The Second Weyr

When she got inside the vaulted chamber, she saw that he had been there long enough to make a small fire, set far enough in the shelter of the front wall to be protected from the wind, and secure in a neat circle of stones. A klah pot balanced close enough to keep its contents hot. A bulging sack was propped up against the wall, along with an opaque sheet of plastic wrapped around a number of finished plastic shafts.

“The klah’s ready if you’d like a cup,” he said, noting her surprise. “If not, help me put the table together. It’s easier with two.”

Torene shook her head at the first offer and started to untie the bundle. When assembled, the table was exactly the same size as the largest of the replicated elevations. Mihall produced pushpins and a narrow strip of plastic. He worked deftly, and before she knew it, one full set of the drawings was secured to the table with the plastic strip holding down the top edges so that the diagrams could be flipped over without being torn.

“You are handy,” she said, pleased and somewhat amused by his preparations.

“I know the largest size that replicator can print,” he said, shrugging off her implied compliment. “Ah, this is the one I wanted to see.” He turned to the side elevations of the upper crater.

There are more coming now! Brianth and Alaranth said almost in unison.

“About time,” Torene and Mihall said, also in chorus. Catching each other’s eyes, they both laughed: blue dominated the gray in the bronze rider’s eyes.

For Torene, that marked the beginning of the most intense period of activity she had ever experienced, even when she was first learning how to care for Alaranth. David Caterel had borrowed Ozzie from Telgar, although the old prospector insisted that everything he and Cobber had discovered in these craters was already written up or symbolized on the plasfilm they had in their possession.

“We used some of those first uglies Wind Blossom bred to check out the tunnels,” he said, tapping a joint-disfigured finger on the drawings. “X marks spots you don’t go. ‘S’all here. Took her”-he pointed at Torene- “and her, him, him,” he added, indicating Uloa, N’kla and D’vid, “through every one of ‘em, up and down, and the ones in between. The ‘between’ you get to when you walk,” he commented, favoring David Caterel with a droll eye.

“Had you anything better to do today?” David asked, grinning. “You can sit here, drink all the klah. . .”

“You didn’t think to bring any beer, didja? Prefer beer.

“In fact, I did, knowing your preference,” David said, and began to haul large bottles from each of his thigh and jacket pockets.

“Good man.” Ozzie took one, broke the seal, took a long pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his sun-riddled hand and sighed with deep appreciation. At last he looked up at David again. “I’ll tell ya if ya do anythin’ wrong,” he assured them. “That one”-and he pointed to Torene again-”knows most of ‘em anyway, so she can lead you. I’ll just stay here in case ya go wrong. Then I’ll findja.’

Smiles were carefully concealed from the wiry old man as David turned purposefully to Torene.

“So, what do you want to see first?” she asked, holding her hands out in compliance.

“Everything,” David said. “Starting with here and where can we put the hypocaust to keep the sands warm.

“This way, lords and ladies,” Torene said impishly, remembering the phrases from the stories her father had told her as a child. There were always lords and ladies in Volodya Ostrovsky’s bedtime tales.

By noontime, they had climbed about, or been flown by obliging dragons to, every cave, niche, nook, and cranny in the eastern side of the upper crater. They paused to eat, and review their notes and the diagrams, and then, with only slightly diminished zeal, explored the western side, including the sites where Torene had thought ground access was possible. The plasfilm that had been pristine that morning showed all kinds of marks and new legends in the margins. Lists of materials urgently needed were stuck in under the top rail.

By the time darkness fell, not only was everyone tired, scratched, and bruised from clambering over, under, and past unforgiving stone, but also full of intimate knowledge of their proposed home.

The next day queen riders, Wingleaders, and — seconds held conferences with Ierne’s representatives to see what materials would be needed to start work on the access tunnel.

Though they were not asked, the dragons insisted on helping dig once the stonecutters had excised the cliff face of the proposed access tunnel. David Caterel tried to stop them.

“You’re fighting dragons, not digging dragons,” he said, scowling at his own Polenth. “Torene, Uloa, Jean, speak to your queens.”

“Sternly?” Jean asked, grinning back and smearing the mud on her face as she mopped sweat. A shovel handle leaned against her.

This will be our home, too, Alaranth and Greteth said, and the bronzes bugled agreement.