The Dolphins of Pern (20 page)

She’d been trying to find time to make this inspection for some weeks, but something more urgent always came up. Not that allocating lands to properly trained northerners from overcrowded Holds wasn’t also urgent. It was a matter of priorities. Since the Jordan River—flanked by all those fascinating ruins of the Ancients’ stakeholds—was so close to Landing, they had been able to explore it sufficiently to release holdings: none as large as the original but respectable properties. Still, sometimes one had to wait until there were sufficient representatives of each of the crafthalls to provide self-sufficiency within each new holding, and at least one journeyman or journey-woman healer who could tend the needs of several holds. Taking one last look at the lovely cove, Lessa reminded herself how deceptive the beauty and lush-ness of the Southern continent could be. It was just as well not to allow the settling of the new holds to be rushed. People had to be trained to recognize the dangers in this wilderness.

Back in Cove Hold, Alemi was berating himself for not mentioning the newest job that Jayge had suggested for the dolphins. The Paradise River Holder had been furious over the recent invasion of his holding. He was not the least bit mollified to know that he wasn’t the only one of the dozen confirmed Holds along the coast to suffer such depredations. He didn’t want any more! So he asked Alemi to find out if the dolphins could patrol the waters off his holding and warn of any more unauthorized landings.

“For a pail of fish, they’d be delighted to,” Alemi
had reported to the Holder after he had explained this new work to the pod.

“Good ships and bad ships,” Afo had told him.

“The bad ships never have fish for dolphins?” Alemi asked, grinning.

“You right! Bad ships smell, leak ‘n’ leave badness in our water. Not nice.” She squirted from her blowhole to emphasize her distaste.

Alemi decided that was a fair enough measure of identification since invariably those masters willing to transport unauthorized passengers were those operating at the very fringes of their craft. Men like that would do anything for a few marks—well, a good heavy sack of marks, Alemi amended. The men who had tried to land on Paradise holding had paid a substantial amount to the captain to sail them south. The ship had not been in very seaworthy condition, its holds wet and dank, sails and hull patched, its bilges spewing wastes into the sea.

“As bad as the Igen caves,” one man had said in disgust. “With all this land down here, why can’t we have some?” he had demanded bitterly.

“You can if you do it in the proper fashion,” Jayge had told him.

“Ha! Dragonriders’re keeping the best parts for themselves.” But there was a wistful envy in his eyes as he looked over the fine situation of Paradise River.

“I’m no dragonrider and I hold this proper, with neighbors farther down the river who’ve proved up their lands.”

“And paid a great sack of marks to get it, like as not.”

“No, they did not,” Jayge snapped back. “They applied,
and with the required number of crafthalls among ’em. That’s what’s required and if you lived here, you’d know that this Southern Continent’s not easy just because it’s warm.”

Jayge had walked off then, scowling deeply, Alemi following him. Although Alemi knew that Jayge and Aramina had been shipwrecked, they had proved the Hold long before they had been found by Piemur. He also knew that he’d been very lucky to be asked to start a fishman’s hold at Paradise River, and he certainly knew the dreadful conditions of the holdless, crammed into the caves at Igen and other, even less salubrious places in the North. He was also now aware that settlements were being established where ruins indicated that the Ancients had had holdings.

Lord Toric had accepted quite a large number of those wishing to immigrate south—even before the Council of Lord Holders and the Benden Weyrleaders had formalized the ways such settlements could be allowed. Toric had been choosy, preferring men and women who were proven hard workers and preferably at least of journeyman status in their Craft. The iron-handed Lord of Southern did not suffer fools and had already had one incident with renegades trying to settle the big island that happened to be part of his holding. He had tried to get dragonriders to help him flush the squatters out but had had no luck there. The policy of noninterference from the Weyrs had been reinforced a few Turns back by the Benden Weyrleaders. Alemi had approved. The dragonriders must be above partisan leanings, no matter what Hold or Hall they had been born in. But, even as he helped Jayge flush the intruders out, he had thought how
much easier it would have been with dragons aloft to “encourage” the men to surrender without bloodshed.

Alemi was one of the few people to know for a fact that the dragonriders intended to have first choice of the lands in the Southern Continent. A stray remark by Master Idarolan had set his thinking in that direction, and nothing had happened to disabuse him of the notion. It stood to reason that, once Thread no longer fell on Pern, the dragonriders ought to have some reward for their long service to Hall and Hold—and what better one than their own Holds where
they
wanted to live?

As a Craftmaster, Alemi undoubtedly entertained a slightly different opinion to that held by the Lord Holders who could well feel that they should have the disposition of land, no matter where it was. Master Idarolan had remarked that there was far too much open land to bring folks to blows over who had what and how much. As he’d circumnavigated the Southern Continent, the Masterfishman certainly had a good idea of what vast expanses of land were available.

On the other hand, fishmen needed only enough land to tie up their ships in a safe harbor and sell their catches. More would be greedy. Alemi did not approve of being greedy.

“Well,” murmured the Masterharper, bringing Alemi back to the present, “that went off better than I expected. I adore Lessa of Benden Weyr but she tends to be … say, a bit too obsessed with draconic prestige.”

“Shouldn’t she be?” Alemi asked, startled.

“Yes, of course she should,” Master Robinton said
quickly. “And she behaves as a Weyrwoman should. But occasionally, she does not consider other matters in quite the light you and I would. Now, tell me about this dolphin sea watch you wanted to set up to guard against more intruders?”

“I should have told the Weyrwoman about that …”

“Oh, no, I don’t think that was necessary or even a sound idea,” Robinton said, smiling slyly. “Let her get accustomed to the idea of dolphin intelligence first. Then spring this further evidence of their ingenuity on her. Don’t you think?”

“If you say so,” Alemi replied, not totally convinced.

“The Paradise River pod is organized now to repel intruders?”

“Yes, and I believe that T’gellan at Eastern Weyr has had young T’lion initiate a similar watch along that coastline. Although,” Alemi added with a grin, “I think the Weyr healer is doing as much work with the dolphins as T’lion.”

“Yes, tell me about that,” Robinton said, pouring wine for both of them and gesturing Alemi to sit beside him in the cool shade of the wide porch that surrounded Cove Hold. “They actually come to be treated by a human?”

Inside, other residents were preparing a light midday meal. Cove Hold had a changing population made up of the archivists and harpers who were organizing the vast amount of information that Aivas was constantly producing. It was unusual for there to be so few people demanding Master Robinton’s attention.
D’ram and Lytol, who were his companions in the lovely Hold, were busy at Landing.

“Yes, they do,” Alemi said. “A bell can summon humans as well as dolphins.” He had put a good long sturdy chain on the bell at Paradise Head; the loose end hung well down into the water by the float, making it easy for the dolphins to pull it to summon him. Though it was usually one of the children who ran to answer the dolphins’ peal. And Alemi was as often approached by “his” podmembers while he was at sea.

“And they ring the bell in this Report sequence you mentioned?” Robinton was clearly fascinated.

“And keep ringing until someone comes,” Alemi said, with a twisty grin. He’d been roused out of his bed a time or two. Still, those occasions had been emergencies: Once, would-be settlers from the North being overturned in their totally inadequate skiff; the other time a dolphin with a nasty gash. Temma had sewn it up as neatly as a healer could have, and the dolphins had been very grateful.

“Aivas very kindly printed out medical information for any healers who encounter dolphins,” Alemi went on. Then he paused. “I remember once, finding six dolphins dead in a cove up Nerat way. We never did know what had affected them because there weren’t any visible marks. Dolphins can get just as sick as humans, and with the same sorts of problems, with digestion and lungs and hearts and kidneys and livers.”

“Really?” The Harper regarded Alemi with surprise. “One never thinks of fish—excuse me,” he corrected himself before Alemi dared to, “mammals …
as being subject to the frailties that beset human flesh. What on earth would cause a heart attack in a dolphin?”

Alemi shrugged. “Stress, physical exertion, even birth defect, according to the report.” Then he remembered that stress and physical exertion had retired Master Robinton well before the man had been ready to step down. He stole a nervous look at the Harper, who was apparently considering the information he’d been given.

“Six heart attacks at the same time?” Robinton asked, surprised.

“No, that incident had to be caused by something else. Aivas’s report mentioned that ‘beachings’ were not uncommon on old Earth and were thought to have been caused by polluted waters that poisoned the dolphins. But our waters are clean and clear.”

“And they will stay that way!” Master Robinton said with unexpected vigor. “With Aivas to guide us we shall not repeat the mistakes our forebears made on their world.” He paused a beat and then went on with a wry grin. “At least not the same ones and for the same reason. We can—perhaps—be grateful that what the Ancients had, Pern’s resources will not provide. That will be our saving.”

“Oh?” Alemi wasn’t above a little prompting.

Master Robinton’s mobile face lit with a knowing smile. “Despite all we have endured since the Dawn Sisters took their orbit above us, this world has stayed remarkably well in the parameters set out by the colony founders. Of course, we couldn’t know that we were abiding by those precepts”—he grinned roguishly at Alemi—“but the fact of the matter is that
we did keep to just the technology needed to survive. Once the threat of Thread is abolished, we can improve the quality of our lives and still remain within these precepts: a world that does not require as much of the sophisticated doodads and technology that so obsessed our ancestors. We’ll be the better for it.”

“And the Weyrs?” Alemi was burning to ask that.

Robinton’s smile abated but his expression was more pensive than anxious. “They will, of course, find a new level for themselves, but I sincerely doubt that dragons will disappear because Thread does.”

His smile returned, slightly mysterious as if he had information he would not impart to Alemi—which was fair enough, the Masterfishman thought. It was sufficiently comforting to be reassured by the Masterharper, however circumspectly.

Alemi was loath to leave the porch and the easy companionship of Master Robinton, but he was also aware that he couldn’t justify monopolizing the man’s attention for much longer that morning. There were so many other demands on the Harper’s time and his reserves of energy. Alemi felt much pride at being awarded as much of an interview as he had.

T’lion was, perhaps, a little indignant about being constantly warned by Weyrlingmaster H’mar not to neglect his dragon for his new enthusiasm, the dolphins. But he kept his tongue in his mouth, especially when Gadareth protested vehemently to him, and more importantly to bronze Janereth, that he was
not
for a moment being neglected and the dolphins were even helping “keep him clean.”

Most evenings, T’lion was the rider assigned to
collect the Paradise River harper, Boskoney, and bring him to his work at Admin. He liked Boskoney, so the task was no burden. It also meant he could arrive a little early and spend a few moments getting to know the Paradise River pod, Kib, Afo, and exchange greetings from Natua, Tana, and Boojie. Sometimes he encountered Alemi, thanking the pod for good fishing or warnings on weather.

“The pod’s also sweep-swimming,” Alemi said, grinning at the alteration of the Weyr term, “along the Paradise holding to prevent any more intrusions. That way we won’t compromise you, T’lion, though I assure you we were very grateful to you for your help two months back.”

T’lion shrugged and grinned. “Just so long as my Weyrleaders don’t hear about it.”

“Of course not.”

Then T’lion frowned a bit. “But that only protects you.” He waved to the east. “There’s an awful lot of unpatrolled coast from here to Southern Hold.”

It was Alemi’s turn to shrug. “Well, that’s not my problem. Not that I won’t mention—where it will matter—if in my sailing I happen to see other incursions.”

“There’s such a lot of land here,” T’lion said, shaking his head slowly.

“Lad, you can’t worry about everything, though it’s a credit to you that you take additional responsibility. Now, help me feed these fish faces.”

“Sssh …” T’lion made an exaggerated gesture of dismay at the word. “They don’t like being called …” He mouthed the terrible word.

Alemi laughed. “I have dispensation. I’m a fish-man.” And he formally introduced T’lion.

“No need,” Kib told him, raising his head up out of the water. “Tana ‘n’ Natua tell. Good man, dragonrider.”

“Thanks,” T’lion said, rather pleased to be acknowledged so warmly.

“Stitch Boojie.” Kib ducked his nose in the water and flicked it at T’lion.

“I’ll get my death of a cold talking to dolphins,” T’lion said, wringing the front of his sopping shirt. “Oh, well, I’ve learned to carry a spare and he didn’t get my jacket”

“I’ve learned to not wear a thing,” Alemi remarked with an understanding grin, his tanned body bare to the folded clout so many wore in the hot season. “So where’s tomorrow’s fish, Afo?”