Waine arrived with mortar, pestle, oil, eggs and cobalt to make a good blue. The man had picked up bits of technique and procedures on his own, but picking things up here and there was no subst.i.tute for the concentrated drill which Iantine had had: drills that he had once despised but now appreciated when he could see what resulted from the lack of them.

Winter had set in but on the first day of full sun, Tisha insisted on wrapping him up in a coc.o.o.n of furs to sit out in the Bowl for the good of fresh air". As it was bath-time for the dragonets Iantine was immediately fascinated by their antics and began to appreciate just how much hard work went into their nurture. It was also the first chance he'd ever had of seeing dragonets He knew the grace and power of the adult dragons and their awesome appearance. Now he saw the weyrlings as mischievous - even naughty, as one ducked her rider into the lake - and endlessly inventive. None of this last Hatching were ready to fly yet, but some of the previous clutch were beginning to take on adult duties. He had first-hand observation of their not-so-graceful performances.

The next day he saw P'tero and blue Ormonth in the focus of some sort of large cla.s.s. As he wandered over, he saw that not only the weyrlings from the last three Hatchings were attending but also all youngsters above the age of twelve.

Ormonth had one wing extended and was gazing at it in an abstract fashion, as if he'd never seen it before. The expression was too much for the artist in Iantine and he flipped open his pad and sketched the scene. P'tero noticed, but the cla.s.s was being extremely attentive.

What T'dam was saying slowly reached through Iantine's absorption with line and pose.

"Now, records show us that the worst injuries occur on wing edges, especially if Thread falls in clumps and the partners are not sharp enough to avoid em. A dragon can fly with one third of his exterior sail damaged" and T'dam ran his hand along the edge of Ormonth's wing.

"However," and T'dam looked up at Ormonth, "if you would be good enough to close your wing slightly, Ormonth," and the blue did so.

"Thank you " T'dam had to stand slightly on tip-toe to reach the area of the inner wing. Injuries in here are far more serious as Thread can, depending on the angle of its fall, sear through the wing and into his body. This," and he now ducked under the wing and tapped the side, is where the lungs are and injury here can even be fatal." There was a gasp around the semi-circle of his students.

"That's why you have to be sharp every instant you're in flight. Go between the instant you even suspect you've been hit."

"How do we know?" someone asked.

"Ha!" T'dam propped his fists on his thick leather belt and paused. "Dragons are very brave creatures for the most part, considering what we ask them to do. But," and he stroked Ormonth in apology, "they have exceedingly quick responses... especially to pain.

"You'll know!" He paused again. "Some of you were here when Missath broke her sail bone, weren't you?" and he pointed around the group until he saw several hands raised. "Remember how she squealed?"

"Went right through me like a bone cutter." a big lad said and shivered convulsively.

"She was squealing the instant she lost her balance and actually before she snapped the bone. She knew she would hurt even as she fell."

"Now, you don't have quite the same immediacy in Threadfall since you'll be high on adrenalin, but you'll know. So, this brings up a point that we make constantly in all training procedures, always, ALWAYS have a point to go to in your head. During Fall, it had better be the Weyr since everyone here," and now the sweep of his hand included those Iantine recognized as non-riders, "will be ready to help.

"DON'T make the mistake of coming in too low. Going between will have stopped Thread burrowing further into your dragon..." A muted chorus of disgust and fearfulness greeted that concept. "So you can make as orderly a landing as injuries permit. What you don't need is a bad landing which could compound the original Thread score. Start encouraging your dragon as soon as you know he's been hit. Of course, you may be hit too, and I appreciate that, but you're riders and you can certainly control your own pain while seeing to your dragon's.

"He's the important one of you, remember.

"Without him you don't function as a rider.

"Now, the drill is," and once again he swept his glance around his students, "slather!" He picked up the wide brush from the pail at his feet and began to ply it on Ormonth's wing: water, to judge the way it dripped. The blue regarded the operation with lightly whirling eyes.

"Slather, slather, slather," and T'dam emphasized each repet.i.tion with a long brush stroke. "You can't put too much numb weed on a dragon's injuries to suit him or her," and he grinned at the female green riders, "and the injury will be numb in exactly three seconds at least the outer area. It does take time to penetrate through the epidermis to what pa.s.ses for the germinative layer in a dragon's hide. So you may have to convince your dragon that he's not as badly hurt as he or she feels. Your injured dragon needs all the rea.s.surance you can give... No matter how bad you think the injury looks, don't think that at the dragon. Tell him or her what a great brave dragon they are, and that the numb weed is working and the pain will go away.

"Now, if a bone has been penetrated - - - "Why, you've got P'tero to the life," said an awed voice softly in Iantine's ear, and he shot a glance at the tall lad standing behind him: M'leng, green Sith's rider, and P'tero's special friend. Iantine had seen the two riders, always together, in the kitchen cavern. Oooh, is there any chance I could have that corner?" And he tapped the portion which contained P'tero and Ormonth.

M'leng was a handsome young man, with almond-shaped green eyes in an angular face. The light breeze in the Bowl ruffled tight dark brown curls on his head.

"Since I owe P'tero my life, let me make a larger sketch for you."

"Oh, would you?" And a smile animated M'leng's rather solemn face.

"Can we settle a price? I've marks enough to do better than Chalkin did you!" He reached for his belt pouch.

Iantine tried to demur, pleading he owed P'tero.

"Tero was only doing his duty for once," M'leng said with a touch of asperity. "But I really would like a proper portrait of him. You know, what with Threadfall coming and all, I'd want to have something..." M'leng broke off, swallowed, and then reinforced his pleading.

"I've to do a commission for the Weyrleaders..." Iantine said.

"Is that the only one?" M'leng seemed surprised. "I'd've thought everyone in the Weyr would be after you."

Iantine grinned. "Tisha hasn't released me from her care yet."

"Oh, her," and M'leng dismissed the head woman with a wave of his hand. "She's so fussy at times. But there's nothing wrong with your hand or your eye... and that little pose of P'tero, leaning against Ormonth, why it's him!"

Iantine felt his spirits rise at the compliment because the sketch of the blue rider was good - better than the false ones he had done at Bitra Hold. He still cringed, remembering how he had allowed himself to compromise his standards by contriving such obsequious portrayals. He hoped he would never be in such a position again. M'leng's comment was bal to his psyche.

"I can do better But I like the pose."

"Can't you just do it? I mean," and M'leng looked everywhere but at Iantine, "I'd rather P'tero didn't know... I mean..."

"Is it to be a surprise for him?"

"No, it's to be for me!" And M'leng jabbed his breastbone with his thumb, his manner defiant. "So I'll have it."

At such intransigence, Iantine was at a loss and hastily agreed before M'leng became more emotional. His eyes had filled and he set his mouth in a stubborn line.

"I will, of course, but a sitting would help."

"Oh, I can arrange that, so he still doesn't know. You're always sketching," and that came out almost as an accusation.

Iantine was - thanks to the lecture he had been overhearing considerably more aware now of the dangers dragons, and their riders, would shortly face. If M'leng was comforted by having a portrait of his friend, that was the least Iantine could do.

"This very night," M'leng continued, single-minded in his objective, "I'll see we sit close to where you usually do. I'll get him to wear his good tunic so you can paint him at his very best."

"But suppose..." Iantine began, wondering how he could keep P'tero from knowing he was being done.

"You do the portrait," M'leng said, patting Iantine's arm to still his objections. "I'll take care of P'tero - - -" and he added under his breath, "as long as I have him."

That little afterthought made the breath stop in Iantine's throat. Was M'Leng so sure that P'tero would die?

"I'll do my best, M'leng, you may be sure of that!"

"Oh, I am," said M'leng, tossing his head up so that the curls fell back from his face. He gave Iantine a wry smile. I've been watching how you work, you see." He extended a hand soft with the oils riders used to tend their dragons. Iantine took it and was astonished at the strength in the green rider's grip.

"Waine said a good miniature - which is what I want," and he patted his breast pocket to show the intended site of the painting, "by an artist is priced at four marks. Is that correct?" Iantine nodded, unable to speak for the lump in his throat.

Surely M'leng was dramatizing matters? Or was he? In the background, Iantine could hear T'dam advising his listeners on the types and severity of injuries and the immediate aid to be given to each variety.

What a bizarre, and cruel, lecture to give to the weyrlings!

And yet - the thought stopped him - was it not kinder to be truthful now and ease the shock of what could possibly happen?

"This evening?" M'leng said firmly.

"This very evening, M'leng," Iantine agreed, nodding his head.

When the green rider had left him, it took the young artist some long moments before he could return to his sketching.

Well, this was one thing he could do as a gift to the Weyr for all their kindnesses to him - he could leave behind a graphic gallery of everyone currently living in Telgar Weyr!

Fort Hold

Cla.s.ses were also being held that same day in Fort Hold. in the College a.s.sembly room, Corey, as Head Medic, was conducting a seminar for healers from all over Pern who had been flown in for a three-day clinic. This included a first-aid session dealing with both human and dragon injuries. She was a.s.sisted by the Fort Weyr medic, N'ran, who had originally studied animal medicine before he had inadvertently Impressed brown Galath. Galath, on this occasion, was outside, enjoying the sun, while a green dragon, who was small enough to fit in the Hall, was being used for demonstration purposes much as Ormonth was at Telgar Weyr.

"Now we have been able to duplicate the records of Doctors Tomlinson, Marchane and Lao which include some fading photos of actual injuries. Lunch is fortunately sufficiently in the future," she said with a quirky smile. Then her expression turned sober. "The verbal descriptions are worse, but it's necessary to impress on all those who have to deal with a man began and his ground injuries how incredibly fast," she ticked off one finger, how horrendous Thread is," another and then with a sigh, "and how quickly we must act to..." her pause was longer now, "...to limit suffering."

Murmurs answered her and she could see that some of the audience had paled. Others looked defiant.

"From what I, and my staff," and she indicated those in the front seat, "have determined, there is little option. The alternative of getting into cold between as the dragons can is not available to us."

"Yes?"

"Why not? If that's an alternative..."

"For them, not us," she said firmly. "Because all the records emphasize the speed with which Thread consumes organic material. Too swiftly to call a dragon, even if any were available, in your locale. A whole cow goes in less than two minutes."

"Why, that's not even time to..." voice trailed off.

"Precisely," Corey agreed. "If a limb is scored, there's the chance it could be amputated before the organism spreads over the body."

"Shards! You can't just..." another man began.

"If survival means loss of just a limb, it can be done."

"But only if you're right there." Corey recognized him as a pract.i.tioner in a large hold in Nerat.

"And many of us will be right there," Corey said firmly, "with the ground crews, sharing their dangers and hopefully saving as many as we can."

She managed a wry smile. "Any body of water handy is useful since Thread drowns. Quickly, according to reports. Depending on the site of the injury, water can impede the ingestion long enough for an amputation to be performed. Even a trough is sufficient." She glanced down at her notes. "Thread needs oxygen as well as organic material. It drowns in three seconds."

"What if it's burrowed into flesh?"

"Three seconds. Flesh does not have the free oxygen necessary for Thread life. Ice, too, can r.e.t.a.r.d progress, but that isn't always available either.

"Let us a.s.sume that we have, somehow, halted the organism's progress but we have a bad scoring and/or an amputation. Numbweed, numb weed numb weed And bless this planet for inventing something it didn't know we'd need so badly. In the case of an amputation, of course, proceed with standard practices, including cautery. That at least would eliminate any final vestige of Thread. There will be significant trauma so fellis recommended if the patient is still conscious.

She glanced down at her notes. "Tomlinson and Marchane also indicate that the mortality rate, due to heart failure or stroke, is high in Thread injuries. Lao, who practiced until the end of the First Pa.s.s, notes that often patients who had received slight scores, successfully treated, died from the pathological trauma of being scored. In preparing our groups for this problem, do stress that Threadscore can be successfully treated."

"If we can move fast enough," a man said facetiously.

"That's why it's important for a medic to accompany as many ground-crew teams as possible. And why first-aid procedures must be taught to every Hold and Hall within your practice. There are only so many of us, but we can teach many what to do and cut down on fatalities.

"And," Corey went on, "we must emphasize that all nonessential personnel is to STAY safely indoors until ground crews report the area safe.

"Now, we will go on to dragon injuries since these, too. will occur and those of us on the spot may need to a.s.sist the dragon and rider. They will have the one advantage we can't provide - the chance to go between and freeze the attacking organism.

"But the score will be just as painful.

"The larger proportion of draconic injuries are to the wing surfaces... if you please, Balzith," and she turned to the patient green dragon and she obediently extended her wing as the medic conducted that section of her lecture.

When they had adjourned for lunch, prior to discussing other problems - such as hygiene and sanitation within small and medium holds where the amenities were not as efficient as in the larger population centers, Corey was approached by Joanson of South Boll and Frenkal of Tillek Hold, both senior medics.

"Corey, what is your position on... mercy?" asked Joanson in a very thoughtful tone.

She regarded the tall man for a long moment. "What it has always been, Joanson. We have, as you realize, quite a few persons in this audience who have not received full medical training. I cannot ask them to do what I would find very, very difficult to do: administer mercy." She gave Joanson a long stare, then glanced at Frenkal who seemed to enjoy the ethical spot she was in.

"We are sworn to preserve life. We are also sworn to maintain a decent quality of life for those under our care." She felt her lips twitch, remembering that there were occasions when those two aims were in conflict. "We must, each of us, reflect on how we will face such a desperate situation: whether to cut short a final agony is necessary, even ethical. I don't think there will be much time to consider morals, ethics, kind or cruel, at the time we are forced to take action."

She paused, took a deep breath. "I do remember seeing the tapes the Infirmary used to have, showing very graphically an animal being eaten alive by Thread..." She noticed Joanson's wince.

"Yes, eaten alive because Thread caught the hind end of it. I think, if it was someone you knew, you'd opt for the quickest possible end to that." Since they were not the only two who approached her on that subject, she was almost glad when the lunch break ended and she could address the less vexious matter of amputation.

Everyone needed a refresher on that procedure, especially an emergency type of operation when there might not be time for all the preliminaries that made for a neat stump. She did have the new bone cutters - well, more axes than the traditional surgical tool - for distribution afterwards. Kalvi had brought them with him.

"Best edge we've ever been able to make on a surgical tool, Corey," he told her with some pride. Had them tested at the abattoir. Cut through flesh and bone like going through cheese. Gotta keep 'em honed, though. And I've made eases for the blades so no-one slices off a finger by mistake."

Surgeons were not the only ones with a ghoulish sense of humor, Corey decided.

Meanwhile, in the Great Hall of Fort Hold, with Lord Paulin seated in the front row, Kalvi himself was demonstrating to those who would form the Fort ground crews how to use and service the HNO3 cylinders, taking his audience from a.s.sembly of the parts and then a quick rundown of common problems likely to be encountered in the field, Every small holder within Fort's authority was present; many had brought their elder children. All had come on foot, their own or on horseback. Fort Weyr, like the other five, was beginning to restrict dragon rides.

Lord Paulin understood and approved.

"We've had it far too easy, using the dragons the way our ancestors would have used the sleds and airborne vehicles," he was heard to say when one of his holders complained that he had been denied his right to a dragon ride. "We haven't been breeding horses just to run races, you know. And the dragon riders have been far too accommodating.

"Do us all good to walk or ride. You have, of course, extended your beast holds to shelter all your livestock?" There had been moaning over that necessity, too, with complaints that the engineers should really have spent more time trying to replicate the marvelous rock-cutting equipment with which their ancestors had wrested living quarters out of cliff-sides.

Kalvi had come in for considerable harangue over that, which he shrugged off.

"We have a list of priorities: that's not one. Nor could be."

"We still have two sleds in the north, but no power to run em."

"Never did find out what they used," he said. "No way of duplicating such power packs either, or I'm sure our ancestors would have. Otherwise why did they engineer the dragons?

"Anyway, renewable resources make more sense than erudite or exotic imports."

When the main lecture was concluded, everyone was told to rea.s.semble after the noon meal for target practice. This was vastly more interesting than having to listen to Kalvi waffle on about how to adjust the wands of the HNO3 throwers to give a long, narrow tongue of fire or a broader, shorter flame. Or how to clear the nozzle of clogged matter.