a sound like a stuttering trumpet. Everyone came to attention. Sean was on his feet, and Sorka pushed at his legs to urge him on. She need not have worried. As he locked eyes with the hatchling, Sean gave a low incredulous groan and moved forward to meet the beast halfway. Their fair was bugling with triumph.
“Meat, quickly,” Sorka called, beckoning to a sleepy steward. Hoping that the heat in the building had not soured the meat, she ran to meet the man, grabbed the bowl, and returned to thrust it into Seans hands. She had never seen that utterly rapt look in his eyes before.
He says his name is Carenath, Sorka. He knows his own name. Sean transferred food from the bowl into Carenath’s mouth as fast as he could shovel it. “More meat. Hurry, I need more meat.’
Everyone in the Hatching Ground was wakened by his vibrant voice. Then the other egg broke open, and a golden female sauntered forth, chittering and looking about urgently. Sorka was too busy passing bowls of meat to Sean to notice until Betsy tugged at her arm. She s looking for you, Sorka. Look at her!”
Sorka turned her head and suddenly she, too, felt the indescribable impact of a mind on her, a mind that rejoiced in finding its equal, its lifelong partner. Sorka was filled with an exultation that was almost painful.
My name is Faranth, Sorka!
* * * * *
“We have actually learned a great deal from eggs that didn’t hatch,” Pol told Emily and Paul when he, Wind Blossom, and Bay made their report two evenings later.
“So far, so good?” Paul asked hopefully.
“Oh, very good,” Bay said enthusiastically, grinning and nodding her head vigorously. Wind Blossom managed a prim, set smile. The air of impenetrable gloom that had surrounded her on the Hatching Day had been exchanged for an aloof superiority.
“Then you do believe that the eighteen hatchlings will all become viable adults?” Paul asked Wind Blossom.
She inclined her head. “We must await their maturity with patience.”
“But they will be able to produce flame from phosphine-bearing rocks and go between as the dragonets do?” Paul asked her.
“I am, myself, much encouraged,” Pol said, when Wind Blossom said nothing. “Bay is, too, by the way in which mentasynth has provided a strong empathic bond and telepathic communication.”
“A genuine mind-to-mind contact,” Bay added with a smile of satisfaction. “Especially strong for Sorka and Sean.”
“The dragons were designed,” Wind Blossom added pompously, “to make Impression with other than their own ancestral species. In that much, the program has succeeded.” She held up her hand. “We must contain impatience and strive to achieve the perfect specimen.”
“The stabilization of Impression to another species was the most important aspect,” Pol said, his brows creasing slightly. “After all, the dragonets have teleported as naturally as they breathe.”
“The dragonets have,” Wind Blossom said coolly. “We have yet to see if the dragons can.”
“Kitti Ping did not alter those capabilities, you know. They will, of course, have to be refined and controlled,” Pol went on. He did not like Wind Blossom’s attitude, her refusal to concede the triumph already achieved. “I must say, I am very glad that the young Connells both Impressed. With their veterinary training and their general competence, not to mention their proven ability to discipline their dragonet fairs, we couldn’t ask for better mates.”
Wind Blossom made a slight noise, which the listeners took as disapproval.