The Chronicles of Pern: First Fall (4 page)

“Range of what?” Jan screwed her face up at the technical term. She knew as much as any human could about dolphins, but she tended to ignore technical jargon.

“Range of what heavy stuff the volcano can throw out at us,” Jim said, almost apologetically.

“Worse than the ash and smoke already coming down?” Efram asked. Although they hadn’t been standing on the wharf that long, their wet suits were already gray with volcanic ash.

“The big stuff, boulders, all kinds of molten debris . . .”

“But we have Threadfall at Maori Lake this afternoon,” young Gunnar Schultz said, looking totally confused by the conflict of imperatives.

“We have to get all the matériel we can to Kahrain as soon as possible, and
that
is the immediate priority, folks. Thread’ll have to wait its turn,” Jim said with his usual wry humor. “All available craft are to be used, and the call’s gone out to owners to either get here or appoint a surrogate. So all we have to do is explain to pod leaders what has to be done and the kind of cooperation we need from them.” He began passing out copies of the evacuation plans that Emily Boll, the colony’s co-leader with Admiral Paul Benden, had given him forty minutes before. He glanced anxiously overhead, where three heavy sleds seemed about to collide. “Damn ’em. Look, read the overall plans while I go organize some air-traffic control.”

The dolphineers dutifully read the evacuation plan, though Jan skimmed ahead to their responsibilities: the stuff building up on the beach. Loads were all color-coded. Red and orange were priority, and red was fragile, for immediate transfer to Kahrain. Yellow would have to go in a hull of some kind; green and blue were waterproofed and could be towed.

Jim stuck his head out of the control-room window. “Lilienkamp’s sending us drums, wood, lines, and whatever men he can spare from his Supply Depot to lash rafts together. At least the weather report’s good. Decide which of the dolphins can be trusted to pull—”

“Any one of ’em you ask,” Ben said indignantly.

“And we’ll need some sensible dolphs to swim escort on the smaller sail craft. Keeerist, what’s that driver doing?” Leaning his long frame as far out of the window as he could, Jim began waving both long arms shoreward to ward a heavy sled away from colliding with two smaller ones that were trying to slide into the tight landing spaces on the strand. “Do the best you can!” he shouted at his team, and pulled his head back in to restore some order to the traffic heading toward the bay.

“Jan, you, Ef, and me explain,” Ben said. “Bernard, start organizing those red and orange loads for the
Cross
and the
Perseus
already tied up. Let’s get some of the larger small craft in to load. By then the pod leaders’ll know what’s expected and can make assignments of escorts. You others, start checking with the sail craft, find out their load limits. Try to keep track of what went with whom—” He broke off, realizing the monumental task ahead of them. “We’ll need some hand recorders . . . You guys get started. I’ll see if I can liberate us a few ’corders. There have to be some . . .” His voice trailed off as he climbed up the ladder to the wharf office.

“Right after we tell the fins
what
they’re to do, we organize some sea police, huh?” Bernard said.

“Right, man! Right!” Efram said with heartfelt agreement. “Now then, let’s brief the pods . . .”

As they were all suited up, they moved along the length of the float, spotting their individual pod leaders. Then, gesturing to the dolphins to give them some space, they jumped in. It was the easiest way to impress on individual dolphins their particular tasks.

There was a sudden swirling of water around the dolphineers as the dolphins chose their favorite swimming partners. Despite the crush, Teresa emerged right by Jan Regan, Kibby by Efram; Ben got splashed by a well-aimed sweep of Amadeus’s right flipper.

“Cut that out, Ammie. This is serious,” Ben said.

“No rough stuff?” Amadeus asked, and clicked in surprise.

“Not today,” Ben said, and gave Ammie an affectionate scratch between the pectorals to take the sting out of the reprimand. Then he put his whistle in his mouth and blew three sharp notes.

Heads, human and dolphin, turned in his direction. Letting his legs dangle beside Amadeus and resting one hand lightly on the dolphin’s nose, Ben outlined the problem and what assistance was required.

“Kahrain near,” Teresa said, chuffing energetically from her blowhole.

“You have to make many trips,” Jan said, indicating the growing pile of crates, boxes, and nets of every size and color.

“So?” Kibby responded. “We start.”

Efram grabbed Kibby by the closest pectoral. “We need aisles”—he demonstrated parallels with his arms—”incoming, outgoing. We need escorts for the smaller ships. We need teams for the bigger rafts and barges.”

“Two, three teams to change to keep speed,” Dart said, nudging Theo Force. “I know who thinks who is strongest. I go get them. You get harness.” With one of those incredible flips a dolphin body was capable of performing, Dart lived up to her name, arcing over several bodies and neatly reentering the water. Her disappearing dorsal fin showed the speed at which she was traveling.

“I get harness,” Theo echoed, making a foolish grimace at the others. “I get harness,” she said again, as she swam with confident strokes to the nearest of the pier ladders. “Why is she always one step ahead of me?”

“ ’Cause she swims faster,” Toby Duff yelled.

“We, Kibby me, police lanes,” Oregon informed Toby. “Use flag bobbers?”

Jan started to giggle. “Why do we bother telling them anything?” she said.

“Flag buoys coming up,” Toby said, swimming for the ladder nearest the storage sheds where the racing buoys were kept. “Green for incoming, red for outgoing.”

“There should be enough,” Efram said, following him, “from the winter regattas.”

“These all the ships?” Teresa asked, swishing herself high enough on her tail to look up and down the wharf.

“There should be a dozen or more luggers and sloops coming in from the coastal and downriver stakeholds,” Jan told her. “The bigger ones can sail right on down to Paradise River, but whatever we get around Kahrain Head’ll be safe enough.”

“Busy, busy,” Teresa said and looked happier than usual. “New thing to do. Good fun.”

Jan grabbed her left fin. “Not fun, Tessa. Not fun!” And she shook her finger in front of Teresa’s left eye. “Dangerous. Hard. Long hours.”

Teresa’s expression was as close to a diffident shrug as a dolphin could come. “My fun not your fun. This my fun. You keep afloat. Hear me?”

By the time Jim Tillek had managed to organize air traffic and get some beach wardens into position, the two lanes had been established with red and green buoys; three teams of the biggest males had been harnessed to the big barge, which had been filled with fragile red loads and was already under way. The first flotilla of smaller sail craft followed, dolphin-towed out of the congested harbor area to the point where they could safely hoist canvas on their way to Kahrain. Escort dolphins had been assigned.

“We’re never going to keep track of this stuff,” Ben muttered to Claire. She had organized something to eat for the dolphineers while her dolphin friend, Tory, was busy with his team, hauling blue and green cargo out to dinghies and other less seaworthy craft.

Even the smaller craft, kayaks, and the big ceremonial canoe were being pressed into service. These would have to be very closely watched, as they were manned by relatively inexperienced sailors, many of them preteens.

Jim Tillek had seen that they all had emergency jackets and gear, and knew exactly how to call a dolphin to their aid. The supply of whistles had run out, which worried some of the less competent kids, but Theo Force had Dart demonstrate how fast she could come to their aid if they merely slapped the water hard with both hands.

“Those clodheaded landlubbers are more trouble than anyone else,” Jim said, striding landward on the wharf, raising his bullhorn to chew out some Landing residents who were adding household goods to the stack of red priority cargo. Some of the colonists who had remained at the Landing site as administrators felt they should have certain perks. Well, not in this crisis, they didn’t. His patience worn out, he strode to the nearest sled, hauled the driver out, and ordered him to put back in what he had just unloaded. When that was done, Jim flew the sled to be unloaded with the other “space available” cargo at the far end of the strand. Then Jim took the sled, despite its owner’s voluble complaints, and used it for the rest of the day to be sure goods carted down from Landing went into the appropriate areas. The sled also gave him sufficient altitude to keep an eye on what was happening everywhere on the Bay.

With a leeward breeze keeping most of the volcanic fumes waiting away from Monaco, Jim was sometimes startled to look inland and see how steadily the fumaroles on Garben and Picchu emitted clouds of white and gray, and probably noxious gases. He also felt a pang of near terror as he saw the mass of things to be removed from pyroclastic activity. They’d need a ruddy armada . . . Why couldn’t they send more stuff by air?

Yet he couldn’t deny that a steady flow of sleds of all sizes gave proof that immense quantities
were
being flown out. Even the young dragons had panniers of some kind strapped behind their riders.

Wiping his sooted brow with a kerchief nearly messier than his face, Jim watched the graceful creatures reach a high thermal and start the long glide down to the Kahrain cove, if they’d only more dragons, more power packs, more ships, more . . .

Someone tugged his arm: Toby Duff directed his attention to a raft that was foundering.

“Damn fool didn’t balance the load,” he began, even as dolphins pushed against sagging barrels and pallets to keep them from floating off. “I can’t be everywhere . . .” He groaned.

“You’re giving a good impression of it,” Toby remarked at his driest. “Look, under control.”

“But they aren’t bringing it back in to be repacked,” Jim began.

“Use the binocs, Jim. Gunnar’s there. Seems like he has it under control. What I need your advice on is can we cocoon in plastic some of the red and orange and entrust small loads to younger dolphins who can’t help with the heavier stuff?”

Jim thought, glancing at the barely lowered stack of priority goods. “Better give it a try. Better than having the stuff fried pyroclastically.”

Toby gave him an uncertain grin, then a genuine laugh, and trotted off to wharfside, jumping into the water to make the necessary assignments.

All too quickly, the swift tropical dusk descended and there was a scurry to determine how many of the ill-assorted carriers had made it safely to Kahrain, how many in transit would need lighting or other help, and what, if any, casualties or losses there had been.

To Jim’s amazement, there were only minor casualties human and dolphin: scrapes, bruises, cuts, and the occasional wrenched muscle; even after Ben continually excused his record taking, they discovered very little loss of common cargo and none of the red or orange priorities.

Each pod leader reported to Monaco Wharf that they were off to eat and would return at dawn. Not for the first time did Jim and the dolphineers envy the creatures who could put half their brains to sleep and continue to function perfectly.

Some thoughtful person had put a kettle of stew, loaves of bread, and a pile of biscuits on the long table in the wharf office and, with little discussion, the hungry served themselves. Then, finding sufficient floor space, they curled up in blankets, old heavy-weather gear, and whatever else sufficed to keep tired bodies warm. Some of those sleepers were among those settlers lucky enough to have bonded with one or more fire-lizards, the beautiful creatures mentioned in the EEC Survey report. Now, while their humans slept, those fire-lizards arranged themselves on the pier, their sparkling eyes rivaling the emergency lights up and down the long installation.

The Big Bell roused all the sleepers and brought Jim and Efram stumbling out of the office to see what the problem was. Kibby and Dart were fighting over who was to pull the chain next.

“Morning, morning, morning” was the chant from several hundred dolphins, as fresh and eager as they had been the day before for the great new fun their land-friends had discovered to please them.

Jim and Efram groaned, leaning into each other in sleepy incoherence. A seaward breeze made the coming day’s work arduous: sulfur- and chlorine-tainted air caused eyes to water and irritated throats and nasal passages. The dolphins seemed less affected, which was a blessing; halfway through that day, most of the human swimmers were forced to use masks and oxygen tanks in the water and out. Also, there were more emergencies, caused by tired people, stiff-muscled from unaccustomed labors, valiantly trying to exceed the previous day’s quota.

Skippering the
Southern Cross,
laden to the scuppers with a cargo of precious medical supplies, Jim spent more time on the comunit, issuing suggestions and orders, and trying to keep his temper over asinine errors that would never have been so dangerous at any other time. The sea path between Monaco and Kahrain was a mass—and a mess—of ill-assorted craft, struggling to transport beyond their capacities. Twice the
Cross
passed dinghies afloat only by virtue of the pairs of dolphins keeping them up on the surface of the water.

The third morning, Jim summarily ordered all small craft under seven meters out of the water at Kahrain. Most of their crews he left behind to help unload the larger ships and the dolphins, who he decided made better, and faster, transporters of small to medium-sized packets.

“Smart of you, Jim,” Theo Force said that evening when they gathered on board the
Cross
for the eastward leg. “Kids got a big kick out of how often ‘their’ dolphins made the trip. They even started snatching tidbits for ’em as treats. Not that they could catch much fish with the waters so churned.”

“And my heart wasn’t in my mouth so much,” Claire Byrne said, “thinking of all that could go wrong with those cockleshells.”