“Sean is your elusive but oft-mentioned ally?”
“Yes, sir. He and I discovered the first nest together and kept watch on it.”
“Would he assist us in finding nests, and . . . the hatchlings?”
Sorka regarded the zoologist for a long moment. He had always kept his word to her, and he had been very good about Duke that first day. She decided that she could trust him, but she was also aware of his high rank in Landing, and what he might be able to do for Sean.
“If you promise, promise—and I’d vouch for you, too—that his family gets one of the first horses, he’ll do just about anything for you.”
“Sorka!” Mairi was embarrassed by her daughter’s proposal. The girl spent entirely too much time with that boy and was learning some bad habits from him. But to her amazement, Pol smiled cheerfully and patted Sorka’s arm.
“Now, now, Mairi, your daughter has good instincts. Barter is already practiced as an exchange system on Pern, you know.” He regarded Sorka with proper solemnity. “He’s one of the Connells, is he not?” When she nodded solemnly, he went on briskly. “In point of fact, that is the first name on the list to receive equines. Or oxen, if they prefer.”
“Horses. Horses are what they’ve always had,” Sorka eagerly affirmed.
“And when can I have a few words with this young man?”
“Anytime you want, sir. Would this evening do? I know where Sean is likely to be.” Out of lifelong habit, she glanced at her mother for consent. Mairi nodded.
On consultation, Sean agreed that there were only green eggs nearby, but suggested that they would do well to look on the beaches a good distance from Landing’s well-trampled strands. Sorka had found him on the Head, his two dragonets fishing in the shallows for the finger fish often trapped between tides.
“May we request your services in this venture, Sean Connell?” Pol Nietro asked formally.
Casually, Sean cocked his head and gave the zoologist a long and appraising look. “What’s in it for me to go off hunting lizards?”
“Dragonets,” Sorka said firmly.
Sean ignored her. “There aint no money here, and me da needs me in the camp.”
Sorka moved restlessly beside Pol, unsure if the scientist would rise to the occasion. But Pol had not been head of a prestigious zoology department in the huge university on First without learning how to deal with touchy, opinionated fellows. The young rascal who eyed him with ancient, inherited skepticism merely presented a slightly different aspect of a well-known problem. To any other young person, the zoologist might have offered the chance to light the evening bonfire, which had become a much-sought-after privilege, but he knew that Sean would not care about that.
“Did you have your own pony on Earth?” Pol asked, settling himself against a rock and folding his short arms across his chest.
Sean nodded, his attention caught by such an unexpected question.
“Tell me about him.”
“What’s to tell? He’s long gone to meat, and even them what ate him is probably worms, too.”
“Was he special in some way? Apart from being special to you?”
Sean gave him a long sideways look, then glanced briefly at Sorka, who kept her face expressionless. She was not going to get involved further; she was feeling the slightest twinge of guilt for having given Pol a hint about Sean’s deepest desire.
“He was part Welsh mountain, part Connemara. Not many like him left.”
“How big?”
“Fourteen hands high,” Sean said almost sullenly.
“Color?”
“Steel gray.” Sean frowned, growing more suspicious. “Why d’ya wanna know?”
“D’you know what I do on this planet?”
“Cut things up.”
“That, too, of course, but I also combine things, among them, traits, color, gender. That is what I and my colleagues generally do. By a judicious manipulation of gene patterns, we can produce what the client—” Pol waved one hand toward Sean. “—wants.”
Sean stared at him, not quite understanding the terms used and not daring to hope what Pol Nietro seemed to be suggesting.
“You could have Cricket again, here on Pern,” Sorka said softly, her eyes shining. “He can do it, too. Give you a pony just like Cricket.”
Sean caught his breath, darting glances from her to the old zoologist who regarded him with great equanimity. Then he jerked his thumb at Sorka. “Is she right?”
“In that I could produce a gray horse—if I may venture to suggest that you’re too tall now for a pony—with all the physical characteristics of your Cricket, yes, she’s correct. We brought with us sperm as well as fertilized eggs from a wide variety of the Terran equine types. I know we have both Connemara and Welsh genotypes. They’re both hardy, versatile breeds. It’s a simple matter.”
“Just to find lizard eggs?” Sean’s suspicious nature overcame his awe.
“Dragonet eggs.” Sorka doggedly corrected him. He scowled at her.
“We’re trading eggs for eggs, young man. A fair exchange, with a riding horse from your egg in the bargain, altered to your specifications as a gratuity for your time and effort in the search.”
Sean glanced once more at Sorka, who nodded reassurance. Then, spitting into the palm of his right hand, he extended it to Pol Nietro. Without hesitation, the zoologist sealed the bargain.
The speed with which Pol Nietro organized an expedition left many of his colleagues as well as the administration staff gasping for breath. By morning, Jim Tillek had agreed that they could use the Southern Cross if he captained the crew. He was asked to provision it for a coastal trip of up to a week’s length; the Hanrahans and Porrig Connell had given their permission for Sorka and Sean to go; and Pol had persuaded Bay Harkenon to bring along her portable microscope and a quantity of specimen cases, slides, and similar paraphernalia. To Sorka’s surprise and Sean’s amusement, Admiral Benden was at the jetty to wish them good luck with the venture, and helped the crew cast off the stern lines. With that official blessing, the Southern Cross glided out of the bay on a fine brisk breeze.
Landbred Sean was not all that happy about his first sea voyage, but he managed to suppress both fear and nausea, determined to earn his horse and not to show weakness in front of Sorka, who showed every evidence of enjoying the adventure. He spent most of the voyage sitting with his back against the mast, facing forward and stroking his brown dragonets, who liked to sleep stretched out on the sunny deck. Sorka’s Duke remained perched on her shoulder, one pincer holding delicately to her ear to balance himself while his tail was lightly but firmly wrapped about her neck. From time to time, she would nuzzle him reassuringly or he would croon some comment in her ear just as if he was certain of her understanding.
The forty-foot sloop, Southern Cross, could be sailed with a crew of three, slept eight, and had been designed to serve as an exploratory ship as well as a fast courier. Jim Tillek had already sailed as far west as the river they had christened the “Jordan,” and, along with a crew to measure volcanism, as far east as the island volcano whose eruption had interrupted the Thanksgiving feast. He was hoping to get permission to make the longer crossing to the large island off the northern continent, and to explore the delta of the river proposed to carry the ore or finished metals from the projected mining site. He had, he told the enthralled Sorka, sailed all the seas and oceans of Earth during his leaves from captaining a merchantman on the Belt runs, and up as many rivers as were navigable: Nile, Thames, Amazon, Mississippi, St. Lawrence, Columbia, Rhine, Volga, Yangtze, and less well known streams.