Страница 17 из 114
There was a distinct pause before the reply came. "Master Robinton, this facility is not programmed for senses. It is programmed to interact with humans."
"That is not an answer."
"It is one kind of an explanation."
With that, Master Robinton had to be content.
The four Eastern Weyr dragonriders glided down in a spiral to the hillside above the dam. All interest in the ancients' settlement had been centered on Landing. No one had yet had any occasion to wander about the nearby hills looking for evidence of the settlers' handiwork, so the presence of an obviously man-made lake for Fandarel had dammed up a few useful streams in his Turns as apprentice and journeyman in the Smithcrafthall and recognized the configuration-was yet another surprise.
The lake stretched back, a glittering long finger contained between two high ridges. The dam had been built across the neck of the southeast end. Though the structure had been broached and two cascades fell gracefully from the height into the ravine below, it was still the biggest dam Fandarel had ever seen.
The marvelous thing, Master Fandarel realized, was not that it had been made, but that so much of it had survived for twenty-five centuries. As D'clan's brown Pranith skimmed the top, Fandarel could see that the passage of all that time had taken some toll on the dam. Grooves, like the bites of a creature larger even than a dragon, had been gouged in the top, creating openings for the falls to tumble through. Floods, no doubt, he decided, pushing large boulders or debris relentlessly against it. He pulled on D'clan's sleeve and pointed a thick forefinger vigorously downward. D'clan nodded, gri
With a grace and agility envied by many younger and fitter men, Fandarel slid from the brown neck and landed lightly on his feet. In a moment he was down on his hands and knees, knife blade scraping aside mud and caked dirt to examine the material of the dam. He shook his head.
"Plascrete, Aivas said," he muttered to himself as the others in his party joined him. Evan, the journeyman who often translated his designs into solid reality, was a self-contained man who hadn't so much as blinked when he took instructions from "the talking wall." Belterac was nearly as grizzled as Fandarel; he was wise in his craft, and the steadiness of his work habits offset the apprentice Fosdak, who was erratic and troublesome but strong as a draft animal. The last was Silton, a useful and diligent young man who had shown some of Master Terry's dogged perseverance. "They built this of plascrete," Fandarel went on. "Stuff that will last for mille
The three dragons were as interested in the dam as the humans were: they walked along the wide top, their wings folded to their backs, and suddenly V'line laughed and said aloud that his bronze Clarinath wanted to know if there would be time for a bath. The water looked so clear and clean.
"Later, please," Fandarel said, continuing his inspection of the edifice.
"Amazing construction," Evan murmured, scuffing the surface with his heavy boots on his way to the lake side of the structure. He peered over the edge. "Water levels are marked, Fandarel. Can't have been high in Turns, though it has been from time to time."
Then he walked to the ravine side and pointed downward and to his left. "There, Master, that's where the ancients had their power station."
Fandarel squinted, shielding his eyes with one huge hand, then nodded in satisfaction as he saw the remains of the building. Something had smashed into it from a height. Probably the same debris that had breached the dam, crashing down on the place with tremendous force.
"D'clan, if you and Pranith would be good enough to take us down there," Fandarel said, pointing. "Evan and I will go first to be sure it is safe enough."
D'clan and Pranith obliged, finding sufficient room to set down by the ruins. All that was left of the structure were the heavy girders that had supported the roof of the power station, and the i
"Those strong young backs can clear this, Evan," Fandarel said. "D'clan, can you wave the others down here? Then the dragons may have a swim."
"They spend more time in the water than in the air," D'clan complained. "They're more likely to wash the hide off 'em, if they're not careful. A hide-damaged dragon's no good between." But his tone was more affectionate than captious.
While the others started shoveling away the mud, Fandarel and Evan made careful measurements of the area to be enclosed, then calculated where the new power wheel would be situated. With deft lines, Evan made a preliminary sketch of what the finished installation would look like. Fandarel, watching over his shoulder, nodded approval. Then he looked about, squinting up at the high, smooth face of the dam and the hillsides.
"Now," he said, satisfied with his analysis of the site's needs, "we go back to Telgar, to assemble the components." He gri
Evan merely raised his eyebrows. "Can't be but more efficient that way."
"My dear F'lar," Robinton said reassuringly to the Weyrleader, who was patently disappointed at his failure to gain the full backing of the Lord Holders, "Aivas impressed Larad, Asgenar, Groghe, Toronas, Bargen, and Warbret, plus Jaxom. Seven out of sixteen's not bad for a start. Oterel's doddering, and Corman always needs time to mull things over. If the various projects for which you will need workers here continue to clear out that beggars' cave of Laudey's, he'll back you." Robinton put one hand on F'lar's shoulder and gave it just a little shake. "F'lar, you so desperately want to eradicate Thread. That's your first responsibility. Managing their Holds is theirs, and sometimes, as we both know, they forget the wider view. Yes, K'van?" The Harper had been aware that the young Southern Weyrleader was hovering in the background. "Have I been monopolizing F'lar when you need a word with him?"
"If I might intrude..." K'van said.
"My glass is empty." With a raffish grin, Robinton took himself back to the food-laden table in search of a wineskin.
"Was Lord Toric asked?" K'van said hesitantly.
"Yes, indeed, he was, K'van." F'lar drew him to one corner of the room, where they were less likely to be drawn into the lively discussions of the other Weyrleaders. "I charged Breide in particular to let him know."
K'van managed a fleeting grin-they both knew that Breide's main function at Landing was to report to the Southern Lord Holder everything of interest. Breide's conscientiousness often served up such quantities of trivia that Toric obviously did not bother to read the reports.
"He's trying to get enough men over to the island to shift Denol and his kin." Everyone knew that Toric was furious about the attempt by a band of rebels to take over the island he claimed as part of his Hold.
"I'd've thought he'd accomplished that already," F'lar said in surprise. "Toric can be very determined."
K'van's grin was sour. "He's also determined to have the Weyr's help."
F'lar started angrily. "There's no way he's to have that, K'van!"
"And so I've told him, time and again. The Weyr is not there for his convenience."
"And?"
"He doesn't take my no as final, F'lar." K'van faltered and he gave a helpless shrug to his shoulders. "I know I'm young to be a Weyrleader..."
"Your youth is not a relevant factor, K'van. You're a good Weyrleader, and I've had that assurance from the older riders in your Weyr! "