My name is Faranth, Sorka!
Chapter 16
“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 phosphinebearing 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 stablization 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 triumphs 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.
“They’re qualified,” Bay said with unexpected heat. “Someone must make the beginning.”
“Their progress must be strictly monitored,” Wind Blossom said, “so that we will know what mistakes must be avoided the next time.”
“Next time?” Emily blinked in surprise and noticed that Bay and Pol were reacting similarly.
“I do not yet know if these creatures will perform on the other design levels, either natural or imposed.” Her sepulchral tone indicated that she had grave doubts.
“How can you not be encouraged—” Pol began with some heat.
A decisive gesture of dismissal cut him off, and he stared at Wind Blossom.
“I will begin anew,” Wind Blossom informed them in a tone that almost implied martyrdom. Pol and Bay regarded her in astonishment. “With what we learned from the post mortem examinations, I cannot be sure that any of the living will be fertile or reproduce. More importantly—reproduce themselves! I must try again, and again, until success is assured. This experiment is only begun.”
“But, Wind Blossom—” Pol began, astounded.
“Come, you shall assist me.” With an imperious gesture, she swept from the room.
Neither the veterinarians nor the xenobiologists had any criteria by which to judge the health of eighteen representatives of a new species. But the dragons’ hearty appetites, the vibrant color of their suedelike hides, and the ease of their physical exertions—which consisted mainly’ of eating and exercising their wings—were taken as measures of well-being. In the first week of life, each had grown at least a handspan taller and had filled out; they looked considerably more substantial. And as the toughness of their transparent wings became more and more evident, those who had worried, about their fragility were relieved.
Fascinated, the official medical support group watched as the two Connells bathed and oiled their ten-day-old dragons. Large shallow bathing pools of siliplas had been erected near the homes of all the dragonmates. Faranth was coyly aware of the admiring glances.
“She’s preening, Dad,” Sorka said, amused, as she poured oil on a scaly patch between the dorsal ridges. “Is that the itchy spot, Farrie?”
My name is Faranth and that is that itchy spot, Faranth said in tones that went from reproof to relief. Another is starting on my hind leg.
“She doesn’t like to be called by a nickname,” Sorka said tolerantly, grinning at her father. “But jays, she takes scrubbing.” A bristle brush had been made for the purpose, firm enough to rub in oil but not harsh enough to mar the tender, smooth hide.
Suddenly everyone was drenched as Carenath, sweeping his glistening wings forward in the low bath, showered them with water.
“Carenath, behave yourself!” Sorka and Sean spoke in the same sharp tone.
I am already clean, you polka-dotted idiot, Faranth said in an excellent mimicry of one of Sorka’s favorite admonitions. I was nearly dry, and now my oiling has to be done again.
Sean and Sorka laughed and then hurriedly explained to the drenched men that they were amused by what Faranth had said, not by Carenath’s playfulness. Sean gestured to the dragonets that perched on the rooftree, obviously watching everything below them. Almost instantly, the soaked observers had towels dropped about them.
“Handy critters, Sean,” Red Hanrahan said, drying his face and hands and mopping his clothing.
“Very useful with young dragons, too, Red,” Sean’ replied. “They fish constantly for these walking appetites.”
Am 1 that much trouble to you? Carenath sounded aggrieved.
“Not at all, pet,” Sean quickly assured him, lovingly caressing the head that was tilted wistfully. “Don’t be silly. You’re young, you have a good appetite, and it’s our job to keep you fed.”
Red was beginning to get accustomed to the sudden non sequiturs from his daughter and son-in-law, but the others were startled. Faranth butted at Sorka for reassurance and when she received it, her eyes settled to the blue of contentment.
“Can’t they be ridden yet? And hunt for themselves?” Phas Radamanth asked.
“You don’t attempt to ride a foal, even a good big one,” Sean replied, brushing oil on the rough patch on Carenath’s broad back. “Kitti Ping’s program suggests waiting a full year before we attempt it.”
“Can we wait long enough for them to mature?” Threadfall and the need to fight it was never far from anyone’s mind.
“I’ve never rushed a horse,” Sean said, “and I’m not about to start with my dragon. However, at the rate they’re growing, and if we can be sure that their skeletal structure—it’s boron-silicate, you know, which is tougher than our calcareous material—is developing properly, I think they’ll be capable of manned flight as scheduled.” Sean grinned. “Jays, what times we’ll have then, old fella, won’t we?”
The tenderness, the concern, and the deep affection in Sean’s voice were almost embarrassing to hear. Red looked at his son-in-law in surprise. So Impression had affected young Connell, as it had changed all the dragonmates. Even Sorka, who had always been caring and capable, seemed somehow strengthened and exuded a radiance that could not all be attributed to her pregnancy.