“Ah, but can we go to other Weyrs?” Sarra asked, waggling a finger at Jule. “In four-five months, we’ll have Fall and then we’ll really work hard, ferrying firestone sacks to the fighters.” Her eyes gleamed brightly in anticipation and she hugged herself. “We’ll be doing something a lot more exciting than having just one mate and plenty of kids.”
Debera averted her face, not wanting to take part in such a ridiculous discussion.
Something bothers you, Morath said and slowly lowered her head to her rider’s lap. I love you. I think you re wonderful.
Iantine does, too.
That confidence startled Debera. He does?
He does! And Morath’s tone was emphatic. He likes your green eyes, the way you walk, and the finny crackle in your voice. How do you do that?
Debera’s hand went to her throat and she felt really silly now.
Can you talk to him, too? Or just listen to what he’s thinking?
He thinks very loud. Especially near you. I don t hear him too good far away. He thinks loud about you a lot.
“DEBRA?” Sarra’s loud call severed that most interesting conversation.
“What? I was talking to Morath. What did you say?”
“Never mind,” and Sarra grinned broadly. “Have you got your Turn’s End dresses finished yet?”
“I’ve one more fitting,” Debera said, although that subject, too, caused her embarrassment. She tried to argue with Tisha that the beautiful green dress was quite enough: she didn’t need more.
Tisha had ignored that and demanded that she’ll choose two colors from the samples available: one for the evening and another good one for daytime wear. Everyone in the Weyr, it seemed, had new clothes for Turn’s End. And yet, something in Debera had delighted in knowing she’d have two completely new dresses that no-one had ever worn before her. She had, she admitted very very quietly to herself, hoped that Iantine would notice her in them. Now, with Morath’s information, she wondered if he’d notice at all that she was wearing new clothes.
“Speaking of weyrs,” Mesla said.
“That was half an hour ago, Mesla,” Angie protested.
“Well?”
“There aren’t that many left and the bigger dragons would have first choice, wouldn’t they?” she went on.
“Don’t worry,” Jule told her, “some’ll come free by the time we need them.” Then she covered her mouth, aware of what she had just implied. I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t. I
mean, I wouldn’t think of moving in.”
“Just shut up, Jule,” Sarra said in a quiet but firm voice.
There was a long moment of silence, with no-one daring to look at anyone.
“Say, who has the salve?” Grasella asked softly from the bunk beyond her, breaking the almost intolerable silence. “My fingers are itching again. No-one told me I’d have to cope with chilblains while dealing with dragons.”
Angie found it in her furs and passed it on.
“After you,” Debera said softly as she gave it to Grasella.
The easy laughing chatter was over for the night.
“I haven’t had much time,” Jemmy told Clisser in his most uncooperative tone of voice when Clisser asked how he was coming on the last of the History Ballads. “Had to look up all that law stuff.”
“Why’d you have to take so much trouble with those fragging guards? They shoulda all been dropped on the islands, right away. None of this trial farce.”
“The trials were not farces, Jemmy,” said Clisser, so uncharacteristically reproving that Jemmy looked up in a state of amazement. “The trials were necessary. To prove that we would not act in an arbitrary fashion.
“You mean, the way Chalkin would have,” and Jemmy grinned, his uneven teeth looking more vulpine than ever in his long face.
“Exactly.”
“You’re wasting too much time on him.” Jemmy turned back to reading.
“What are you looking up?”
“I don’t know. I’m looking because I know there’s something we can use to check on the Red Planet’s position, something so simple I’m disgusted I can’t call it to mind. I know I’ve seen it somewhere.” Irritably he pushed the volume away from him.
“It’d help a great deal if the people who copied for us had had decent handwriting. I spend too much time trying to decipher it.” Abruptly he reached across the cluttered work-top to the windowsill and plonked down in front of him a curious apparatus. “Here’s your new computer.” He grinned up at Clisser who regarded the object - bright coloured beads strung on ten narrow rods, divided into two unequal portions.
“What is it?” Clisser exclaimed, picking it up and finding that the beads moved stiffly up and down on the rods.
“An abacus, they called it. A counter. Ancient and still functional.” Jemmy took the device from Clisser and demonstrated.
“It’ll take the place of a calculator. Most are down now. Oh, and I found the designs for this, too.” He fumbled around his papers and withdrew an instrument consisting of a ruler with a central sliding piece, both marked with logarithmic scales. “You can do quite complicated mathematical calculations on this slide-rule, as they called it. Almost as fast as you could type into a digital pad.” Clisser looked from one to the other. “So that’s what a slide rule looks like. I saw one mentioned in a treatise on early calculators but I never thought we’d have to resort to ancient devices. And mention of an abacus, too, actually. You have been busy reinventing alternatives.”
“And I’ll find that other device, too, if you’ll leave me alone and don’t dump more vitally important, urgent research on me.”
“I’m hoping,” Clisser said at his most diplomatic, “that you can give me something to show before the Winter Solstice and Turn’s End.”
Jemmy shot straight up in his chair. cocked his head and stared at Clisser so that Clisser leaned forward hopefully, holding his breath lest he disrupt Jemmy’s concentration.
“Fraggit,” and Jemmy collapsed again, beating his fists on the table. “It has to DO with Solstices.”
“Well, if you’ve gone back to abacii and slide-rules, why not a sun-dial clock?” Clisser asked facetiously.
Jemmy sat up again, even straighter. “Not a sun-dial,” he said slowly, “but a cosmic clock - a star dial like… stone stone SOMETHING.”
“Stonehenge?”
“What was that?”
“A prehistoric structure back on Earth. Sallisha can tell you more about it if you’d care to ask her,” Clisser said slyly and was rewarded by Jemmy’s rude dismissal of the suggestion. “It turned out to be rather an astonishing calendar since it accurately predicted eclipses as well as verifying Solstices dawn.” Clisser stopped, looking wide-eyed at Jemmy whose mouth had dropped open to form a soundless ‘O’ as what he said astounded them both.
“Only that was a stone circle… on a plain…” Clisser stammered, gesturing dolmens and cross-beams. Muttering under his breath, he strode across to the shelves, trying to find the text he wanted. “We must have copied it. We had to have copied it.”
“Not necessarily since you’ve been on these relevant only historical entries,” Jemmy contradicted him.
“I remember accessing it once. It’s only that we’ll have to adapt it to fit our needs, which is framing the Red Planet when the conjunction is right.” He was scrabbling amongst the litter on his desk for a clean sheet of paper and a pencil.
“The first three he found were either stubs or broken. That’s another thing we’ve got to re-invent… fountain pens.”
“Fountain pens?” Clisser echoed. “Never heard of fountain pens.”
“I’ll do them tomorrow. Leave me to work this out but,” and Jemmy paused long enough to grin diabolically up at Clisser’s befuddlement, “I think I’ll have something by Turn’s End. Maybe even a model… but only if you leave now.” Clisser left, closing the door quietly behind him and pausing a moment.