“Don’t you wish it!”
“Emily.” Paul’s flippant tone turned serious. “Let Ezra take over from you. He and Jim can liaise on shipments. Others can handle transportation and sled and skimmer maintenance. Pierre should be here to supervise the catering arrangements. He’s got the biggest kitchen unit on Pern.”
“That would be a welcome change from the largest single barbecue pit! It’s the dragons that I worry about, Paul.”
“I think they have to sort it out themselves, Emily. From what you reported, I believe they will.”
“Thank you, Paul,” she replied fervently, heartened by the absolute confidence in his voice. “I’ll reserve a seat on the evening sled tomorrow.”
After the excitement of sending Duke north, directing fire-dragonets back and forth between Kahrain and Landing was anticlimactic, but it helped to pass the tedium of the long journey. On the way back Sean had the dragonriders practice flying in both close and loose formations and, more importantly, learning how to identify and benefit from the helpful airstreams.
Their campfire that night was bigger, and Pol and Bay slipped into its light to discuss observations about the fire-dragonets and how to apply them to the dragons. There had been no real need for Sean to promote caution as a byword: Marco and Duluth were still very much in everyone’s mind. To counter any morbidity, Sean suggested that they get more formation practice the next day, practice that would stand them in good stead during Threadfall.
“If you know where you are in relation to other wing riders, you always know where to come back to,” he said, stressing the last word.
“Your dragons are so young,” Pol went on, seeing the favorable reaction, “in terms of their species. The fire-dragonets do not appear to suffer from degeneration. In other words, they don’t age as we do physiologically.”
“You mean, they could go on living after we die?” Tarrie asked, amazed. She glanced around toward Porth, a darker bulk against the shadowy vegetation.
“From what we’ve discerned, yes, Tarrie,” Pol replied.
“Our major organs degenerate,” Bay went on, “although modern technology can effect either repair or replacement permitting us long, and useful, life spans.”
So they’re not likely to get sick or to ail?” Tarrie brightened at that prospect.
“That’s what we think, “ Pol answered, but he held up a warning finger. “But then we haven’t seen any elderly dragonets.”
Sean gave a snort, which Sorka softened with a laugh. “We’ve really only our generation to judge by,” she said. “At that, we only get to treat our own, who trust us, and that’s usually for scoring or scorching, or an occasional hide lesion. I find it comforting to know that dragons should be as long-lived.”
“So long as we don’t make mistakes,” Otto Hegelman said gloomily.”
“So, we don’t make mistakes!” Sean’s tone was decisive. “And so that we don’t make mistakes, tomorrow let’s split up into three sections. Six, six . . . and five. We need three leaders.”
Although Sean had left the choice open, he was nominated at once. Dave and Sorka were selected after a minimum of discussion.
Later, when Sean and Sorka had made themselves comfortable on the sand between Faranth and Carenath, she gave him a long hug and kissed his cheek.
“What’s that for?”
“Giving us all hope. But Sean, I’m worried.”
“Oh?” Sean stroked her hair away from his mouth and inched his left shoulder into a new hollow.
“I think we oughtn’t to wait too long before we try to teleport.”
“My thoughts entirely, and I’m grateful to Pol and Bay for their comments on dragon longevity. Cheered me up, too.”
“So, as long as we keep our wits, we’ll keep our dragons.” She snuggled against him.
“I wish you’d kept your hair long, Sorka,” he muttered, pushing another curl out of his mouth. “I didn’t eat so much of it then.”
“Short hair’s easier under a riding helmet,” she replied in a sleepy sort of mumble. Then they both slept.
Although they could see the diminution of the parcels and plastic cocooned equipment at Landing, cargo did not move out of Kahrain Cove as quickly. That second evening, when Sean was helping his wing riders unload, he caught sight of one of the cargo supervisors seated at a make shift desk peering at the small screen of a portable unit.
“We’ll finish off transferring from Landing by tomorrow, Desi,” Sean assured the man.
“That’s great, Sean, great,” Desi said curtly, with a dismissive wave.
“What the hell’s the matter, Desi?” Sean asked.
The edge in his voice caused Desi to look up in surprise. “What’s the matter? I’ve got a beach full of stuff to shift and no transport.” Desi’s face was so contorted with anxiety that Sean’s rancor dissolved.
“I thought the big sleds were coming back.”
Only when they’re recharged and serviced. I wish they’d mentioned that earlier.” Desi’s voice rose in a quaver of frustration. “All my schedules . . . gone. What’m I to do, Sean? We’ll be under Threadfall again here soon and all that stuff – ” He flourished a sweat-grimed rag at the bulk of orange cartons. “ – is irreplaceable. If only – ” He broke off, but Sean had a good idea what the man had almost said. “You’ve done great, Sean, great. I really appreciate it. How much did you say is still to be shipped forward?”
“We’ll have cleared it tomorrow.”
“Look, then, the day after . . .” Desi rubbed at his face again, trying to hide his flush of embarrassment. “Well, I heard from Paul. He wants you riders to start making your way to Seminole, and cross to the north from there. And . . .” Desi screwed up his face again.
“You’d like us to take some of the orange out of danger?” Sean felt resentment welling up again. “Well, I suppose that’s better than being good for nothing at all.” He strode off before his temper got the better of him.
Faranth and Sorka come, Carenath said in a subdued tone. Sean altered his course to their point of arrival. He could not fool Sorka, but he could work off some of his fury during the unloading.
“All right, what happened?” Sorka said, pulling him to the seaward side of her golden queen, where they were shielded from the other riders, who were still sorting packages into the color-coded areas.
Sean set his fist violently into the palm of his other hand several times before he could put words to the humiliation.
“We’re considered nothing but bloody pack animals, donks with wings!” he said finally. He did remember to keep his voice down, though he was seething.
Faranth turned her head around her shoulder, regarding the two riders, hints of red beginning to gleam through the blue of her eyes. Carenath shoved his head over her back. Beyond them, Sean heard the other dragons muttering. The next thing he knew, he and Sorka were surrounded by dragons, and their riders were weaving into the central point.
“Now, see what you’ve done,” Sorka said with a sigh.
“What’s the matter, Sean?” Dave asked, squeezing past Polenth.
Sean took a deep breath, burying anger and resentment. If he could not control himself, he could not control others. There were flares of the yellow of alarm in the dragons who looked down at him. He had to quiet them, himself, and the other riders. Sorka was right. He had done something he had better quickly undo.
“We seem to be the only available aerial transportation unit,” he said, managing a sort of a smile. “Desi says all the big sleds are grounded until they’ve been serviced.”
“Hey, Sean,” Peter Semling protested, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the masses of material on the beach. “We can’t shift all that!”